The roar of the crowd seemed far away as Walter Mitty slowly and calmly took off his track suit. The Mexican sun shone from the blue sky overhead and round the great stadium waves of heat reflected from the brown track and pale green turf. But Mitty felt cool cool as ice! The gold medal would be Ms again in a very short time, just as it had been in 1964 and before in 1960 when admiring crowds in Tokyo and Melbourne had been amazed and frightened by his power and grace. Who else could have run a mile in less than three and a half minutes and at the same time bear the pain of a broken wrist? A broken wrist due to his bravery in rescuing single handed the President's daughter from the blazing hotel.

Mitty's fellow competitors nervously took their places on the track, some looking anxiously over their shoulders at the others, doing the jumps. Mitty walked to his place with a tiny smile on his lips. They took up starting positions. The great stadium hushed and to Mitty's super keen ears came the tiny click of the starter's pistol being raised. His great muscles tensed and as the shot echoed over the track his body shot forward clear of the others like a gleaming arrow from a giant bow. Five yards ahead and the roar of the crowd was growing louder in his ears. Mitty looked over his shoulder the rest were far behind. He would win easily perhaps take with him the seemingly impossible three minute mile!!

"Walter, that egg will be as hard as rock if you don't take it off quickly!" said Mrs. Mitty, "New hurry up, or we'll miss that bus".

Fiona Harrow. 2A2


We stood, poised on a hill. In the valley below we could see hounds frantically rushing round with their noses to the ground; searching for a whiff of the scent that would call up their music, that rich mellow sound that comes from the bottom of their throats. Round about us were horses, large and small, all with their ears pointed right forward; all with eyes on hounds.

Suddenly a tan and white bitch gave cry and the whole pack went streaming off fin the direction of the woods. A farm hand gave the "view holloa", and pointed towards a copse. The master raised his hand; everyone surged forward, all eyes on the fast disappearing hounds.

Julie Stephenson. IAI.


Today is a blue day: not the cold harsh blue ice in winter when the wind cuts like a knife and the light filters strangely through the clouds, nor the soft fresh blue of a rain-washed sky in spring. Today the sea has become a polished sapphire mirror glittering under the fierce onslaughts of an August sun. The horizon is a blue haze where the shimmering sea embraces the stiller, heat-heavy blue of the sky. Only the deep water is cool and dark Above, the blistering light beats down without mercy making the world a monotone of endless blue; but below there is turquoise, obsidian, aquamarine and a deep ,deep indigo. Today is a blue day.

Yesterday was a green day: sky the colour of pea soup and clouds tinged with a livid green sea-colour, storm-colour-racing before the wind. The dividing line between sea and sky was sharp as a razor's edge as if the sea would leap up any moment and cut itself away from the grey-green dome of the sky. White horses rode wild on the crests of the waves tossing the drifting spume into the green, green sea; and when the sun shone the water became emerald and the spray a cluster of sea-pearls and bright crystals. Yesterday was a green day.

Tonight will be golden: a molten sea beneath a metallic sky, and the great glowting orb of the sun touching the world with Midas-fingers before he sinks to rest. And tomorrow there will be no more sun; only grey sea and greyer sky and the soft splash of rain slipping gently into the still water. Tomorrow will be a grey day.

Julia Northey U6A


Thompson is majestic most popular of all,

Callaghan's fantastic a magician with the ball.

St. John scores the kind of goals no other really can

Lawler may be small but he's a match for any man.

Hughes he is the newest and he's very good

Wall will be a champion just like Shankly said he would.

Hateley came from Chelsea at a 100,000 cost

Lawrence pulls off brilliant saves when everything seems lost.

And Yeats, oh well, he strides through games as if he's ten feet tail,

My favourite team is Liverpool, the greatest of them all.

David Henshall. IAI.


The Space Baby laughed. The Solar System was pleasant enough but it lacked the quality of his own deserted home.

I'll fix this quick enough, he thought. The first planet held nothing and neither did the second. He moved on.

But the third. Yes! The third was different. A quick look noone was watching. He picked it up and squeezed.

He laughed and moved on.

J. Fergerson. 4R.


Mrs. Taylor was a well kept, tidy minded

Person, married to a business man.

Every day

She would dress in her second best hat

Go to the shops

Tidy the house.

But one day a longing for freedom came over her. She did not go to the shops Or tidy the house.

