The White Horse of Zennor. Michael Morpurgo

      

       Also by Michael Morpurgo

      Arthur: High King of Britain

      Escape from Shangri-La

      Friend or Foe

      From Hereabout Hill

      The Ghost of Grania O’Malley

      Kensuke’s Kingdom

      King of the Cloud Forests

      Little Foxes

      Long Way Home

      Mr Nobody’s Eyes

      My Friend Walter

      The Nine Lives of Montezuma

      The Sandman and the Turtles

      The Sleeping Sword

      Twist of Gold

      Waiting for Anya

      War Horse

      The War of Jenkins’ Ear

      Why the Whales Came

       For younger readers

      Animal Tales

      Conker

      Mairi’s Mermaid

      The Marble Crusher

      On Angel Wings

      The Best Christmas Present in the World

      

       MICHAEL MORPURGO

      

      First published in Great Britain in 1982

      by Kaye & Ward Ltd

      This edition published 2011

      by Egmont UK Limited

      239 Kensington High Street, London W8 6SA

      Text copyright © 1982 Michael Morpurgo

      Cover photography © Shutterstock

      The moral rights of the author have been asserted

      ISBN 978 1 4052 5675 9

      eBook ISBN 978 1 7803 1062 6

      1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

       www.egmont.co.uk www.michaelmorpurgo.org

      A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

      Typeset by Avon Dataset Ltd, Bidford on Avon, Warwickshire

      Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Group

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

      

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For Ted and Carol

      INTRODUCTION

      ONE OF THE LAST PLACES YOU COME TO before Cornwall disappears into the Atlantic Ocean is the tiny churchtown of Zennor. Since the beginning of time, strange and mysterious things have happened here. There are stories from the past of mermaids and spriggans and knockers and witches. The stories in this book however do not come from the past. They have all happened in my lifetime.

      The ‘Eagle’s Nest’ of the title is the great outcrop of rock that dominates the fields and farmsteads below. From here you can see the coastline all the way from St Ives to Pendeen Lighthouse. You can see the churchtown of Zennor itself below the high moor, and you can feel that here anything is possible, perhaps even probable.

      Before you begin ‘The Giant’s Necklace’ I would ask you to read the stories in the order in which you find them. You will understand why when you have finished the book.

      M. M. Zennor 1982

      CONTENTS

       The Giant’s Necklace

       The White Horse of Zennor

       ‘Gone to Sea’

       Milk for the Cat

       Mad Miss Marney

      THE GIANT’S NECKLACE

      So, a mining story to start with. For many years I used to go every summer to Zennor. I read Cornish legends, researched the often tragic history of tin mining in Penrith, wandered the wild moors above Zennor Churchtown. I wrote a book of five short stories called The White Horse of Zennor. This is the first.

      The necklace stretched from one end of the kitchen table to the other, around the sugar bowl at the far end and back again, stopping only a few inches short of the toaster. The discovery on the beach of a length of abandoned fishing line draped with seaweed had first suggested the idea to Cherry; and every day of the holiday since then had been spent in one single-minded pursuit, the creation of a necklace of glistening pink cowrie shells. She had sworn to herself and to everyone else that the necklace would not be complete until it reached the toaster; and when Cherry vowed she would do something, she invariably did it.

      Cherry was the youngest in a family of older brothers, four of them, who had teased her relentlessly since the day she was born, eleven years before. She referred to them as ‘the four mistakes’, for it was a family joke that each son had been an attempt to produce a daughter. To their huge delight Cherry reacted passionately to any slight or insult whether intended or not. Their particular targets were her size, which was diminutive compared with theirs, and her dark flashing eyes that could wither with one scornful look, her ‘zapping’ look, they called it. Although the teasing was interminable it was rarely hurtful, nor was it intended to be, for her brothers adored her; and she knew it.

      Cherry was poring over her necklace, still in her dressing gown. Breakfast had just been cleared away and she was alone with her mother. She fingered the shells lightly, turning them gently until the entire necklace lay flat with the rounded pink of the shells all uppermost. Then she bent down and breathed on each of