Paul McCartney's Coat

by Michael White

  Noticing this the pirate put his arms around the shoulders of both men.

  “These two” he said, “Are just what we are looking for.”

  William thought both of the men started to look just a little bit more scared if that was possible. He got the feeling that they were going to run away (he would have done) but neither of the men looked like the running kind, really.

  “This is John” said the pirate, tapping the man with the racquet on the shoulder, “and this is Mark.”

  They both nodded at William.

  “William, tell these fine two want to be pirates your idea.”

  William paused to think about it for a while. He wanted to get it right, because for some reason that he couldn't quite figure out, he thought that this was really important. Well, important if you wanted to be a pirate, of course. He remembered last year at school everyone in his class had to stand up and talk for a minute about a subject they liked. He had talked about pirates, of course, but he remembered that when he did it he had to stand up and think really hard and carefully about what it was he was going to say. He thought about this and pretended he was back at school doing his talk again.

  “I want to be a pirate when I grow up” he said, and he was surprised to find that once he got going he didn’t find it really hard at all. “But there probably isn’t enough treasure left for lots of pirates if there were pirates about all the time. So what I think would be a good idea would be once a year everyone could be a pirate for just one day.”

  “Everyone?” said the man with the flowery shirt. William couldn't be really sure but he thought he was Mark. He had trouble remembering.

  “International.” said the pirate with a flourish. “The whole world. Everyone a pirate. All at the same time.” and he flashed William that great big grin once again.

  “That’s weird” said the second man - was his name John? “We were thinking of something like that ourselves. Would be a real gas, we thought.”

  William was wondering what gas had to do with pirates, but he didn’t ponder on it too much.

  “But how would we get it going?” asked the other man, “We’re not anybody special.”

  The pirate looked a bit annoyed at this. “Everyone is special.” he said, and his voice sounded a bit cross too.” All you need to do is push your idea a bit.” the pirate stared off into space for a while and everyone waited for him to continue. “Oh, and write a letter to Dave Barry.”

  The two men seemed a little bit unsure about this.

  “The Dave Barry?” said Mark (or was it John) “The syndicated journalist and author of about six thousand books?”

  “Funny man, though” said the other man, twirling his racquet just a little bit. “If anyone could push it he would.”

  “There we are then” said the pirate, putting his arms around the two men once more. “International talk like a pirate day it is.” and he nodded to William, suddenly quite serious. “Well done.” “Right then”, he said, fumbling in his jacket pocket and pulling out what looked to William like a small door key, “Time to be off . Gentlemen?” and at this the two men suddenly looked a whole lot happier.

  “That’s it, then?” said the bigger man of the two.

  “That’s it” said the pirate, and there was that big grin again. William grinned back at him, really excited now. Once a year everyone would be a pirate, and he had invented it! Well... sort of.

  “Pleasure to meet you, William” he said and William shook the pirate’s hand once again.

  “Off we go then” he said, ushering the men away from the gate and towards the alley. “toodle-pip” and he waved to William as they went. William suddenly felt sad that the pirate was going, but also a little bit not sure about quite what had just happened.

  “Will I be a pirate once a day?” called William after the pirate, and to his relief the pirate turned back to face him, stepping towards him once more.

  “William.” “He said. “ Not only will you be a pirate. Oh no, not just you. Everyone. Everyone in the world. The postman, the bus drivers, the soldiers, the nurses, the spacemen. Everyone. And it’s all down to you.” he flashed that great big broad grin again and William couldn't help but giggle back at him in return. “Not only that but people will have parties where they are all pirates. They will raise money for charities. Make ill people better. Discover things. Teach kids who were struggling to learn how to read to read books about treasure and sailing the seven seas. All because of pirates. All because of you.” He suddenly looked really serious. “Just one thing though.”

  “What is that?” enquired William slowly.

  The pirate looked even more serious if that was possible. “You must never tell people what happened here today. Not ever. Do you understand?“

  William nodded solemnly, but he was not sure he understood. “Why not?” he said.

  “Pirate’s code” he said and William understood - it was a from one pirate to another kind of thing.

  “I promise” he said, and the pirate nodded once more.

  He turned to go again but William had one last question.

  “Will there be treasure?” he asked, and the man smiled a gentle smile. It was a funny smile, thought William, both happy but very, very sad all at the same time. It made his belly feel wobbly just for a little bit.

  The pirate leaned towards him. “There will indeed be treasure, William” he said, “There is always treasure. You have just got to know where to find it.” and he nodded just the once and then he was gone, around the corner and into the alley, ushering the two men with him as he went. From the alley his deep booming voice could be heard.

  “Come along gentlemen, all aboard - have you back home in a jiffy - you’ve got a letter to write.”

  William spent the rest of the day in a daze but it was sausage and mash for tea so that wasn’t too bad. As he snuggled down in bed that night he had a great big feeling that he had started something really really good and special too. He just couldn't stop wondering about the pirate though. Because William knew he had a bit of a secret - and he couldn't get it right in his head either.

