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B ypoKe 8 BaM BCTpeqaJI11c 1> BhipIDKemrn "I've been trying my hand (= making an attempt) at making a play", a B ypoKe 2 -"Pedro must take your father in hand'' . CYIIIecTByeT 60JI1>­ rnoe KOJIMqecTBO M,ZJ;MOMaTMqecKMX Bbipa)KeHMll co CJIOBOM hand. BoT HeK0Top1>1e 113 HMx:

My house is close at hand (= near).

The poet was starving and lived from hand to mouth (= in great poverty, unable to save anything).

The two little children went to school hand-in-hand.

The thief pointed a gun at the man and said "Hands up!"

Ithought the book was on my shelves but Ican't just lay hands on (= find) it.

A teacher who tries to teach a class of fifty children like Ted

has his hands full (= is very fully occupied).

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush". ( Proverb.)

He gave me some real first-hand information. Idon't like wearing second-hand clothes. "Many hands make light work". ( Proverb.)



Before 061>1qHo o6o3HaqaeT:

(1) BpeWI (rrpOTMBOIIOJIO)KHOe OT after), e.g.

Come and see me tomorrow any time before five o'clock.

Before long you will find this work quite simple. That happened in 400 B. C. ( Before Christ).

(2) rro311u;mo, MecTorroJIO)KeHMe, rropMOK, Harrp11Mep: She sang before a large audience.

My appointment is not until 10-15; you go in before me.


Behind o603HaqaeT MecTorroJio)KeH11e:

(1)B rrpocTpaHcTBe:

The garage is behind the house. He stood just behind me.

(2) BO BpeMeHM:

The train is behind time (=late)

He is behind the times (=old-fashioned).

A BOT He6on1>rnoli KaJiaM6yp, MJIJIIOCTp11pyioiu; 11li ,n:Ba pa3- HhIX 3Haqemrn behind 11 before B KaqecTBe rrocnecnora:

Wife (to husband trying, clumsily, to fas­ ten her dress): "Hurry up; have you never hooked up a dress behind before?"

Husband: "No; you never had a dress

before that hooked behind'' .


Below 061>1qHo HMeeT 3HaqeHHe "under" (HIDKe, BHH3y): The temperature is below freezing point.

Write your name in the space below.

3HaqeHHe below rrpOTHBOIIOJIO)KIIO above:

To keep warm you need blankets above and below you. Jan's work is above average; Hob's is very much below it.


Beside HMeeT 3HaqeHHe "by the side of ' (B CTopoHe), "near" (OKOJIO):

Go and sit beside Richard.

The church at Stratford is beside the river.

06paTHTe BHHMaHHe Ha H,ll;HOMaT ecKHe Bbipa)KeHlrn: He was beside himself (= almost mad) with anger.

What you have said is quite beside the point (= not connect­ ed with the subject).


Besides HMeeT 3HaqeHHe "inaddition to" (.n:orroJIHHTeJibHO K):

There are many others besides me who disagree with what you say.

Besides (KaK HapeqHe) MO)KeT HMeT1> TaKXe 3HaqeHHe "moreover" (KpoMe Toro):

Idon't want to go for a walk; I'm tired, and besides, it's beginning to rain.

EcTb cTapasr rnyToqHasr rrecIDI co cJioBaMH: "I do like to be beside the sea ...

And there's lots of girls, besides,

I should like to be beside, beside the sea".


Beyond rrpHMeIDieTCH B 3Haqemrnx "on the other, further, side", "further on", "more than", e.g.

The woods go for about two miles beyond the river.

He lives in a small castle, about four miles beyond Oxford.

He loves her beyond measure.

06panne BHHMamie Ha H,!l;HOMaTWiecKHe BhlpCl)Kemrn:

The explanation you give is quite beyond me (= I can't understand it).

He is living beyond his means (= spending more than he earns).

The prisoner's guilt was proved beyond doubt (= there was no doubt about it).


By HMeeT MHO)KeCTBO 3HaqeHH:it:

(a) 6JIH30CTb:

Come and sit by me.

(b) HarrpaBJieHHe HJIH ,Il;BH)KeHHe:

We came to Oxford by way of Warwick and Banbury.

(c) cpe,ri:CTBO, ,z:i:e:itCTBHe, rrocpe,ri:HWieCTBO: The book was written by Dickens.

(d) BpeWI:

We travelled by night.

(e) cHcTeMa H3Mepemrn:

These goods are sold by weight.

He is older than I am by ten years.

Hau0M amu11ec1Cue rjJpa3bt:

I will see him by and by (= before long). Learn this by heart.

I mention this by way of illustration.

Hob isn't a fool by any means (= he is a long way from being a fool).



I. CJioBapmUI paiioTa. lpll):Q'MaiiTe nperoio1KeHirn co CJIC,!Q'IOJIUIMH CJIO­ BaMu:

scene (also seen), delight, novel (note two meanings: (a) as

a noun, (b) as an adjective), plot (here = plan of a story; compare with plot (= secret plan)), lack, clerk (give the pro­ nunciation, in English and in American), resolve, happy-go­ lucky, responsible (also irresponsible, responsibility), treasure, mean ( adjective and verb; note also means, and use the phrases "by all means", "by means of ', "to live beyond one's means"), later (compare with latter), coarse (compare with course), ago­ ny, shorthand, impression.

