William at War (Just William series Book 14)
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William is always ready to offer his services to his country. But why is it that his enthusiastic contribution is so seldom appreciated? William is determined to do his bit, but unfortunately no one else thinks he'd make a hero . . .
William at War by Richmal Compton is a selection of ten of William's most wonderful wartime stories in which William proves himself just as dangerous, unpredictable and downright troublesome as the Enemy! Now with a brand-new cover look illustrated by Michael Foreman.
There is only one William. This tousle-headed, snub-nosed, hearty, loveable imp of mischief has been harassing his unfortunate family and delighting his hundreds of thousands of admirers since 1922. This much-loved children's classic features contemporary cover art, along with the original inside illustrations by Thomas Henry, allowing a new generation to enjoy this unforgettable character.
their real names?’ ‘They don’t know what their real names are.’ ‘Why don’t they ask them?’ ‘Really William,’ said Mrs Brown helplessly, ‘I can’t explain it any more. Go out of doors and play.’ ‘Well, listen,’ pleaded William. ‘Tell me jus’ one thing. How do they do it? How do they get people to let ole Hitler in?’ Mrs Brown sighed resignedly. ‘I’m not quite sure, dear. I think they sort of make people believe that they’d have no chance of resisting him and so it’s best to let him in. They
him, of course, thought William, and were talking like that to put him off the scent. Or – more probably – they were talking in code. Perhaps ‘Aren’t greens a price?’ meant ‘Let’s kill Churchill,’ and ‘There don’t seem to be so many lettuces about this year’ meant ‘Heil Hitler’ – or something like that. They were separating now – each going on her way. For a moment William stood irresolute, wondering which to follow. One was going towards the village, the other – the one who had asked what the
be careful,’ said Douglas. ‘Oh, we’ll be careful all right,’ said William carelessly. ‘Corks! When I think of him goin’ into that room an’ the bucket of water fallin’ right over his head . . .’ He chuckled. As usual, he saw the scheme in its finished perfection, magnificently ignoring the intervening details. Again Douglas looked doubtfully at the bucket. ‘It’s jolly heavy to carry full of water,’ he said. ‘I dunno how we’re goin’ to get it fixed up on top of a door.’ ‘Oh, we’ll find a way,’
it merely as a nuisance. Occasionally Mr Leicester still came to gaze at it tenderly over the barrier, his eyes gleaming with the pride of possession. His bomb, his beloved unexploded bomb . . . It justified, he felt, his whole career as a warden, gave his life meaning and purpose and inspiration . . . William realised, of course, that the thing might go off as he was removing it to Hubert Lane’s house, but he considered himself quite capable of dealing with that. A saucepan on his head, a tin
others,’ said Hubert, who was finding the whole thing, though enjoyable, something of a tax on his intellect. ‘It may be Himmler or Mussolini or someone. Anyway, he says he reminds him of someone. P’raps it was his father . . . I say, you’ve not told anyone, have you? My cousin’d get in an awful row with Mr Churchill if you’ve told anyone.’ ‘’Course I haven’t,’ said William indignantly. ‘I said “cross my throat”, di’n’t I?’ But the keeping of the secret was not proving easy. It hovered on the