Historical Speech by Harvey, 7DN

Harold Godwinson

I stand before you all, respected members of the Witan and honoured noblemen, as one of Harold Godwinson's many loyal knights to mourn the death of the great King Edward and to discuss the future of England and how Sir Harold could make it better. Being born and bred in England, I think we must all agree that he is the a better contender than all the rest. Do you want a foreign king to rule your country? Not one of the other challengers for the throne are English apart from Edwin, however he is far too young to rule our country.

The situation is that England needs a king, Edward sadly died three weeks ago bringing shock to you and I. Harold was promised the throne in King Edward’s dying wish, even I was there to witness it. A king’s dying wish replaces all other promises. Furthermore, they are both brothers in law and have always been great friends, almost like proper brothers. Harold is ready to serve our country, to serve our people, to serve our needs.

Harold's father, Godwin of Wessex, was the most powerful nobleman in England, meaning Harold comes from a very wealthy family. Because of this, he is now Duke of Wessex and has control of a huge army. A huge army that will be a the disposal of the English people.

The other “competitors” have many problems with their so called claims. William was sent to swear an oath of support to King Edward. Harald Hardrada's claim is very weak and uses violence to make his point. Do you want a king who kills innocent people? Edgar is just far too young and powerless to take the throne.

If you vote for Harold to rule this country, He will bring change to this country, He will bring better lives to everyone, He will bring a better future for you and your country. In everything he achieves, in every decision he makes, he will make sure it benefits you. We all know that England can be better and I assure you that Harold will make that happen!

A Timeline of British History by Y7

Harvey

Leonie

The Forest by Tilly

The Forest

My foot jammed into the scintillating snow; my whole leg vanishing like it was never even there. A gentle breeze solidified my face making my cheeks strawberry red. Frozen, leafless branches tugged and snagged at my cosy winter clothes.

Silence swamped the forest but was soon broken by the call of a stunning dove, as white as sugar, perched on a frosty twig.

A small ice cold stream trickled through the snowblanketed forest giving me daja vous as I ran my hand through the rapid, vivid blue coloured water.

I sat down on a frosted bench; trees surrounding me like a  cliched fairy tale scene.

The Bluebell Wood by James P

The blue bell wood    

I pushed through an army of trees to find an ancient woodland, filled with a sea of blue bells. I opened the corroded gate to enter the woodland. The gate was old and made from rotting wood; crumbling under my fingers.

I inhaled the smell of spring freshening the air, coming from the carpet of blue bells. New born rabbits where hoping over logs and passing stunningly, beautiful flowers.

Sitting on a fallen tree log brought back memories which started flooding through my mind there was one about a camping trip when I was twelve.

Utter silence was broken by the distant call of a wood pigeon, which emanated from the horizon.

I pushed back through the army of trees and back through the corroded gate to leave the woodland.

The Bluebell Woods by Tom K

The Blue-Bell Woods

A soothing feeling of tranquillity washed over as I stumbled over the dark brown, ancient gate. I dropped my bag in admiration at my stunning surroundings and was instantly taken-aback by the pungent scent of a million blue-bells that swirled around the trees; perfuming the woodland. Wow. Everything was silent aside from the melodic sound of a skylark complimenting its surroundings and the faint whoosh of the whispering wind as it tickled my cheek.

Further into the wood, majestic oaks stood sentinel marking their place, while their branches swayed together as if they were sharing a secret. Just below, diamonds of dew shimmered on frail cobwebs in the first few winks of sunlight that filtered through a canopy of branches. Amazing.

With that (A fairly good impression to the woods) I hoisted my rucksack onto my back and ventured into the vibrant blue-bells that triggered fond memories of my child-hood.

The Bluebell Woods by Gabriella

The Bluebell Woods

From left to right, forward and beyond, the elegant bluebells covered the overgrown forest floor. Together they merged into a blanket of pure beauty. Each towering tree told its own story; unique and fascinating. Running through the glorious forest reminded me of my childhood dreams. Golden rays of light pierced the forest sky, lighting up just a few bluebells, as well as my heart. Branches snagged at my summer clothes, brambles grabbed at feet. The forest, as graceful as a flock, swayed in the warm, calm wind. Pollen floated around like leaves in the autumn.

Natural beauty has many admirers, I have become one of them.