II. lpeoiipa:iyiiTe KWK,!l;h H uaiiop npocTb X nperoio1Keuuu B CJIO)Kffbie C DOMOillblO OTHOCHTCJibHbIX MCCTOHMCHHH H COI030B:

1. Dickens become friendly with Wilkie Collins. Collins was another popular writer. Dickens then tried to construct a plot.

2. Dickens wrote many novels. He was born at Portsmouth. His father was a clerk there.

3. He spent five years in Chatham. He was then a boy. These were the happiest years of his youth.

4. Dickens dreamed. Some day he would live at Gadshill Place. He would be rich then.

5. The early experiences of Dickens are important. They made a deep impression on his mind.

063opub1e ynpurneum1

III. OTBeT&Te Ha Bonpoc&1 K :noMY ypmcy:

1. What other novelist was writing at the same time as Dickens?

2. Why are most of Dickens's novels "more like a collection of separate scenes than a single novel"?

3. What house did (a) Shakespeare, (b) Dickens buy?

4. Who was the original of Mr. Micawber?

5. Mention three novels that Dickens wrote.

6. How was "the key to the treasure-house of English literature" put into Dickens's hand?

7. In which of Dickens's novels you find a description of the Marshalsea prison?

8. Why was Dickens unhappy in his job at the blacking factory?

9. What other work did he do in his early days before writing his novels?

10. Why is a knowledge of Dickens's early life important for the understanding of his novels?

IV. 06'&HCHHTe 3Ha11eHue cJie,!Q'IOIIIHX BbipIDKeHuii, B3BThIX H3 TeKcTa ypoKa:

1. he just went ahead. 2. his father was happy-go-lucky. 3. wait­ ing for something to turn up. 4. What schooling he had he got at Chatham. 5. strong meat for a boy of nine. 6. The key to the treasure-house of English literature. 7. from bitter experience.

8. these stored-up impressions.

v. Ilplf)zyMaHTe npe;:vmlKeHHB, ynoTpeouB B HUX CJie)zyIOIIIUe u;:JHOMbI:

1. to tum one's back on. 5. to tum someone round

2. to tum a deaf ear to. one's finger.

3. didn't tum a hair. 6. to tum a girl's head.

4. to tum an honest penny. 7. to tum out.

8. to tum against.

9. the worm will tum.

10. to tum over a new leaf.

11. to tum one's nose up at something.

12. to take a tum.

13. a good tum.

14. to wait one's tum.

15. done to a tum.

VI. IIplf)Q'MaiiTe npe.i:.;I01Kenm1 c H,ZJ,HOMaMu:

at hand; put in hand; from hand to mouth; hand and foot; he has his hands full; second-hand; give a hand; hands wanted; time hangs heavy on my hands; to keep one's hand in.


1. HanumuTe Koponrnii (ue 6oJiee 150 cJioB) paccKa3 o ,IJ;uKKence, uaquuaromuiics CJIOBaMu "Charles Dickens was born ...".

2. HanumuTe KopoTKHii paccKa3 06 H3BeCTHOM nucaTeJie-poManucTe Bameii cTpaHbI.



M r. P r i e s t 1e y: In 1833 Dickens had a number of papers published under the title Sketches by Boz, but it was in 1836 that he rose to fame as suddenly and as unmistakably as Scott had done. The circumstances were rather strange. A firm of publishers, Chapman & Hall, had a number of pictures by a humorous artist, Seymour, and they wanted to get some short articles to illustrate them so that pictures and articles could appear together in a magazine in fortnightly parts. Someone suggested that the young newspaper reporter, Charles Dickens, might do the job. It was a job after his own heart. He accepted the offer, but asked for a rather freer hand in the writing than had been originally planned. He was allowed to have his way - and so Pickwick Papers came in to being.

H o b: What is Pickwick Papers about? Should I like it?

M r. P r i e s t 1e y: You ought to get the book, I think you would like it. It is about Mr. Pickwick and his three friends, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle. Mr. Pickwick is a stout, good-natured, cheerful, very simple-hearted old gentle­ man. He is the General Chairman of the Pickwick Club, and he and his three friends decide to travel about England and send to the Pickwick Club in London an account of their journeys and their observations on the character and manners of the people they meet on these journeys. The humour of the book consists chiefly in the absurd situations that Mr. Pickwick and his friends get themselves into - deceived by smooth-tongued rogues, put into a debtors' prison, involved in an action for breach of pro­ mise - and yet, though we laugh at Mr. Pickwick, we don't think any the worse of him for being a figure of fun -in fact we love him all the more. That's what we mean by "humour"; and next to Shakespeare's Falstaf, Mr. Pickwick isperhaps the greatest comic figure in English literature.

But to continue the story of Dickens. For the first fortnight­ ly part of Pickwick Papers the publishers printed 400 copies, but such was its popularity that for Part Fifteen more than 40,000 copies had to be printed. At one stride Dickens had become the most popular living novelist (Scott died in 1832; Dickens's first book appeared in 1833) and he held that posi­ tion until his death. The rest can be told in a few words. It is

a story of work, and work without rest. He poured out novel after novel - Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, The Old Curiosi­ ty Shop, A Christmas Carol, David Coppeifield (perhaps the greatest work of all), A Tale of Two Cities -these are but a few of the more famous. At the same time he was editing newspa­ pers and magazines, visiting America, Italy, Switzerland, Paris; giving readings from his books to huge crowds of people and writing constantly. It was the excitement of these readings (this excitement and the applause of his listeners was what he loved) and the strain of his continual work that brought about his sudden death in 1870. He had asked that his burial should be quite simple, but the whole nation wanted to give him the highest honour they could, and so he lies buried in Westmin­ ster Abbey, but as he wished it, with nothing on the stone except his name, "Charles Dickens".

