By the pikes blessing
My wife Blythe had been an avid angler long before she retired. When she finally clocked out after a lifetime of teaching in the primary school, shed spend every spare minute on the banks of the River Avon, rod in hand. I, Nicholas, stayed on for a while longer, working as a coach at the local junior sports centre. My pupils put Newbridge Sports Academy on the map with their victories, so I was a proud if busy fatherfigure. Id love nothing more than to sit beside Blythe for hours, watching the water shimmer, but my schedule was packed with training sessions, meets and competitions. Until the new pension rules finally kicked in, the only time I could break away was on weekends, and Blythe always understood.
One Saturday, during the lockdown, we finally decided to go fishing together. The kids were learning online, and I gathered my gear, tucked Blythe into the car, and helped my two little grandchildren, Stewart and Eve, hop in. Their older brother Sam had already finished his apprenticeship with the fire service and was working nearby. As we pulled away, the neighbours boy, Kirk the twins agemate watched us from his front garden, his eyes wide with disappointment. Hed hoped wed stop by, but we were heading out to the river, fishing rods already strapped to the roof. What a pity, he muttered, stuck at home while everyone else gets out. He had no other family; his mother, Violet, ran the household alone.
I rolled down the window as we passed his house.
Hey Kirk, fancy coming with us? I called.
He practically leapt out of his seat. Just a sec, Ill ask Gran, he shouted, dashing inside.
A moment later, Violet appeared at the door, a warm smile on her face.
Can he join? Youre inviting him, are you? she asked.
Were waiting for him, I replied.
Hurrah! the grandchildren cheered from the back seat.
Kirk bundled up, pulling his hat lower, wrapping a scarf round his neck and slipping on mittens, then squeezed into the rear seat beside the youngsters.
We arrived at our favourite spot, known to the Byfield family for its plump, silver pikes. I set a small fire on the bank so the kids could warm themselves. Blythe perched on a folding stool with her rod, while I kept a respectful distance so we wouldnt spook the fish. We were using live bait tiny minnows and Blythes eyes never left the float, though she kept a sideways glance on the kids to make sure they didnt get up to any mischief.
While the little ones played hideandseek and tag, Blythe felt the line tug, then dip sharply. She eased the rod back, coaxing the catch upwards. In less than half an hour a sleek pike leapt from the water, landing with a splash in the bucket.
The first ones in, she said, satisfied. She slipped a fresh bait onto the hook and cast again.
The children, meanwhile, unpacked a football and marked makeshift goals in the sand, shouting about a match theyd start soon. Blythes line tightened again; this time the pike was larger, fattened with a glint that promised a hearty dinner.
Three pikes already! Stewart exclaimed as we hauled them into the bucket.
Kirk, is that a pike? he whispered, eyes wide.
Indeed, Blythe replied with a grin. The magical kind that grants wishes.
Really? What should we wish for? Eve asked, bursting with excitement.
How about the bucket walks home by itself? Violet chuckled, threading another minnow onto the hook.
Boring! I want something better, Stewart sighed.
Blythe flicked her line once more. Then Ill wish the Princess herself falls in love with you, just like in that old folk tale, she teased.
Can I make a wish? Kirk asked shyly.
Of course, Blythe encouraged, nodding.
He stared at the shimmering fish, whispered something into its gills, and before I could even turn, the pike dove back into the river.
I watched the scene with a mixture of amusement and awe; the children were convinced theyd stumbled onto a real-life fable. Blythe, ever the joker, raised her hands dramatically.
By the pikes blessing, by my own desire, grant whatever my grandchildren commanded! she declared, glancing at Kirk, And you, Kirk, too!
Later, as we packed up, I asked Blythe, Is the fishing going well?
She spread her arms wide, laughing. Just keep doing good, and toss it back in!
On the drive home the kids dozed, exhausted. I cradled Kirk in my arms; hed fallen asleep, his head resting against my chest. I handed him over to Violet, who tucked him in at home.
Granddad, what wish did you make? the boys shouted as they stumbled into the kitchen.
Kirk asked for a granddad, Violet warned gently, Dont tell anyone, or it wont come true.
We boiled a hearty fish stew with the days catch. The grandchildren finally settled down for sleep, but Blythe kept replaying the evenings events in her mind. She muttered, How sad for Kirk, without a grandfather. Hes missing that fatherfigure. I replied thoughtfully, Hes got a lot of love, but a granddad would mean the world to him.
A month later, Christmas lights twinkled over the town, the central oak was dressed in garlands, and snow blanketed the streets. The schools were buzzing with carols and nativity plays. Kirk seemed withdrawn. Violet, checking his temperature, announced that hed come down with a nasty cough and sore throatright in the middle of the festive season.
Seeing his plight, I had an idea. I dialed an old university mate, Basil, who taught PE in the neighbouring town of Hartwell, about a hundred miles away.
Basil, weve got a kid here who needs a grandfather, I explained.
He laughed. You mean a real one? Hes got none, does he? His mother raised him solo after his dad vanished.
Im thinking you could dress up as Father Christmas, pop over once a year, bring a bit of granddad magic. Hes loved the idea of a Santa figure anyway, I suggested.
Basils eyes lit up. Im in. Ill bring a sack of gifts, maybe a pair of skates for the boy. Well make a proper holiday for him.
The plan cheered me up, and I told Violet, who promised to bake her famous mince pies and serve some of her cured smoked fish.
When the New Years Eve approached, my brother Michael, a former professional bobsleigh racer, showed up in his sleek black SUV, pulling a large giftwrapped parcel. Hed come to help out, bringing a fresh burst of excitement for the family.
We arrived at the Byfields front door as dusk fell, the address already programmed into the satnav. Violet opened the door, eyes widening at our unexpected arrival. Wheres my little Kirk? Basil asked in a deep, jolly voice.
A little later, I replied, gesturing to the towering Christmas tree that glittered inside.
Inside, Basil, dressed in a red coat and white beard, hefted a sack over his shoulder, while my sister-inlaw Vera, playing the role of a brighteyed Snow Maiden in a fluffy white coat, smiled shyly. Michael rolled a pair of sleek ice skates from a gift box.
Did we get the right house? Basil called out, halflaughing.
Exactly here! Michael shouted.
We stepped inside, the crackling fire casting a warm glow. I was quickly ushered to the back where Kirk, perched on the sofa, peered out from behind the Christmas tree.
Did you order the granddad? he whispered, eyes shining.
Its me, Basil said, kneeling down, and Ill be here as often as I can.
Kirks face broke into tears. Will you stay for a while? he begged.
Of course, Basil replied, glancing at Vera, who nodded, her cheeks pink.
Just then, a young woman in a white hat and dark coat slipped in, her breath forming little clouds in the cold air. She was Kat, my niece, returning from a teaching placement abroad.
Dad! My granddads here! she exclaimed, hugging Basil tightly.
Veras eyes welled up as she watched the reunion, while my brother Michael stood awkwardly, unsure how to join the festivities.
As we all settled around the table, Basil offered tea and the pies Blythe had baked. The night unfolded with laughter, stories about the magical pike, and heartfelt promises to keep the new granddad tradition alive.
Months later, on New Years Eve, a familiar jeep rolled up to Violets gate. Michael stepped out, gently opening the rear door for Kat, who cradled a tiny bundle of pink blankets. Kirk proudly carried a baby carrier, his eyes bright. The newborn was named Gilly, after Blythe, in honour of the day the three pikes had granted the childrens wishes.
And so, every winter, the Byfields gather under the twinkling lights, remembering how a simple fishing trip turned into a family legend, a pikes blessing, and a grandfathers love that started with a wish on a riverbank.
