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THE CLASS TEACH' You don't fool me, Ghiţulescu! You've got Kents, bless your wallet! Throw one over, 'cause I'm poor, my mother's unemployed and keeps me only on shots of glucose, she has no food to give me. Come ooooooon, please! Ghiţulescu

Between September 15 and June 15, every child's life was hijacked by school. School was the children's only officially-sanctioned pursuit. Their only obligation. None of us got any thrill out of getting up early, eyes heavy with sleep, and trudging all the way

excerpt  Among our scholarly workmates three or four quickly distinguished themselves, and they would compete against each other for first place in our class. Our former prize winning classmate, Motas Constantin, had moved to a science class. Now two pupils, Ciurea Constantin

excerpts Master Vucea had no servants. Apart from his cook, we were his only servants. Those of us who were poor and were not dressed German style figured on his purchase list. When he needed to decide who would go to the market place and who to the grocer's he called

excerpts THREE KM. FROM A. , A BEND IN THE ROAD… N. R. 6 (National Road 6) goes exactly through the centre of the small town of A. Three kilometers from the railway gate, after going over the railway tracks which unite this part of the country with Bucharest (distance:

Little Arabella MillerDrove a yellow Caterpillar. And she drove it round and round,Razed her village to the ground. Arabella did her best,Her machine did all the rest.  The surviving populationGround their dentures in frustration,Seeing what a sorry sight Was their village

excerpt The children used to fill a long, silky, women's stocking with sand, they used to tie it up really tight, then they used to hang a thin, nylon thread to it. In the evening, they hid the stocking in the rose bush, opposite to the sidewalk, and then they waited

excerpt AAAGH, WHAT A NIGHTMARE! I jumped up and forgot it was Sunday. I was just about to get dressed and go to school, to find out if Hari had come to any harm; I was like one of those old biddies who dream I don't know what, a black pond or something, and then think

excerpt  CHAPTER TWOIN WHICH MOTHER TELLS SNIPPETY-SNAP THE STORY OF A WHINEY, ROWDY LITTLE BOY Around five o'clock, at dawn,When the other kids sleep on,He would regularly moan.  What ails him, for goodness' sakeTo start moaning at daybreak?Well, at five he

A story, no matter how good or bad it may be, is in the end no more than a joining of words. That's something we know. But where do the story-tellers take out their words that they put together and make stories with (good or bad)? That's what we don't know.

In 1964, Creangă's memories were made into a movie (click here to see preview) by Elisabeta Bostan (b. 1931), whose filmography extending back to 1956, includes the Naica series (Naica and the Stork, Naica and the Squirrel, Naica Leaves for Bucharest), another film

Thou shalt not lie! A lie might get you lunch, but not supper. And there's no honesty in a liar. . . There lived once a little boy, Ionica by his name, who was always loath to help his parents. He didn't like it and that's that. Whenever his father said to