Born to Run

Michael Morpurgo is one of Britain’s best-loved writers for children and has won many prizes, including the Smarties Prize, the Whitbread Prize, the Red House Children’s Book Award and the Blue Peter Book Award. From 2003 to 2005 he was the Children’s Laureate, a role which took him all over the UK to promote literacy and reading, and in 2005 he was named the Booksellers Association Author of the Year.

Also by Michael Morpurgo:

Alone on a Wide Wide Sea ^*
The Amazing Story of Adolphus Tips ^*
Private Peaceful ^*
The Butterfly Lion ^*
Cool!
Toro! Toro!
Dear Olly ^*
The Dancing Bear
Billy the Kid ^*
Farm Boy ^*

* Also available on audio

Born to Run

michael morpurgo

Illustrated by Michael Foreman

HarperCollins Children’s Books

To Simon, Alison,
Rose, Amy, Hazel
and Otto

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

“Best Mate for ever”

“Be Fast, Brighteyes, Be Very Fast”

“Knick Knack, Paddywack”

Copyright

About the Publisher

“Best Mate for ever”

Part of Patrick’s walk to school, to St Thomas’ Junior School on Porthcressa Road was along the canal, past the brown sauce factory which somehow smelled both sweet and sour at the same time. That walk along the canal where the barges chugged by, where the ducks dipped and drank, was the only part of going to school that Patrick looked forward to at all. There was so much he was dreading. He sat there on his bed and thought about the school day ahead of him, wishing he didn’t have to live through it. The radio was burbling downstairs as it always was, and his dad had burnt the toast, again.

Patrick thought of Mr Butterworth, his teacher and football coach, whose literacy homework – that stupid story about someone you meet standing in a shopping queue – he still hadn’t finished, and who this time was bound to make him stay in after lunch and finish it. That meant that the head teacher, Mrs Brightwell, would probably find him there, and so he’d be in double trouble. She was always on at Patrick about being untidy or running in the corridors, or daydreaming or using what she called ‘lazy words’, such as ‘cool’ or ‘wicked’, or worst of all, ‘whatever’.

If she ever heard anyone saying ‘whatever’ she’d practically explode, especially if you shrugged your shoulders at the same time. The trouble was that just at the moment and for no good reason, ‘whatever’ happened to be Patrick’s favourite word. He knew it irritated his mum and dad as well, knew how much Mrs Brightwell hated it, but the word would just pop out as if it had a mind of its own, and with it came a shrug. There was nothing he could do to stop himself, and of course all too often Mrs Brightwell would be right there, and she’d blow up. After it was over, everyone would turn round and laugh at him. That was what Patrick dreaded most about school, being laughed at.