ghostrider

Shoot on Sight (2007) IMDB rating: 6.10 Plot: Tariq Ali, a Muslim police officer of Scotland Yard, is asked to hunt-down suspected suicide-bombers against the backdrop of July 7 bombings in London. Tariq’s task gets complicated as an innocent Muslim is killed by the commando shooters of Scotland Yard. On the other hand, Tariq – a British citizen is himself a suspect in the eyes of his boss, despite his long service in the Scotland Yard.

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Actors: Cox Brian,Doyle Jamie,Greif Stephen,Grover Gulshan,Harker Arrun,Ineson Ralph,Kaul Avtar,Lowe Robert,McSweeney Alex,Puri Om,Safer Tolga,Samuel Clifford,Shah Naseeruddin,Warman John,Whiteley Jayson,Crime,Drama,Thriller,

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Did you read this short story?(10 points if you understand & explain!)?
It’s a short story called HOW IT HAPPENED by Arthur conan Doyle,
the famous author who wrote sherlock homes!
It’s a short story of 2 pages only…please read and explain..(10 points who writes a small summary or give a small explanation)

STORY = HOW IT HAPPENED

can remember some things upon that evening most distinctly, and others are like some vague, broken dreams. That is what makes it so difficult to tell a connected story. I have no idea now what it was that had taken me to London and brought me back so late. It just merges into all my other visits to London. But from the time that I got out at the little country station everything is extraordinarily clear. I can live it again–every instant of it.

I remember so well walking down the platform and looking at the illuminated clock at the end which told me that it was half-past eleven. I remember also my wondering whether I could get home before midnight. Then I remember the big motor, with its glaring head-lights and glitter of polished brass, waiting for me outside. It was my new thirty-horse- power Robur, which had only been delivered that day. I remember also asking Perkins, my chauffeur, how she had gone, and his saying that he thought she was excellent.

"I’ll try her myself," said I, and I climbed into the driver’s seat.

"The gears are not the same," said he. "Perhaps, sir, I had better drive."

"No; I should like to try her," said I.

And so we started on the five-mile drive for home.

My old car had the gears as they used always to be in notches on a bar. In this car you passed the gear-lever through a gate to get on the higher ones. It was not difficult to master, and soon I thought that I understood it. It was foolish, no doubt, to begin to learn a new system in the dark, but one often does foolish things, and one has not always to pay the full price for them. I got along very well until I came to Claystall Hill. It is one of the worst hills in England, a mile and a half long and one in six in places, with three fairly sharp curves. My park gates stand at the very foot of it upon the main London road.

We were just over the brow of this hill, where the grade is steepest, when the trouble began. I had been on the top speed, and wanted to get her on the free; but she stuck between gears, and I had to get her back on the top again. By this time she was going at a great rate, so I clapped on both brakes, and one after the other they gave way. I didn’t mind so much when I felt my footbrake snap, but when I put all my weight on my side-brake, and the lever clanged to its full limit without a catch, it brought a cold sweat out of me. By this time we were fairly tearing down the slope. The lights were brilliant, and I brought her round the first curve all right. Then we did the second one, though it was a close shave for the ditch. There was a mile of straight then with the third curve beneath it, and after that the gate of the park. If I could shoot into that harbour all would be well, for the slope up to the house would bring her to a stand.

Perkins behaved splendidly. I should like that to be known. He was perfectly cool and alert. I had thought at the very beginning of taking the bank, and he read my intention.

"I wouldn’t do it, sir," said he. "At this pace it must go over and we should have it on the top of us."

Of course he was right. He got to the electric switch and had it off, so we were in the free; but we were still running at a fearful pace. He laid his hands on the wheel.

"I’ll keep her steady," said he, "if you care to jump and chance it. We can never get round that curve. Better jump, sir."

"No," said I; "I’ll stick it out. You can jump if you like."

"I’ll stick it with you, sir," said he.