Instead she roamed the streets, got on a bus bound for the country, Went in a field but was chased off by a farmer,

Walked in the park but was shown a "Keep off the Grass" sign by the


So she went to the shops Tidied the house Disappointed.

Elizabeth Shouls 3.A.


Water comes tumbling down, white with spray and foam, bursting against the sides of the gorge wiith a roar and a rumble. The sheer sides of the gorge are green with thick creepers and mosses. The trees bent and crooked grow out from the cliff-side. Above, the sky is white with clouds and the sunlight cannot reach down into the dark deep gorge.

Christopher Hurst. IA2.


The young girl is sitting On the cold pavement,

With a bundle of matches In her lap. Her father wiill

Beat her, for not selling any She lights one for warmth,

And sees her dead grandmother Before her, the only kind

Comforting person she ever knew

The match is going out, and

                                                                       Her grandmother is disappearing,

                                                                                                                   She quickly lights the rest, and

                                                                                                              Her grandmother comes down,

                                                                                                                   Towards her, to take her away.

                                                                         , In the morning, the passer-by

                                                                                                                    Sees the dead body of a

Matchstick girl, with her Matches around her, burnt.

Cheryl Downey 3.B.


The wizened old man turns away, From the fresh green grass, the clidren at play. Through his tired old brain his thoughts go, Over his childhood, the remembrance hurts so.

The big oak tree in his old home grounds, The laughter returns, his heavy heart pounds. His sad old eyes are forced to see, The times that caused such misery.

His college graduation day, The first great job, the week's pay. The years that followed, such happiness,, Tears of sorrow his cheeks caress.

His brain now feels that life's a strain, The old sad heart is lost in pain. His aged chest heaves with every breath, Life for the lonely is a living death.

The children's cries now nise supreme, The man returns from his daydream. His heart stops beating, seemingly, With the effort he uses these bonds to free.

Pat Tvler. 2AI.


                                                                                     Eyelids droop



                                                                                     Body sinks,

                                                                                      Mind unwinds,

                                                                               Sleep stretches out its fingers


                                                                                 Reaching in it finds

                                                                                Dimmed pictures,

                                                                              Faded colours,

                                                                              Mellowed memories,

                                                                         senses numbed.

                                                                         Sleep draws closer,

                                                                         body- mind and soul ensconced

                                                                         within a tiny world.

                                                               The universe of an individual

                                                                   passing through a door.

                                                                      Colours flash

                                                                 shapes express

                                                               Fantasy dances in and out,

                                                                  Dreams follow in sequence,


fade in, fade out, flash on and off. Lemon and orange Sweet and sour, Black and white Right and wrong, Purple and indigo Passions aroused, Coffee and cream, soft warm flesh. The elements obey no laws Water flows up through a column of fire, rocks stand in blocks,

air blends its colours

sinking higher.

Boundaries broken,

dreams see no bounds.

While the body rests

the mind never stops.

For a while the two exist together

drifting hand in hand.

The body stirs,

fancies flee away

elements fall into place,

colours are static,

boundaries and rules are made.

The mind is once more captive,

as the soul;

Within the body

In sluggish motion

Day drags on,

And waits for night to kill the pain.

Hilary Burrell. 5A.


Reckless teenagers, in mysterious robes of dazzling colours. Physchedelic patterns all around, A funfair in full swing.

Lesley Tyson. IB.


Alone, confined, locked up, With chains around his hands.

Thrown out from man's world, The wretched prisoner stands.

Vivienne Johnstone. IAI.


It was ear-breaking

Ghastly vibrating,

The noise from the welding,

Like a rhino ascending.

There was no silence


J. Thompson. IA2.


Howling, noisily whistling,

that's the wind. Gentle, soft refreshing,

that's the wind.

Raging, spraying, foaming,

that's the sea. Calm, gentle, still as a mill pond,

that's the sea.

A sailor in his little yacht,

that's me. Battling the sea and wind alone

that's me.

Paul Thomas. 2B.


August sixth

In the

One thousand

Nine hundred

Forty fifth

Year of our Lord.

The beginning Of the end.

Kevin Stone. 4P.


Swaying on the moving platform

I watched the ebbing tide,

It carried out my thoughts and hopes,

Deserted on the beach I died.

But still the wave is moving,

Collecting in its stead,

The loves and fears of withering men,

The memories of the dead.

But from afar the tide's wet glow

Restores an inward light,

The worst is past and now hope's grace

Lights up the black of night.

