Free Out of the Ashes by Michael Morpurgo Page A

star, but she was
just making it up. She’s always making things up, particularly what she calls her ‘experiences’ about boys, and sometimes that makes me annoyed because I think she’s trying
to put me down. But last night she was just having fun. I feel she is more like my sister than my best friend. I know her so well, too well probably.
    Jay was beside me later on when we all linked arms and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ (I can never remember the words) before we went back home in the pick-up, Bobs in the back, barking his
head off at the moon. He always barks and howls on moonlit nights – ‘like a ruddy werewolf,’ Dad says.
    When we got back I went to see Ruby in her stable to wish her a Happy New Year. I gave her lots of sugar lumps and a kiss on her nose. Then I did the same to Bobs so he didn’t feel left
out – not sugar lumps, just a kiss. When I got up to bed Dad was already snoring, as loud as a chainsaw.
    This afternoon I took Ruby for a ride. Bobs came along. Bobs always comes along. Up through Bluebell Wood and down to the river. Two herons lifted off as we cantered across the water meadows.
Love herons. The river was low enough, so I rode Ruby across into Mr Bailey’s wood the other side. Bobs had to swim, paddling like crazy, head up and looking very pleased with himself.
We’ve got this brilliant arrangement with Mr Bailey. He lets me ride in his woods and in return I let him have horse manure for his vegetable garden. Unlike us, he keeps the tracks through
his woods clear; so, as long as I look out for badger holes, I can let Ruby have her head. She galloped on well today, puffing and snorting like she does when she’s really enjoying
herself.
    As I came out of the wood I saw Mr Bailey feeding his sheep. He waved at me and called out, wishing me a Happy New Year, which surprised me because he can be a bit grumpy. (He wasn’t in
the pub last night. He’s a Methodist. He doesn’t like pubs.) Normally we only wave at each other at a distance. So I rode over to say hello, just to be friendly. He told me he’d
be lambing down his ewes in a week or so (he calls them ‘yors’). ‘Don’t want any snow,’ he said. ‘Worst thing you can have at lambing time is snow.’
    Then he asked me if I’d made any New Year’s resolutions, and I said I hadn’t. ‘You should, Becky,’ he told me. ‘I always do. I don’t always keep them,
mind. But I try. And trying’s what counts.’ So I thought about it on the way back home, and I made two New Year’s resolutions. First: to write in my diary like I’m doing now
every single day. Second: to be nicer to Mum, if she’ll be nicer to me.

 
Thursday, January 11th
    Both my New Year’s resolutions have been broken. It’s ten days since I wrote a word in my diary, and Mum and I still aren’t getting on at all. Now come my
excuses. I didn’t write in my diary partly because I couldn’t think of anything much to write about, and partly because Mum kept on pestering me to do it. She kept saying it would be
good practice for my English (that’s her trouble, she can’t stop being a teacher) and that Dad would be disappointed if I didn’t write in it every day. She pesters me about
everything, not just about my diary.
    Here’s a list of my terrible crimes:
    1. I haven’t written my thank you letters for my Christmas/birthday presents. I’m doing it.
    2. I left Ruby’s gate unlatched and she got out. Once. By accident.
    3. I still haven’t tidied my room. So?
    4. I take long showers and use up too much water. I like showers.
    5. I forgot to take my wellies off – once – when I came in off the farm. I was in a hurry to go to the loo.
    6. I should spend less time with Ruby and more time on my homework – if I want ‘to get on in life’.
    What she doesn’t understand is how much I love Ruby. Dad understands. He’s the same about his cows and his pigs and the sheep. He loves them to bits. He’s got twenty-five
Gloucester cows