PONS Kurzgeschichten: Mrs Winterbottom's Wicked Orange Jam E-Book

Emma Bullimore

• Herausgeber: PONS
• Kategorie: Fremdsprachen
• Serie: PONS Landestypische Kurzgeschichten
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 131

Beschreibung

Englisch lernen mit spannenden Kurzgeschichten Sie lieben England und alles was dazu gehört? Dann tauchen Sie ins Land ein und frischen Sie ganz nebenbei Ihre Englischkenntnisse auf!Mit 20 abwechslungsreichen Kurzgeschichten rund um die Insel erweitern Sie spielend Ihre Lesekompetenz. Wortangaben auf jeder Seite helfen Ihnen dabei. Für Wiedereinsteiger (A2) und Fortgeschrittene (B1).

Leseprobe

Mrs Winterbottom’s Wicked Orange Jam

20 landestypische Kurzgeschichten zum Englischlernen

von Emma Bullimore Mary Evans Emma Blake

PONS GmbH

Stuttgart

PONS

Mrs Winterbottom’s Wicked Orange Jam

20 landestypische Kurzgeschichten zum Englischlernen

von

Emma Bullimore Mary Evans Emma Blake

Geschichten der Autorinnen im Einzelnen:

Emma Bullimore: Geschichte 1, 3, 4, 5, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 Mary Evans: Geschichte 7, 8, 10, 11

Emma Blake: Geschichte 2, 6

Alle Personen und Handlungen sind erfunden. Ähnlichkeiten mit lebenden oder verstorbenen Personen und tatsächlichen Begebenheiten wären rein zufällig.

1. Auflage 2016

© PONS GmbH, Stöckachstraße 11, 70190 Stuttgart, 2016 www.pons.de

E-Mail: [email protected]

Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Redaktion:PONS Verlag

Projektleitung: Canan Eulenberger-Özdamar

Logoentwurf: Erwin Poell, Heidelberg

Logoüberarbeitung: Sabine Redlin, Ludwigsburg

Titelfotos:Corgie: thinkstock/ Julesru, Marmelade: fotolia/victoria p., Tor: thinkstock/ Ingram Publishing, Illustrationen: shutterstock/ Ziven, Füße: thinkstock/ chrisdarnall, Landschaft: thinkstock/ Doghause PhotoStudio, Ring: thinkstock/ Kirs-UA

Covergestaltung: Anne Helbich, Stuttgart

Layout: PONS GmbH, Stuttgart

ISBN : 978-3-12-050111-4

EINIGE WORTE VORAB …

Sie lieben England, lesen gerne Kurzgeschichten und möchten etwas für Ihr Englisch tun?

Dann haben Sie sich für das richtige E-Book entschieden! Mit 20 heiter bis skurrilen, spannenden, manchmal nachdenklichen, aber niemals langweiligen Kurzgeschichten tauchen Sie ins Leben auf der Insel ein und frischen so ganz nebenbei Ihre Sprache auf. Unterwegs oder zu Hause – suchen Sie sich einfach Ihren Lieblingsplatz und lesen Sie los!

Die fett geschriebenen und nummerierten Wörter oder Ausdrücke zeigen, dass es hierzu Vokabelangaben gibt. Mit Klick auf ein fett geschriebenes und nummeriertes Wort öffnen Sie automatisch eine Fußnote mit der deutschen Übersetzung. Von hier können Sie zur Vokabelliste für das jeweilige Kapitel springen. Mit nochmaligem Klick auf das Wort in der Liste schließt sich diese wieder und Sie gelangen zurück zum Text.

Im Anhang können Sie nochmals alle Wörter und Ausdrücke in einer alphabetischen Wortliste nachschlagen.

Viel Spaß!

ÜBER DIE AUTOREN

Emma Bullimore is a British journalist, writer and translator, who lived in Hamburg, Berlin and Vienna, before settling down in jolly old London. After studying German at Oxford University, she went on to work at Stern, petra and Spiegel International before coming home to write for TV Times magazine. When she’s not interviewing Benedict Cumberbatch, Emma reviews TV on BBC national and local radio and translates for German theatres, scriptwriters and other creative folk. She loves dogs, stilettos and English chocolate (sorry Ritter Sport!). Twitter: @emmabullimore

Emma Blake is 27 and lives in Brixton, south west London. She studied German at Oxford University and now works for the charity WaterAid UK. She writes for a hobby and loves reading. Her favourite authors are Virginia Woolf and David Mitchell.

Mary Evans lives, works and spends all her money in London. She is an author, journalist and scriptwriter and her debut children‘s novel, Who Let the Gods Out? was published in 2014. Mary has presented her stories at The Hay Festival, The Imagine Festival, schools around the UK and anyone who will listen to her on the bus.

