Detweiler Competition 2021

Detweiler Art, Drama, Music and Creative Writing

2021

Foreword

“Britain’s arts industry is suffering a sudden and violent death”; thus ran a headline in The Telegraph at the beginning of July last year–and it is undeniably true that the arts industry, which brings in more than £100bn to the UK coffers each year, has had a very hard time of it during the pandemic.

But to conclude, as the article did, that “we will, I fear, sit and watch it die” is to miss the point. So long as there is humanity, the arts will never die. The arts exist on the highway between the human soul and the senses; they travel to and from, and they always will.

Through the Detweiler competition, our young people (and we are all artists in our own way) bare their souls and try to reach our own. They do so in the spirit of competition, but in truth, as Will Gompertz memorably said to the school two years ago, the great thing about Art is that you cannot fail–there are no rights and wrongs, simply individual expression. So, well done to the boys for having the courage to enter–almost a year on from that Telegraph article, we are all crying out for the arts now, cognisant of how stale life is without them, and you have generously fed that hunger.

James Hodgson Head Master

About the Detweiler Competition One of the highlights of our Creative Arts calendar each year is the inspirational Detweiler Competition: an exciting exhibition of work by Bedford School boys. Prizes are awarded in four different categories: Art, Music, Drama and Creative Writing.

This year’s theme was ‘Gods and Goddesses’, and the boys did not disappoint, despite the restrictions of coronavirus, creating outstanding artwork, sculptures, scripts and texts.

The competition is named after Dr Alan Detweiler, an enthusiastic and passionate supporter of both education and the Arts in general. Until his death a few years ago, he always made the trip to Bedford to help judge the prizes which he so generously provided.

Art Art Introduction

by Michael Croker, Director of Art

Judge: Rob Campbell, School Governor and Former Director of Art. You can read his comments alongside each piece of artwork.

2D Winner

Simeon Gay

(Upper Sixth Form) This highly contemporary work speaks aloud of what happened to George Floyd.

The narrative is expanded by the script which surrounds George’s image. Emphasis is created by the colour red in some words. The portrait shows real understanding and skill in the handling of paint. The work initially strikes the viewer as a movie promotion but as one’s eyes are drawn away from the red and blue lights one focuses on the figure itself. The crime scene tape only helps to emphasise the concepts the artist is exploring. The artist handles the entire composition with sensitivity and skill.

A very impressive work.

Art

3D Winner

David Chan

(Upper Sixth Form) I found this piece enthralling. The female form is alluded to by a skeletal structure. The dress has a mystical beauty about it and conjures the Nike of Samothrace, the Greek goddess of victory. One is not quite sure what lies inside the dress but this just increases its mystery and presence. As it rotates one becomes aware of its structure and the fragility of its form; also, strangely, the strength that is evoked. This is wonderful piece of film and sculptural form.

2D Highly Commended

Eric Breslin (Fourth Form)

Eric shows great skill and flair in his handling of this work. He creates a brooding intensity, contrasting the keenly observed eyes with the dark eruptive sky.

He really conveys the power of the God of Thunder. His handling of paint is mature and extremely competent. A very impressive work from a Year 9 student.

Robert Parrish (Fifth Form)

Rob handles the foreshortening of the shoe and hands in this image with ease. A real narrative is created between the promoter of the shoe and the figures on the podium. One questions whether they are indeed athletes or mere individuals - stars because they are wearing Nike shoes. The black and white handling of the figure in the foreground contrasts nicely with the vibrant background.

A well-structured and very competent painting.

Art Sachin Kambli (Fifth Form)

A beautifully constructed painting.

Excellent use of colour and a very competent handling of form and composition. The exuberance of the figure sings out in this composition. The strength of the work is shown, not only in the drawing but also the sensitivity in his use of colour and tonality. This is a keenly observed work that draws links to earth gods and goddesses.

Shiryu Oshiro (Remove Form)

An inventive collage. Beautifully observed hands which convey the action of prayer. The collaging of the newspaper pages references terrors of the past and present and asks a question – ‘future me’ which must be in the thoughts of anyone involved in education today. There is a lovely feeling of the hands hovering above the various articles he has chosen in his collage to elaborate the subject of his work. We are made fiercely aware of the deaths of individuals such as John Lennon, to the mass deaths in the 2nd World War and the Japanese Tsunami and earthquake of 2011.

3D Highly Commended

Art

Will Edwards (Fifth Form)

This card relief conjures influences from ethnic African tribal sculpture. However, it has a contemporary feel and almost a jauntiness in the handling of the form itself. The pattern and simple shapes create a strong balance together. The work is visually dynamic and shows a real sensitivity to form and the use of colour. It has a real god-like presence. Very well done.

