Pirates!

I'm including this first picture to save you the trouble of leaving angry comments. Ever since the post about the Firemen's Parade, this blog has deteriorated into nothing more than a forum for eye candy! You people are shameless.

You're welcome.

You've seen my posts about the Urbanna Oyster Festival, but what you don't know is that I had an opportunity to further my education in between parades and bivalve consumption. Yes, I attended Pirate School. Well, I was actually too old to attend, but I watched the children participate, and I was captivated. Oh, to be seven again!

The fine folks from Blackbeard's Crew held Pirate Classes in the Children's Activity Tent. I was there to see the following classes being taught: "Talk Like a Pirate", "Fight Like a Pirate" and "Sing Like a Pirate"!!!! Argghhhhh!

These folks are dedicated to historical accuracy, and laughter! I, um, I mean, the kids hung on every word.

Although they are based in Hampton, VA, they travel far and wide to plunder and pillage! Scalawag School makes learning FUN!

The Drivelswiggers, Picaroons and Powder Monkeys were gracious enough to pose for a quick photo - even after a long day of singing, rope tying and sabre-wielding. I think they were ready to head back to the ship to drink some bumboo. They earned it!!

I leave you with...

The Pirate Song

To the mast nail our flag it is dark as the grave,

Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave;

Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared;

Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimetar bared:

Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,

For the last of my duties, the powder-room key.
It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear;

If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.

Unshared have we left our last victory's prey;

It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey:

There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck,

And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck.

There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose

Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose.

I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine

'Tis to drink to our victory - one cup of red wine.

Some fight, 'tis for riches - some fight, 'tis for fame:

The first I despise, and the last is a name.

I fight, 'tis for vengeance! I love to see flow,

At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.

I strike for the memory of long-vanished years;

I only shed blood where another shed tears,

I come, as the lightning comes red from above,

O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.


Have a great weekend!