INHALT

1. Colin’s Bid for Freedom

2. The Spark

3. A London Love Affair

4. The Haunted Study

5. Meet the Mother

6. Under London

7. A Night at Hampton Court Palace

8. The Dog & Duck

9. A New Wimbledon Hero

10. The Distinguished Guest

11. The Lucky Penny

12. Trip to the Tower

13. Santa’s Little Helper

14. Moving on

15. Fifteen Minutes of Fame

16. The Butler and the Pancake

17. Finding Nessie

18. Cats in High Places

19. Mrs Winterbottom’s Wicked Orange Jam

20. The Country Fete

FUSSNOTEN

WORTLISTE

1. COLIN’S BID FOR FREEDOM

Today is like every other boring day. I’m as still as a statue, staring straight ahead and resisting the urge to scratch my forehead, which is itchy and sweaty under my fluffy black bearskin1. My perfectly polished shoes are pinching my feet and the rifle in my hand is growing heavy. I’m happy to stand outside Buckingham Palace, guarding our Queen, but it can be difficult to entertain yourself. Sometimes the tourists are interesting to look at, but often they’re too obsessed with their iPads to do anything else. My mind wanders to dinner. Tuesday is bangers and mash2 night in our house, but I forgot to take the sausages out of the freezer. Hopefully Becky remembered – she leaves for work a couple of hours later than me and is definitely the organised one in our relationship. She loves telling people she’s married to a guardsman.

There are a few exciting moments in this job of course. William and Kate’s wedding was incredible3 – the eyes of the world were on us and I even made it onto TV, although you wouldn’t have known it was me. My dad said he spotted me, but I think he was just imagining it. Either that, or he ended up falling asleep in front of the television and was just saying that he saw me. That sounds about right.

There’s a large group of school children walking round the corner from Buckingham Palace Road to the main gates. They’re all wearing matching yellow baseball caps so their teachers can’t “accidentally on purpose4” lose the most annoying one somewhere in Hyde Park. I always enjoy it when the bratty kids get their heads stuck in the railings.

We’re allowed to march up and down every now and again so that we don’t faint5. You can always feel the crowd reaching for their cameras as you start to move, convinced that something impressive is about to happen. I stride6 along as neatly as I can, resting my rifle on my shoulder and hoping not to disappoint.

Someone will come out to replace me soon. I’m not allowed to look at my watch, so it’s difficult to say precisely how long it will be, but I reckon about half an hour.

I notice a group of protesters walking past Green Park. They’re easy to spot because of the placards and the long hair. No doubt they’re heading to Westminster for some kind of demonstration.

Not long to go now. If the sausages are still in the freezer, we’ll have to eat fish fingers instead. I hope we’ve got some ketchup.

What’s that? In the distance I can hear a quiet, metallic jingle, like the sound of one of those miniature ornamental bells old women have on their mantelpieces7. It’s coming from behind me, but I’m not allowed to turn round.

What could it be? Quickly I realise – it’s the sound of a dog’s collar8. Perhaps Captain James’ spaniel, Tilly, has escaped from the mess? Or a policeman’s sniffer dog on patrol?

Suddenly there’s a roar9 from the crowd, I’m almost blinded by camera flashes and

I spot excited Japanese tourists jumping up and down, pointing through the gates. Immediately I know it’s not a spaniel or a sniffer dog that’s about to trot past me – it’s a corgi.

Sure enough, only a couple of seconds later, I spot a flash of ginger fur out of the corner of my eye. His ears are upright and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was smiling – Her Majesty’s dogs absolutely love people. When Barack Obama came to visit they liked him so much that they followed him down the corridors and tried to jump into his car! They always growled10 at Tony Blair though.

Walking along proudly, the royal pooch11 stops occasionally to sniff the ground, probably hoping to find some crumbs or a dog treat that has fallen out of Prince Harry’s pocket. I notice a fleck of black on his left ear and I know this isn’t just any corgi – it’s the Queen’s favourite. It’s Colin.

I realise I’ve got to do something. Colin can’t escape! If he gets past the gates, who knows what could happen. But I’m not allowed to move. Well, unless the Palace is under attack, but Colin is hardly dangerous (except to the local cats).

I look up and to the left. The policemen are just laughing. One is even grabbing his phone to take a photo. I look to the right. The gate is open and Colin is getting dangerously close to disappearing down The Mall. The Queen would never forgive12 me if something happened to her beloved doggy. Neither would Becky.

I spring into action, first walking, then jogging, and then sprinting in Colin’s direction. Running was a bad idea. Colin thinks I want to play and invites me to chase him round the grounds. I panic. I can hear the policemen laughing even louder now as I try to keep my bearskin straight while chasing a surprisingly swift corgi. We keep running. The tourists are cheering and I just know that I’m going to be all over YouTube this evening. Feeling helpless, I decide to lunge forward, throwing my arms out wide and grabbing hold of Colin as tightly as I can. His little legs keep moving but it’s no use - I’ve finally got him. The crowd’s applause turns to laughter as Colin rewards me by licking my face with his smelly tongue. It’s a tough life.

