Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts

Tuesday, 27 March 2012

His abominable son



      What was the phrase young Hawkins used in his book? “Surely, while you're above ground, Hell wants its master!” Spoken of the fictitious image of Rudi von Starnberg, but by God it fitted his abominable son even better...


Flashman and the Tiger, p.143, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Thursday, 16 December 2010

Paternal assistance (Flashy style)



“…I’ll help in any way a father can—I mean, I know what strings to pull, and corners to cut, and palms to grease—and backs to stab—”


Flashman and the Redskins, p.346, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Wednesday, 15 December 2010

Son of Flashman



He acted like me, he thought like me, and take the paint and braids off him, and by God he looked like me: even the red skin was just weather, and I’ve been darker myself out east. If there was a difference, it was that I suspected (after Greasy Grass) he was brave, poor lad. I think he probably was; got that from Cleonie’s side, no doubt. As to his deep nature, though, I can’t tell; I doubt if he was as big a blackguard as I am, but then he was only half my age. And being so like me, he undoubtedly had the gift of concealing his character.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.342, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Tuesday, 14 December 2010

Pappa Flashman



It isn’t ever day you find a son…


Flashman and the Redskins, p.242, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Monday, 13 December 2010

Flashy’s boy, no error



Good actor, too—aye, it all fitted, the skill in histrionics and dissimulation, the delight in twisting the victim’s tail, the mockery, the cool damn-you cut of his jib, the callous way he talked of things other youngsters would have been ashamed of. Oh, he was Flashy’s boy, no error—even if I hadn’t sold his mama down the river, there’d have been no touching reunion between father and son. We ain’t cut out for affection, much, our lot.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.338, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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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, 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, 27 April 2009

Like father, like son



But I had my doubts about the paternity of little Havvy – so called because his names were Harry Albert Victor, and he couldn’t say ‘Harry’ properly, generally because his mouth was full. My chum Speedicut, I remember, who is a coarse brute, claimed to see a conclusive resemblance to me: when Havvy was a few weeks old, and Speed came to the nursery to see him getting his rations, he said the way the infant went after the nurse’s tits proved beyond a doubt whose son he was.



Flashman at the Charge, p.16, 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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Thursday, 29 May 2008

The wise son

‘The wise son,’ croaked Khan Hamet, opening his mouth for the first time, ‘mistrusts his mother.’ Doubtless he knew his own family best.



Flashman, p.148, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.




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