01a f: Thank you, Mr. Priestley, I've enjoyed your story of his life. But why is Dickens great; I mean, what is there in his books that has made him read by all, by learned and simple, rich and poor alike - for that seems to be the case?

M r. P r i e s t 1e y: You are quite right, it is the case. I don't think there is any other novelist in England who has such a hold on all classes of people. He had it in his own day, he has it in ours too ( David Coppeifield is still a "best seller"), and I believe he will keep that popularity as long as English is read. I think the chief cause is the great-heartedness of the man himself. He, like Abou ben Adhem, 1 was one "who loved his fellow-men", and it was not only the good ones who came in for his love; his kindly, humorous, understanding eye looked with a wide tolerance on good and bad alike. He was, too, so full of life himself. Leigh Hunt said of Dickens's face, "It has the life and soul of fifty human beings", and his face was a true picture of his mind. It was this tremendous vitality of Dickens that makes all his characters so memorable. He is often blamed for making his characters unreal, strange, grotesque creatures that never could have existed. There may be something in this, but though they may not be, as the critics say, "true to life", they certainly spring to life in his pages. They are more real to us than the characters of any other novelist, English or for­ eign - and they were real enough to Dickens. His biographer,

Forster, writes:


1 In the poem "Abou ben Adhem", by Leigh Hunt (it appears on p.68 of Brighter English, published by Longmans, Green and Co.). Leigh Hunt (1784- 1859) was an essayist and poet.

"I remember he said to me that during the composition of his stories he could never quite get rid of the characters about whom he happened to be writing; that while The Old Curiosity Shop was being written, Little Nell followed him about every­ where; while he was writing Oliver Twist, Fagin would never let him rest; that at midnight and in the morning Tiny Tim and little Bob Cratchit 1 were ever pulling his coat as if impatient for him to get back to his desk and continue with the story of their lives. He said that when the children of his brain had once been sent into the world, free and clear of him, they would sometimes turn up in the most unexpected manner to look their father in the face. Sometimes he would pull my arm as we were walking together and whisper, "Let us avoid Mr. Pumblechook 2 who is crossing the street to meet us", or "Mr. Micawber is coming, let us turn down here to get out of his way". He always seemed to enjoy the fun of his humorous characters and had unending laughter over Mr. Pickwick's amusing misadventures".

And so we believe in his characters because he believed in them himself. He shows us a great, moving picture of everyday life and everyday people.

We must admire, too, the noble feeling that filled Dickens in the writing of many of his novels - the desire to show up some wrong and put it right. He had suffered so bitterly himself as a child and had seen so much evil that he burned with the longing to fight it to the utmost. So in Oliver Twist he attacks the cruel workhouse treatment of children, in Nicholas Nickle­ by - the evils of badly-run schools, in Little Dorrit - the tragedy of the debtors' prison, in Bleack House the slowness of the law. No man has done more to get these wrongs righted than has Dickens.

In some ways, of course, he belonged to his age and had its weaknesses. Dickens himself and his readers cried together over the long-drawn-out deaths of Little Nell and Paul Dombey. Most of us now feel that the sentiment, and espe­ cially the pathos, is overdrawn, and wish Dickens had not let himself go so much, just as we wish sometimes that his humour was not quite so rough and forcible, or that his efforts at "fine writing" instead of clear, simple writing were not so frequent. But when all this is said there still remains

1 In A Christmas Carol.

2 In Great Expectations.

the great writer and great man, the man who knew London as few men have known it and who loved its common people humorously and understandingly. And that is why the com­ mon people have taken him to their heart.



PaHee B TeKCTe BaM BC'fPeTIDIBCb cJie)JylOIIJ,Me rrpe,n;rro)Kemrn:

It was a job after his own heart (= of the kind he very much liked).

Mr. Pickwick is ... a simple-hearted old gentleman.

The chief cause (of his popularity) is the great-heartedness

of the man himself.

And that is why the common people have taken him to their heart.

BoT eIQe HeCKOJibKO yrroTpefoueJibHhIX M,I1;MOMan1qecKHx Bblpa)KeHMM co CJIOBOM heart.

He is not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve (= shows his feelings openly).

He may seem cold but his heart is in the right place (= he has true, kind feelings). He has a heart of gold.

When I heard that strange cry in the darkness my heart went into my mouth (= I was afraid).

When I think of my examination tomorrow my heart goes into my boots (= I feel in despair).

I didn't win the prize but I am not downhearted (= sad, discouraged).

I learnt that piece of poetry by heart (= by memory).


IIPE,lJ;JIOf lI (4)


Down Bbipa)KaeT ,ll,BM)KeHMe cBepxy BHM3. HarrpMMep: They walked down the hill.

The sun goes down in the west.

Sit down; there is plenty of room for everyone.

B HeKOTOpb1x ImMOMax down MCIIOJih3yeTCH B KaqecTBe HapeqMH, HarrpMMep:

The arrangement for sending letters abroad seems to have

broken down.

Write these notes down in your notebook.

He has come down in the world (= become poorer or less important).

The wind had died down (= become less strong).