What might exist where we've not lived

And can our blind be made to see?

For having mastered strife and dark

We might reach through hope, eterniity.

Evan Potts L6A.


O! how I wish that I cood spel then mi works ov art I'd sel Then mi poems ov every digre Wood bring mony home to me. Wen I show mi poems to important pepol, the mowst is two, They larf and snlger out alowd And I disapeer under a clowd.

Anthony Summons. 2C2.


Like an avalanche

Is the water

Rushing and galloping

It goes as stairs,

The water falling on the rocks

That are covered in moss.

The diamonds that fall on the green velvety moss

Twinkle and glitter in the sun.

The spray is like sparks

And the smoke is rising

Higher and higher into the air.

The trees all brown and green

Are sliding slowly into the steamy water.

Fiona Kettles. IA2. 41


Thirteen years old you're old enough now

To make your own bed and wash op the dishes;

A capable person, a child no longer,

You dream of respect and being asked your opinion;

And does this time come, when your opinion is wanted?

No, you must wait till you're older.

Life does not change from this year to the next,

School continues in the very same way.

You follow a pattern like a computer

Get up. go out, come home, and then

One day you suddenly realize

That this year of life has gone very quickly

Like an arrow, which, once released from it's bow

Takes heed of no warnings and speeds past all time

Till it reaches its destiny

The age of sixteen.

Sweet sixteen! Oh, what an age,

The age of elegance, parties and dances!

Happiness is radiated all around you.

Until one happening blackens all of these changes

Changes which have been so badly wanted.

That word it send shivers down your spine,

Your mouth dries up, your mind is blank;

But each girl and each boy must face his exams,

In order to survive in 'this day and age.

Exams are behind you your future's ahead,

Your opinion is wanted that much longed-for moment.

Complete independence is now what you yearn for,

It's vital now that you're learning a trade.

At last, your way of life,

It belongs to you.

No need to take advice from others,

For you have reached the age of decision,

and this time the decision has become your own.

Jane Stephenson V A.


WaMng through the rustling


As they fall gently from the trees.

Roasting chestnuts on the fire,

With the smoke rising


and higher.

Shelogh Bannister. 2B.


As a child I saw paradise,

Colourful flowers,

Beautiful birds,

Long sunny hours,

Laughing and playing

Dancing and singing

Simplicity, lending a joy of its own.

One morning I woke

The flowers had faded,

The jungle was thickening,

The sky was deep red;

A voice was calling

I heard it quite clearly

But the path that was open

Now thickened with dread.

At first it seemed useless

To battle the tendrils

That closed up my ears and my eyes and my mouth;

At first it seemed hopeless

To reach what I looked for

To find what I wanted in the stifling growth.

But now I know beauty

More lasting than flowers

Now there is laughter in fighting the pain.

Laughing and weeping,

Stumbling and flying,

Complexity giving a bitter-sweet flame.

Hilary Burrell 5A


A single word Memories

Concentration slipping The Master's voice fading Eyes fixed Thoughts flashing Lost in another world.

Christopher Morris 4R.



Still and quiet on the water's edge stands a Heron.

Peacefully and slowly across the

Rippling river glides the snow-white swan.

I look into the water as if it were a mirror

And see the peace of country life and listen to its song.

Melanie White. IAI.


His mood was blue.

His sorrow inconceivable.

His love irretrievable.

His depression uncontrollable.

His loneliness incredible.

His feelings inevitable.

His gun was black His fingers were slack. His death was painless. His face was shameless. And his chest was red. He was cold, and dead.

Julia Hann 5A


Solitary a tree stands Bullet-ridden trunk and branches The only mourners

Tree-stumps, tin cans, helmets, stray bullets Litter the vast emptiness of useless land The rubble-Once cultivated Now a mass of footprints On footprints Wheel tracks On wheel tracks Bomb craters and more Bomb craters This is the coffin For the unlimited toll of men.

Jeff Williams 3.A.



         of                                         g

            mi                                   n

                 s                               i

                    t                          s

           ov                    i

              er               r




(I do hope these clever people know how much trouble they cause typesetters!!- Web Ed)


Lessons, lessons, lessons,

History French and Maths,

Julius Caeser was born in May

And if you're not careful you'll have to pay

For all your fooling and play.

Peter be quiet

James shut up

And Elaine get out of this

Room again.

