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In the Time of Greenbloom is a psychological coming-of-age story set in rural England in the s. John Blaydon, barely thirteen when the story opens.
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You can change your ad preferences anytime. Upcoming SlideShare. Like this document? Why not share! Embed Size px. Start on. The way there will take you off your direct route, but I think it could be worth it. You must go to the very end of the Arabian peninsula.

Enter the palace on the mountainside and break the moonlight on the stone dragon's head. When the day comes, twenty fingers will point the way to the Rim of Heaven, and silver will be worth more than gold. We dug that cave for them — we, the Dubidai, the brownies of these mountains. Firedrake flew on. The nine white peaks forming the Rim of Heaven shimmered in the distance as if starlight clung to them. The valley was even more beautiful than he had imagined it in his dreams. Firedrake gazed at the Rim of Heaven, looking down at the sea of blue flowers covered with moon-dew and breathing in the fragrance that rose from them.


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Then he closed his eyes — and felt the presence of other dragons nearby. The adventure continues! The first thing he noticed about her was her whiteness; she was a very white girl, as white in the face as the snow-berries which grew under the elms at the foot of the Vicarage drive, and the skin of her delicate arms and legs was so pure in its pallor that it was almost indistinguishable from the tennis frock she was wearing.

Looking at her as she moved, or seemed casually to dance amongst the others in front of the summer-house, he was aware of a renewal of the sense of isolation which had held them both, Melanie and himself, when Simpson waved them a jaunty good-bye from the car before dusting away down the Clockwood drive to return to the Vicarage. Today their arrival had been blacker even than usual because it was that sort of a day: still and sticky and with so little air that the birds themselves only moved short distances amongst the bushes, plumping heavily from one perch to another and abandoning their calls when they were halfway through them as though the spit were drying in their beaks.

And worst of all it was a tennis tournament, an organised one with lists of names pinned up in the summer-house, partners, introductions and prizes at the end. The girl, he knew, had noticed them both from the moment of their late arrival. In the narrow white face the great grey eyes sought them constantly as she moved diffidently from one self-contained group to another in the unblinking sunshine of the hard court.

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Her fine hair, black as a funeral plume, was tossed a little affectedly to one side by occasional quick jerks of her chin as, from her tallness, she glanced over an intervening shoulder or head to steal yet another quick look at them. And then, when she saw that she had his attention, that he was openly, almost greedily, watching her from his high place on the bank, the pendulum-swing of her racket ceased instantly, depriving the slow smile she gave him of any place in minutes or seconds, so that as it spread outwards from her lips to her pale cheeks, it gathered an intimacy which seemed timeless and eternal.

Melanie, beside him, saw it too and moved restlessly, watching him a little foxily from beneath the sharp redness of her hair to see if he would smile back; and he did: swiftly and without defiance as he answered her whispered question:. He knew that it was unfair to have spoken so openly but he did not care, and by leaving her there, alone and conspicuous, he forced her to follow him. He was all arrogance now, was ready to meet any of them on their own terms and beat them too, so long as it did not involve too much tennis; and he would see that it did not.

He must find Tim and pair him off with Melanie.


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He knew these tennis parties; they always started off with a show of organisation and enthusiasm; but in an hour or two, when the rabbits began hopelessly to outnumber the hares, a certain laxity always became apparent, drifting into the air as aimlessly as the long sprawl of the late clouds, and bringing with it a mellowness that was at once an opportunity and a delight. He knew his Melanie too: young as she was, not yet twelve, already she liked an escort, someone in trousers to flutter at, a boy with an address for torchlight letters in the depths of the school dormitory.

So the thing to do was to get hold of him quickly and establish an intimacy and ascendancy over him before the tournament got fairly started. Looking round, he saw him almost at once, standing beside his elder brother Philip at the net. Somehow, if they were going to the orchard or the hayfield, they would have to give her the slip as unobtrusively and naturally as possible. She was too young, too proprietorial, and would probably give things away afterwards to the governess or Mrs Bellingham so that later when they reached home, Melanie, if jealous or dissatisfied in any way, might find an opportunity of hinting things to Mother.

That was the trouble with Melanie these days: she had lost the spirit of their alliance and seemed increasingly to identify herself with Mary and Mother whenever things had gone slightly wrong. He glanced behind him; good! Melanie was following him towards the group by the net. Now was the moment to break in.

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Better ask Philip. From his superior height, across the immense distances separating Sedburgh from Aysgarth and the Abbey, Eastbourne, Philip looked down on them and glancing at his wrist-watch drawled:. Young Blaydon and sister. What happened, Blaydon? That old Lizzie of yours break down again? Simpson had to take Father over to see the Bishop, John improvised rapidly; even the Bellinghams might be a little in awe of the Bishop.

I see! Beside him Tim sniggered diminutively, hastily muffling his mouth behind his racket as everyone else stopped talking. A little erratic! Philip Bellingham pronounced slowly. Not quite in your usual centre-court form eh! Well, what is so funny about that? We want to get started. Have you found that Victoria girl yet? There she is. Yes, she said.

In the time of greenbloom; a novel by Gabriel Fielding | National Library of Australia

It was Mrs Bellingham cooing up behind them. Clear the court please!


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    • There are plenty of chairs by the summer-house and we must see about getting the grass court into action. Followed by the others he led the way to the grass bank, leaving them alone in a sudden recession of the noise and the company. They looked at one another carefully. Close to she had a distinct scent, not sweet or sharp, not really definable, but reassuring and exciting.

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    Boys were like most vegetables, he thought, plain and unwonderful, consisting only of parts; but girls, like flowers, were more than the shapes of which they were composed, and always they had this secret scent. The perception of it, striking him so soon after her defence of him, filled him with a sudden wild gratitude; so that he wanted from that moment more than anything else in the whole afternoon to surprise her and win her interest and admiration. They turned and began to walk slowly down to the far end of the court where the trees stood darkly over the shadowed fronts of the stables, the golden weather-cock on its turret pinned like a brooch against their still green foliage.

    There was something a little old-fashioned about her clothes. Was it perhaps that they reminded him of pictures in the Encyclopaedia? Girls with long hair standing selfconsciously on the tops of horse-drawn buses? Or was it Alice in Wonderland? He could not be sure; but he saw that the skirt was heavily pleated and rather long, that the cotton socks were a little thin and that there were carefully stitched darns showing over each heel of her tennis shoes. There was no time for him to observe more or to think about her more specifically, because the Dormains were obviously anxious to start the game and to win it; but he was glad to discover almost from the first ball that she was if anything even less accomplished than himself, and that their normally aggressive opponents of the summer-house-end became steadily more courteous and sporting as game succeeded game.

    Oh bad luck! But they were not discomfited; after an initial attempt to improve their play with much marshalling of forces and hasty conferences between games, they threw their endeavours to the sun, and without any clowning or self-consciousness proceeded quietly to enjoy their frustration, gradually building up out of the ruin of their ambitions a secret and unspoken pleasure in the magnitude of their defeat.

    It became almost the thing to lose, so that they were on the verge of apologising when by some ineptitude on the part of Richard or Pat a straight shot curved serenely and successfully over the net. And then, at the end of their set, as they made their way to the lemonade table, standing tinkling and frosty under its orange umbrella between the two busy courts, she looked at him delightedly and said:.

    She touched his hand. Things like that you know; it was easy. I look much more like you. He looked at her searchingly. It had not occurred to him, but of course she was right; they were alike; dreadfully, excitingly alike. Does that happen to you too? There are red people, yellow people—.