The sleeve of my coat is too short;Iwill ask the tailor to let it down an inch.

He looked very down in the mouth (= unhappy, out of spirits). Perhaps he was down on his luck (= in misfortune).


Except (for), excepting 3Haq11T «HCKmoqrur», «KpoMe». Ha­ rrp11Mep:

We have lessons every day except (excepting) Saturday and Sunday.

This essay is good except for the careless mistake.

Except that BBO,IJ,HT rrpH,II,aTOqHhie rrpe,IJ,JIO)Kemrn:

He is a good student except that he is occasionally careless.


For HMeeT oqeHh MHoro 3HaqeH11ii:

(1) rrpoMeOK BpeMeHH HJIH pacCTOHHHe:

Iam staying here for a week.

The forest goes on for twenty miles.

(2) u;enh, HaMepeH11e:

We come here for English lessons. He uses an electric razor for shaving.

(3) CYMMa:

The house was sold /or £5,000.

(4) HarrpaBJieH11e:

Which is the train /or Brighton?

(5) MOMeHT BpeMeHH:

The meeting is arranged /or seven o'clock.

(6) rrpJlqHHa:

Icouldn't see anything for smoke.

He gained a medal for bravery/for saving a boy's life.

(7) o6MeH:

I'll give you my watch for your camera. He paid £50 for that picture.

(8) rrpeHM)'Ill;eCTBO (HJIH He,IJ,OCTaTOK):

This holiday has been good for you; too much work is bad

for you.

BuuMauue:for yrroTpe6JIHeTcH, Kor,IJ,a HaM H3BeCTHa rrpo­

,lJ,OJI)KJITeJibHOCTh ,IJ,eiicrnHH; since - rrp11 YKa3aHHH KOHKpeT­ HOro BpeMeHH. BOTPHU:aTeJihHhIX rrpe,IJ,JIO)KeHHHx/or yrroTpe6- JIHeTCH rrpH yKa3aHHH rrepHO,II,a BpeMeHH, before - rrpH YKa3aHHH KOHKpeTHoro BpeMeHH. Harrp11Mep:

He will not be here for an hour yet.

He will not be here before seven o'clock.

From 0CHOBHhlMH 3HaqeHIDCMH from 51BJUIIOTC51:

(1) ;::i:mnKem1e OT o6'beKTa, 0TrrpaBJiem 1e, y;::i:arrem1e: He rose from his chair.

She came from Scotland last week.

(2) OTrrpaBHOH rryHKT, HaqaJibHa51 TOqKa: He read from page 16 to page 21.

The wool came from Australia. The roses are from Richard.

(3) rrpHqHHa:

She is suffering from a bad headache.

(4) pa3;::i:eJieHHe, pa306II.1,eHHe:

He is far away from home and wife and children.



I. C;meapmUI pa6oTa. IIpH,JJ.yMailTe npe,!UI01KeHHH co CJIOBaMu:

publish (also publisher, publication ), circumstances, maga­ zine, accept (compare with except; what is the opposite of accept?), plan, originally, stout (what is the opposite?), simple­ hearted, absurd, smooth-spoken, humour (also humorous, good­ humoured, to be in a bad humour), stride ( noun and verb; what is the past tense of this verb?), pour (not poor), edit (use also editor, editorial, edition), applause, burial (also bury; compare berry), tolerance (use also tolerate, toleration, intolerant), vita­ lity, memorable (use also memory, memorial, remember, remem­ brance), grotesque, biographer (use also biography; what is an autobiography? ), composition (use also compose, composer), avoid, misadventures (use also adventure, adventurous), senti­ ment (also sentimental}, pathos (and pathetic ).

II. 6paTHTe BHHManue Ha JmHOMaTuqecKUe Bblpa1KeHUJI, Bbl,!l;eJieHHb e B TeKCTe npe,!UI01KeHHH. IIonpo6yH:Te nepe.11;aTb HX 3Haqenue CBOUMU CJIOBaMH.

1. He rose to fame as suddenly and unmistakably as Scott

had done.

2. He asked for a rather freer hand in the writing.

3. He was allowed to have his way and so "Pickwick Papers" came into being.

4. The humour consists chiefly in the absurd situations that

Mr. Pickwick and his friends get themselves into.

5. They are deceived by smooth-spoken rogues.

6. We don't think any the worse of him for being afigure offun.

7. Such was its popularity that for Part Fifteen more than 40,000 copies had to be printed.

8. At one stride Dickens had become the most popular living


9. He poured out novel after novel.

10. The strain of his continual work brought about his sudden death in 1870.

11. No other novelist in England has such a hold on all

classes of people.