  When the pirate had disappeared into the alley William had run across to the high fence that was at the edge of his back garden. Half way down there was a small knot in the wood. If he stood on the bottom strut of the fence he could just reach it and see through. He ran to it and looked through the hole. What he saw confused him a bit. The two funny men seemed to be vanishing in to a hole in the wall. Or at least he thought that they were. He just could not quite see. He did know however, that there was no hole in the wall! Then the pirate seemed to move towards the wall as if to vanish too. However, as he did this he turned to face the hole that William was looking through a gave a great big broad grin and then winked. William was so shocked he fell off the fence backwards. He didn’t hurt himself though, and when he managed to climb back the alley was empty - just the wind scattering rubbish into the street. No hole in the wall either.

  As he started to drift off to sleep he began to doubt what he had seen - it seemed so - what had the man who talked like a cowboy said - yes, weird - that it was it.. And definitely not like a pirate ship. As he began to drift off to sleep he remembered when the pirate had winked at him. From his vantage point behind the fence he could just see inside the hole in the wall behind him. It was very silly. Really very, very silly. William pondered it - and not for the last time - thought that if a wall was bigger on the inside, then how on Earth would you know when to stop building it?

  Author’s Note

  First started in 1995 as a bit of a joke between two Americans, International Talk Like A Pirate Day has continued to expand year on year. The phenomena is now truly international, and continues to raise vast amounts of money for charity every year. It is used to promote literacy in the classroom and is popular in all areas of the globe, covering almost all languages and cultures. William was very surprised to find that Blackie never barked at a passer-by ever gain. Mark and Jo
hn continued to promote International Talk Like A Pirate Day for the rest of their lives, and William continued to be amazed every year at his invention. He did not, however, ever see the pirate again.

  Squire Bidecombe’s Tree

  I.

  ~ In the village of Tharnet, just before dawn a man sets out on a task, there is a memory of an acorn falling and rain is thought to be on the way. ~

  In the year of Our Lord One Thousand Six Hundred and fourty six in the village of Tharnet, just before dawn, Henry Bracebridge was a man in a hurry. It was a cold foggy morning and as he made his way down the lane, the covered lantern he held out before him was his only protection against the dark. A sharp wind made his progress slow, his cloak blowing around him. Across the meadows the dull sound of the shepherd’s bells rang dully as if muffled by the pre-morning mist.

  In his head Henry was considering the tasks set before him by the squire. All in all it should be a relatively simple chore and accordingly he had engaged a number of villagers that he thought he would require to aid him in accomplishing said business. He snorted aloud as he wondered whether Abraham Sprottle would arrive at the church yard before him. “Almost certainly he is still a-bed and here’s I out in the dark with the shepherds coming in from the hills.” He thought to himself as he picked his way over the rough stone strewn path, carefully making his way in the dark. He believed that he may have smelt rain in the air but he continued nonetheless on his way in the darkness. He knew that dawn would break soon, which should coincide with his arrival at his destination.

  It was a week ago that Bartholomew Bidecombe, in his capacity of squire to the village had summoned Henry to the churchyard (of which the squire was the custodian), to discuss a matter that he had considered to be most pressing. It had been a bright but breezy autumn morning when Henry had met the squire at this location. The squire’s horse and cart stood underneath the huge Oak Tree that straddled the church side of the path. Curiously, the squire seemed to be wandering amongst the graves spread about the church, muttering to himself and occasionally stooping to pick something up, and then almost immediately throwing whatever he had found away once more. The squire’s man servant, Oswyn Pelletoot, seemed also to be engaged in a similar task, but did not seem to be throwing away whatever it was that he was picking up, stowing whatever he was collecting in a fold of his smock that he held before him like a small sack. As Henry watched however, Oswyn stumbled and dropped all of whatever he was holding all around him. He loudly uttered a curse and the squire stopped immediately what he was doing, staring at Oswyn.

  “Sorry, Squire” he muttered, which earned him a scowl from his master. Oswyn immediately began collecting his dropped treasure once more, and as Henry got nearer he could now see that the pair of them seemed to be collecting acorns. Henry remembered pausing on the path before he crossed over to the squire, and wondering what by the devil’s name they were doing. His observations had been interrupted however; as the squire suddenly noticed that Henry had arrived. Standing up and straightening his hat he rubbed his hands together as if to shake the dust from them and came to meet Henry.

  “Squire.” nodded Henry and Bidecombe nodded to him in return.

  “Damned acorns, Henry” he sighed, eying Oswyn out of the corner of his in case of any remonstration, and Henry could see that although he was no longer collecting acorns he still remained somewhat in a state of agitation. “Something needs to be done. They are all over the church yard. Graves and all, even though they are on the other side of the church! It is just not right!”

  Henry noticed Oswyn out of the corner of his eye who was still busy collecting acorns into the fold in his smock. “I am sure Oswyn is suffice to the task, squire” Henry remembered replying, and the squire looked confused at this.

