The summer holidays! Those magic wo

The summer holidays! Those magic words! The very mention of them used to thrill me.
All my summer holidays, from when I was four years old to when I was seventeen, were totally idyllic. This, I am certain, was because we always went to the same idyllic place and that place was Norway. Except for my half-sister and half-brother,the rest of us were all pure Norwegian by blood. We all spoke Norwegian and all our relations lived over there. So in a way, going to Norway every summer was like going home.
We were always an enormous party. There were my three sisters and my half-sister (that’s four)/ and my half-brother (that’s six), and my mother (that’s seven), and Nanny (that’s eight), and in addition to these, there were never less than twoof my half-sister’s friends (that’s ten altogether).
Looking back on it now, I don’t know how my mother did it. There were all those train bookings and boat bookings and hotel bookings to be made in advance by letter. She had to make sure that we had enough shorts and shirts and sweaters and gymshoes and bathing costumes ( you couldn’t even buy a shoelace on the island we were going to), and the packed, as well as countless suitcases, and when thegreat departure day arrived, the ten of us, together with our mountains of luggage, would set out on the first and easiest step of the journey, the train to London.
When we arrived in London, we got into three taxis and went clattering across the great city to King’s cross, where we got on to the train for Newcastle, two hundred miles to the north. The trip to Newcastle took about five hours, and when we arrived there, we needed three more taxis to take us from the station to the docks, where our boat would be waiting. The next stop after that would be Oslo,the capital of Norway.
When I was young, capital of Norway was not called Oslo. It was called Christiania. But some where along the line, the Norwegians decided to do away with that pretty name and call it Oslo instead. As children, we always knew it as Christiania, but if I call it that here, we shall only get confused, so I had better call it Oslo all the way through.
The sea journey from Newcastle to Oslo took days and night, and if it was rough, as it often was, all of us got sea sick except our fear less mother. We used to lie in deck-chairs on the promenade deck,within easy reach of the rails, our faces green refusing the hot soup and ship’s biscuits the kindly steward kept offering us. And as for poor Nanny, she beganto feel sick the moment she set foot on deck. “I hate these things!” she used to say. “I’m sure we’ll never get there! Which lifeboat do we go to when it starts to sink?” Then she would retire to her cabin, where she stayed groaning and trembling until the ship was firmly tied up at the quayside in Oslo harbor the next day.
We always stopped off for one night in Oslo so that we could have a grand annual reunion with our Grandmother and Grandfather, our mother’s parents.
When we got off the boat, we all went in a cavalcade of taxis straight to the Grand Hotel to drop off our luggage. Then, keeping the same taxis, we drove on to the grandparents’’house, where an emotional welcome awaited us. All of us were embraced and kissed many times and tears flowed down wrinkled old cheeks and suddenly that quiet gloomy house came alive with many children’s voices.
The next morning, everyone got up early and eager to continue the journey. There was another full day’s travelling to be done before we reached our final destination, most of it by boat. We loved this part of our journey. The nice little vessel with its single tall funnel would move out into the calm waters of the fjord. Unless you have sailed down the Oslo fjord like this yourself on a lovely summer’s day, you cannot imagine what it is like. It is impossible to describe the feeling of absolute peace and beauty that surrounds you. The boat winds its way between countless tiny islands, some with small brightly painted wooden houses on them, but many with not a house or a tree on the bare rocks.
Late in the afternoon, we would come finally to the end of the journey, the island of Fjome. This was where our mother always took us. Heaven knows how she found it,but to us it was the greatest place on earth. About two hundred yards from the coast along a narrow dusty road, stood a simple wooden hotel painted white. It was run by an elderly couple whose faces I still remember clearly and every year they welcomed us lice old friends.