A Ghost Story by Dylan 7DN

A mighty rumble of thunder shook the little village, like a lion playing with a defenceless mouse. Taunting the village and its inhabitants, it persisted mercilessly, full of rage. They chose the decrepit house, not the safety of the night…

Huffing and puffing, Ewan and Jamie clambered up the hill road. Young and eager to explore, they couldn’t resist the thrill of exploring an old, abandoned house. The two 12-year olds were looking forward to this adventure.

The mood completely changed when they reached the front door. The soaked, black as coal, chipped wooden front door.

“It can’t be that bad!” exclaimed Jamie. One more high spirited than the other, the pair of unlikely explorers entered the house.

Lightning stabbing the village below, they entered the house and were greeted by the musty smell of dust and ash. A red cotton carpet lay before them with gold stitching on the sides. This lead to a polished oak staircase, glinting in the candlelight.

  The walls were adorned with paintings of figures with stern expressions. Either side of them were two suits of knight armour, black all over, except for a red feather upon the top of each. One was grasping a huge sword, with diamonds encrusted in the handle. While the other was proudly clutching an axe, made with the finest steel the village would see. Chandeliers draped with cobwebs led up to the staircase. Everything had its place. Everything was in its place.

As their muddy boots trod across the perfectly laid carpet, the looming door slammed behind them.

 “We didn’t close that” whispered Jamie. They immediately regretted turning around, just as their brain ordered them to. Nothing. Except, for the door. It was different on the inside than the outside. Like the staircase, it was polished oak. Not the rotting wood on the outside.

Driven by their curiosity, they ventured further into the house.

“Let’s go in there!” whispered Jamie although he himself wasn’t sure why he was whispering. A light brown door with a golden-tainted door knob lay before them. Cautiously, they turned the pristine door knob and entered the room. Carefully closing the door behind them, they gasped in amazement. Red velvet chairs were perfectly placed. In the corner a grand piano, polished to the point of being a possible slip hazard, stood observer across the room.

“Look at that book!” stated Ewan. “It’s massive!”

Eagerly flipping through the pages, crammed with the tongue of Shakespeare, they enjoyed the delightful smell of an old book.

“This is boring!” moaned Jamie. Both turned sharply around on their heels and stood shocked. The door was left ajar. Not closed as they had left it but slightly opened. Beethoven’s famous pieces filled the room, but neither of the boys could play the piano. Nor were they trying to play the piano.

“Let’s get out of here,” mouthed Ewan to Jamie. As they edged closer to the door, they caught sight of the silver mirror. All three of them were standing in the mirror. Ewan, Jamie and it.

It. It was there. It was staring at them. It bored its eyes into them. It was blue, it looked like it was made up of gases. It disappeared.

“What was that?” inquired Jamie, as if Ewan knew. “Trick of the light,” answered Jamie to his own question.

“We didn’t light the candles. They were alight when were came in.” exclaimed Ewan. “Think about it. Whenever we look up to the house the lights are off. When we came, they were lighted. As if were expected,” trembled Ewan. They kept on exploring, with Jamie comforting himself with the illusion of light, and Ewan persisting on, despite being scared to breaking point.

Venturing out of the piano room, they climbed the staircase and were greeted by two more flights, either side of them. They chose right. Up, and up and up. After what seemed like an infinity they reached the top and entered the first door in of five, each side of the wall.

Suddenly, they heard a speaking. Squeeeeeaaaaaak. I continued, and didn’t end. In their chosen room there was a huge cylinder in the centre of the room and two cupboards at the back. Cobwebs draped everything. Barrels of gunpowder lay in corner. Again there was that squeaking noise again. Louder this time.

“It’s coming from that cupboard,” exclaimed Ewan.

“Let’s find out what’s making it then, scaredy cat,” replied Jamie. Despite Ewan’s pleads to leave Jamie boldly stepped forward. Increasing volume, Jamie stepped towards the cupboard each step was taken with great care. To say he was scared would be an understatement. He was petrified. Slowly and ever so carefully, he continued. When he reached the cupboard door, the noise stopped. As his hand touched the handle, it started again louder than before. His body feeding of the adrenalin, he turned the handle to reveal rats.

“It’s just some rats Ewan!” called Jamie. “Ewan? Ewan?”

BANG!

Wood chips flew everywhere, cutting Jamie’s face. He slowly turned his head. The finest steel the village would see lay before his eyes. As fast as lightening the axe with-drawed and the knight in shining black armour raised its weapon above its head. Jamie slid under the knights open legs as he cracked the rotting wood with his tool of death. Lay before him was Ewan, with his mouth covered by the hand of the sword-wielding knight. It led Ewan into the cylinder and they disappeared.

