Canal Knowledge

I stood firmly to attention with my ribcage jutted out beyond my chin. My stomach compressed against my backbone and my lungs stinging to capacity. I felt ten feet tall and full of pride as I stood shoulder to shoulder with my equally proud peers and watched the launch of the HMS Pirate's Blood.

It was probably the finest craft ever to set sail on the Huddersfield Narrow Canal and it had taken us since Easter to engineer. My eyes were still drawn to the beautiful, lobster blue, nylon washing line that cost a hiding and a ripped pair of shorts to procure.

The line bound the mast to the pallet board decking and stretched all the way up the broom handle to Granpa Jack's blood stained handkerchief. He'd told us it was enemy blood that he'd dipped his hanky in during the war, but Nan had rolled her eyes and said, 'Sure... If the enemy was the fool in the mirror with a cut-throat razor.'

My two brothers nodded solemnly in my direction to indicate that I should prepare to test the sea worthiness of the vessel. Oar in hand, I tentatively tested the deck with my tiptoe, before Christian laughed and propelled me forward with a shove. I regained my pride and my footing nearly instantly as the raft turned gently and I found myself swaying on top of the oily black water.

"It floats!" Mathias exclaimed, jubilantly.

"Of course it does." Christian dead-panned. He threw the little bundle of provisions we had brought at me and took a running jump from the bank on to the raft. Mathias grabbed the mooring rope and jumped on too, causing the Pirate's Blood to dip alarmingly to port until Captain Christian righted us.

Mathias had thoughtfully constructed a little wheel from an old go-cart at the bow to allow me to pretend to steer us and keep me away from the water because he knew I couldn't swim. It meant that he and Christian could get on with the more important jobs; like pushing us away from the banks and steering us safely over reed beds as we looked for opportunities to plunder.

I sat cross legged by steering post and battered a wasp away from the jam sandwich given to me. I was having a bite to push down every mouthful of rum that was passed my way. It was awful and I could see my brothers wincing at the passage of the spicy liquor down their throats, but we were obliged to do it if we didn't want to get thrown out of the Pirate's Navy. That said, I wasn't sure that real pirates drank 'Bay Rum Hair Tonic' from Granpa Jack's medicine cabinet.

As we negotiated the lock at Slaithwaite I was given hooks to bait while Christian and Mathias argued over whether or not fish existed in the canal. By the time we neared Marsden it was decided that normal fish didn't populate the depths. This was the domain of the terrifying Giant Yorkshire Squid and we should be thankful to not have had a bite for the last hour.

It was getting dark now and I was tired. Mathias gently lifted me from the raft and in to the retiring village of Diggle whilst Christian lead us around the darkening streets.

"Are we nearly home?" I enquired, nervously.

"No whining, now." Christian reminded me. "We could be in Lancashire and you haven't got your passport."

I pressed my lips together, firmly and nodded letting him navigate us past stone houses and gritty mill walls until, finally, we saw the blue light in the distance and all sighed with relief.

The round faced Sargeant at the desk looked up as we came in and then smiled upon recognising our dirty, urchin faces.

"Put some cocoa on, Sam." he instructed the back office. "We've been invaded by the Yorkshire Vikings again."

"Pirates," I corrected him, "and we need your treasure and your ginger biscuits."