Результаты (русский) 1:

Летние каникулы! Эти магические слова! Само упоминание о них для меня волнение. Все мои летние каникулы, когда я был четырех лет, когда мне было семнадцать, были полностью идиллической. Это, я уверен, был, потому что мы всегда пошли же идиллическое место, и это место было Норвегии. За исключением моя сестра и половину брата остальные из нас были все чисто Норвежский кровью. Мы все говорили норвежский и все наши отношения жил там. Так что в некотором смысле, собирается Норвегии каждое лето был как домой. Мы всегда были огромные партии. Там были мои три сестры и моя сестра (то есть четыре) / и мой брат (то есть шесть) и моя мать (то есть семь) и Няня (то есть 8), и Кроме того, там никогда не были меньше, чем twoof моя сестра половина друзей (это десять вообще). Сейчас, оглядываясь назад на это, я не знаю, как моя мать сделал это. Там были все эти поезда заказы и лодка заказов и бронирования производится заблаговременно в письме. Ей пришлось убедиться, что мы имели достаточно шорты и футболки, свитера и кеды и купание костюмы (вы даже не могли купить шнурок на острове, мы шли к) и упакованы, бесчисленные чемоданы, а когда прибыл в день отъезда Великой, 10 из нас, вместе с нашей горы багажа, будут изложены на первый и самый простой шаг путешествие , на поезд в Лондон. Когда мы приехали в Лондоне, мы попали в три такси и пошел клацанье через большие города Кингс Кросс, где мы получили поезд для Ньюкасл, двести миль на север. Поездка в Ньюкасл занимает около пяти часов, и когда мы приехали туда, нам необходимо три больше такси взять нас от станции в доки, где будет ждать наш катер. Следующая остановка после этого бы Осло, столице Норвегии. Когда я был молод, столица Норвегии не был вызван Осло. Он назывался Christiania. Но некоторые где вдоль линии, норвежцы решили покончить с этим довольно именем и называют его Осло вместо. Как дети, мы всегда знали его как Христиании, но если я назвать это здесь, мы будем только запутаться, так что я лучше называть его Осло всю дорогу через. Морское путешествие от Ньюкасл в Осло взял день и ночь, и если она была грубой, как это часто было все из нас заболел море за исключением нашего страха менее мать. Мы привыкли лежать в шезлонги на палубе набережной, в пределах легкой досягаемости рельсы, наши лица зеленый отказа в горячий суп и галеты, которую любезно Стюард постоянно предлагают нам. И что касается бедных няней, она началс чувствовать больной момент она ступит на палубе. «Я ненавижу эти вещи!» она использовала сказать. «Я уверен, что мы никогда не получите там! Какие шлюпки мы идем к когда она начинает тонуть?» Затем она уйдет на пенсию в своей кабине, где она осталась стенание и дрожь до тех пор, пока корабль был прочно связали на пристани в гавани Осло следующий день. We always stopped off for one night in Oslo so that we could have a grand annual reunion with our Grandmother and Grandfather, our mother’s parents. When we got off the boat, we all went in a cavalcade of taxis straight to the Grand Hotel to drop off our luggage. Then, keeping the same taxis, we drove on to the grandparents’’house, where an emotional welcome awaited us. All of us were embraced and kissed many times and tears flowed down wrinkled old cheeks and suddenly that quiet gloomy house came alive with many children’s voices. The next morning, everyone got up early and eager to continue the journey. There was another full day’s travelling to be done before we reached our final destination, most of it by boat. We loved this part of our journey. The nice little vessel with its single tall funnel would move out into the calm waters of the fjord. Unless you have sailed down the Oslo fjord like this yourself on a lovely summer’s day, you cannot imagine what it is like. It is impossible to describe the feeling of absolute peace and beauty that surrounds you. The boat winds its way between countless tiny islands, some with small brightly painted wooden houses on them, but many with not a house or a tree on the bare rocks. Late in the afternoon, we would come finally to the end of the journey, the island of Fjome. This was where our mother always took us. Heaven knows how she found it,but to us it was the greatest place on earth. About two hundred yards from the coast along a narrow dusty road, stood a simple wooden hotel painted white. It was run by an elderly couple whose faces I still remember clearly and every year they welcomed us lice old friends.