Next comes music

Do, Ray Me.

Then it's French

Oo Deary me,

I'm sure to fail on my un, deux, trois ...

Jil stop fooling and Lin be good, Susan, Anne and Jean come here. Up goes the ruler and down go we Wack, wack, wack, Oh sore are we.

Now go and sit down and Ring, ring, ring, Ah! saved by the ting and the ling of the bell.

We all stand up and scrape

Our chairs,

Then say our prayers

And goodbyes

To teacher,

And school

And rush out,



At last.

T. Inglis. 2CI


I once had a little hampster

Whose fur was as soft as silk,

His nest was made of straw.

Each day he crept to his dish of food,

And filled his cheeks right full.

He scampered back to his nest

Then emptied the food from his cheeks

And stored it there.

His Day's work finished, he slept peacefully.

S. Calvert. ICI.


In the flower bed

The daffodils bloom yellow

Heralding the Spring.

Penelope Smith. IAI.


The loitering moon

Rides on a carpet of mist Across starlit skies.

Timothy Edge. IAI.


Power, faculty, Qualification, Skill, efficiency, Adroitness, talent, Ingenuity, Competency, gift Skilfulness, aptitude, Capability, Facility, quickness, Cleverness, genius.

Ian Brown 5A


Sand, Sand and still sand,

Going on for ever. Uninhabited Unknown, Unwanted. The sand changes, swirling, sifting, shimmering, singing sand Singing to itself in sweeps of blue. Smoothly slipping into new shapes in a day or night. lit would be so easy to get lost alone in the vast unfriendly expanse of lonely blue sand.

Caroline Hogg 3.A.


Oh golden mean of wind propulsion How dost thou maintain thy motion? Breathing o're my sweating brow, Rotating blades are turning now.

Oh vibrating monarch seated high Upon thy pedestal in the sky, Precipitated by the law of Ohms, Bringing fresher air into our homes.

Dost thy life go on unending? Forever turning, forever .... burning? Alack, also what shall I do, The fuse is very nearly through!

The stifling heat creeps o're me now. The buzzing flies bombard my brow. Oh how I wish that I could alter, This sizzling heat out here in Malta.

Jean Main

Joan Sewell L6A.


Bent and forlorn he sat alone

In the chair in which he had always sat,

While the sun glistened on his stone-grey hair.

On his knees his wrinkled hands lay softly

Covered by a thin film of tissue.

The double-bent old man who was now lost

In another world. Tears like rain-drops

Fell imperceptibly down on his paper-thin cheeks

And his eyes which were as blue as the sea

Were now overflowing as he


Grandmother in her dress of black lace.

Ah! How she wore it well. Her fingers

Dented with constant use, turning out

Clothes like a machine.

As large as a mountain she sat

But beneath lay a heart of gold

But now

She was silent, not alone, but alive

In his thoughts she would always remain

Until they were re-united once again.

Christine Wilkinson. 5A.


Deep in the countryside of Crete.

Along the rough and barren hill-tracks,

Walk three beautiful naiads,

The Moonspinners.

Each has a spindle in her hand,

And on it she spins her silvery wool;

Giving the world her hours of darkness.

They spin the moon down from the sky;

The ball of light waning,

And growing on the spindles of the naiads.

The moon is gone,

And the world has darkness and rest.

On the darkest night naiads take their spindle

Down to the sea to wash their wool

It sips from the spindles into the water,

And unravels in long ripples of light,

Stretching from the shore to the horizon.

It rises up into the sky,

A thin curved thread re-appearing,

Then a white ball of light.

And the moonspinners start their work again.

Rosalind Cary 3. A.







as hard








The pens and pencils Rattle. The lesson begins It is Geography.

Theresa Stackpoole. IAI.




Yet                                         s for what    

Has seen   s

They are


(And another one!)


Captain Smith

Having shot down forty-five German planes

We award you the Victoria Cross


P. Neal. 4P.


They descend from the skies above, They are the devil's agents, They come from nowhere, They go to nowhere.

Stukas, Dorniers, weapons of war, Then the Angels come. Angels one, two, three.

Rat4at-tat the guns roar out, Then the flame comes, Then death comes. The devil's agents go to Hell. The Angels land one two Where is the third? Gone for good, Gone for good.

I. Hall. 2CI.


  •                      We may

                         Meet again


                         Till then

                                             Judy Barwise 3.A.