Honourable Mentions

James Marchant (Fifth Form)

Rafa Carbonell Martinez (Fifth Form) Rafa has created an exciting image from his photoshopped self-portrait. The bold simplification of tone intensifies the image. The viewer is drawn to the subject’s eyes and encouraged to embrace the reflective nature of the pose. The use of cool greys contrasts well with the warm flesh colours and the student has captured effectively the metallic nature of the helmet and its form.

James has presented a very individual response using intaglio. The subject, based on his study of a Greek bust is keenly observed and creatively handled.

There is a wide range of mark making in play and the contrast between black and white is well executed. The plate is wiped with freedom and overall, the image is particularly strong.

Drama Drama Introduction

by Antoinette Keylock, Head of Academic Drama and Head of Creative Arts

Monologue (Fifth/Sixth Form) - First Place

Sarmukh Hundal (Fifth Form)

‘Our Father’ ‘Our Father’ is a story that deals with two main things: what is faith to a man? And how the beliefs that hold the utmost importance in a man’s life can come falling down, as he loses hope in the one thing that gave him hope.

A five minute drive from the Caspian lake, a white and now camouflaged small church sits in the heart of Greensboro, a small, rural town in Vermont. Winter has come and the town is covered by a thick, white layer of snow. The grey and uninviting sky hangs over the town, almost like some sort of burden.

Morgan, a weathered and disgruntled-looking priest is visited late at night (upon request) by Shelley, a former priest and now manager of a Christian organisation that funds Protestant churches in Vermont, New Hampshire and Connecticut. Mogan has something he needs to tell Shelley, something he’s been thinking about for a long time; however, during this visit secrets unfold, and a damaged Morgan admits to horrors that cause Shelley to be in utter disbelief.

What I really wanted to express when writing this piece was the challenges, as a human, we face when it comes to faith. Some accept faith very easily and live by those rules and beliefs every day and some do not, some disregard faith completely and live their lives without a sense of spirituality. However, in my experiences faith for me is something that is constantly being challenged. Faith has been a part of my life since I was a young child, but there are days where that feeling of spirituality is not there, I feel distanced from God

and there are days where that connection with God is almost unbreakable.

In the duologue I wanted to show this at its most dramatic and powerful level. To me, the idea that someone who is so devoted to one belief and a higher being for the majority of their adult life can lose that faith entirely, was fascinating. One of the driving forces of the piece was this concept of unfulfillment, the unfulfillment we feel as humans. The character Morgan stresses that throughout his time of being a member of the clergy he has always felt incomplete; however, it is not until he does something that is almost unspeakable, that he feels enlightened. In a life where enlightenment through God seems accessible at all times (through prayer) Morgan is only truly complete when in a state of despair.

As well as this, I also sought to touch on the idea of ‘playing God’ and taking matters into one’s own hands.

Morgan feels as if God has failed him, and the reason he made certain decisions were based on the anger he felt due to God’s inability to carry out the justice he felt was deserved. This causes him to question his own faith, all these years of priesthood seem insignificant when he can no longer put his trust in a God that has been the centre of most of his life.

Monologue (Fifth/Sixth Form) - Second Place

Drama

Max Pearson (Fifth Form)

‘Calling for help with no answer’ ‘Somewhere in the deep South, 1950’ gets displayed on the upstage curtain.

Lights fade up with a cold wash A boy in his mid to late teens is sitting at the front of a highly decorative and beautiful Church, wearing a noticeable, yet dusty, cast on his arm. He is kneeling down with a somewhat frail spine. Shaking. You can see the anguish, yet a hint of melancholy, in his eyes. The image of this feeble teenager is held for quite sometime as the lights fade in. There is such a still silence that his faint breathing can be heard.

Boy: (In a trembling southern accent) “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for we are all one in Christ Jesus”.

He shuffles around so that he is no longer kneeling.

He looks up as if to the heavens.

Why don’t it feel that way? It’s like speaking to a brick wall; and what’s funny about speaking to a brick wall is that it don’t speak back. Now, you see this is because it’s artificial. Man-made. A…. (He ponders on what he is trying to say as if he doesn’t quite understand it) social construct. My mum would be appalled if she heard me use such a blasphemous analogy. But, she’s ain’t here no more. She’s gone. My mother’s gone. Where? Hopefully, to the Heaven that she told us about her whole life; where you drink whiskey with Jesus and look down at life with gratitude, hoping that everyone else can enjoy what you have the privilege of enjoying. But, with

your omniscience surely you can work out that she is nowhere, with no one - except the bacteria that feed on the wood that surrounds her! If you put her here with such high hopes why can we only praise her by looking at a piece of stone with her name engraved on it?!

