It had been a rough Atlantic crossing with stormy seas under grey skies, but now the small boat was moving into warmer waters and the sea reflected a blue sky as they passed by palm fringed islands with broad sandy beaches. They sighted ports where the rag tag of the seas drank their rum and counted their spoils before sailing out again to plunder those who carried wealth on the ocean.
It seemed surreal a small battleship grey motor torpedo boat approaching three galleons with the Jolly Roger flapping at the masthead of each one. It was like something from a black and white World War II movie invading the technicolour set of Pirates of the Caribbean.
Timothy Galton was at the wheel of the MTB calling down orders to the one eyed Ted who kept the powerful engine tuned and was responsible for loading and firing the two torpedo tubes. On the fore deck sat the redoubtable Agatha, wisps of grey hair protruding from under a tin helmet, as she trained the heavy machine gun on the approaching fleet.
They moved in closer and decks lined with sea going brigands, cutlasses between teeth, ready to board the intruder came into view. Below their decks hatches opened and cannons were pushed forward and loaded and primed. Before a touch paper could be lit, Timothy Galton yelled “Open fire,” and Agatha raked the decks of the leading galleon with a hail of lead. “Fire number one tube” Galton screamed down to one eyed Ted and the deadly torpedo sped below the surface towards its quarry which erupted in an explosion of flame and smoke.
The second vessel moved into its place confronting the little MTB and again Timothy Galton issued his orders and Agatha triggered another lethal salvo towards its upper decks and one eyed Ted launched the second torpedo. Two pirate vessels were now no more than a floating debris of matchwood their crews flailing around in the water seeking broken timbers to cling to.
Then frighteningly the situation changed. The third pirate vessel, the largest of the three was almost alongside the little MTB, it had no torpedoes left and Agatha was wrestling with and cursing the machine gun that had jammed. Timothy Galton looked up to see the leering face of a black bearded pirate captain looking out from the galleon. A hatch opened and an enormous canon barrel pointed down at the helpless MTB. “Fire” screamed Blackbeard.
There was an enormous crash and Timothy sat bolt upright in his bunk and before the echoes of the crash died he heard Aunt Agatha utter an expletive his mother had told him he should never use. He looked up out of the porthole and saw the white timbers of the Tide Mill and the masts of the boats moored at the quay. Then came a tinkling sound as Aunt Agatha with brush and dustpan cleared up the fragments of a broken plate on the galley floor. He looked down and saw his Captain Pugwash the Pirate book on the floor where it had fallen as he’d dropped off to sleep.
Timothy loved staying with his Great Aunt Agatha. Before retiring she had had a long exciting career travelling the world in the WRENS. She had finished her career as a senior officer at the Admiralty responsible for the disposal of decommissioned naval vessels. Whether quite within the official rules or not was not known, but upon retirement she had acquired a redundant MTB and had it transformed into a houseboat moored on the River Deben at Woodbridge. When Timothy came to stay, much to his delight, she regaled him with tales of what the former life of her home might have been.
After he had washed and dressed, Aunt Agatha announced that they were going into town she had an “ophthalmic issue” to deal with. Timothy was not quite sure what the word meant, but thought it had something to do with reading glasses.
They stopped for breakfast on the Quay at the new timber constructed café that resembled a Wild West stockade. While Aunt Agatha finished her coffee Tim stood on his chair and took aim at all the early morning joggers and dog walkers with an imaginary Remington repeater rifle defending Aunt Agatha from the hordes of war painted braves intent on repelling the advance of the US cavalry into their ancestral territories.
The fort saved from disaster, they left the café, crossed the railway track and walked up Quay Street. Passing the church with the hands, Tim insisted on stopping to sit in the big aluminium hands, and then they turned right into The Thoroughfare. Timothy surmised that they might be going to Spec Savers, but Aunt Agatha continued past and then crossed the road and went into the haberdashers. As they arrived at the counter she reached down and took the Teddy bear from Timothy’s hand, the bear which accompanied him everywhere, like Winnie the Pooh with Christopher Robin. Addressing the counter assistant she said “Do you think you could find a shiny, glassy button that would make a replacement eye for this bear please.”
On return, after crossing back over the railway line, Aunt Agatha took a slight detour to a large workshop next to the Woodbridge Museum. Inside the workshop they found men working with timber on the construction of a full scale replica of the long ship that had been excavated at Sutton Hoo, over the river opposite Woodbridge. Timothy was very excited by this, but even more so when Aunt Agatha said they were going to spend the rest of the day at the National Trust site at Sutton Hoo. They set off in Aunt Agatha’s old MG sports car, the hood down, the sun shining – it all added to the day’s adventure.
At Sutton Hoo it was one of those special family days and after touring the exhibits Timothy was able to dress up in a helmet with a sword and even Ted Bear was impressed by the sights and colours now his eyesight was vastly improved. What a day it had become.
On the way home Aunt Agatha stopped at Melton Produce to get a treat for tea. Behind a mountainous display of quality fruit and vegetables on the edge of the pavement inside the shop was a delicatessen and an array of bread and cakes. A shopping bag filled and they headed home to the boat.
That evening a weary Timothy was soon asleep in his bunk but in that mystical land of nocturnal fantasy a busy night lay ahead. Crouched behind the wheel of Agatha’s MG would he be racing past Lewis Hamilton at Silverstone? At midnight high tide would the MTB leave the moorings and slip down the estuary and out into the North Sea to confront a long ship flotilla of invaders? Or would a long ship come sailing up the River Deben with a hirsute Timothy Dalton resplendent with helmet, sword and shield standing at the prow intent on pillaging Melton Produce and taking home to Aunt Agatha a sack full of those chocolate coated ginger biscuits she couldn’t resist.
about the author
Guy Pratt is a retired octogenarian second hand bookseller who enjoys gardening, long walks with his dog and travel. He gravitated into the book trade after earlier years in farming, the army Intelligence Corps and the civil service. Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the author the other half goes to expenses e.g. Maintaining the web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.