12. It was not only the good ones who came in for his love.

13. They were impatient for him to get back to his desk.

14. His characters would sometimes turn up in the most unexpected manner.

15. Let us turn down here and get out of his way.

16. We believe in his characters.

17. He wrote his novels to show up a wrong and put it right.

18. He burned with desire to fight evil to the utmost.

19. No man has done more than Dickens to get these wrongs righted.

20. Dickens and his readers cried together over the long­ drawn-out death of Little Nell.

21. The pathos is overdrawn.

22. We wish Dickens had not let himself go so much.


III. OTBeTLTe Ha uonpocw H3 TeKcTa:

1. What other English novelist besides Dickens rose suddenly to fame?

2. What work was Dickens doing when he was asked to write Pickwick Papers?

3. What were the members of the "Pickwick Club" going to write about?

4. What misadventures does Mr. Pickwick meet with?

5. What proof is there that Pickwick Papers grew in popularity as it appeared?

6. What work, other than writing novels, occupied Dickens after 1833?

7. Why was Dickens buried in Westminster Abbey?

8. What is a "best seller"?

9. Give three reasons why Dickens has such a hold on all classes of people.

10. How could you show that Dickens's characters were real people to him?

11. What evils did he attack in his novels?

IV. KopoTKo H3JIOlKIITe co,!J;ep)KllHHe TeKcTa 3Toro ypoKa OT C.JIOB "/think the chief cause...",!J;O Komi:a. 06'beM H3JI01KeHnH He ,!J;OJ11KeH npeBbimaTb 200 CJIOB.

V. CocTaBbTe H3 cJie)JJ'IOni:nx CJIOB npe,!J;Jio1KeHnH, ,!1;06aBJIJ1J1 mo6L1e Heo6xo,!l;HMb e BaM C.JIOBa. CJie,!l;nTe 3a nopJl,!l;KOM C.JIOB.

1. Publishers, pictures, humorous, articles, magazine.

2. Mr. Pickwick, chairman, travel, account, observations, character, journeys.

3. Dickens, asked, burial, simple, nation, honour, Westmin- ster.

4. Dickens, face, life, fifty, picture, mind.

5. During, composition, rid, characters, writing.

6. Children, brain, sent, world, clear, turn up, unexpected, look, face.

7. Suffered, child, evil, desire, fight, utmost.

8. Feel, pathos, overdrawn, humour, rough, "fine writing".

VI. IIplf)Q'ManTe npeM01KeHHH co C.Jie)JJ'IOni:uMn H,!J;HOMaMu:

his heart is in the right place; my heart went into my mouth; in one's heart of hearts; heart and soul; take to heart; to be disheartened; heart-to-heart; to set one's heart on; by heart; downhearted.


(a) HannmHTe KpaTKHn nepecKa3 mo6on KHHm ,11,nKKeHca, KOTopym BblnpoqnTaJIH.

(b) KaKnMn KaqecmaMn, no BameMY MHeHnro, ,!J;OJ11KeH o6Jia,!J;aTb xo­ pomun poMaH?

HanumuTe coquueuue

HJIH KOpOTirnH paccKa3 ua O.ZJ;uy H3 TeM:

(c) "Don't wear your heart on your sleeve".

(d) "The man with the hand ofiron but the heart of gold".



(This is the play that Pedro made out of a scene from "David Copperfield".)

Scene: An inn at Yarmouth. Maps on the walls. Table set for dinner; the Landlady is dusting chairs. A sound of wheels and horses outside, then David, a boy about ten years of age, enters shyly and

sits down on the edge of the chair nearest the door.

Characters - Landlady, David Copperfield, the Waiter.

L a n d 1a d y: Are you the little gentleman from B 1under- stone?

D av i d (jumping up): Yes, ma'am. L a n d l a d y: What name?

D av i d: Copperfield, ma'am.

L a n d l a d y: That won't do. Nobody's dinner is paid for here in that name.

D av i d: Is it Murdstone, ma'am?

L a n d 1a d y: If your name is Master Murdstone, why do you go and give another name first?

D av i d: I'm really Copperfield, David Copperfield, but my father died and my mother married Mr. Murdstone, so that's her name now.

L a n d l a d y: Oh, I see. Well, your dinner's ready. I'll get it sent in. ( She rings the bell.) William! William!

(William the Waiter enters, running out of the kitchen.)

L a n d 1a d y: William, bring in dinner for this gentleman.

( She goes out.)

(The Waiter brings in a dish of chops, plates, glass, jug of beer, etc.)

W a i t e r: Now then, six foot, come on. (He stands looking at David, who gets more and more shy and nervous as he tries to eat with the Waiter's eye on him.) There's half a pint of beer for you; shall I get it now?

D av i d: Yes, please.

(The Waiter goes to the table and pours out the glass of beer and holds it up to the light.)

W a i t e r: My eye! It seems a lot, doesn't it? D av i d: Yes, it does seem rather a lot.

W a i t e r ( still holding the beer): There was a gentleman here yesterday, a rather fat gentleman by the name of Topsa­ wyer - perhaps you know him?

D av i d: No, I don't think I do.

W a i t e r: Fellow with a grey coat, big hat -

D av i d: No, I'm sorry, I haven't the pleasure -

W a i t e r: He came in here, ordered a glass of beer, would order it - I told him not to do - drank it and fell dead. It was too old for him. This beer ought not to be drunk, that's a fact.

D av i d: How terrible. Perhaps - do you think I had better have some water?

W a i t e r: Well, you see, the Landlady gets annoyed if things are ordered and then left. But I'll drink it if you like. You see, I'm used to it, and use is everything. I don't think it will hurt me if I throw my head back and get it down quickly. Shall I?

D av i d: I should be much obliged if you are quite sure it won't hurt you.

W a i t e r: Well, we'll see. ( He drinks it at one drink without spilling a drop, David watching him very anxiously but quite relieved when nothing serious happens. He sets down the glass and then takes up a fork and sticks it into the dish.) Why, what have we got here? Not chops?

D av i d: Yes, chops.

W a i t e r: Lord bless my soul. I didn't know they were chops. Why, a chop is the very thing to get rid of the bad effects of that beer. Isn't it lucky? (He takes, up a chop and a potato.)

