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Yo Ho Ho and a Storyteller on the Seven Seas
Captain Redwhiskers looked sadly from the Crow's Nest to the misty shore a few hundred yards from the Bluebottle, his dearly beloved ship.
Struggling through the mist and drizzle he could just make out a small and bedraggled figure. The long red coat dragged miserably along the muddy path and the sometime bright yellow hat completely hid the face below.
"Ahoy there!" shouted Captain Redwhiskers as loudly as he could, barely above a whisper it has to be said since he had been suffering dreadfully from a heavy cold for the last few days.
Since the air was so calm and still, if rather damp, even his hoarse whisper carried across the rippling grey sea to the figure below. The yellow hat lifted a little and the crooked glasses balanced on the red bobbly nose glinted fiercely in the glow from the ship's lantern.
"Blooming ahoy to you too, is what I say" grumbled the Storyteller (for yes it was he). "Ahoy? What kind of stupid word is that? Why can't they just say 'hello' like the rest of us?"
With that he drew back a little in order to take a running jump and launched himself into the small rowing boat which acted as a ferry from shore to Bluebottle. Unfortunately he landed on top of Long Pete (so called because he was - long I mean - or should I say "tall" instead) who was snoozing gently on the bottom of the boat only to be awoken by a wet and dripping bundle of Storyteller landing on his chest.
Having sorted themselves out into the right number of arms and legs, Long Pete pulled hard on the oars and off they went. Well, they didn't actually, since he was pointing the wrong way and also had forgotten to untie the boat, but a few adjustments later they were heading towards the Bluebottle.
I will take this time to tell you why the Storyteller had been invited to join the crew of the Pirate Ship Bluebottle for its next voyage their secret hideaway on an island known to none bar themselves. Captain Redwhiskers was married to the Storytellers great-aunt's cousin's niece's grand-daughter (I think) and she, named Marylou, had fallen ill in the secret hideaway (which was so secret even the crew of the Bluebottle had difficulty finding it again from time to time) and her granny's aunty's cousin, having received a message in a bottle from Marylou, had contacted the Storyteller asking him to go out there with Captain Redwhiskers and see what's what, or what isn't.
Long Pete was so long he was able to pick the Storyteller up and lob him gently onto the deck of the Bluebottle where he landed softly at the feet of the Captain.
"Harrumph!" grunted the Captain (which, to the Storyteller's mind was only marginally better than 'Ahoy') "Come along then, do come along and I will show you to your cabin."
Off they set down stairs and along deep, dark corridors until they came to a door which had "Guestroom" written on it in big red letters.
"In you go then", invited the Captain. "I'll let you settle in and come back for you in half an hour".
The Storyteller looked around him - not difficult since the room was barely six feet square. He sat on the narrow bunk and opened his bag. He hung his wet red coat on the only coathanger and put on his spare (which had faded to a rather fetching shade of pink), brushed his grey, curly locks and straightened his glasses. Then he waited. He waited a bit more and then quite a long time more. The ship was moving by now and he supposed the Captain was busy with whatever Captains do when a ship sets sail. He waited again for a little while and then decided to go aloft to see what was holding the Captain up.
The only sound as the Storyteller made his way up onto the main deck was the creaking of the timbers, the whisper of the wind in the sails and the odd seagull (no, I am not saying that the seagull was odd - although they can be - I am saying there were not many about).
"Ermmm, hello?" croaked the Storyteller as he crept along the deck hanging onto the rails for dear life - the ship was rolling quite heavily as it reached open water you see.
"OUCH!!" he shouted loudly as he bumped into a sharp bit of something balancing on top of the rail. He rubbed his arm and went on his way, half wondering what that enormous splash was as he left the deck.
"Oh alright then, AHOY THERE!!!!" he shouted feeling ever so slightly silly.
There was no reply.
He climbed up into the bridge. The wheel was spinning madly as there was no-one there to hold it steady and the ship rolled even more alarmingly.
The Storyteller thought for a minute.
"Hmm, something's not quite right here," he muttered to himself as he grabbed the wheel tightly.
Once he had steadied himself, having been spun round at least seven times by the wheel, which seemed to have a life of its own, he did his best to point it straight at the horizon and managed to wedge the Captain's telescope in the spokes to keep it still.
