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Английский язык, 7 класс. English VII. Афанасьева О.В.
Unit 3 Упражнение 55
55. Представьте, что вы а) Дэнни и расскажите историю его жизни; б) Отец Дэнни и расскажите про ранние годы Дэнни и его жизнь в караване,
a) When I was four months old, my mother died suddenly and my father was left to look alter me all by himself.
I had no brothers or sisters with whom I could share toys or play together. So all my boyhood, from the age of four months on, there were just us two, my father and me. We lived in an old gypsy caravan1 behind a filling station.2 My father owned the filling station and the caravan and a small meadow behind, that was about all he owned in the world and my father struggled to make both ends meet. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was stili'a baby, my father washed me and fed me, changed my diapers,3 pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has tc earn his living at the same time.
But my father didn't mind. He was a cheerful man. I think that he gave me all the love he had felt for my mother when she was aiive. We were very close. During my early years, I never had a moment's unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was now a bouncy little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil ali over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop4 helping my father with the cars. The workshop was a stone building. My father built that himself with loving care. "We are engineers, you and I," he used to say firmly to me. "We earn our living by repairing engines' and we can't do good work in a bad workshop." It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gypsy children, he said, had been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. In old times it had been pulled by a horse along winding country roads of England. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over, Tnere was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn't much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove2 that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. I think that the stew1 cooked by my father is the best thing I've ever tasted. One plateful was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed and we never regretted that our caravan was far from a perfect home.
I really loved living in that gypsy caravan. I loved it particularly in the evenings when I was tucked up in my bed and my father was telling stories. I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
. You may think, if you don't know him well, that he was a stern and serious man. He wasn't. He was actually full of fun. What made him look so serious and sometimes gloomy4 was the fact that he never smiled with his mouth. He did it all with his eyes. He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a gold- * en light dancing in the middle of each eye. But the mouth never moved. My father was not what you would call an educated man. I doubt he had read many books in his life. But he was an excellent storyteller. He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him. He always kept his promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running
b) When Dnny was four months old, his mother died suddenly and I was left to look after him all by myself.
He had no brothers or sisters with whom he could share toys or play together. So all his boyhood, from the age of four months on, there were just us two, me and Danny. We lived in an old gypsy caravan behind a filling station. I owned the filling station and the caravan and a' small meadow behind, that was about all I owned in the world and I straggled to make both ends meet. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While Danny was still a baby, I washed him and fed him, changed his diapers, pushed him in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But I didn't mind. I was a cheerful man. I gave Danny all the love I had felt for his mother when she was alive. We were very close. During Danny's early years, he never had a moment's unhappiness, and here he is on his fifth birthday.
He was now a bouncy little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over him, but the* was because he spent all day in the workshop4 helping me with the cars. The workshop was a stone building. I built that myself with loving care. "We are engineers, you and I,"I used to say firmly to him. "We earn our living by repairing engines' and we can't do good work in a bad workshop."It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. I said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gypsy children, I said, had been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. In old times it had been pulled by a horse along winding country roads of England. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over. There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn't much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. Danny thinks that the stewcooked by me is the best thing he has ever tasted. One plateful was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed and we never regretted that our caravan was far from a perfect home.
Danny really loved living in that gypsy caravan. He loved it particularly in the evenings" when he was tucked up in his bed and I was telling stories. He was happy because he was sure that when he went to sleep I would still be there, very close to him, sitting in my chair by the fire.
I was not what you would call an educated man. I had read not many books in my life. But I was an excellent storyteller. I promised to make up a bedtime story for Danny every time he asked me. I always kept my promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.
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