Why Are Pirates Pirates? Because We Arrrrr!

 

I haven’t told you about my secret life as a pirate.  That’s me on the right, impeccably dressed as always.  The person on the left is Captain Kate, my boss.  My AKA name is Dangerous Daisy (and if you’ve tasted my cooking you’ll know why).

Our church has an annual week-long summer holiday club, for 7-11s.  I have managed to avoid it until now but I felt it was time to do my bit when somebody asked me, ‘Isn’t it time to do your bit?’  Spud had shacked up with his PS3 for the duration so I wasn’t needed at home and thus had no excuse to get out of it. 

The club has a different name each year to tie in with the theme.  This year’s theme was pirates and the club was called Landlubbers.  Which is odd now I think about it, because pirates tend to live on the sea, don’t they?  Aaarrrr!

At the meeting to dole out jobs we were asked who was good at drama; being a moron, I said I was: I had visions of directing the children in happy activities, you see.  ‘Great!’ came the reply, ‘You can act in the play every day.’  As compensation I also got to make the mid-morning snack: preparing food – just where my skill lies….

The week is about sharing Jesus with local children; numbers are rising, they like it, and don’t seem to mind us throwing in a bit of religion so long as we have plenty of fun activities for them to do like crafts, singing, games and, this year, den building.  Weirdly, it was the girls who built the dens and the boys who sat and watched.  I guess they’ve lost the use of their thumbs after all those hours in front of Playstations.

Or perhaps they were afraid for their lives: one of the games was called Cannonballs and involved two teams throwing soft balls at each other.  When the whistle blows, the team with the most balls loses, their ship having been sunk by the cannonballs.  Or in Child B’s case, the mouth in the most pain loses.  She was hit in the face with a soft ball thrown so hard (by a boy too weak to build a den) she burst into tears.  Still, at least she wasn’t Child A, frozen in fear when a ball hit the light above him and broke the shade, which crashed to the ground millimetres from where he stood.  They say a little religion is a dangerous thing. 

The children had a blast and I must confess that they weren’t the only ones.  Running around pews chasing villains, pulling sharks from my pants, being bonked on the head by a milk bottle (thrown by the vicar, not the audience; I didn’t realise my acting was that bad), hamming it up and improvising when I forgot my lines (despite having the script in my hand): what a great way to spend a week!  I sent up a little prayer of thanks each day: Dear Lord, thank you for making up with a sense of humour what I lack in acting ability.  Amen.

I can’t wait for next year; I hear they’re looking for actors.