Beat.

We were driving. She was. She was driving. She always loved drivin’. It calmed her. I think it was Paul Robeson playing. ‘Ole Man River’. She was silent. I remember his deep soothing voice helped the moment be real nice.

Ma’ had some look about her. It was as if she was taking in every moment she ever lived in one car journey.

The sky over yonder were as red as a kindlin’ fire.

Burning. But not yet an angry burning. One that was comfortable. One that you toast marshmallows on. You can imagine it was a shepherd’s delight. But the red sky was still red in the morning. Which, the shepherds do not appreciate and neither did I. Beat. His eyes twitch She was so lost in the moment that she swerved.

In a damned near death experience life don’t flash before your eyes. But I tell you what does happen: you see your dear ma’ roll over as she screams in agony struggling for her life. That’s what you see! Not in normal time. No, no. It’s-- Slow. Painful. I were so overwhelmed that my dislocated arm felt like a pinch from a little’n. But the sight of my mother’s blood across the dashboard felt like I had a needle stuck right

through my heart. I remember a ringing noise. A shriek.

It hurt but it didn’t care cuz’ I were hollow from that moment on.

The shriek of loneliness.

He looks up to the altar You wouldn’t get it though would you seein’ as you’re all perfect and mighty. You sit up there and you laugh.

Because if you cry you’ll have to do sum’n about it. Sum’n about the countless deaths! Something compassionate, something humane! If you cried once in a while your wet eyes would see my mother’s pain. I cried and I saw it. I made a prayer in a black suit. I lost her. Not you; me! Yet, all us folks still prayed to y’all. I still told everyone to bow their heads and honour your almighty spirit, when you gone took her from me!

He breaks down and completely collapses onto the floor and sinks his head to the ground.

What do you want from me? What do you actually want from me?! Do you want me to carry on believing?

Because that’s getting pretty hard at the moment.

I ain’t got no one else to speak to. You’re the only.. thing I know. If you even can know you. You knew me in the womb before I were formed but you don’t know me now. If you knew me you’d know my pain. If you understood me you’d know that I loved her so very much. If you knew; you’d know she died too young.

Beat. He clenches his fist.

You’re all I got dammit! But I ain’t got you do I?! Or, maybe you ain’t got me.

She had you and you had her.

But she fell through your fingers and you let her go. And she fell. She fell hard!

May she stop falling and fly high.

Fly high ma’. As high as the bluebird in the sky.

Drama

Monologue (Fourth/Remove) - First Place

Arthur Proctor (Fourth Form)

‘If this is death, then I wish it stole me sooner’ In this monologue, Manthesis and his father Mars (God of War) fight against a Trojan Army. In the battle, Manthesis is stabbed. Throughout the monologue, Manthesis lies against the trunk of a tree, with his father Mars at his side. Manthesis has flashbacks of his life, and says his final goodbyes to his father) (Weak, feeble voice) Don’t seek help dear father... for the shadows of thy death lurk deep within me.

(Whispers) stay with me...for these passing minutes will always be purer than gold.

(Manthesis takes Mars by the hand) (Stronger in voice as Manthesis rolls his head to study his surroundings) What is the day father? For the light is fading...as if dusk is upon the battlefield. You’re bated breath is warm to my cheeks, but all else is cold...cold, like the steel on thy sword on a winters morning.

(Manthesis looks up to Mars) (Confused - Manthesis is having flashbacks of his life) Mother?...mother is strolling through the vineyards afar, her long silky mane radiantly shimmering in the evening sun. She picks the grapes, with such elegance, as that to make any man fall for her. She is as she was father, with her walnut skin and sandy freckles, her laugh a distant, comforting echo to the ears of a warrior.

Her socks are milk white, stirred with the sandy dust but still beautiful as ever. (Squinting his eyes, deep confusion) Is that thee father? The muscular, handsome

plough horse, with the build of a warrior, standing brave on the brow of the hill, his armour strapped to his tanned skin? (Jump in tone - as if he has just spotted something he hadn’t noticed) There, beside the plough horse, a foul...lanky and uneasy on thee legs as it learns to stroll and canter like his father and mother. They’re silhouettes dance in the crepuscular light. The foul runs free with his parents, they run wild, galloping through the soft peaks of heavens gates. The Gods watch down on them, admiring their creations. (Slight tears in his voice) Tis us farther, before the beginning and the end.

The times of old for when we galloped through the mountains of Rome, free of war, naive to its dangers. O farther, if this is death then I wish it stole me sooner… (a long silence is held as Manthesis enters his last seconds of life) (Last breaths - Manthesis is very quiet and close to death) Be brave father...like the plough horse you are.

