Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts

Tuesday, 16 April 2013

General Flashman and the Great War, Part 1



     Mr Franklin replied non-committally, and asked the General what he thought of the war situation. The old man shrugged.
     ‘Contemptible — but of course it always is. We should stay out, and to hell with Belgium. After all, it’s stretching things to say we’re committed to ’em, and we’d be doing ’em a favour — and the frogs too.’
     ‘By not protecting them, you mean? I don’t quite see that.’
     ‘You wouldn’t — because like most idiots you think of war being between states - coloured blobs on the map. You think if we can keep Belgium green, or whatever colour it is, instead of Prussian blue, then hurrah for everyone. But war ain’t between coloured blobs — it’s between people. You know what people are, I suppose? — chaps in trousers, and women in skirts, and kids in small clothes.’*

*See also General Flashman and the Great War, Part 2 [Speedicut]


Mr American, p.518, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Thursday, 20 October 2011

The great curse of the new world



…and everywhere the Great Curse of the New World, the American Child, in all its raucous, spoiled, undisciplined, selfish ghastliness, the female specimens keeping up an incessant high-pitched whine and the male infants racketing like cow-pokes on payday. There’s nothing wrong with grown Americans, by and large; you won’t find heartier men or bonnier women anywhere, but the only remedy I can see for their children is to run Herod for President.

Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, pp.142-43, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Friday, 14 October 2011

Expecting the Spanish Inquisition



…the great terror of my infancy was a lurid coloured print entitled “All Hope Abandon”, purporting to show what happened when the Spanish Inquisition got hold of you — which they undoubtedly would, my nurse assured me, if I didn’t eat my crusts, or farted in Church.

Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.117, Harper Collins, 1995.



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Monday, 15 August 2011

Crowning reward



      I came back from the dark storm of Harper’s Ferry to the peaceful sunshine of Leicestershire, and the four small faces regarding me with the affectionate impatience that is the crowning reward of great-grandfatherhood .  . .  and the only pang is that at ninety-one you can’t hope to see ’em grow.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.14, Harper Collins, 1995.



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Thursday, 14 October 2010

A seasoned ruffian



…his baby son, Charlie, was a seasoned ruffian of twelve months who took to me at once, as children usually do, recognising in me a nature as unscrupulous as their own.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.195, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Monday, 30 August 2010

Simple and shrewd



They were an odd lot, those frontiersmen, simple and shrewd enough, and as easy—and as difficult—to impose upon as children are. But I was glad Wootton would be our guide; being a true-bred rascal and coward myself, I know a good man when I see one—and he was the best.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.63, Pan Books edition, 1983.



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Wednesday, 9 June 2010

The White Rajah



      ‘Hold on, though – what can he do, if even the navy’s powerless?’
      ‘He’s J.B.,’ says Stuart, simply, with that drunk, smug look you see on a child’s face when his father mends a toy.

Flashman's Lady, pp.127-28, Pan edition, 1979.



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Friday, 9 April 2010

Clinging and weeping



…she was clinging and weeping and slobbering over me as though I were Little Willie the Collier’s Dying Child.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.291, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.

Monday, 23 November 2009

A proud father introducing his son



…little Havvy (the first fruit of our union, a guzzling lout of seven)



Flashman in the Great Game, p.14, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Monday, 8 June 2009

Damn my eyes



And damn my eyes, she absolutely got out to look. I don’t suppose I’ve cried myself to sleep since I was an infant, but it was touch and go.



Flashman at the Charge, p.50, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Friday, 24 April 2009

Hideous with his noise



Poor little Havvy, by the way, was our son and heir, a boisterous malcontent five-year-old who made the house hideous with his noise and was forever hitting his shuttlecocks about the place.



Flashman at the Charge, p.15/span>, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Friday, 7 November 2008

Reserve your spite



Of course, when you’re old and fairly well pickled in drink you can forgive most things past , and reserve your spite for the neighbours who keep you awake at night and the children who get under your feet.



Royal Flash, p.270, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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Saturday, 6 September 2008

Monstrously pleasant



I’m no hand with children at all, and have found them usually to be destestable, noisy, greedy little brats, but it seemed best to be monstrously pleasant to this one.



Royal Flash, p.151, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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