Английский язык. Рассказы. Уровень В2+. Александр Владимирович Павленко

      Lost and Found

      Training 1

      Thomas spent some time living in Norway. He and his girlfriend Helga used to go away sometimes to her family house, which was two thousand metres up in the mountains. They used to go up the mountains with a rucksack and skis on their backs, spend the day skiing, and then come back down, sit by the fire, and then Helga’s Dad would beat Thomas at chess: he’d just trap his king and Thomas would lose.

      Training 2

      He was in Norway because he was working as an archaeologist in Trondheim. It was the capital of Norway in the Middle Ages, when Norway had a large empire, which included the Shetland and Orkney Isles, Ireland, Iceland and Greenland. So, it was a very rich town. They dug it up, and there were a lot of old pots, and old leather and wooden articles left from those times.

      Training 3

      They found a lot of rune-sticks. Runes are a kind of writing which was used in Viking and mediaeval Norway. They are often thought to have been magical symbols, but primarily they were used for simple writing, as they didn’t have paper but had tons of wood. The symbols are made up of straight lines. Obviously, you couldn’t write books, but it was a good system of conveying messages.

      Training 4

      The content was often quite mundane or just the alphabet. Some of them were just wrong and gibberish, just letters that didn’t really mean anything. These were all found in the rubbish, and they thought that there may have been people learning there, in kind of runic schools, where people had to write the alphabet twenty times and things like that.

      Training 5

      They found a very nice thing one day. It was a little king from a chess set. It was really, really exciting to find the king, not a pawn or a bishop, for example. They were really lucky that it came out in a lump, and they didn’t scrape his head off. Somebody had cut off his nose by mistake, but the rest of him was intact. The find more than made up for Tomas’s losing his own king so many times!

      Holidays in Scotland

      When I was a teenager, my pals and I went off camping in Arran, which is an island off the west coast of Scotland. We arrived by ferry at Brodick and went off looking for a place to camp. We found a very nice place along the sea front to put up our tents, which was a peninsula, next to a golf course. We pitched our tents there, and spent some time beachcombing and playing football, if I remember well, and then when it got dark, we decided to go to the local town for a drink. We decided to take a short cut across the golf course, and it was completely black, and none of us had a torch. We set off anyway, across this completely dark golf course, which we didn’t know had some burns – ditches with little streams at the bottom – running across it. So we were marching along merrily towards the pub, when splish!, splash!, splosh!, we found ourselves knee-deep in water after falling into one of the streams. We dragged ourselves out and continued onwards to the pub.

      The pub was nothing special, but we had a few drinks there, and when we finally got back, taking the road instead of returning across the golf course, we couldn’t find the tents, or even the peninsula on which we’d camped. “What’s going on? What’s happened? Where are our tents?” we asked ourselves. It turned out that the area where we’d set up the tents wasn’t really a peninsula at all, but that when the tide came in it became an island. So, the tide had come in and cut us off from our tents. For the second time that evening we got wet feet, as to reach our tents we had to roll up our trousers, take off our shoes and socks and wade across to them.

      At the time I was living in Elgin in the district of Moray, which is quite a nice area in the East of Scotland. It’s famous for not having any thunderstorms. It has the fewest thunderstorms of anywhere in Britain, and is also well known for its whisky, as it is in the heart of the whisky distilling area, and has much fertile land for growing barley, and nearby there are hills where there is peat and fresh spring water, which you need to make whisky. So, all of the famous whiskies come from there, like Glenfiddich and Glengrant, for example. There’s a shop there where many of them are bottled, called Gordon Simpson’s or something like that, and this shop sells about five hundred types of whisky, all from local producers. They have really special whiskies there, some thirty years old. In this shop we found a bottle which was produced at a distillery which I used to live next door to, called the Longmorne distillery, and even though we lived right next to this distillery we had never sampled its produce, so we bought a bottle. It was awful. It tasted like paint-stripper!

      Another time I went camping was on the Isle of Iona. We camped in the north-west corner, I think. Iona is a very special island, which is historically important because Saint Columba lived there and founded a monastery there – he was the man who brought Christianity, in the form of the Celtic church, to Scotland, from Ireland. The story goes that he left on a very small boat from Ireland and stopped on another island further south and wanted to settle there but discovered that from this island they could still see Ireland, so they moved on to Iona, from which they couldn’t see Ireland, so they wouldn’t feel homesick.

      It’s a very beautiful island, with the monastery, a very nice mediaeval church, and beautiful, very ancient rocks, which, due to the movement of the geographical strata, consist of lovely, pretty, marble-type old rocks. There is a very special, unique, magical atmosphere there. The water surrounding the coast is very clear and blue, and there are some wonderful clean beaches there, with little rock-pools dotted about with little fish, crabs, and starfish in them, and lots of seaweed and driftwood scattered along the shore.

      The weather is amazing, as it changes every fifteen or twenty minutes, so it can be pouring down with rain one minute, and then bright and sunny the next.

      Anyway, we camped in the north-west corner where there is a farmer who lets you camp on his land, which is basically a strip of grass next to the beach. It’s a lovely sandy beach with lots of driftwood, so we made a fire there and sat around it cooking soup in an old pot that he lent us and baking potatoes in the fire, drank a bottle of whisky, walked up and down collecting nicely shaped pieces of driftwood and watched the sun set on the horizon.