Be grateful, for I am the most grateful man that breathes this air...as the blood that leaks from me is the purest sign of life. Wipe those salted tears that run like rivers, for you must fight on...and never stop...I love you.

(Silence is held as Manthesis dies)

Monologue (Fourth/Remove) - Second Place

Tanay Rai

(Fourth Form)

‘I Just had a Zoom Call With God ’ Characters: Raj God Narrator The story is set in a common suburban area, just outside of Luton. We follow a 14- year-old boy called Raj. Raj is your run of the mill teenager who goes to a small public school, just down the road from his house. He lives in a small, semi-detached house and is an avid Arsenal Supporter. His friends describe him as cheeky and one with quick wit.

Narrator: A new competition has taken over the United Kingdom. The company God.com.org.uk has released over 10 Million lottery tickets, all across the UK. Each ticket costs £5 and the winner gets a 7-minute meeting with the man himself, God. The winning ticket has been released but no one seems to have found it yet...

Scene 1 Raj is seen coming down the stairs wearing an Arsenal T-shirt, before shouting to his Mum that he is going out to the shops to get some milk. As he leaves the house something catches his eye.

Raj: Muuuummm! I’m going to the shops to pick up some milk, tell Dad I will be home before 4. See ya later!

The door opens, then closes. Raj puts an earphone in and starts humming to his favourite song. He then

stops and sees a piece of paper lying on the ground.

He picks it up and studies it closely. He reads it aloud.

Raj: Congratulations, you have won the God.com.org. uk competition to meet God. Your meeting will take place on February the 8th 2021. It will take place at 9:00 a.m. and the link is below. Please make sure you have a working camera, mic and a stable Wifi connection. God looks forward to meeting you…

Raj looks up with a confused expression, then a smile starts to cover his face. He had heard about this competition.

Narrator: Raj knew about this competition, he had heard about it from his friends. It was constantly on the news - he had seen it a few times. He knew this was legitimate…

Raj looks around, He looks left at his neighbour’s house and then looks right at his other neighbours window. Where could it have come from?

Narrator: Raj is trying to figure out where this ticket has come from. He knows it is not his and he knew stealing was wrong. But was this stealing? I mean, he found it - right? Is finding something stealing? Raj contemplates whether to hand it in or to keep it. He makes a decision...

A cheeky grin covers Raj’s face as he puts the ticket in his pocket and walks off.

Drama Raj exits, smiling and looking up into the sky.

more respectful than this…

Raj See you in a bit, Big Man...

Raj: (gulp) Um... so can I ask a question?

God: If you must...

Scene 2 Raj is looking at himself in a shirt and trousers. He combs his hair in front of a mirror. He runs his hands through his hair and then does finger guns. Raj stands in front of the mirror practising how he will say hello to God.

Raj: Can you fly, like in the air or space or wherever you are?

God: Well. Not exactly but I could, I am all - powerful (smirk) Raj: So basically you can’t -

Raj: Hello God no no, Good Morning Sir, no not that, What’s up God, Ummm

God:- I could if I wanted to

(scoffs)

Raj: Hmmmm, that’s exactly what my dad says when I ask him to help me with my English homework

Two computers side by side. One has Raj’s face and the other has God’s face. God is wearing a suit and tie and has a poster behind him saying “I am GOD.” God: Well Hello there young man, I believe your name is Arthur Raj: Ummm, no my name is Raj (pronounced correctly) God: Oh, of course Raaj.

God: Oh shut it Raj: Can I ask you another question?

God: I can see where this is going.

Raj: Ok, umm, did you feel offended when Ariana Grande released her hit single “God is a Woman”?

God: I will decide, thank you very much.

God: (Looks offended, and lets out a big sigh), I knew this question was coming, to be honest I was a bit annoyed but it has a jolly tune so it gradually made its way to my playlist.

Raj: Sorry mate (rolling his eyes)

Raj: Who else is on your playlist?

God: Sorry Sir! Honestly I thought you would be a bit

God: Drake

Raj: Raj (pronounced correctly, again)

Raj: Let me guess …. God’s Plan (with a smirk)

Raj: Arsenal, we are in the prem mate

God: Yes and I don’t mind some Nicki Minaj

God: You mean Arsenal are in the Premier League

Raj: Hmmmm, interesting

Raj: (Looks confused) Yea that’s what I said, we are in the prem

God: Any other questions Raj: Yep, few more, why did you get so cranky when Adam and Eve ate a fruit, big deal it is just fruit, right?