D av i d: Have another chop. That beer needs two.

W a i t e r: I will - and a potato. Ifonly we'd had chops and potatoes when Topsawyer drank that beer we might have saved his life.

D av i d: There's still one more chop. Won't you have that? W a it e r: Well, perhaps it would be safer; why there's another potato too -better take that and then I think I'll be quite safe.

(The chops and potatoes being finished, the Waiter takes away the dishes and brings in a plum pudding. David begins eating.)

W a i t e r: How's the pie?

D av i d: It isn't a pie, it's pudding.

W a i t e r: Pudding! Why, bless my soul, so it is! ( Comes nearer.) You don't mean to say it's a plum pudding?

D av i d: Yes, indeed it is.

W a i t e r (taking up a large spoon): Why, a plum pudding is my favourite pudding. Isn't that lucky? Come on, boy, let's see who gets most. ( They both eat, David with his small spoon and

rather slowly; the Waiter with his tablespoon and veryfast.) Come on, you're getting behind.

D av i d: Well, your spoon is so much bigger.

W a i t e r: There's just one little piece more. Ah! I just beat you for that. Well, it was a good pudding, wasn't it, and I like a bit of fun, don't you?

D av i d ( rather daubtfully): Yes. ( Sound of horses und wheels outside.) I must go now. Er - is there - do I - is there anything else to pay for besides the dinner?

W a i t e r: No, there's nothing except the waiter.

D av i d: What should you -what ought I -what would it be right to pay the wai­

ter, please?

W a i t e r: Well, if I hadn't a family and that family wasn't all ill, I wouldn't take sixpence. IfI didn't keep a poor old father and a lovely sister ( he almost bursts into tears), I wouldn't take a farthing. If I had a good place and was treated well, I should ask you to

accept something from me instead of taking it from you. But all I get to eat are dry crusts and I sleep on the coals. ( He buries his face in his hands.)

D av i d: Well, here's a shilling.

W a i t e r ( his tears quite forgotten ): Thank you, sir; thank you. You are a real gentleman. Thank you. Whenever you come here again, ask for me.

(Enters Landlady)

L a n d l a d y: Come on, the coach is waiting. Here, Wil­ liam, help him into the coach.

(The Waiter takes David out and puts him into the coach; the Landlady looks at the table.)

L a n d 1a d y: Bless my soul, he's eaten six chops and the whole pudding. He'll need helping into the coach. ( Puts her head through the window and shouts to the coachman.) Take care of that child, George, or he'll burst!


PABOTA C f JIAf OJIOM (7): get

B ypoKe 10 BCTpeTIDIOCh noceMh cnyqaen yrroTpe6nemrn rnarona get.

1. Your dinner's ready. I'll get it sent in.

2. David gets more and more shy.

3. There's half a pint of beer for you. Shall I get it?

4. The Landlady gets annoyed if things are left.

5. It won't hurt me if I throw my head back and get it down


6. A chap's the very thing to get rid of the bad effects of that beer.

7. Come on, you're getting behind.

8. All I get to eat are dry crusts.

BoT ern:e HeCKOJihKO 3Haqemr:it 3Toro rnarona M rrpMMepon era yrroTpe6nemrn B M,[(MOMax:

1. "to obtain" (KaK B rrpMMepax 3 M 8), or "to become the owner of ':

I got a letter his morning.

I got a bad cold at the dance last night. He always gets his own way.

What schooling Dickens had he got at Chatham.

2. "to become" (KaK B rrpMMepax 2 M 4):

In time everyone gets old.

You will get better if you work harder.

Sit by the fire and you will soon get warm.

If you are not careful you will get hurt.

3. "to arrive", "to go":

I didn't get home till 10 o'clock.

The train was so full I couldn't get into it. This is where I get off the bus.

Never get into debt if you can avoid it.

4. "cause to be done":

Why don't you get your hair cut?

I must get the tailor to make me a new suit. I'll get him to do the work.

BoT Tpu ocuosub1e MO,IJ,eJin npuMeueuus get:


Subject, etc. get

Indirect Object

Direct Object

Will you get me

His uncle got him

some cigarettes, please?

a good job.



Subject, etc. get (Pro)noun Adjective, Participle
You They soon I have got got must get your feet the fire that radio wet. burning. mended.
Subject, etc. They finally I get got will get (Pro)noun him the boy Infinitive to sign the paper. to write you a letter.


I. C;muapmw pa6oTa. IlpH,!Q'MaiiTe npe,!UI01KeHHH co CJIOBaMu:

inn (compare with in), map, dust ( noun and verb), shy, landlady (what is the masculine form?), chop ( noun) ( chop is also a verb with a different meaning; what would you use to chop wood?), pour (compare with poor), annoy, use, ( noun and verb; note the difference in pronunciation), spill, drop ( noun; use it also, with a different meaning, as a verb), anxious (what is the corresponding noun?), stick ( verb; use it also, with a different meaning, as a noun), effect (use also affect), still ( note the use of it in the play), crust, coach.

II. KaKaH pa3Huu;a MelK.nY:

1. a teaspoon and a tablespoon. 2. a pie and a pudding.

3. dinner and lunch. 4. a landlord and a landlady. 5. a pint of beer and a quart of beer. 6. a waiter and a waitress. 7. a shilling and a farthing.