“No!” yelled Jamie, although his shout was cut short by an axe hitting the wooden floor. Dashing out of the door, Jamie hurried along the corridor.

Eventually making his way down the stairs, he was given a choice. He could either enter the piano room, but his common-sense told him that was a ridiculous idea, especially with it. To his left, was another door. It was identical to the piano room’s door. He chose the new door.

The smell of dust and ash was even stronger in here. Grimacing at the smell, Jamie dared to sit down on one of the sofas. It was obviously some sort of living room. There were two crimson sofas, a china umbrella pot, an oil painting of yet another stern figure, plenty of candles, and a huge, black menacing fireplace was to his right. Cream walls made it stand out even more. Antique vases were placed carefully on antique stands draped with antique red clothes with antique gold stitching, just like the antique carpet. Exhausted and confused Jamie lost his battle with sleep and went into a deep slumber and dreamed about his cosy house.

“RUN FOR IT!”

Waking up slowly, Jamie was shocked at what he saw. It was another thing. Dressed in the strangest of clothes

“QUICK!” it shouted.

It looked like it was pushing people out of the way. It looked like it was made out of the same stuff as it was made of. The figure started running, before falling over in a puff of black smoke and fading away. It smelt even more of ash and dust even more then.

The creak of the door alerted Jamie and sent the hairs on the back of his head standing to attention. Slowly turning, he was met with a horrible sight. The knights. Both of them. Backing into the corner Jamie was even more scared than before.

“What have you done with my friend?” he yelled. Both of them ignored him and carried on moving forward in that menacing manner. The axe wielding knight lifted its axe high above its head and CLUNK. The knight fell before Jamie whilst the other knight had its right arm bent and looked as if it just hit the other knight with his elbow. It took its helmet off.

“Ewan!” exclaimed Jamie.

Sure enough it was Ewan.

“What happened? How did you get the armour?” Jamie questioned. Suddenly, Ewan turned a blue sort of colour before fading just like the strangely dressed man. The knight armour took its helmet, and positioned it on its head. It raised its sword but Jamie was prepared. He charged at the knight knocking it over before fleeing the room. The knight gave chase before stopping in the hallway and the armour just collapsed onto the floor. Then, Ewan entered the hallway through the front door. He looked like he was made out of blue gas like it and the funny dressed man. He was speaking to thin air. He was saying exactly what he said when he entered the house. Just as they had done that morning, Ewan entered the piano room. This made Jamie notice the front door. He ran towards it and left the house, tears streaming from his face. He dashed home, and let himself in.

“Mum! Mum! Something’s happened to Ewan! Quick! We have to call the police! Now!” he called.

“Ewan? Who’s Ewan? You’re pulling my leg. Shepard’s pie for tea love,” said his Mum softly.

“What?!” shouted Jamie

Jamie lived until the age of 88. He survived a volcano eruption that turned out to be the mountain where the house was situated. He never forgot Ewan, unlike all the others. Even Ewan’s family never knew him. He also never forgot it the funny clothes man, or the knights. He was obviously very troubled by the occurring’s of that night. He just counted himself lucky that he survived.

On the 76^th anniversary of the night where Ewan stopped being there, a mighty rumble of thunder shook the village. It was like a lion playing with a mouse. It taunted the village mercilessly…

The Boots that Came Home Alone by Holly, 7AP

These are the boots

That once marched sullenly through sinister streets

Past the tightly pulled shutters.

These are the boots

That remember the sticky sweat dripping slowly

Like the innocent reaching the end

Of their unlived lives.

These boots have left footprints of hope

Behind the blood-stained beaches.

These boots have survived

Through murky, soiled rivers

Drowned in repugnant, sticky mud.

These boots remember the dispirited soldiers

Fighting together through the worst.

These boots heard the blood-thirsty ringing of a bomb

Like a soldier’s life ticking away.

These boots remember the salty tears falling

When civilians realised

It was worthless wishing for their loved ones

To come home.

These are the boots

That have experienced it all.

The boots that fell before they could tell.

These are the boots

That came home,

Came home without an owner.

A Letter from Carrie’s War by Honey, 7AP

44 The High Street

Abercastle

Powys

Wales

25^th November 1939

Dear Hepsibah,

I hope you are well.  I’m ever so grateful for the goose.  It was absolutely splendid. Carrie and Nick loved seeing you, Albert and dear Mr. Johnny.  They loved the story and tea you gave them. I’m ever so sorry I couldn’t collect it myself.  I had an awful cold, you see, and Samuel wouldn’t tolerate me going.