A month later, I stand outside Buckingham Palace, still as a statue, resisting the urge to scratch my forehead as I stare straight ahead. But this time I’m not bored. I’m proud as I remember the moment I saved Colin and then, a week later, the time that I was called into a special room in the Palace, where the Queen thanked me personally for saving her four-legged friend. Colin couldn’t thank me himself because he was receiving some much-needed training in the garden with Prince Phillip.

My new medal gleams13 in the sunshine and I can see my huge white smile in the reflection. Who could ask for a better job than this?

2. THE SPARK

A few strands of rain streamed like tears down the dirty window pane, making the street outside appear blurry1 and dream-like. Anna stared at the world outside, trying to see some colour, movement, or opportunity in the greyness.

‘Anna! The deep fat fryer2’, a cry from her boss woke Anna from her daydream.

The chips were burning, again. ‘Sorry Mr B!’ she called as she hastily removed the blackened mess from the fryer. Mr Brunswick sighed. There was no point even scolding her anymore. Anna‘s burned chips were becoming a regular occurrence. Her shift over, Anna hung up her apron, left the steamy shop and set off towards the sea. The stresses of the day melted into a watercolour3 wash of rain, sea-salty wind and waves. As she relaxed, she stopped being ‘Anna the hopeless chip fryer’ and became The Real Anna.

She sat on the half-rotten breakwater and thoughtfully smoked a cigarette. Although she agreed with her stepmother that it was a dirty habit, she‘d never really tried hard enough to give it up and it had become part of her evening ritual of staring out to sea and listening to the last of the seagulls.

She dreamed of adventure and something new, away from the so-called ’Sunshine Coast‘. She knew it was a cliché, but she dreamed of the bright lights of London, of new faces and places, of newspapers being something people read and absorbed4, not just wrapped5 fish in. Brighton had given her a great summer. Even her hours in the fish shop had flown by, and she had lived for the long evenings spent on the beach with her friends, all of whom had now left to start university. October had been lonely, with the weather turning colder and the town becoming quieter, and now November had arrived.

Anna had always loved growing up in Brighton, being able to swim in the water, waste hours with her friends playing in the penny arcade6, get an ice cream and try to eat it before it melted in the sun on the promenade, and run down to the very end of the pier to stare out at the point at which the endless sea and sky met on the horizon. But now her friends had gone off to start their university courses and, while she was happy with her decision not to leave Brighton herself yet, she couldn‘t help but feel lonely. The memories of her perfect summer now only reminded her of what she was missing.

Her eyes moved over a line of washed up debris from the sea. Shells lay like abandoned jewels7 on the pebbles, polished smooth by the waves. Bits of picnic rubbish and faded plastic had found their way back to the shore and dried, crispy seaweed tumbled about in the evening wind. Something showed up orange against the stones: a train ticket. It appeared to be unused and, as the wind blew it gently against her boot, she reached down and picked it up. It was valid for today. £40 worth of rail fare8 waiting to take her to London, and her dreams.

As she held it in her hands, her heart beat faster in her chest. It was as though she had cried out and the world had replied with this ticket. An evening of adventure in London awaited her – just an hour on the train. For free. She knew that if she considered it too carefully, she might decide it was a bad idea, so she hastily put out her cigarette and ran to the train station.

The train had been waiting in the station for an hour and there were no signs that it would ever leave. Anna knew something about finding the ticket had felt too good to be true. ‘We regret9 to inform you that this train has been cancelled. Severe weather conditions on the route mean no trains to London will be running this evening. We apologise for any inconvenience caused’. She groaned10, accepting that her London evening adventure was going to remain a dream.

She walked slowly back to the town in the direction of home, dragging her feet.

She‘d dreamed of lights, excitement, adventure, and now her one chance of it had been proven impossible.

At that moment she heard a loud bang, followed quickly by five quieter ones. She looked up and saw a fading light in the sky surrounded by smoke. The commotion11 was coming from the shore, so she set back off towards the sea. As she reached the beach, there was another huge bang followed by a gasp from the crowd gathered there. She looked up to see a beautiful arch of golden light spilling like rain all over the sky and lighting up the heavens. It was a firework display! Anna did a quick calculation in her head and sure enough – how could she have forgotten? – it was 5th November: Bonfire Night12!

Like all good things, the display at the beach eventually came to an end, but the thrill of the night-time light show stayed with Anna like a charm against the dissatisfaction13 and loneliness she had felt. She grinned as she wandered home amongst the thinning crowd, warm in spite of the cold night air.

Who needed London? Perhaps Brighton wasn‘t so dull after all.

3. A LONDON LOVE AFFAIR

Alex first met Ruth on an unusually quiet Piccadilly Line carriage, on his commute1 home to Russell Square. He’d been reading yet another depressing article about London house prices and wondered if, at 32, he would ever be able to afford a place of his own. The man next to him was eating one of those disgusting