God: Do you play for Arsenal Raj: Of course not

God: Trust me it wasn’t that simple, that fruit had the power of knowledge,

God: Well then of you’re not involved you can’t say “we,” typical humans putting themselves into everything

Raj: 22 Park Road

Raj :Ok take a chill pill

God: What?

God: Pills are bad for your digestive system, so no thank you.

Raj: That’s my address God: Why do I need that?

Raj: If you have any extra super fruit lying around just send it over. I am struggling to get my head around trigonometry in Maths God: I know that was a joke but that was not funny.

People would kill for that fruit, I can’t just give it to a friend.

Raj: Awwwwww, you called me your friend God: Ok, fine yes I did, but don’t make this weird Raj: (pretends to wipe a tear away from his eye) Fine God: Next question Raj: What football team do you support?

God: Easy, Cardiff City Raj: Oh dear…

God: Why, let me guess, Luton supporter

Raj: That’s not what I, oh never mind God: Ok last question Raj: What is your view on atheism?

God: I have a very definitive answer for this one, I believe ….. (God is still talking but he is muted) God carries on talking with a fierce expression on his face not realising he is muted.

Raj looking very proud of himself, walks out the room leaving God still yapping about whatever and Raj opens his phone and calls someone.

Raj: Guess what mate, I just muted God….

Drama

Monologue (Fourth/Remove) - Third Place

Eric Breslin (Fourth Form)

Monologue (Fourth/Remove) Highly Commended

Ra’ed Rizwan (Fourth Form)

(A 12-year-old Roman boy enters a large stone temple. He kneels on a carpet and begins to pray) Boy: Dear goddess Minerva, vessel of knowledge, master of owls. I only ask you listen and grant me with your help. Father put me in school a month ago. It’s not too bad, it’s quite close to my villa and the walls are filled with beautiful paintings. I sit next to a window with the forum outside, I get to look and listen to all the merchants and businessmen outside, I can’t wait

to do business like Father. My Grammaticus likes to teach us Latin and poetry. We study Virgil’s poems and philosophers all day long, I work hard to make him and my parents proud. I’ve made a few friends during the short breaks in lunch too – Julius says he’s going to join the Cohort 1 in the army, just like his own father. (frowns) We started arithmetic a few days ago with the abacus, mother thought it would be fine, but I’ve gotten 3 canings so far! Father says he would have to home-school me if I couldn’t get the hang of

it, I wouldn’t want to say goodbye to all my friends.

Goddess Minerva, I plead to you to help me understand the classes. Help me with the wisdom needed for school and for making Father proud. Thank you. (the boy, satisfied, gets up and leaves. Then enters the same boy, now 17 years old) Boy: Dear divine powers above. Thank you for your gifts throughout my life – I acknowledge them and am grateful. Dear all-powerful Mars, beholder of power, blood of war. I beg of you to give me strength and guidance for the future ahead. I had volunteered to join one of my empire’s century to battle against the forces of Britain. We have trained long and hard under your watchful eye. (pause) Father says my feelings are justified as it is my first time heading into battle. He says that it should be an honour to be aiding the conquest of our mighty empire. But now, Mars, I come to you seeking your guidance and knowledge. I pray to you, begging you, that you help our side in war tomorrow. I fear what comes next. I fear watching my friends perish on the battlefield and I fear that I may not return to my family thereafter. We leave at sunrise, equipped and mobilised, to take on the British. Please, Mars, guide us through this battle, guide us through our conquest, guide me through war. (Shakily, He gets up and leaves.

The same boy enters once again, now 25 years old) Boy: To all of the watchful lords, I express my utmost gratitude for the things you have praised me with. I am grateful for my education, my successful business offers, and for your help in my numerous battles. I now come to you, God Cupid, commander of lust, patron of love, I now seek your good fortune. At last, the date of my marriage has been arranged and confirmed, I shall be marrying Sabina this summer. Mother is thrilled and father is sure she is a good fit for the family. I have already planned my poems and some gorgeous roses

imported from Italy for the occasion. We have even brought our favourite family priest who has wed all our previous family members. I come to you, master of all things love, to grant us bliss and well-being for as long as we shall live together. Let our children be as beautiful and well-versed as their mother and as strong and tactical as their father. (Almost giddy, he stands up and exits the temple. The man enters once again, now very old) Boy: Dear all-fathers, your generousness in my youth has not gone unnoticed - I am especially grateful for the simple life I was blessed with once the wars were over. I now pray to you, Pluto – harbinger of death, the end to all that begins. I ask that you provide me with entry to heaven; I wish for a reservation for a spot in perpetual happiness. Grant me the power to see Mother and Father once again, please, allow me a conversation with Sabina after all these years. Let my grave be near the main path, near the rest of the family, filled with detailed vases and ornaments treasured in the family and crafts from my own children. Keep my death painless – like an inviting, peaceful slumber calling to me. I give my final thanks to the gods and goddesses for the wisdom I have attained. The wisdom I was given as a child, then the wisdom as a young adult, and the wisdom as a grown man. Thank you. (The man leaves. Nobody enters)

Monologue (Fourth/Remove) - Highly Commended

Drama

James Robertson (Fourth Form)

Osiris, the Egyptian god of the Underworld and Pluto, the Roman god of the Underworld are sitting, relaxed. Both have a chalice in hand and are drinking together.