III. IlepeueAUTe u KocueHffYIO pe'lh:

1. David said, "I am really Copperfield; that is my name".

2. The landlady said, "Are you the little gentleman from Blunderstone?"

3. The waiter said, "There's half a pint of beer for you; will you have it now?"

4. The waiter said, "I will drink it if you like. I am used to it. I don't think it will hurt me if I throw my head back and get it down quickly".

5. David said, "Have another chop. That beer needs two".

6. David said, "I must go now. Is there anything else to pay for besides the dinner?"

7. The waiter said, "All I get to eat are dry crusts and I sleep on the coals".

8. The waiter said, "Whenever you come here again, ask for me".

9. The landlady said, "Come on, the coach is waiting. Here, William, help him into the coach".

10. The landlady shouted "Take care of that child, George, or he'll burst!"

IV. Ilo;:i;po6uo onumnTe:

How you would set a table for dinner.

How you would make a pie (or a pudding).

V. OTBeThTe ua eonpocL1:

I.As David's name was Copperfield, why was his dinner ordered in the name of Murdstone?

2. Why does the waiter address David as "six foot"?

3. Do you think the waiter's story of Mr. Topsawyer was true? Why does he tell David that story?

4. What reason did the waiter give for drinking the beer himself?

5. Why (according to the waiter) wouldn't the beer do him

any harm?

6. What excuse did he give David for eating David's chops?

7. Why did the waiter get more of the pudding than David did?

8. What tip did David give the waiter?

9. What account did the waiter give of his hard life?

10. What did the landlady shout to the coachman? Why?

VI. Ilplf,!Q'MaiiTe npe)J;JIO)KCHHH c BhipeunHMn:

get a cold; get better; get rid of; get annoyed; get round someone; get your own way; get warm; get off; get made; get into trouble; get into debt.

VII. Co'lnueuue.

1. Tell the story of this play ( 1) as David, (2) as the waiter might have told it.

2. Take a scene from any other novel that you know and tum it into a play.



H o b: You have told us about one or two great men in history but I'd like to tell you about a great man who is still living. May I?

M r. P r i e s t 1e y: Certainly, Hob. Who is it? H o b: My Uncle Albert, Mr. Albert Hobdell.

P e d r o: Well, you've been threatening us with this for the last two years, so let's get it over.

H o b: Well, I'll tell you the story exactly as I had it from him.



"Fifteen years ago", said Uncle Albert, "I was a caretaker at Greyfriars Street School in Manchester. I swept the floors and cleaned the blackboard and put the desks straight after school and opened windows in the morning and locked the doors at night, put coal on the fires and did about a hundred other odd jobs - all for five pounds a week.

"As a matter of fact I quite liked the job. The headmaster, Mr. Brown, was a nice old fellow, friendly and easy-going, and he was always very kind to me. I'd known him for years, in fact I'd been a boy at his school, though I must say I was no credit as a scholar to him, or to any other teacher for that matter. I was one of those boys who just can't learn, at least can't learn any of the things they teach in school. Now if it was making things with my hands, I was clever enough at that - I could make anything from a fishing-rod to a dining-table, but reading and writing were completely beyond me, and to this day 1can't read or write - and I've never felt that I wanted to -"

F r i e d a: Do you mean to say he can't read or write any­ thing at all?

H o b: Not a word. He can't even write his own name -for that matter, he can't even say it properly; he always calls him­ self Albert 'Obdell. But he's one of the cleverest and best men I know. There's nobody like him for telling a story - not even me. And as a judge of character he is one of the shrewdest I've ever met. He can weigh up anyone in the first few minutes and he is hardly ever deceived in a man. Well, to come back to Uncle Albert's story:

"...I went on quite happily at Greyfriars Street until old Mr. Brown the headmaster retired and a new young head, Mr. Johnson, came in his place. Mr. Johnson was quite diffe­ rent from old Mr. Brown. He was the new broom that sweeps clean. He was going to organise everything properly; he would make the school really efficient and up-to-date. The work was going to be better; the boys were going to learn twice as much in half the time and get more scholarships.

The play, too, was going to be organised; the school must win all its football matches and all its cricket matches. All day long you heard nothing but 'organization' and 'efficiency' un­ til you were tired to death of the words. If anyone was ineffi­ cient he had to go. 'Get on - or get out' was Mr. Johnson's motto.

At first I got on all right. I could do my work quite well and there were never any complaints. Then Mr. Johnson had the idea that what was wanted to make the school more efficient was a 'time-book'. Every one of the staff had to sign this every morning when he came to school, putting in the exact time that he arrived, and sign it again in the evening, putting it again the exact moment that he went away. At the end of the week the headmaster looked at the book to see that no one had come at eight minutes to nine instead of ten minutes to, or had dared to go away before he himself had gone. So on Friday he picked up the book and looked at it; yes, it seemed all right - and then he noticed that my name was not there at all. He could hardly believe his eyes. I was sent for and I went, feeling rather worried, to the headmaster's room.

'Oh, Hobdell, I gave orders that every man had to sign the time-book. Did you know about that order?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I don't see your signature here. Did you sign the book?' 'No, sir.'

'When I give orders I expect them to be carried out, and any man who doesn't carry them out leaves. Do you under­ stand that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, why didn't you sign?'

Itwas an awkward question but I felt the only way was to be quite truthful about it.

'Because I can't write.'

