Read Online Hymn From A Village by Nigel Bird - Free Book Online

jaws. It lay there in the grass like an end of raw sausage.
    hearing the commotion, little Jenny Wren,
    came down into the garden and put it back again.
    The maid stayed down like a boxer taking the eight, her mouth hanging open and trying to scream.
    Jenny reacted first. Picked up the tip of the nose and pressed it back where it was supposed to be, connecting it to the blood supply as if everything might be right as rain.
    Ignoring his bit on the side, Charlie followed Ralph as he dragged the girl away.
    Didn’t need to be a clairvoyant to see what her future held.
    Danny saw the look of satisfaction in her face. Wished he’d taken her under his wing. Sent her home and given her a chance, the chance she’d given her friends - twenty three girls sprinting in different directions towards the perimeter hedge, hoping to find their land of milk and honey.

Sea Minor
    M um always speaks in Gaelic when we come up to Skye. She speaks in Gaelic because that’s what Gran likes to use in the house. I can’t join in when they’re talking, but I understand some of the things they say. Mum thinks that I might go to school here soon and they’ll teach me, only I want to stay at my other school with my friends.
    Skye’s an island so you have to go over a bridge to get there. Davy told me it was a troll bridge and that some people didn’t want to pay, but I said I would because you wouldn’t want to make them angry like in Billy Goat’s Gruff.
    It’s always dark when we arrive. When we step out of the car we can see how this place gets its name; all you can see for miles and miles are millions of shining stars. Maybe they put an ‘e’ on the end it’s so stretched out. In London the heavens seems so small. There are always buildings in the way.
    This time the journey had been awful. We packed in more than usual because Mum thought we might stay longer. I got wedged up against suitcases and dresses and stuff. Davy was fine though; he got to sit in the front where Dad usually went because Dad wasn’t coming this time.
    And we didn’t get to play any of our usual games like I-Spy or making words from registration plates.
    Davy said that Dad always had a map in case we got lost. Mum told him that she didn’t need maps; she was a human compass. Then she didn’t say anything for the rest of the journey.
    Lots of things are different here. Some are better and some aren’t. It’s wonderful wandering around in fields and woods, but it’s not so much fun walking to the shops and back, especially the back part. I love swimming in the sea and paddling, but I’m not so keen on taking a bath in the old tin thing we fill with buckets. I love the way Gran gets us quiet for the weather forecast every evening, but I miss the television and my computer.
    It was even more different when Mum was young. There wasn’t a road, the toilet was outside, the washing was done by hand, things like that. Mum said that the only things that hadn’t changed were Gran’s tabard and the weather.
    Whatever time we get up Gran’s always ready with a pan or two frying. We have a big cooked breakfast “to keep the wind out,” Gran says, and we go out and explore. When we get back we wash our hands and by the time we get into to the kitchen there’s a plate of fresh scones on the table and a jug of milk from Nancy the cow, all warm and creamy.
    We explore a bit more and it’s lunch, then dinner, then supper for the weather forecast, and in the evenings we listen to stories. I think some of them are true because they have real people in them and some are made up because they’ve got fairies and giants in them.
    Mum’s the best storyteller though. Perhaps that’s because she reads so much. She was reading when we were down by the sea last week -  ‘A Perfect Day For Banana Fish’. She’s been reading that lots recently; it must be her favourite.
    Thinking about banana fish makes me laugh because I start to think of other fish: orange, grapefruit,