The Loaf Tin Boat
Wren named everything she made. Her mud pie was called Gordon. Her paper hat was called Sir. She told them both they were doing very well.
So when Dad gave her his old loaf tin for the Evening Boat Race, she named it straight away.
“You are Loaf,” said Wren. She patted its dented side. “You are going to be a boat.”
Dad found one of his old socks. It was blue, with a yellow toe. He pulled it over the end of a stick for a sail. Wren pushed the stick into a potato and put the potato in the corner of the tin. Then Loaf was ready.
Every summer, on the last warm evening, the children put their boats in the river at the top of the meadow. Then everybody walked along the bank behind them, down to the old mill. The first boat to touch the mill wall was the winner. The winner got to ring the mill bell.
Wren wanted to ring that bell more than anything.
Down at the mill, Old Tom had strung the finish line across the river, the way he did every year. It was his washing line. It had his shirts on it, and his tea towels, and right over the middle of the river, a pair of long red underpants.
Everybody giggled about the underpants. Old Tom did not giggle. Old Tom took the race very seriously.
The other boats were very grand. There was a boat with a tea-towel sail. There was a boat with a sail as big as a pillowcase. There was a tall white boat with three sails and a flag on top.
Loaf was short and square and heavy.
“It’s a good boat,” said Dad. He did not say it was a fast one.
“Go!” said somebody’s grandma.
Wren put Loaf on the water. Plop.
“Slow and steady, little loaf,” she said.
The tall boats slipped away down the river. Their sails got small, and smaller, and then they were gone round the bend. Loaf turned in a slow circle, had a think, and began to drift.
Wren walked along the bank beside it. Dad walked beside Wren. He did not mind going slowly. He was very good at slowly.
The sky turned from yellow to pink. Dad lit the lamp.
Then Loaf bumped into the reeds and stopped.
Wren lay down on her tummy on the bank. She puffed out her cheeks and blew. Whoooo. The sock filled up like a little blue balloon. Loaf wobbled, and wiggled, and came out of the reeds.
“Slow and steady, little loaf,” said Wren.
Round the bend, the water made a little whirl. Loaf floated into it and went round and round. So Wren went round and round on the bank, to keep it company.
“You’ll make yourself dizzy,” said Dad.
“Loaf doesn’t like being dizzy by itself,” said Wren.
Loaf came out of the whirl backwards. It went backwards for a bit. Then it went sideways. Then, at last, it went the right way.
“Slow and steady, little loaf,” said Wren. Then she sat down for a moment, because the meadow was still going round.
A puff of wind came along the river. It tipped the stick right out of the potato and into the water. Plip.
Dad got down on his knees and reached out his long arm. He caught the sock by its yellow toe, and it came off in his hand. The stick floated away on its own.
Dad squeezed the sock out. Drip, drip, drip. Wren held it and looked at Loaf. Now Loaf was just a loaf tin with a potato in it.
“Loaf hasn’t got a sail,” she said.
“Loaf is still floating,” said Dad.
“Slow and steady, little loaf,” said Wren. But she said it very quietly.
By the time they came to the mill, the sky was blue and the first star was out. Everybody was standing on the bank, laughing.
Every tall boat was stuck on Old Tom’s underpants.
The tea-towel boat had its mast caught in one leg. The pillowcase boat had its mast caught in the other leg. The tall white boat had its flag tangled right in the middle. They bobbed there in a row, going nowhere at all.
Old Tom stood on the mill steps in his best hat. He looked at his underpants for a long time.
“Well,” said Old Tom. “That’s never happened before.”
Then along came Loaf, slow and square and heavy, with no sail and no stick. It slid under the shirts. It slid under the tea towels. It slid right under the long red underpants. And it bumped into the mill wall. Bonk.
Wren put both hands over her mouth.
Old Tom took off his best hat. “Loaf wins,” he said.
Wren knelt down by the water. “Losing your sail was the best thing you ever did, Loaf,” she said.
Old Tom showed her the bell rope. It hung by the mill door, long and thick. Wren took hold of it. Then she looked round at all the other children.
“It’s a very big rope,” said Wren. “Everybody can hold it.”
So everybody did. The children held on, and the grandmas held on, and Dad held on, and Old Tom held on at the very end. Then they all pulled at once.
Dong, went the mill bell, low and slow, all the way up the river to the meadow.
Old Tom fetched a long pole and unhooked every boat from his underpants. Then he took the underpants in, because they were very wet.
Dad lifted Wren up onto his shoulders. He carried the lamp in one hand. He carried Loaf under his arm, with the potato still in it.
They walked home along the river, slowly. Dad did not mind. The lamp swung, the water was quiet, and the moon came up over the meadow.
“I’m glad I kept that old tin,” said Dad.
“So is Loaf,” said Wren. Her voice was very sleepy. “Well done, little loaf.”
“Slow and steady,” said Dad.
Wren did not answer. She was asleep before the garden gate, with Dad’s blue sock held tight in her hand.