Guess the opening lines...

[kinkytoes]

Hi all, hope it's ok to start this here.

Thought it might be fun and stretch the old grey matter a bit.

I'll attach a shot of some opening lines and whoever guesses correctly post their own?

We could all just post pics but then we might lose track. I don't mind.

Let me know what you think (of the idea, and the opening lines here - hopefully started off with an easyish one but let me know if any clues are needed!)

If it's being done elsewhere please someone direct me 😊

Yes! It was hard to stop at that point. I wanted to put all the rest in as well!

@PassengerDerby it's such a good book!

All children, except one, grow up.

When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere.

Peter Pan?

Yes!

Mr Sniggs, the Junior Dean, and Mr Postlethwaite, the Domestic Bursar, sat alone in Mr Sniggs's room overlooking the garden quad at Scone College. From the rooms of Sir Alastair Digby-Vaine-Trumpington, two staircases away, came a confused roaring and breaking of glass. They alone of the senior members of Scone were at home that evening, for it was the night of the annual dinner of the Bollinger Club. The others were all scattered over Boar's Hill and North Oxford at gay, contentious little parties, or at other senior common-rooms, or at the meetings of learned societies, for the annual Bollinger dinner is a difficult time for those in authority.

It is not accurate to call this an annual event, because quite often the club is suspended for some years after each meeting. There is tradition behind the Bollinger; it numbers reigning kings among its past members. At the last dinner, three years ago, a fox had been brought in in a cage and stoned to death with champagne bottles. What an evening that had been! This was the first meeting since then, and from all over Europe old members had rallied for the occasion. For two days they had been pouring into Oxford: epileptic royalty from their villas of exile; uncouth peers from crumbling country seats; smooth young men of uncertain tastes from embassies and legations; illiterate lairds from wet granite hovels in the Highlands; ambitious young barristers and Conservative candidates torn from the London season and the indelicate advances of debutantes; all that was most sonorous of name and title was there for the beano.
^

Giving this a bump:

The guard at Exeter warned him he would have to change at Dulverton to pick up the westbound train to Bamfylde Bridge Halt, the nearest railhead to the school, but did not add that the wait between trains was an hour. It was one of those trivial circumstances that played a part in the healing process of the years ahead....

A book much beloved by some Mnetters.

That’s got to be Evelyn Waugh.

Yes indeed, but which one?

To Serve Them All My Days? I admit I googled the title and saw the name of Bamfylde on the page when I did, so it's confirmed my suspicion. I only read it once but do remember I enjoyed it very much.

I’m stumped (and I’m not going to cheat).

Need to confirm I did NOT google the quotation, I googled the title of the book that was in my head. Before I get kicked off the thread for cheating 😅

The best! I remember reading it as a teen and I'd never cried with laughter so much at a book. Only PGW has reduced me to tears in that way since.

His first novel, if that helps. Far better than his second, and much more enjoyable than the rather mawkish (to my taste) Brideshead Revisited.

Yes, To Serve Them All My Days. Bamfylde is the clue. If I'd continued to the end of he sentence it would have given the character's name but I thought that was too much of a giveaway

And finally for today, rather a tough one perhaps:

The men at work at the corner of the street had made a kind of camp for themselves, where, marked out by tripods hung with red hurricane-lamps, an abyss in the road led down to a network of subterranean drain-pipes. Gathered round the bucket of coke that burned in front of the shelter, several figures were swinging arms against bodies and rubbing hands together with large, pantomimic gestures: like comedians giving formal expression to the concept of extreme cold. One of them, a spare fellow in blue overalls, taller than the rest, with a jocular demeanour and long, pointed nose like that of a Shakespearian clown, suddenly stepped forward, and, as if performing a rite, cast some substance — apparently the remains of two kippers, loosely wrapped in newspaper — on the bright coals of the fire, causing flames to leap fiercely upward, smoke curling about in eddies of the north-east wind. As the dark fumes floated above the houses, snow began to fall gently from a dull sky, each flake giving a small hiss as it reached the bucket. The flames died down again; and the men, as if required observances were for the moment at an end, all turned away from the fire, lowering themselves laboriously into the pit, or withdrawing to the shadows of their tarpaulin shelter. The grey, undecided flakes continued to come down, though not heavily, while a harsh odour, bitter and gaseous, penetrated the air. The day was drawing in.

The pretty Swiss town of Mayenfeld, lies at the foot of a mountain range whose grim rugged peaks tower high above the valley below.

The pretty Swiss town of Mayenfeld, lies at the foot of a mountain range whose grim rugged peaks tower high above the valley below.

Heidi?

That helps! Decline and Fall.

(I liked Scoop the best).

It was 7 minutes after midnight . The dog was lying on the grass in the middle of the lawn in front of Mrs Shears house.

Correct!

The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night Time?.

Yes! I love Scoop. 'Feather-footed through the plashy fen passes the questing vole.'

Yes!!

It was the day my grandmother exploded.