My Name Is Philip Pirrip

My name is Philip Pirrip, but when I was a child, I could not say my name properly. I called myself Pip, and since then everybody began to call me by that name. I have never known my mother and father. They both died when I was an infant. My only sister brought me up who was married to a blacksmith whose name is Joe Gargery. My story begins on a cold, grey winter afternoon in the churchyard where my parents are buried. I would often go to their graves and look down at the words on their gravestone: Philip Pirrip and Georgiana, Wife of the Above.

The graveyard was a dark and frightening place. I shivered. Cold and afraid, I began to cry. “Quiet, you little devil!” cried a terrible voice. “Be silent—or I’ll cut your throat!”

A rough-looking man had taken hold of me. He held me tightly by the neck. “Oh, don’t cut my throat, sir!” I cried. The man’s rough grey clothes were torn and muddy. Like me, he was shivering with cold. His shoes were worn out. He had a torn piece of cloth tied round his head. “Tell me your name,” the man growled. “Tell me. Quick!” “Pip, sir,” I answered.
“Where are you living, boy?” the terrible man asked.

I pointed at our village. The man stared at me for a moment. While he was shaking me, a piece of bread fell out of my pocket. The man pushed me onto a gravestone, grabbed the bread and began eating greedily.

“Now, tell me, where’s your mother?” the man in grey asked suddenly.
“There, sir,” I answered and pointed over his shoulder to my mother’s grave. The man looked behind him and started to run.
“I mean—she’s buried there, sir. That’s my mother.” “Oh, I understand,” the man said. “And is that your father there buried with your mother?” “Yes, sir,” I replied. “Then who do you live with?” the man asked. “With my sister, sir—Mrs. Joe Gargery. She is the wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir.” “A blacksmith is he?” the man muttered, looking down at his leg. There was a thick band of iron round his ankle,