'What! Can't write! Good heavens! You'll tell me next you cant read.'

'No, sir; I mean, yes, sir, I can't read.'

'This is terrible. I can hardly believe it. An official in an educational establishment (that sounded better to him than "school") and can't read! Well, you know I can't have inefficiency here. You must leave. Take a week's notice.'

'But, sir, I've done this job for over twenty years and no one has ever found any fault with my work. Why should I be dismissed now? The rooms are always well cleaned and warmed, aren't they, and - '

'Oh, yes, that's all right; but the fact of the matter is I can't have a caretaker in my school who can't read and write. No, you must go.'

* * *

I went home that evening feeling very worried. I wasn't married; I lived in a little house all by myself and looked after myself, cooked my own food and kept the place very clean and comfortable - at least everyone who came there always said so. I used to take my lunch (usually bread and cheese) to school with me, as I never had much time during the lunch hour to get a meal then. But I did like to have something tasty for my tea when I got home. A good strong cup of tea - with three lumps of sugar - and a kipper, a tin of salmon or a bit of bacon, but, above all, sausages. I was, and am, a great man for sausages. If ever I felt downhearted I used to find that a good plate offried sausages always cheered me up again. So I thought I'd get half a pound on my way home and fry them for my tea and then, perhaps, I'd feel less miserable.

And then I remembered... Mrs. Wiggs who kept the little shop where I always bought sausages had died and the shop was empty now. Yes, here it was looking as cheerless and un­ happy as I felt. There would be no sausages tonight, for there was no other shop anywhere near that sold sausages - at least none that were eatable - and I knew there was nothing else in my cupboard at home. That was the last straw, the straw that breaks the camel's back; just when I needed sausages most there wasn't a sausage anywhere.

'I can't understand why there isn't more than one good sausage shop in the whole of south Manchester,' I said, feeling really bad-tempered. And then I stopped; an idea had struck me. Why not? I'd a little bit of money saved and I'd no job now. Why shouldn't I take Mrs. Wiggs' shop and sell sausages? I got so excited at the idea that I forgot all about my tea and the job I had lost. I knew the landlord of the shop, and

I went round that evening to see him. There was no difficulty at all; within a week the shop was open and I was behind the counter selling sausages. And then I had another idea. Why not sell sausages ready-cooked? So, I fried sausages and had them all hot just about five o'clock. It was a cold, foggy November just then and I kept the shopdoor open so that the smell of fried sausages floated out into the street. Soon I was selling them as fast as I could fry them. Mind you, they were good sausages. I knew a good sausage when I saw one, and in my shop there was nothing but the best. I used to sell them on small sticks (I was the first man in England to think of that idea) with a piece of bread. Before the month was out I was employing two assistants in the shop and still I couldn't sell sausages fast enough.

Then I had another idea. I engaged a boy with a bicycle to go round and sell hot sausages in the streets. I had to hire a bicycle - five shillings a week it cost me. But I soon needed two more assistants to cook sausages for the boy and then two more boys to take round the sausages. 'Hobdell's Sausages' were becoming known and I had started on Big Business. I opened two more shops and still couldn't supply all my cus­ tomers. It was then, too, that I started to manufacture sausages instead of buying them wholesale.

But summer came and I thought there would be very little business now until the winter. It was a beautiful hot summer;

no one wanted hot sausages - in fact no one wanted hot food at all. Then came another idea. As no one wanted to do any cooking why not supply cus­ tomers with cold food ready­ cooked? And so the boys went round on bicycles with cold sausages on little sticks and we sold more in summer than we had done in winter.

But I don't need to tell you any more about how the busi­ ness has grown since then. From that first day I have never looked back. You must have seen the boys on the bicycles and 'Hobdell's Sausage Shops'

in every street of London. Now they are in every street in England. You have seen, I expect, the advertisments in the daily papers, 'EAT MORE SAUSAGES', 'SAUSAGES ARE BEST', 'BUY BRITISH - HQBDELL'S SAUSAGES ARE

BRITISH TO THE BACKBONE'. Every cinema in England has shown the film 'The Birth of a Sausage'. Aeroplanes have written 'HOBDELL'S SAUSAGES' in the sky. I spent £50,000 last year on advertising. People who haven't heard of Shake­ speare's plays have heard of Hobdell's Sausages. There are 10,000 men and girls frying sausages for me now. I've extended my factories as far as I can and am looking for a bigger building with enough land round it for 100,000 pigs.

Funnily enough, up to five years ago I had never had a banking account, but everyone told me I ought to have one, so I went to see the manager of the bank in the place where my factory was and said I wanted to open an account with him.

He was very polite and friendly. 'Certainly, Mr. Hobdell.

How much would you like to start with?' 'Oh, about £200,000.'

'Very good, Mr. Hobdell. Oh, yes, we'll arrange all that. Now you will need a cheque book and we shall want a copy of your signature. Will you please sign here?'

I laughed. 'Sorry, Mr. Parke,' I said, 'you may hardly believe it, but the fact of matter is I can't even write my name - I can only make my mark.'

The manager was certainly surprised, but feeling, I sup­ pose, that to a man with such a good balance in the bank he must say something pleasant, he said, 'You do surprise me, Mr. Hobdell. And yet you have made such a success of life. You have done all this without any education at all. What would you have been, I wonder, if only you had learned to read and write?'

I laughed. 'Caretaker at Greyfriars Street School at five pounds a week' I said".


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