If it had been the old car I should have jammed the gear-lever into the reverse, and seen what would happen. I expect she would have stripped her gears or smashed up somehow, but it would have been a chance. As it was, I was helpless. Perkins tried to climb across, but you couldn’t do it going at that pace. The wheels were whirring like a high wind and the big body creaking and groaning with the strain. But the lights were brilliant, and one could steer to an inch. I remember thinking what an awful and yet majestic sight we should appear to any one who met us. It was a narrow road, and we were just a great, roaring, golden death to any one who came in our path.

We got round the corner with one wheel three feet high upon the bank. I thought we were surely over, but after staggering for a moment she righted and darted onwards. That was the third corner and the last one. There was only the park gate now. It was facing us, but, as luck would have it, not facing us directly. It was about twenty yards to the left up the main road into which we ran. Perhaps I could have done it, but I expect that the steering-gear had been jarred when we ran on the bank. The wheel did not turn easily. We shot out of the lane. I
PLEASE,DONT BE LAZY TO READ IT,IF YOU READ STORY BOOKS,THEN
THIS MUST BE THE SHORTEST STORY FOR YOU,ONLY 2 PAGES ( A4)

THANKS!
I saw the open gate on the left. I whirled round my wheel with all the strength of my wrists. Perkins and I threw our bodies across, and then the next instant, going at fifty miles an hour, my right front wheel struck full on the right-hand pillar of my own gate. I heard the crash. I was conscious of flying through the air, and then–and then–!

* * * * *

When I became aware of my own existence once more I was among some brushwood in the shadow of the oaks upon the lodge side of the drive. A man was standing beside me. I imagined at first that it was Perkins, but when I looked again I saw that it was Stanley, a man whom I had known at college some years before, and for whom I had a really genuine affection. There was always something peculiarly sympathetic to me in Stanley’s personality; and I was proud to think that I had some similar influence upon him. At the present moment I was surprised to see him, but I was like a man in a dream, giddy and shaken and quite prepared to take
Continuation

– things as I found them without questioning them.

"What a smash!" I said. "Good Lord, what an awful smash!"

He nodded his head, and even in the gloom I could see that he was smiling the gentle, wistful smile which I connected with him.

I was quite unable to move. Indeed, I had not any desire to try to move. But my senses were exceedingly alert. I saw

---

In a nutshell, the narrator gets off a train late at night to find his chauffeur, Perkins, waiting for him with the new car that was delivered just that day. The narrator decides that he would like to drive, although Perkins warns him that its gears operate differently from those of his old car.

Everything goes smoothly at first; then at the top of a steep and dangerous hill the gears stick and the brakes fail. As they careen down the curving road, each one offers to let the other jump out, but neither will do so. The narrator thinks (or hopes) that, if he can manage the turn through his own gate, the upgrade from the road to the house will slow the car down, but the turn is a little too sharp, and the car collides with the right-hand pillar of the gate. [Remember that the story is set in England, where cars drive on the left and have the steering wheel on the right, so that it's the driver's side that hits.]

The next thing the narrator knows, he is lying at the side of the side of his drive unable to move, and an old friend is standing beside him while several people try to lift the car off someone, whose voice he recognizes as Perkins’s. When Perkins says that he has only injured his leg and asks about "master," the narrator calls out, but no one hears him. When the friend, Stanley, speaks comfortingly to him, the narrator suddenly remembers that Stanley died in the Boer War and exclaims, "Stanley, you are dead!" "So are you," Stanley replies.

It may help to know, if you don’t already, that in his later years Sir Arthur Conan Doyle became very involved with spiritualism, and that the first line of the story is "She was a writing medium. This is what she wrote:–" In other words, the narrator is communicating from the next world, probably at a seance. Also, the Boer War took place in 1899-1902 (Doyle was knighted not for his best-known literary achievements but for his authorship of an article defending the British position and actions in that war, in which he had served as an army doctor), and this story was published in 1925, five years before Doyle died. (The mention of cars and of the fact that the narrator has owned others before this one also indicates that the story was written well after the Boer War.)

aida | Nov 07, 2009