Hi people I bet nobody is gonna read this so if u do can you show me by commenting and voting and then I will follow you. I am not very good at writing books and this is the first one I have written so. I can't spell and I am not very good with punctuation but hopefully I concentrate and get it right
--------------------------------------------
Old Granny Greengrass had her finger chopped of in the butchers when she was buying half a leg of lamb. she had pointed to the place where she wanted her joint to be cut but then she decided she needed a bigger piece and pointed again. unfortunately, Mr Grummet, the butcher, was already bringing his sharp chopper down. he chopped straight through her finger and it flew like a snapped twig into a pile of sawdust in the corner of the shop. it was hard to tell who was more surprised, Granny Greengrass or the butcher. but she didn't blame him. she said "I could never make up my mind and stick to it, Mr Grummett, that's always been my trouble."
Of course I can't be certain Granny Greengrass said this because she died so long ago, years and years before I was born, before there were motor cars on the streets or electricity in the houses or aeroplanes in the sky, but my grandmother, Emily Greengrass, told me she said it and I believe her, as her children, poll and theo and lily and George, always believed her.
Emily Greengrass was very good at telling stories. most of her best ones were about a town in Norfolk where she was born and lived until she grew up and married James Greengrass and moved into London. there was one famous tale about a poor swineherd whose pigs had died and whose wife and children were starving. he was in despair until one night a monk appeared to him in a dream and told him that if he dug under a certain oak tree he would find a chest of gold buried there. poll and theo had enjoyed this story when they were younger but now they preferred to hear about granny Greengrass whose finger had been chopped of by Grummett the butcher. it was more interesting than a fairy story, partly because it had happened I their own family and partly because they were, naturally, a blood thirsty pair.
Not that they looked it. poll was nine years old with a soft, rosy face and long yellow hair the colour of ducklings down, and although theo was ten and half most people thought he was younger than poll because he was so small and thin. "about as thick through as a darning needle," was how thier mother, who was a dressmaker, always described him, and his delicate features and wide, shy, blue eyes made him look, to anyone who didn't know him, as innocent as a baby angel.
But it was theo who said, when thier mother told them the story about granny Greengrass for about the hundredth time one dark November afternoon, "what happened afterwards? Did she spout blood?"
No, It was a clean cut," mother said. "hardly a drop spilled-or no more than when you bite of a young puppy's tail. or so your aunt Sarah said. she was there, you know, but not much help by the sound of it. what she should have done was sew it back on but Sarah was never very practical." she gave a faint sniff. "though clever at her school books, of course."
Youd have sewn it on, wouldn't you, mother?
