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 yes he has,’ said Sid, ‘and there’s two more on the way.’

Back in the classroom, as Sid told his friends, he was triumphant. Albert had swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

At home, Albert tried to tell his mother about Mr Manners. ‘Honest, Mum, he’s got six wives,’ he said with his mouth full of toast.

‘What’s that dear?’

‘Mr Manners, Mum. He’s got twenty-two children as well,’ said Albert, ‘like Henry the Eighth. And he was away from school today.’

‘Well, I hope it gets better,’ said his mother. And that was that.

CHAPTER FOUR

CONKERS WERE OVER AND IT WAS THE marble season in mid-November. Now Mr Manners hated marbles.

‘Treacherous things, marbles,’ he said in Assembly one morning. ‘Slip on one and you can break a leg, just like that. In the playground, yes, play with them all you wish, but inside my school there will be no marbles. If I see, or so much as smell a marble inside my school, it will be confiscated. And you know what that means.’

‘What does that mean, Sid?’ Albert asked after Assembly.

‘What does what mean?’

‘Con . . . confiscated. What does it mean?’

Sid smiled inside himself. ‘Crushed,’ he said. ‘Crushed, that’s what it means.’

‘Crushed?’

‘Same every year,’ said Sid, and he turned to his friends. ‘Isn’t that right, lads?’ And they all nodded and turned away to hide their smiles.

Sid went on in a hushed voice. ‘It’s like this, Bert. If your marbles are confiscated by old Manners, that means he takes them away and puts them through his machine – a marble crusher.’

‘A marble crusher?’

‘A marble crusher. He keeps it in his room under his desk. I’ve seen it. We’ve all seen it. And that’s where they all go.’

CHAPTER FIVE

BACK AT HOME ALBERT HAD HIS OWN collection of marbles, but they were no ordinary marbles. They were silver ball-bearings. He had seventy-five of them now, pea size to conker size. They were all lined up on the mantelpiece above his bed. Everyone at school had glass marbles but no one else had silver ball-bearings. Albert was very proud of them.

Over half-term Albert polished them till they shone, and the day school began again he took six of the big ones with him into school. They were cold and heavy in his pocket. Andwhat a sensation they created!

Albert was very good at marbles, and he knew he was particularly good with his silver ones. Over rough ground they kept to a truer line than the glass ones that often bounced off course. So by lunchtime he had won ten marbles. One of them was a blood red, a lovely deep red marble, highly prized because there was a white mist gliding around inside it. Of course everyone wanted to play Albert to try and win one of his silver marbles, but Albert chose the rough ground and he outplayed them all.

It was in reading time, after lunch, that Sid Creedy challenged him to play marbles, but inside the classroom. Albert didn’t really want to. He preferred the long distances and the potholes of the playground. But he did not want to upset his friend and so he agreed. In the excitement of the game he quite forgot Mr Manners’ rule about playing marbles inside the school.

Even on the smooth floor in amongst the chair legs Albert went on winning. He was crouching under the teacher’s table, taking careful aim, when Mr Manners came in behind him silently.

‘Albert,’ he said. ‘Albert, are you playing marbles?’

‘Oh . . . yes sir,’ and Albert remembered at once – he remembered the punishment too and he began to twiddle his hair.

‘They will all have to go, all of them mind,’ said Mr Manners. ‘Empty your pockets, lad,’ and he held out his big chalky hand. ‘I’m surprised at you, Albert, and disappointed – very disappointed.’

Albert took them out of his pocket one by one and dropped them into Mr Manners’ hand. His winnings went first – the blood red too – and then last of all his six great heavy silver ball-bearings. It was as if his blood was being taken from him. The fist closed before his eyes and his marbles were gone.

‘A pity, Albert,’ Mr Manners said, shaking his head. ‘A terrible pity. Lovely marbles too. But you were warned. And we cannot have people breaking school rules can we now?’

‘No sir,’ said Albert, wondering how long it would be before his marbles went through the crusher, how much longer they had to live.

‘Hard luck,’ said Sid, when Mr Manners hadgone out. ‘You can only just hear the machine, Bert,’ he went on. ‘It’s all modern and silent.’

‘You mean the marble crusher?’ said Albert, blinking back his tears.

Sid nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. They’re gonners, Bert. Ten minutes and they’ll be so much dust. It’s Japanese, very efficient.’

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