Private Peaceful

Private Peaceful
Авторы книги: id книги: 2894563     Оценка: 0.0     Голосов: 0     Отзывы, комментарии: 0 729,48 руб.     (8,09$) Читать книгу Купить и скачать книгу Купить бумажную книгу Электронная книга Жанр: Правообладатель и/или издательство: HarperCollins Дата добавления в каталог КнигаЛит: ISBN: 9780007477838 Скачать фрагмент в формате   fb2   fb2.zip Возрастное ограничение: 0+ Оглавление Отрывок из книги

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Описание книги

A stunning edition of this modern classic of World War One, featuring an introduction by the author and insightful testimonies from soldiers.Told in the voice of Private Tommo Peaceful, the story follows twenty-four hours at the front, and captures his memories of his family and his village life – by no means as tranquil as it appeared.Full of vivid detail and engrossing atmosphere, leading to a dramatic and moving conclusion, Private Peaceful is both a compelling love story and a deeply moving account of the First World War.Extra material:– Introduction by Michael Morpurgo- Inspiration letter by Michael Morpurgo- Background on the execution of British soldiers in WW1 for cowardice, including personal testimony from soldiers

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Michael Morpurgo. Private Peaceful

Copyright

Dedication

FOREWORD

FIVE PAST TEN

TWENTY TO ELEVEN

NEARLY QUARTER PAST ELEVEN

TEN TO MIDNIGHT

TWENTY-FOUR MINUTES PAST TWELVE

NEARLY FIVE TO ONE

TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES PAST ONE

FOURTEEN MINUTES PAST TWO

A MINUTE PAST THREE

TWENTY-FIVE PAST THREE

NEARLY FOUR O’CLOCK

FIVE TO FIVE

ONE MINUTE TO SIX

DISCOVER MORE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

About the Author

Discover more unforgettable books from the nation’s favourite storyteller

Other titles by Michael Morpurgo include:

About the Publisher

Отрывок из книги

With my thanks to Piet Chielens of In Flanders Field Museum in Ypres

Title Page

.....

“Off you go, you scallywag, you,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”

I hardly needed to be told. There were badger holes and fox holes to peer into, deer prints to follow perhaps, flowers to pick, or butterflies to chase. But that morning I found a mouse, a dead mouse. I buried it under a pile of leaves. I was making a wooden cross for it. Father was chopping away rhythmically nearby, grunting and groaning at every stroke as he always did. It sounded at first as if Father was just groaning a bit louder. That’s what I thought it was. But then, strangely, the sound seemed to be coming not from where he was, but from somewhere high up in the branches.

.....

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