Osiris (Thoughtfully): So glad we have finally met.

We are both rulers of the Underworld in our respective worlds, in charge of the transfer of souls to the afterlife and have much to talk about. I have always found the idea of meeting my divine counterpart interesting and have looked forward to this day.

Pluto: Is that so? Before I heard from you, I had never even thought about the possibility that there are different versions of me. Whole new worlds and ideologies eh? I am still finding it quite hard to process.

Osiris: Really? I have known about other worlds for ages and I hear about different gods and underworlds all the time. And it causes confusion, you know, – particularly on death. People have an expectation that they will go to a particular place to be judged when they die and when they do not go there, they sometimes do not believe they are truly dead? They find themselves somewhere else and they are completely bewildered. Obviously, the idea of multiple worlds is incomprehensible to the feeble, human brain. We gods are more broad-minded and can comprehend such things.

Pluto: Well, I never. So how do things work in your Underworld when someone dies? I rule over my Underworld yet never have to chance to actually speak with any of the incoming spirits to see if they are surprised at their destination.

Osiris: Well, in my Underworld, it works like this: we have the person in question’s heart and soul before us. They plead their case to me to get into the afterlife and I use the Feather of Truth to weigh up their heart.

If a heart is heavier than the feather it is evil and is devoured. If it is lighter than the feather, then the soul may continue on to the afterlife.

Pluto: Interesting… in my Underworld, the fate of the deceased souls is decided by three judges and they are sent to one of three areas: The Field of Elysian, where the greatest souls go - a state of sublime paradise, with the possibility of rebirth; Tartarus, where the worst souls go - a place of unique torture; and the Field of Asphodel - where all the rest go. It is quite a complicated process and the judges are kept infinitely busy with all the souls that pass through.

Osiris: I see…but it sounds as if you do not do anything yourself. The judges do everything and you just oversee it?

Pluto: That would be correct.

Osiris: That does seem to be quite unfair to me. I never have a spare moment with my role while it seems that you have all the time in the world and just lounge around letting everyone else do the work of judging souls.

Pluto: Well, I suppose… yet relaxation is not everything it is promised to be, you know. I spend half of my time alone, bored, depressed, wishing I were free and waiting for the return of my beloved.

Osiris: And who might that be?

[Pluto nods]

Pluto (Wistfully): My wife, Proserpina, the goddess of vegetation. She lives with me in the underworld for half the year. Half the year is darkness and despair and then she brings light and laughter to my world for the other half. She is literally the light of my life.

Pluto: Then you and I both have been forced into our unenviable positions by a brother. For me, it was my eldest brother Jupiter, who split the world between himself, my other brother Neptune, and me. Jupiter took the crown as the overall king of the gods and reigns over the skies, Neptune was given sovereignty over the seas, and I was given the absolute worst deal of all – ruler of the Underworld!

[Osiris chuckles, stands, and walks forwards] Osiris: Then you and I are not so different, my friend. I have a wonderous wife too: Iris, my sister. She, too, is a goddess. The most caring and kind of them all.

Pluto: Is it not somewhat strange to be married to your own sister?

Osiris: Not in Egypt. We do a lot of odd things, come to think of it… And another thing, before my brother, Typhon, took my life, I was the great god of agriculture and vegetation and involved in the light and living world. Iris attempted to grant me safe passage to the afterlife before I began ruling over the cursed place.

Pluto: So, it seems, ironically, that we rulers of the dead have close ties to the things that grow and bring life.

Osiris: Well, it is something to dwell on when you are missing your wife. Might keep you busy, or make you laugh!

Osiris: Oh, I agree. It is a rubbish job. I certainly would not have a chosen a life of soul sifting! Certainly, except for our wonderful, loving wives, neither of us have been given the best lot in life, my friend.

[Osiris cocks his head as if listening to something.] even now duty calls - I hear my assistant, Anubis, calling – more souls to deal with, I suppose. They cannot do anything without me.

Pluto: Well, we cannot leave this conversation here, surely…? A toast, perhaps?

Osiris: As you wish [Pluto stands and both raise their chalices.]

