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I . The Churchyard My father’s family name was Pirrip , and my own first name was Philip . When I was very small , my tongue could not make anything longer or clearer of the two names than Pip . So I called myself Pip , and soon everybody else called me Pip too . I never saw my father or my mother , because they had both died long before I could remember them . My first idea of what they looked like came from their stones in the old churchyard . The shape of the letters on my father’s stone gave me the strange idea that he had been a square , dark man with black curly hair . Beside their stone stood five little stones in a row . They belonged to five little brothers of mine who had died as babies . I lived with my sister , Mrs Joe Gargery , who was more than twenty years older than me . She was married to Joe Gargery , the blacksmith of our village . Our village stood in the marsh country , down by the river , about twenty miles from the sea . Beyond the churchyard lay the flat , dark marshes , cut by ditches and gates , with cattle feeding on them here and there . Beyond the marshes ran the low grey line of the river , and beyond that was the sea , where the wind came from . On a cold grey afternoon , a day before Christmas , I was standing alone among the graves . I was looking at the stones and feeling small and afraid of everything . Then I began to cry . “ Hold your noise ! ” cried a terrible voice , and a man jumped up from among the graves near the church door . “ Keep still , you little devil , or I’ll cut your throat ! ” He was a fearful man , all in coarse grey , with a great iron on his leg . He had no hat , and an old rag was tied round his head . He was wet and covered in mud . His shoes were broken , his legs had been cut by stones and stung by nettles , and he was shaking with cold . His teeth were knocking together as he took me by the chin . “ Oh ! Don’t cut my throat , sir , ” I begged in terror . “ Please don’t do it , sir . ” “ Tell us your name ! ” said the man . “ Quick ! ” “ Pip , sir . ” “ Show us where you live , ” said the man . “ Point out the place ! ” I pointed to where our village lay , about a mile from the church . The man looked at me for a moment , then turned me upside down and emptied my pockets . There was nothing in them but a piece of bread . When the church came back to its proper place , I was sitting on a high gravestone , shaking , while he ate the bread like a hungry dog . “ Now look here , ” he said . “ Where’s your mother ? ” “ There , sir ! ” I said , and pointed at the stone . He jumped and started to run , then stopped and looked over his shoulder . “ There , sir ! ” I explained . “ That’s my mother . And that’s my father , lying beside her . ”
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