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Book Band: White
First published in Great Britain in 1991 by Heinemann Young Books
imprints of Egmont Children’s Books Limited 239 Kensington High Street, London W8 6SA. Published in hardback by Heinemann Library,
a division of Reed Educational and Professional Publishing Limited
by arrangement with Egmont Children’s Books Limited.
This edition published 2010 by Egmont UK Ltd
239 Kensington High Street, London W8 6SA Text copyright © Michael Morpurgo 1991 Illustrations copyright © Ian Andrew 1999
The Author and Illustrator have asserted their moral rights. ISBN 978 1 4052 02 558
eISBN 978 1 7803 11 708
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Printed at Oriental Press Limited, Dubai. 5958/13
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.
MICHAEL
MORPURGO
Illustrated by Ian Andrew
For Catherine, Simon, Jonathan,
Susannah and James
M.M.
To the memory of
Phil O’Connor
I.A.
Chapter One
SOMEONE HAD TO clean out the old barn. Grandad had a bad knee and her mother and father were busy, so Annie had to do it all by herself. But she wasn’t alone. You were never quite alone in the old barn.
Screecher, the barn owl, looked down at her from his perch on the beam above her. She knew that the swallows would be watching her from their nests high on the roof joists. But the owls and the swallows were as much a part of the barn as the mud walls and the thatched roof and she paid them no attention.
It was hot work and smelly too, but Annie was used to that. After all she had grown up on a farm and on a farm there were always smells of one kind or another. This was no worse than most.
‘Be nice if the cows would learn to clean up after themselves,’ said Grandad from the door
of the barn. ‘I thought maybe you could do with some water.’ They sat down side by side on a hay bale. Annie drank till the bottle was empty. Grandad was looking around him. ‘This barn, your father wants to knock it down you know,’ he said.
‘What for?’ said Annie.
‘Old fashioned, he says, and maybe he’s right.’ Grandad prodded the wall with his stick. ‘Cob that is, just mud, a few stones, straw; and it’s lasted all that time. Course there’s a few cracks in it here and there, but I told your father, it’ll go on for a few years yet.’
On the beam above them Screecher stretched his legs and flexed his talons. Grandad looked up. ‘And Screecher, he’s been here since the place was built, or his family has. Always nest in the same place they do. Same as those swallows, they’ve been coming here ever since I can remember.’ Grandad stood up and leaned on his stick. ‘Makes you think,’ he said, ‘thousands
of miles they come every year, across African deserts, over the sea, and straight back to this barn. There’s one now.’ As he spoke Colly flew in over his head and up to the nest above, fluttered there for a moment and then swooped down again and out of the door.
‘Look,’ said Annie, ‘there’s a baby in the nest, you can see its head.’
‘So you can,’ said Grandad. ‘You can hear it too. I wonder what it’s saying.’
Annie laughed. ‘Birds don’t talk,’ she said.
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