[Osiris chuckles again]

Pluto: A toast to the gift of vegetation, growth and new life, and a curse on the brothers who put us in this forsaken position of death and decay!

[Pluto smiles ruefully, then frowns, as if thinking.]

[Pluto laughs. Both drink.]

Pluto: Another similarity we have: our horrid brothers.

You said that it was your brother who caused your death, correct?

Osiris: Well, yes, Typhon caused my death and that, in turn, led to my role in the afterlife.

Monologue (Fourth/Remove) - Highly Commended

Drama

Michael Robertson (Fourth Form)

Hades, god of the dead, storms into the throne room of Poseidon, god of the sea, fuming.

Hades: Hey Poseidon! You’ll never guess what Zeus has done now! He’s only arranged a party at Olympus next month for all his favourite deities! There’s going to be drinking, feasting and revelries of all sorts!

Poseidon: So? Hades: We’re not invited, as usual. His own brothers, his flesh and blood! But of course, we aren’t good enough for him. How come we’re always the bad guys?

Poseidon: Well, he’s Ok with me sometimes, even though he’s stuck me with the job of ruling over the stormy seas, but he hates you for some reason. I don’t know how he got to be in charge anyway. Just because he saved everybody once as a child doesn’t mean he should be king of the world! And he just loves to play the good guy and have everybody fawning over him.

Hades: It’s so unfair! He’s always having parties and eating cake and lovely food on his golden throne, yet I’m stuck underground, in the Underworld, surrounded by wailing dead people! Do you have any idea how many people die? Hundreds of millions of people! And they won’t shut up about how they want to go home, and they miss their families, and they were taken too soon, and I really don’t care. I want to go home too! I want to see my family, but no. Somehow Zeus thought a giant three-headed wolf wouldn’t be enough to guard the Underworld properly, so he sent me as well! And if that wasn’t bad enough, everybody always associates me with dying and treats me as the bad guy.

Poseidon: Yes…. I can see you do kind of have a point there…

Hades: [moaning] I’m not even a bad person! I love my dog, Cerberus! I take him on walks, I feed him, I care for him, I clean up after him, everything a good owner does! I’m sensitive! Animals can tell that. Cerberus loves me! [starting to get annoyed] And I’m a good husband!! I love my wife, Persephone - she is treated well in the Underworld! I willingly let her leave for half the year to be with her family, and she is the light of my life, even though I don’t see her all the time. She enjoys my company! If she didn’t love me, would she come back to the Underworld every year?

No, she would not! [getting even more heated] I have friends, too! The Grim Reaper is a great friend of mine, although I don’t see him as much as I’d like since he’s collecting so many people from the living world. We get on so well together! And Charon, the boatman, is also a brilliant buddy. We absolutely love to chat, although its difficult to spend time with him as he’s always going back and forth in his boat on the river. Now I ask you…. would I have friends if I was a bad person!?

[Poseidon is silent, as if he doesn’t know how to respond] [Hades walks up and down, thinking] [Hades wistfully] The trouble is… people always

associate me with pain and misery and death, but I am a good person! Its not easy being the harbinger of death but I try my best. It wasn’t my career choice. Make the best of a bad job, that’s what I do. I don’t think anyone, not even Zeus himself could do it any better.

You know what - I suspect the reason Zeus is keeping me in the Underworld is because he’s scared I might try to overthrow him, but that’s not the case. I’ve never wanted to be him. I just want to escape that place to be free to live my life in peace!

Poseidon: Okay, okay, enough now! I see what you mean. I mean I don’t like being at the bottom of the sea either, but you do seem to have drawn the short straw somewhat.

[Thinks for a moment] Well… if you feel that strongly, maybe you should show Zeus how you feel! You need to make him understand what it’s like for you. If he was forced to spend some time in your shoes, I’m sure he would see that he’s being unreasonable and that the way he treats you is cruel.

Hades: And how exactly do we achieve him “spending time in my shoes”?

Poseidon: I might have an idea!

Hades: Yes, go on…

Poseidon: I’ve heard tell a of lesser-known god known as Dolos, the god of disguise and trickery. He is master of the craft of altering appearances. What if you were to find Dolos and ask him to temporarily give you the appearance of Zeus and give Zeus the appearance of your good self? Zeus will be forced to take on the mantle of running the Underworld for a while and then he’ll see….

Hades: That would be great! If I can force Zeus down into the Underworld just for a little while, he would finally appreciate how unfair he has been to me, and maybe he would treat me better in future! (And I wouldn’t mind some time sitting on his throne on Olympus and enjoy some fine living and decent food too). So… I just need to lure him into the Underworld and let Dolos do his thing…

[The brothers leave, deep in hushed, conspiratorial conversation] [Three weeks later, Hades walks into Poseidon’s throne room again, this time beaming from ear to ear.]