As you know, the kids are marvellous. Carrie loves helping out in the shop with Nick; she’s always willing. Nick is rather audacious as he stole a biscuit from the shop but he’s little and you know boys, they get hungry. Carrie told me Albert was feeling unwell so I wish him well.

How is poor Dilys? Is she well? I am hoping to see her soon if Samuel allows me. I am so glad she has a carer as good as you. I’ll try to persuade Samuel but I doubt he will come.

I’m sorry I couldn’t see you and collect the goose but I’ll send the children back to Druid’s Bottom as they thoroughly enjoyed the last time.

With love

LouiseEvans

Ash by Joseph, 7MS

I used to love ash; the way it majestically wound its way through the warm air at home; how it seemed to shine as it left the coal burner; how it gently landed on my hands, cracked and paled from a barren winter’s night.

It warmed me through and made me laugh and stare at it, loving its gymnastic moves as it slowly fell to the ground…but this ash is different.

Sometimes, as I sweep, I wonder, deeply enveloped in my thoughts, if I can hear Mumma or Pappa in the charred black heaps. I sweep this ash only because it is the closest I will ever get to my parents again – they are one with the ash.

I don’t love ash any more…

Grandad and His Boots by Zach, 7DN

These are the boots,

That returned without Grandad.

Boots that marched across barren beaches;

Waves at their laces,

Boots trudging through desolate streets,

Bodies and blood,

Leaving holes in his heart.

Boots that Grandad wore,

Through thick and thin,

A young courageous soldier.

Boots that suffered the silence.

People non-existent,

All at war,

Like Grandad and his boots.

His boots heard the spurious talk from Hitler,

Lying for his country.

His boots heard the roar of the tanks,

The whistles of the bombs,

He gave all he could.

His boots,

Worn and torn,

Like him, when he fell to the ground,

Lifeless.

We thought Grandad was coming home,

We hoped he was coming home,

We worried if Grandad was coming home.

But Grandad never came home,

Just his boots,

Which returned without him.

A Ghost Story by Nancy, 7DN

The mist hung over the forest like a dusty shroud, swamping the two young children like a tsunami wave. It engulfed the rotting trees like a carnivorous animal, before spitting out contorted shapes that clawed at the boys with thorny talons. The full moon cast eerie shadows on the cobbled pathway as it was tossed upon cloudy seas. The icy winds nipped at their heels as they gazed mesmerised at the decaying house before them.

Sam and James ran for the doorway, ignoring the branches that snagged at their clothes and hair. The unexpected fog had alarmed the two boys, who had been on their way home from school, slightly later than usual. They had stumbled home, unable to see a metre in front of them, until they had strayed into the garden of the ancient house. With rotting walls and broken windows, it had obviously been uninhabited for years: it was the perfect shelter.

Sam dragged James up the creaking stairs leading to the front door, which was hanging off the wall with one crumbling hinge. Using a shaking hand, Sam went to knock on the decaying door. Suddenly the door swung open, revealing a decrepit room smothered in cobwebs. The boys edged inside the dusty room, black as pitch. A cackle of lightning rung through the silence.  James whimpered, cowering by the open door.

“Are you coming or not?” Sam moaned, dumping his schoolbag on the brown grass. James gave his head a feeble nod, not wanting to be left on the decrepit, misty porch. Climbing shakily up the stairs, Sam glanced back at the crippled trees, bending towards each other as if whispering ancient, untold secrets. Then the door creaked shut, plunging the boys into a cavern of darkness.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

A spine-chilling a sound emanated from up a winding staircase. The boys froze as the temperature dropped. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, setting the hairs on the boys’ heads on end. Crumbling and sinister, foreboding and dark, the journey up the staircase would be perilous and full of danger; steps were missing; banisters were rotting; and the only light source was a fragment of light stabbing through the night. However, the boys had no choice. They clambered up the staircase, clutching to nooks in the walls to stop themselves from falling into the void of never-ending night.

The boys clung to each other, shivering and shaking as an icy wind tickled the backs of their necks. Sam, intrigued yet petrified, turned the brass handle that led to the room where the scraping noise seemed to be coming from. His fingers turned numb, his heart sinking to his boots. The lock clicked as the door swung open. A small, black kitten sat in the corner of the room, its claws halfway down a scarred window. No longer transparent, the windows were etched with sharp, talon-like claw marks. Shuddering, James let out a deep sigh of relief, finally breathing again. Then he saw it.

