Discover the beautiful stories Michael Morpurgo, author of Warhorse and the nation’s favourite storyteller.Billy was a champion soccer star, playing for Chelsea in the 1930s. But that was before war broke out…Billy the Kid is told through the voice of an 80 year old man, who looks back on his life as Chelsea’s champion striker until the outbreak of war in 1939 and on through his subsequent life. Billy joins Chelsea as a football apprentice, rises through the reserves to become a real champion. His passion for football sees him through the war years – even as a prisoner of war he organises a friendly against the Italians – but, having been injured by a mine he cannot play for Chelsea on his return to England. Billy turns to vagrancy and alcohol and for years he wanders up and down the country. He re-settles in London in a derelict house and is befriended by a family who move him to a shed in their garden. He, in turn, helps their son with his football who in his turn becomes a Chelsea player. Billy becomes a Chelsea Pensioner and his 80th birthday is celebrated when Chelsea play at home. A novel for both children and adults which deals with some difficult issues. Michael Morpurgo’s storytelling is superb and this will be a welcome follow up to the previous Morpurgo/Foreman collaboration – Farm Boy.
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Michael Morpurgo. Billy the Kid
CONTENTS
Billy the Kid
If you enjoyed Billy the Kid, check out these other great Michael Morpurgo titles
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR’S NOTES. The Battle of the Somme
Adolf Hitler
The ‘phoney war’
Dunkirk
Tobruk
POW Camps
The Land Army
Resistance Fighters
Italy and the War
The V-2 Rocket
Belsen
The Royal Hospital, Chelsea
The Royal Army Medical Corps
Chelsea Football Club
‘Toad in the hole’
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Отрывок из книги
For Francis and Nan.
For my sons Jack, Ben and Mark
.....
My boots have got a bit muddy. I polished them this morning too. That’s the only trouble with the park. Still, who’s looking?
Little Joe always scuffed his shoes at the toes, and tore his trousers out at the knees. Mucky little chap he was, never wiped his nose or washed his face unless Mum made him. But he was always a chirpy sort, big too and healthy. He grew fast. By the time I was fourteen and he was twelve, he was already as big as me. More like a twin he was. Real good chums we were.