The Butterfly Lion. Michael Morpurgo

      

       Copyright

      HarperCollins Children’s Books a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      Text copyright © Michael Morpurgo 1996. Illustrations copyright © Christian Birmingham 1996

      Cover photographs © Martin Harvey; Gallo Images/CORBIS (Lion Cub); Royalty-Free/CORBIS (Savanna)

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      Source ISBN: 9780007317356

       Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2011 ISBN: 9780007380626

       Version: 2019-01-04

       For Virginia McKenna

      Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

Copyright

       Dedication

Preface

Chilblains and Semolina Pudding

Strange Meeting

Timbavati

       Bertie and the Lion

       Running Free

       The Frenchman

       Strawbridge

       And All’s Well

       A Lot of Old Codswallop

       The White Prince

       A Miracle, A Miracle!

       The Butterfly Lion

       And the Lion Shall Lie Down with the Lamb

       Adonis Blues

       Keep Reading

       About the Author

       Also by Michael Morpurgo

       About the Publisher

       Preface

      The Butterfly Lion grew from several magical roots: the memories of a small boy who tried to run away from school a long time ago; a book about a pride of white lions discovered by Chris McBride; a chance meeting in a lift with Virginia McKenna, actress and champion of lions and all creatures born free; a true story of a soldier of the First World War who rescued some circus animals in France from certain death; and the sighting from a train of a white horse carved out on a chalky hillside near Westbury in Wiltshire.

      To Chris McBride, to Virginia McKenna and to Gina Pollinger – many, many thanks. And to you the reader – enjoy it!

      MICHAEL MORPURGO

       February 1996

       Chilblains and Semolina Pudding

      Butterflies live only short lives. They flower and flutter for just a few glorious weeks, and then they die. To see them, you have to be in the right place at the right time. And that’s how it was when I saw the butterfly lion – I happened to be in just the right place, at just the right time. I didn’t dream him. I didn’t dream any of it. I saw him, blue and shimmering in the sun, one afternoon in June when I was young. A long time ago. But I don’t forget. I mustn’t forget. I promised them I wouldn’t.

      I was ten, and away at boarding school in deepest Wiltshire. I was far from home and I didn’t want to be. It was a diet of Latin and stew and rugby and detentions and cross-country runs and chilblains and marks and squeaky beds and semolina pudding. And then there was Basher Beaumont who terrorised and tormented me, so that I lived every waking moment of my life in dread of him. I had often thought of running away, but only once ever plucked up the courage to do it.

      I was homesick after a letter from my mother. Basher Beaumont had cornered me in the bootroom and smeared black shoe-polish in my hair. I had done badly in a spelling test, and Mr Carter had stood me in the corner with a book on my head all through the lesson – his favourite torture. I was more miserable than I had ever been before. I picked at the plaster in the wall, and determined there and then that I would run away.

      I took off the next Sunday afternoon. With any luck I wouldn’t be missed till supper, and by that time I’d be home, home and free. I climbed the fence at the bottom of the school park, behind the trees where I couldn’t be seen. Then I ran for it. I ran as if bloodhounds were after me, not stopping till I was through Innocents Breach and out onto the road beyond. I had my escape all planned. I would walk to the station – it was only five