The Red Editing Pen 1 - Dickens
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The red editing pen Oh dear … Mrs P was having a bad writing day when she copied the following. Can you spot the 20 errors in this passage of Hard Times? One point for each error. ____________________________________________________________ It was a town of red brick, or of bick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unatural red and black like the painted face of a sauvage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminible serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and ever got uncoyled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that run purple with ill smelling die, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancoly madness. It contained several large street all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all go in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to who every day was the same as yesterday and tomorrow, and every year the counter-part of the last and the next. These attribute of Coketown were in the main inseperable from the work by witch it were sustained; against them were to be set of, conforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegencies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcelly bear to hear the place mentioned. Hard Times, Charles Dickens (1812-1870)
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Mrs P's idea of having fun!
Transcript of The Red Editing Pen 1 - Dickens
The red editing pen
Oh dear … Mrs P was having a bad writing day when she copied the following. Can you spot the 20 errors in
this passage of Hard Times? One point for each error.
____________________________________________________________
It was a town of red brick, or of bick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes
had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unatural red and black like the
painted face of a sauvage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which
interminible serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and ever got
uncoyled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that run purple with ill smelling die, and
vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day
long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like
the head of an elephant in a state of melancoly madness. It contained several large
street all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another,
inhabited by people equally like one another, who all go in and out at the same hours,
with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to who every
day was the same as yesterday and tomorrow, and every year the counter-part of the
last and the next.
These attribute of Coketown were in the main inseperable from the work by witch it were
sustained; against them were to be set of, conforts of life which found their way all over
the world, and elegencies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady,
who could scarcelly bear to hear the place mentioned.
Hard Times, Charles Dickens (1812-1870)
