Remote and Forgotten Places - A. Hanson (feel good books .txt) 📗

Of the two of us, who moved the fastest or ran the hardest I can't remember but we made the journey back to the family pic-nic in double time, the two of us sweating, and gasping  for breath caught between abject terror and the excitement of being the main participants in a drama.

“ Mum, Dad”, we both gasped, speaking at once “ Theres pirates, and we’ve seen where they live! They’re over there, we’ve seen them!!!”

Both sets of parents were several Amstels down the road, and greeted this announcement with the good natured patronising expected to keep the boys happy. “ Did you see Long John Silver, was he there as well”, “Was there any treasure?”……“No but Dad, really, theres a big sign with pirates and a fence to keep out the baddies” I cried in frustration. We both stood there not able comprehend  our parents lack of belief in what was obviously, to us, a thoroughly plausable tale.

“Really Dad. Mum, tell him, its true, honest!” And so we pleaded our case with ever more ernest until my ever practical mother had had enough. “Okay now that’s enough. You’ve had your joke, now sit down, the pair of you, and have a drink”

“But its true” I sulked, “ Theres a sign with skull and cross bones and everything.”

        At this my fathers ears picked up. “What do you mean, a sign with a skull and cross bones?” he asked.

“It’s a pirate sign, Dad” I said, happy with the renewed interest, “we both saw it, its over there.” My Father gave my mother a look telling her to keep our guests busy, and he and I walked back over the ridge.

We scrambled down towards the sandy gully, with me chattering excitedly about sailing ships and booty. We had not yet reached the gully floor when my dad grabbed me. From his vantage point he could easily see the sign which was now pointed back towards us where I had twisted it around.

“Get back to your mother” My father said, and at the tone of his voice all my enthusiasm for this new adventure died, “Go on, get back to you mother and stay on the rocks. Don’t put your feet on the sand”.

“Is it the pirates Dad, are they coming?” I asked beginning to get nervous. Scrambeling back up the ridge I could hear my fathers laboured breathing behind me interspersed with the odd ´bloody hell´.

Back over the ridge my father announced the end of the pic-nic to a startled audience. “Whats happened, is everything okay?”

 “Yes, its fine, lets just get back up to the main road and we’ll talk about it there” he replied.

  Fires were doused, drinks hastily drunk, half eaten food discarded, vehicles packed, children stowed and within 15 minutes we were bouncing down the track at a strangly slow and methodical pace considering my fathers hurry to have us all away as fast as possible. We skirted the wadi and climbed back into the open desert as the subca track wound its way towards the tarmaced road. At one point I saw my father glance out of his window towards a rocky out crop where shreds of barbed wire hung on decrepid posts.

“Bloody hell” he muttered to himself “I cant believe I didn’t see it!”.

 We stopped when we reached the black-top the mid-afternoon heat shimmering all around us. “So what was all that about?”, my mother asked indignantly, “for goodness sake, you had us all in a panic!”

 Our guests looked on apprehensivly wondering at this strange behaviour from a man who was supposed to know what he was doing out here.

 “Well”, my mother demanded “ what on earth is going on?”

 “Diane”, my father said, looking visibly shaken, “we were having a pic-nic in the middle of a bloody mine field!!”

Publication Date: 11-13-2014

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
For My Parents.