A Prose Poem

By Paul Baldry

It was never a tin bath.

Not to us.

Once we dragged it to the edge of Brickyard Pond and pushed it into the water, that battered old tub became the finest pirate ship ever to sail the seven seas.

I was Captain Paul, eldest of three brothers and therefore, by ancient pirate law, unquestionably in command.

Derek was my first mate, full of daring ideas that usually sounded better before we tried them.

Nigel, the youngest, became lookout, standing proudly at the bow and searching the horizon for enemy ships, sea monsters and anything else his imagination could find.

Then there were David and Mark, our fellow pirates, armed like the rest of us with sticks that became swords the moment we picked them up.

Five Nottingham lads.

One tin bath.

And an ocean without end.

We sailed for distant islands that grown-ups insisted were only muddy banks. We fought terrible storms created by nothing more than wind across the pond. Reeds became jungles, stones became mountains, and every dark patch beneath the water surely concealed something waiting to drag careless pirates into the depths.

There was treasure too.

There was always treasure.

Somewhere beyond the reeds lay a secret island where gold had been buried centuries before.

We knew because we’d decided it had.

That was proof enough.

So HMS Tin Bath sailed onwards.

“Enemy ahead!”

Nigel pointed towards nothing in particular.

“Swords!”

Five sticks were raised.

The battle was magnificent.

Cannons thundered that nobody else could hear. Enemy ships sank that nobody else could see. We fought with the courage possessed only by boys who knew they would be home in time for tea.

Eventually we reached the island.

We dug through mud with our hands, overturned stones and searched beneath bushes.

Every rusty tin was a treasure chest.

Every coloured stone a jewel.

Every old bottle contained a secret message from some long-dead pirate captain.

We never found gold.

We didn’t need to.

Our treasure was already there.

It was Derek laughing when the tin bath nearly tipped over.

Nigel shouting warnings from the bow.

David and Mark charging through the reeds with wooden swords raised above their heads.

It was muddy knees, wet shoes, scraped hands and the absolute certainty that Brickyard Pond stretched all the way to the Caribbean.

Eventually evening called us home.

The mighty ocean became a pond again.

The mysterious island returned to being a muddy patch of ground.

Our swords became sticks.

And HMS Tin Bath became an old tin bath once more.

But only until tomorrow.

Years have carried those pirates far from Brickyard Pond now.

The captain grew older.

His crew went their separate ways.

And the great ship disappeared somewhere into childhood.

Yet sometimes, when memory catches the right wind, I can hear them again.

Five boys laughing across the water.

Nigel calling from the bow.

Derek plotting our next adventure.

David and Mark readying their swords.

And a young Captain Paul believing there was no horizon beyond his reach.

Perhaps we did find the treasure after all.

We simply didn’t recognise it at the time.

It wasn’t buried beneath the island.

It was childhood itself.

And for a little while on Brickyard Pond, we were the richest pirates in the world.

As a boy growing up in Nottingham, Brickyard Pond became an ocean and an old tin bath became HMS Tin Bath. With my brothers Derek and Nigel, and our friends David and Mark, we sailed in search of treasure, fought imaginary battles and explored distant shores. Looking back, I realise the treasure was never gold or jewels. It was those carefree days of muddy knees, wooden swords, laughter and imagination—the priceless adventures of five young pirates simply enjoying childhood.

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