The Marble Crusher. Michael Morpurgo

that dear?’

      ‘Mr Manners, Mum. He’s got twenty-two children as well,’ said Albert, ‘like Henry the Eighth. And he was away from school today.’

      ‘Well, I hope it gets better,’ said his mother. And that was that.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CONKERS WERE OVER AND IT WAS THE marble season in mid-November. Now Mr Manners hated marbles.

      ‘Treacherous things, marbles,’ he said in Assembly one morning. ‘Slip on one and you can break a leg, just like that. In the playground, yes, play with them all you wish, but inside my school there will be no marbles. If I see, or so much as smell a marble inside my school, it will be confiscated. And you know what that means.’

      ‘What does that mean, Sid?’ Albert asked after Assembly.

      ‘What does what mean?’

      ‘Con . . . confiscated. What does it mean?’

      Sid smiled inside himself. ‘Crushed,’ he said. ‘Crushed, that’s what it means.’

      ‘Crushed?’

      ‘Same every year,’ said Sid, and he turned to his friends. ‘Isn’t that right, lads?’ And they all nodded and turned away to hide their smiles.

      Sid went on in a hushed voice. ‘It’s like this, Bert. If your marbles are confiscated by old Manners, that means he takes them away and puts them through his machine – a marble crusher.’

      ‘A marble crusher?’

      ‘A marble crusher. He keeps it in his room under his desk. I’ve seen it. We’ve all seen it. And that’s where they all go.’

      CHAPTER FIVE

      BACK AT HOME ALBERT HAD HIS OWN collection of marbles, but they were no ordinary marbles. They were silver ball-bearings. He had seventy-five of them now, pea size to conker size. They were all lined up on the mantelpiece above his bed. Everyone at school had glass marbles but no one else had silver ball-bearings. Albert was very proud of them.

      Over half-term Albert polished them till they shone, and the day school began again he took six of the big ones with him into school. They were cold and heavy in his pocket. Andwhat a sensation they created!

      Albert was very good at marbles, and he knew he was particularly good with his silver ones. Over rough ground they kept to a truer line than the glass ones that often bounced off course. So by lunchtime he had won ten marbles. One of them was a blood red, a lovely deep red marble, highly prized because there was a white mist gliding around inside it. Of course everyone wanted to play Albert to try and win one of his silver marbles, but Albert chose the rough ground and he outplayed them all.

      It was in reading time, after lunch, that Sid Creedy challenged him to play marbles, but inside the classroom. Albert didn’t really want to. He preferred the long distances and the potholes of the playground. But he did not want to upset his friend and so he agreed. In the excitement of the game he quite forgot Mr Manners’ rule about playing marbles inside the school.

      Even on the smooth floor in amongst the chair legs Albert went on winning. He was crouching under the teacher’s table, taking careful aim, when Mr Manners came in behind him silently.

      ‘Albert,’ he said. ‘Albert, are you playing marbles?’

      ‘Oh . . . yes sir,’ and Albert remembered at once – he remembered the punishment too and he began to twiddle his hair.

      ‘They will all have to go, all of them mind,’ said Mr Manners. ‘Empty your pockets, lad,’ and he held out his big chalky hand. ‘I’m surprised at you, Albert, and disappointed – very disappointed.’

      Albert took them out of his pocket one by one and dropped them into Mr Manners’ hand. His winnings went first – the blood red too – and then last of all his six great heavy silver ball-bearings. It was as if his blood was being taken from him. The fist closed before his eyes and his marbles were gone.

      ‘A pity, Albert,’ Mr Manners said, shaking his head. ‘A terrible pity. Lovely marbles too. But you were warned. And we cannot have people breaking school rules can we now?’

      ‘No sir,’ said Albert, wondering how long it would be before his marbles went through the crusher, how much longer they had to live.

      ‘Hard luck,’ said Sid, when Mr Manners hadgone out. ‘You can only just hear the machine, Bert,’ he went on. ‘It’s all modern and silent.’

      ‘You mean the marble crusher?’ said Albert, blinking back his tears.

      Sid nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. They’re gonners, Bert. Ten minutes and they’ll be so much dust. It’s Japanese, very efficient.’