  “I consider Oswyn to be most definitely insufficient at all things not related to ale or whoring” he had remarked, leaning closer to Henry as if imparting some form of secret knowledge. “Yet you are correct. Gathering acorns is not beyond him.” He stared across to Oswyn, who was by now positively brimming with acorns and had the look of a man who was not sure where to deposit them. Squire Bidecombe sighed loudly. “And yet...” Henry smiled too.

  “But Henry, I did not bring you here to watch Oswyn Pelletoot over there performing his usual buffoonery. We must address the issue at its source.” His face brightened as he considered his words. “At its root, perhaps” and to Henry’s surprise the squire winked at him. Henry had attempted to look not too lost by the conversation but it must have been to some degree apparent to the squire that Henry was floundering. The squire cleared his throat loudly.

  “The tree, Henry” he pointed, “That is the root of our inconvenience. Once a year the whole church yard is assailed by acorns. Everywhere they are. The tree must go.”

  Henry looked up through the branches of the huge oak tree. The tree had stood on the edge of the churchyard since he was a boy, and it had been even more mountainous to him then than it was now.

  “They are only acorns, squire” Henry had replied, and the squire had suddenly looked on the edge of agitation again.

  Only acorns, you say?” he enquired, rubbing his hands together more vigorously again. “Yet I feel that is an affront to the gentleman of the cloth and God himself, to which I am now party. It is my church, is it not?”

  Henry had nodded in agreement.

  “Therefore it is my tree too.” he waved dismissively at the oak and frowned at it. “And it must go, Henry. It must surely come down.”

  “There were no acorns at all last year” Henry had offered, but the squire had frowned once more, a slight colour now rising to his cheeks.

  “Are we to rely upon such providence?” he had spat, and Henry was fully aware that this was not in any way a question. “I am away to my brothers holding across the county at the start of next week and I shall be away for two nights. “I want that tree felled by my return. See to it Henry.”

  Henry made to query the squire’s plan but he was already making his way back to the cart. Over his shoulder he called, “Make sure it is done true, Henry! Brook no errors in this. I am sure to rely upon you.”

  Henry had stood open mouthed as the squire had knocked all of the acorns out of Oswyn’s smock as he went past him, tutting as he went. “Come along, fool!” he had snarled as he made his way back to the cart. Oswyn had scampered up on to the cart after him and soon the pair were gone down the path, leaving Henry gazing up at the Oak.

  Henry had stood looking up through the branches of the Oak tree into the blue of the bright autumn sky. A light wind caught the branches and as he watched acorns began to fall around him. He had shaken his head sadly at the thought of it, but the squire’s mind seemed to be made up. The tree must go. Slowly he had walked around the base of the tree. He had estimated that it must be some twenty feet or so wide, and perhaps some seventy feet high, with a spread of about fifty feet. “Axes as well as saws” he had thought to himself, and so he had begun to formulate a way to fell the oak.

  Over the course of the next few days he had gathered a crew of sorts, villagers who had the right tools, and enough them not just to fell the tree (though that would be a task in itself) but also to move it once it had been felled. Barnaby Gerville, Tobias Quintin, Cuthbert Pursglove and Solomon Ruggenall he had consulted and all had agreed to give their assistance. Of course in truth they all had little option. Henry was uniformly recognised as being the head of the village tradesmen, and as village blacksmith was a very important man by his own right, which of course was why the squire had called upon him. However, once Henry conveyed that the request came from the squire himself then there was little to do but undertake Henry’s plan, and to fell the tree.

  Henry had worked late for several nights after that, sharpening axes and saws and so on, but now on this early morning at last they were ready. As promised the squire had departed late the previous evening, but not before calling on Henry who was at work in his smithy, to re-iterate
his plan.

  “Make sure it is cleanly done” he had called to Henry as he departed, and then he was gone.

  Henry frowned as he continued on in the dark. He had since then gathered several more men to assist him, and his contingent now stood at about eight men who would do the cutting and the pulling, and several others who were there purely to assist as necessary. He thought however that once the cutting had begun then a larger crowd than that was almost a certainty.

  Late last night he had loaded the sharpened axes, ropes and saws on to his small hand cart and Abraham Sprottle and Oliver Sulyard had driven the cart over to the churchyard where it would be watched over by the pair until just before dawn, at which point the two men would begin unloading the tools. Henry had considered going with the cart but he had reached the conclusion that a brisk walk for the mile or so to the church yard would clear his head for the long day that was ahead.

  As he proceeded down the rough road dawn now began to take a hold and a few minutes later Henry extinguished his lamp as he no longer required it. He took a moment to check the lightening sky as he did so, and wondered if the clouds slowly ambling in over the hills to the west would bring rain. He was pleased however, to note that the air was quite still for an autumn morn, which he felt was a good sign. He continued on his way a little longer. Slowly he approached the small hill, on the other side of which he knew stood the small chapel. Already he could make out the high branches of the oak jutting above the rise in the road. He was nearly there.