Michael Morpurgo - Conker

CONKER

MICHAEL MORPURGO

Illustrated by

Petra Brown

EGMONT

We bring stories to life

This edition first published in Great Britain 2011

by Egmont UK Ltd

239 Kensington High Street, London W8 6SA

Text copyright © Michael Morpurgo 1987

Illustrations copyright © Petra Brown 2011

The author and illustrator have asserted their moral rights.

ISBN 978 1 4052 5639 1

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

Printed in Singapore.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the

prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

eISBN 978 1 7803 1171 5

Contents

Chapter One Chapter One Most dogs have one name, but Pooch had three – one after the other. Pooch was what Grandma called him in the first place . But when Nick was a toddler he couldn’t say Pooch very well and so Pooch soon became Pooh. Then one day Pooh heard the rattle of the milk bottles outside and came bounding out of the house to say hello to the milkman – he liked the milkman. But today it was a different one. Pooh prowled around him sniffing at the bottom of his trousers. The new milkman went as white as his milk. Nick tried to drag Pooh back into the house, but he wouldn’t come.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

R

e

d

B

a

n

a

n

a

s

Chapter One

Most dogs have one name, but Pooch had

three – one after the other. Pooch was what

Grandma called him in the first place . But

when Nick was a toddler he couldn’t say

Pooch very well and so Pooch soon became

Pooh.

Then one day Pooh heard the rattle of the

milk bottles outside and came bounding out

of the house to say hello to the milkman – he

liked the milkman. But today it was a different

one. Pooh prowled around him sniffing at the

bottom of his trousers. The new milkman went

as white as his milk. Nick tried to drag Pooh

back into the house, but he wouldn’t come.

‘’S’like a wolf,’ said the milkman, putting his

hands on his head and backing down the path.

‘You ought to chain it up.’

‘Not a wolf,’ Nick said. ‘He’s an old station.’

‘A what?’ said the milkman.

‘An old station,’ Nick said. ‘Pooh is an old

station.’ At that moment Grandma came to

the door.

‘Nick gets his words muddled sometimes,’

she said. ‘He’s only little. I think he means an

Alsatian, don’t you, dear? Old Station! Old

Station! You are a funny boy, Nick.’ And she

laughed so much that she nearly

cried. So from that day

Pooh was called

Old Station.

There were

always just the

three of them in

the house. Nick

had lived with

Grandma for as

long as he could

remember.

She looked after Nick, and Old Station looked

after them both.

Everywhere they went Old Station went with

them. ‘Don’t know what we’d do without him,’

Grandma would say.

All his life Old Station had been like a big

brother to Nick. Nick was nine years old now.

He had watched Old Station grow old as he

grew up. The old dog moved slowly these

days, and when he got up in the morning to

go outside you could see it was a real effort.

He would spend most of the day asleep in his

basket, dreaming his dreams.

Nick watched him that morning as he ate his

cornflakes before he went off to school. It was

the last day before half-term. Old Station was

growling in his sleep as he often did and his

whiskers were twitching.

‘He’s chasing cats in his dreams,’ said Grandma.

‘Hurry up, Nick, else you’ll be late.’ She gave him

his satchel and packed lunch, and Nick called out

‘Goodbye’ to Old Station and ran off down

the road.

It was a windy

autumn morning

with the leaves

falling all around

him. Before he got

to school he caught

twenty-six of them

in mid-air and that

was more than he’d

ever caught before. By

the end of the day the leaves

were piled as high

as his ankles in

the gutters, and

Nick scuffled

through

them on

the way

back home,

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