Tripping Over. John Hickman

pipe. ‘I forgot to untether the mooring ropes.’

      Next day was Sunday. After a pleasant breakfast in bed of bacon, sausages, eggs and anything else that had once been on a farm Dad decided to take us for our long awaited cruise.

      Motor in full throb, free of moorings, we headed up stream towards the juncture with the main river.

      Mum frowned and gave Dad a steady look. ‘Bill, that bridge looks awfully low. Do you think we’ll get under it?’

      ‘Don’t be silly, Alice, the boat builders passed underneath on Friday. Today’s Sunday. Of course we’ll get under it.’

      ‘But the bridge does appear low in the water, Bill.’

      The Alice Mary hit the bridge—hard. Things fell off shelves, a window broke and shards of glass went everywhere. The engine stalled and Mum screamed loudly. Then she burst into hysterical tears.

      We spent some time wedged sideways against the bridge as the tide continued to run out, while Dad reflected on the phenomena of—tidal.

      As we returned to the mooring you’d have seen happier faces on a school bus going over a cliff.

      That evening over a splendid dinner in the hotel restaurant Dad promised Mum he now understood tidal.

      ‘Oh, well, family, another perfect day on the river,’ Dad said with a deep sigh. His smile was about as warm as yesterday’s porridge.