The Marble Crusher. Michael Morpurgo

      

      EGMONT PRESS: ETHICAL PUBLISHING

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       Also by Michael Morpurgo

      Arthur: High King of Britain

      Escape from Shangri-La

      Friend or Foe

      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

      The White Horse of Zennor

      Why the Whales Came

      The Wreck of Zanzibar

       For Younger Readers

      Conker

      Mairi’s Mermaid

      The Best Christmas Present in the World

First published in Great Britain as three separate volumes: The Marble Crusher published 1992 by William Heinemann Ltd Text copyright © 1992 Michael Morpurgo

      CONTENTS

       THE MARBLE CRUSHER

       COLLY’S BARN

       CONKER

THE MARBLE CRUSHER

      CHAPTER ONE

      ALBERT WAS TEN YEARS OLD. HE WAS A quiet, gentle sort of a boy with a thatch of stiff hair that he twiddled when he was nervous.

      He had moved to town from the countryside. ‘We have to go where the work is,’ his mother had told him, and there was work in the town.

      So Albert came from his little village school to a new school, a school which was noisy and full of strange faces. The other children called him Bert, or Herbert, neither of which was his name. They kept asking him questions and they wouldn’t leave him alone.

      There was somewhere to get away from it all, behind the bike shed in the playground, but never for long. By the end of each day Albert felt like a sponge squeezed dry. He smiled so much that it hurt. He tried to laugh at everyone’s jokes, and he believed everything they told him. He was naturally a trusting child, and now, in the first weeks of his new school, he wanted to please everyone, to make friends.

      They teased Albert of course, and he was easy enough to tease, but Albert just smiled through it all. They called him ‘Twiddler!’ and Albert smiled and went on twiddling his hair. He did not seem to mind.

      It was Sid Creedy who discovered that Albert would believe almost anything he told him. They were playing football in the playground in break when Sid turned to his friends and said, ‘Watch this.’ He dribbled the ball over towards Albert, and his friends followed him.

      ‘My dad,’ said Sid, ‘he played centre-forward for Liverpool. Did for years. Then they asked him to play for England, but he didn’t want to – he didn’t like the colour of the shirt.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      THAT EVENING ALBERT TOLD HIS MOTHER all about Sid Creedy’s father, but his mother wasn’t listening, she was too busy washing up.

      Encouraged by his success, Sid Creedy’s stories became more and more fantastic. ‘You know Mr Cooper, Bert?’

      ‘You mean the PE master?’

      ‘Yes, that’s him.’ Sid spoke in a confidential whisper, his arm around Albert’s shoulder. ‘Well, Bert, no one else knows this, but Mr Cooper isn’t really a teacher at all – he’s an escaped monk.’

      ‘How do you know that, Sid?’ said Albert.

      ‘You look at his head,’ said Sid. ‘It’s all bald in the middle isn’t it? You know, like Friar Tuck. Anyway I found his brown cloak in the boot of his car. He always wears sandals, and he never swears. And haven’t you noticed he sings louder than anyone else in Assembly?’

      ‘But why did he escape?’ said Albert.

      Sid shrugged his shoulders. ‘Didn’t like the food,’ he said.

      ‘And he knows you know?’

      ‘Course he does, but I told him I’d keep it quiet. You’re the only one I’ve ever told, Bert.’

      Albert went home and told his mother, but his mother was busy making his tea.

      ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘that Mr Cooper at school, he’s an escaped monk.’

      ‘Yes dear,’ she said. ‘Now get those wet shoes off before you catch your death.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      BACK AT SCHOOL SID CREEDY TOLD ALBERT more and more of his secrets. Every teacher at school it seemed had a deep, dark secret – even the Headmaster, Mr Manners.

      ‘He’s got six wives,’ said Sid one day, ‘like Henry the Eighth.’

      ‘He hasn’t!’ said Albert.

      ‘Oh yes he has,’ said Sid. ‘And that Mrs Manners that teaches the Infants, she’s just one out of the six. And he’s got twenty-two children.’

      ‘He hasn’t!’ said Albert.

      ‘Oh