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Peter Maughan
Goodreads Author
Website
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Genre
Influences
Laurie Lee, H.E. Bates, the prose of Dylan Thomas
Member Since
November 2012
More books by Peter Maughan…
“It’s age. It makes misers of us,” he said dolefully. “Counting out our lives in small change from a thinning purse.”
― The Cuckoos of Batch Magna
― The Cuckoos of Batch Magna
“Love is our story, it holds within it all the dramas of the human heart, told over and over.”
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“You’ll be seeing pink elephants, the way you drink.”
“I find life thirsty work, old man,” Phineas said equably. “And besides, what have you got against pink elephants?”
― Sir Humphrey of Batch Hall plus The Famous Cricket Match
“I find life thirsty work, old man,” Phineas said equably. “And besides, what have you got against pink elephants?”
― Sir Humphrey of Batch Hall plus The Famous Cricket Match
“Bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose,” the Commander said equably, tamping his pipe down. “It’s the times, my boy, the times. O tempora o mores. The new order. It goes under different names but always calls itself progress, and we are in its way.”
― The Cuckoos Of Batch Magna
― The Cuckoos Of Batch Magna
“You’ll be seeing pink elephants, the way you drink.”
“I find life thirsty work, old man,” Phineas said equably. “And besides, what have you got against pink elephants?”
― Sir Humphrey of Batch Hall plus The Famous Cricket Match
“I find life thirsty work, old man,” Phineas said equably. “And besides, what have you got against pink elephants?”
― Sir Humphrey of Batch Hall plus The Famous Cricket Match
“And then, as if a challenge, said: ''When I were a lad, father and mother used to tell us that on Christmas Eve, at midnight, the cattle would kneel in their stalls.''
He aimed a sudden forefinger at me. ''Now that were old Christmas Eve, mind. January the fifth. And on Christmas Day, January the sixth, the white thorn, the Holy Thorn of Glastonbury, flowered. The thorn planted by the man who buried Christ. Joseph of Arimathea. Come here to bring the good news. Yes!”
― Under the Apple Boughs:
He aimed a sudden forefinger at me. ''Now that were old Christmas Eve, mind. January the fifth. And on Christmas Day, January the sixth, the white thorn, the Holy Thorn of Glastonbury, flowered. The thorn planted by the man who buried Christ. Joseph of Arimathea. Come here to bring the good news. Yes!”
― Under the Apple Boughs:
“And he was different, this new dad. The other dad, the old dad, well, he admired him. He was a hotshot and go-getter, and a decent guy, so what’s not to admire? But he liked this new dad. To Humphrey he made much more sense. Sure, he’d have probably asked what the hell his son thought he was doing, how the hell was he going to live, and all that, like dads do. But he’d have soon kidded him out of that. His dad, his new dad, would have done just what he was doing. He knew that now. He had learned it just in time.
And now, as he saw it, they were doing it together. Travelling together, both free now.”
― The Cuckoos Of Batch Magna
And now, as he saw it, they were doing it together. Travelling together, both free now.”
― The Cuckoos Of Batch Magna
“They’ll have Donald Duck and Goofy and the gang on the wallpaper ready for the first arrival in the nursery, the boy who would be conker champion, and the signed baseball bat and mitt, and his granddad’s fighter plane suspended from the ceiling. And he’ll coach him in baseball, and Phineas in cricket, and Owain will teach him to fish, and later shoot. Phineas would be one godparent, he’d decided, and Annie and Owain, and Jasmine, and the Commander and Priny, and Miss Wyndham and John Beecher, and Tom Parr, there’ll be plenty to go round, enough new trees over the years.
And they’ll grow up, their brood, like Jasmine’s and the Owens’, and there’ll be all the Hall and the grounds to chase each other round in, and the river to explore, and picnics on it, and trips to its hidden places, and all that English countryside, and the half that was in Wales, to play in.
Humphrey clamped his cigar in his mouth, and scattered sheep feeding by a field gate with a couple more blasts on the horn, singing his way down Batch Valley.”
― The Cuckoos Of Batch Magna
And they’ll grow up, their brood, like Jasmine’s and the Owens’, and there’ll be all the Hall and the grounds to chase each other round in, and the river to explore, and picnics on it, and trips to its hidden places, and all that English countryside, and the half that was in Wales, to play in.
Humphrey clamped his cigar in his mouth, and scattered sheep feeding by a field gate with a couple more blasts on the horn, singing his way down Batch Valley.”
― The Cuckoos Of Batch Magna
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message 1:
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Sophia
Aug 02, 2014 12:58PM
I appreciate the friend invitation, Peter. I'll see you around GR.
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