The Storyteller made his way back down the gangway, looking in all the cabins but could find no trace of the Captain or the crew.
The Bluebottle, meanwhile, forged its way ahead through the ever-mounting seas, bound for a land seen by none safe the pirates (and Marylou of course).
The Storyteller, would, quite honestly, have preferred to stop the ship, turn round and head smartly for home. Only one problem - he didn't know how. He settled himself at the wheel and hoped the course had been properly set in the first place.
He dozed fitfully through the night as the ship tossed and heaved through the waves. Every so often he thought he could hear something......voices.....crying in the whistling wind. He would stiffly stand and wander back through the hull.....but nothing. He would shake his head and make his way back to the wheel.
As the day began to break, the Storyteller could see land ahead. Not much land I have to say, more like a hump sticking out of the ocean. The weather had cleared and the sun began to rise. He unlocked the wheel and, very carefully, steered The Bluebottle as close to the tiny beach at the bottom of the hump as he could. After a bit of searching he found the anchor and threw it haphazardly over the side.
What was that? A cry? A scream? He peered over the side but could see nothing.
The Storyteller moved to the bow of the ship and, hand over his eyes to blot out the sun, squinted fiercely to see if he could see signs of life.
Hooray!!! He could!!! There she was - Marylou jumping up and down in the sand waving furiously and shouting loudly.
"Hmm, doesn't seem to be much wrong with her," he muttered to himself but he couldn't quite hear what she was shouting.
He didn't fancy getting wet so looked around for the small rowing boat which should have been attached to the starboard rail. Nowhere to be seen!
He hummed and aahed a little to himself then realised that his was not the only voice he could hear.
"Blooming idiot, call yourself a blooming Storyteller?" came wafting up from the seas below.
"This has done nothing at all for my blooming cold!"
"I have never been so blooming wet in my life.......whose blooming idea was it to have him on board anyway?"
A grumble of "not me's it was him's" and "oh no it wasn't it was someone elses" "wasn't it his granny?s" could be heard above the lapping of the waves and the Storyteller crept silently to the ships rail and looked over.
There, bobbing gently in the water was the little rowing boat he couldn't find earlier. There, in the little rowing boat, was the entire Ship's Crew headed by Captain Redwhiskers (or perhaps he should have changed his name to Captain Bluewhiskers after the night he had had!)
"Oops!" cried the Storyteller. "Um, hang on a minute....."
He threw the rope ladder over the side and one by one the crew slipped up onto the deck.
The Storyteller took one look at their faces, ran swiftly over to the other side of the ship and dived overboard. He must have beaten the 100m butterfly stroke record in his attempt to get to the beach and Marylou, where he hid behind her ample figure, shaking and shivering like some monstrous jellyfish.
Eventually, when the crew arrived onto the beach and had finished shouting and gor-blimey-ing at the Storyteller they told their tale.
Once the Storyteller was safely inserted into his cabin, the Captain (who had heard rumours about the Storyteller's liking for a drop of something a little stronger than a nice glass of sherry) suggested to the Crew that they sneak off into the little rowing boat (by now hauled up and attached to the rail) for their nightly "yo ho ho and a bottle of rum" kind of thing.
All of a sudden there had been a bang and a shout and before they could say "Long John Silver" the boat had been hurled into the sea. The rope had, however, held tight and they had spent the night clinging to the sides as the little boat whipped through the water in the wake of The Bluebottle like some manic water-skier spinning out of control. They had shouted and screamed....but nothing.
When The Bluebottle had finally stopped by the hump in the ocean they had felt the nightmare was over. Unfortunately for them it wasn't, the anchor came flying over the side, knocked the boat upside down and they had had an awful job getting it the right way up again and climbing back in.
So there it was...........................
...............Oh, sorry, did you want to know about Marylou? Turned out the bottle the message had travelled in to the Storyteller's granny's aunty's cousin (or whoever) had sprung a leak, the ink had run and instead of "All's well, have had a son named Bill", it read "Hell's bells, have you some pills?" or so the Storyteller's granny's aunty's cousin insisted!
Hey ho!