The temperature plummeted. A finger of ice brushed against the boys’ necks as they stared wide-eyed at the wall. Framed in cold metal, as black as pitch, was a portrait of an old woman, her pale face shrivelled and grey.

“Sam,” James whispered his voice wavering. “Can we go now?”

Suddenly, a blinding flash erupted from the wall where the painting hung. James scrabbled on the wooden floor unable to see through the impenetrable darkness. The door slammed with a bang. The lock clicked. James whimpered quietly, panic sinking in. Then out of the darkness, the withered old woman appeared. James screamed for help. Darkness enveloped him…silence.

Thunder boomed like an angry giant, shaking the barren woods. The search party spread through the mass of rotting oaks, searching every nook and cranny. Sam’s mother sprinted through the woods, tears streaking down her face. They’d been searching for two hours and had found nothing. They came across a ghostly silent clearing. Sam’s mother shivered, the eerie atmosphere creeping into her mind. Then she saw it. In the middle of the clearing, lying tattered and torn was Sam’s schoolbag. The mother fell to her knees and wept.

A Ghost Story… by Harry 7MS

The wind shrieked menacingly through the gloomy trees’ long tendrils, like a bellowing king, shouting in fury. Shadows slowly crept up on the terrified, disorganised boys, like a satanic midnight wolf sneaking up on its unknowing prey. Sam and James, two thirteen year old boys, had been walking through the ancient wood for hours, utterly drenched by the harsh rain, from the intense storm still raging on.  That’s when the old, mountainous trees began to slowly clear out and the panic-stricken, almost hopeless, boys spotted the colossal silhouette, perched on a rocky hill, like a pitch black raven perched on a branch…

It was a crumbling, wooden, dark mansion – the front was lined with large, eerie, oval windows, completely smothered in dust. Sharp, squat, rusty metal poles stuck out of the roof, slightly wonky because of the enormous, powerful storm.  Old wooden planks protruded in some places, and parts of it were going green; this place was abandoned and it had been for a long time.

Yet inside, it looked a warm, welcoming, jolly old place, almost luring in the two boys. Although they were slightly apprehensive, Sam and James were so relieved to find a house, and so desperate to get out of the rain, they barely noticed that they were slowly trudging towards the front door. They wanted to go inside. They needed to go inside! So they approached the heavy door, and heaving it aside, crept in.

As Sam swiftly lit a candle, which he placed on the floor, James slammed the door shut behind them.

“Finally, shelter!” gasped James, breathing heavily as he leant against the huge door. A long, obvious, white wire connected a tiny switch to a huge old light bulb hanging just above the next room

The light slowly flickered on as Sam quickly flicked the switch. The light, even though dim, illuminated the room, revealing it was swamped with sticky, white cobwebs. The two poor, innocent boys, looked at each other and slowly gulped – they had no choice.

Clutching each other’s shivering shoulders, Sam and James speedily marched to the other side of the room, only to find a humungous spiral staircase. The entire staircase was constructed of wood, but over the many years out in the desolate woods, it had become tired and decrepit. That’s when they heard it.

Terrified, they listened – a horrifying wail echoed down the stairs. The boys weren’t sure why (maybe curiosity or a sudden burst of courage) but they both began to walk up the staircase in eerie unison. A chill ran down both boys’ spines as another, louder moan echoed down the stairs. Both boys heaved a huge sigh as they got to the top, as they saw a tiny, tortoiseshell kitten, trapped under a plank of wood.

“Phew!” sighed James, lifting the plank off the injured kitten.  He sat, calmed, stroking the kitten. But something else had caught Sam’s attention. An ancient, framed painting was pinned to the wall in a room ahead of them, of a bearded, Victorian man.

Both boys now apprehensively crept into the mysterious room – a library! Every wall was covered in bookcases, and shelves were lined with malevolent busts.

Suddenly, the door slammed and a screech roared loudly out of the painting. Sam’s own thoughts flashed before his eyes. This was not a warm, welcoming, jolly old place! It was a sick, Victorian madhouse! Both boys kicked and slammed at the door, tears slowly rolling down their faces.

Ten years later…

“As you can see, the house is massive!” spoke the estate agent, guiding the wealthy couple around the house.  But he had spotted something very strange.  In the middle of a wall, in a massive library, sat a painting of a sinister Victorian man.  Also, beside him stood two modern-looking boys, petrified and weeping.