Hades: I can’t believe we actually pulled it off!! It all worked like clockwork and Zeus got a taste of his own medicine. How I loved seeing him coping with 10,000 miserable dead people!! Of course… everyone’s back in their rightful place again now but it was so worth it.

Poseidon: Yes… it certainly worked. Zeus is being much nicer to everyone these days.

Hades: And I don’t suppose I’ll ever get into Olympus again, but it was nice to see how the other half lives for a while [Just then Hermes, the messenger god, arrives with two letters for the pair. They look at each other nervously and open them slowly with trepidation] Poseidon: [exclaiming loudly] It’s invitations to Zeus’ party on Olympus! We must be good guys now!

Both: RESULT!!!

[The brothers laugh and cheer and clap each other on the back]

Music Music Introduction

by Jonathan Sanders, Director of Music We have been delighted by the musical entries and to be a part of the Detweiler competition again this year. The boys have enjoyed composing pieces to the theme of Gods and Goddesses and have found this to be a stimulating musical challenge. Due to the quality of all the musical composition entries, we have decided to include all six. We would encourage you to listen to each of these as they all demonstrate a very different approach to fulfilling the brief.

We have awarded 3rd place to James Watson for his composition ‘Aphrodite and Hades’ based on the contrasting themes of Psalm 1 - brace yourselves for the contrasting middle section and dramatic ending.

Thanks goD to Mr and Mrs Bantock for providing the live recording. Max Leung’s ‘Apollo, God of Son’, runner-up, was another dramatic response to the brief displaying some well-crafted heroic melodic themes that are carefully woven for the Brass Septet. The winner of the Detweiler 2021 musical category is Edgar Cheung for his piece ‘Odin, The Father of Gods’. The adjudicating panel were highly impressed by this response to the brief which clearly engaged with the variety of the characteristics associated with this mythological Norse deity.

Music 1st Place Edgar Cheung (Remove Form)

‘Odin’

I have been deeply impressed by Odin in the Norse mythology since I was a year three student. With his eight-legged horse, Sleipnir and his weapon Gungnir, Odin was portrayed as a mythical and powerful god in literary sources.

The piece is like a story of Odin. The first theme appeared in the very beginning of the piece reflects how cruel he could be, so the theme is in minor theme and there are several dissonances. The solidate rhythm and dynamics conveys how authoritative he is. Then the following theme is like Odin trying to think back to the time when he was the god of war, so the overall theme is in major key and accompanied by snare drum, creating a heroic, war-like feeling via strong sense of rhythm The first two themes are repeated to indicate the struggle of Odin. As in Norse mythology, there are always battles between gods and goddesses. His grandson was told to killed him, he might be tired of fighting due to his previous identity, however he has no choice but fight against.

The upcoming themes further illustrated Odin as a god of death, god of betrayal and god of wisdom. The themes may first sound a bit creepy as it is in minor key and there is use of tubular bell. Then it turns to sound sorrowful, he fought against too many things, sacrificed what he could sacrificed, but he is still alone and he still wants to know more about the world.

This part is brought out by melody played by violin and then flute, without a thick texture or heavy accompaniment to convey the sense of loneliness. At the very end of the piece the major theme is recapped, but ended sharply. From universal perspective he might have got everything, but the desire to know more drove him to end his life and all those ‘glories’ with his spear Gungnir.

Music 2nd Place

Music

Max Leung

(Remove Form)

’Apollo, God of Sun’

Apollo, God of Sun is a piece that conveys the themes of mightiness and courage. The composition itself is based on the Olympian god Apollo, who represents the Sun, light and healing. The introduction appears at the very beginning of the piece where a sequence and a dissonant chord is used at the first four bars, introducing the first theme of the section.

The first theme is in Bb major key, with a simple and melodious subject. The use of accents and slurs add rhythm and drama to the theme, which shows the power and mightiness of the God, Apollo. The second subject starts with the French horn, which creates a heroic feeling for the melody. The first subject is then reintroduced by the two trombones to create another variation for the theme.

Then the second theme starts with the euphonium, playing a slow, lyrical melody. This indicates the peaceful world among the gods and goddesses where no war is happening. The dynamics has no dramatic change until the second part of the theme, where a Eb minor subject appears. The melody is then resolved back to dominant, so as to bring back the first theme again. The first theme is recapped to end the piece with a heroic and mighty feel, to show how Apollo has the power and influence over other gods and goddesses.

Music 3rd Place James Watson (Lower Sixth Form)

‘Aphrodite and Hades’

The Righteous and the Ungodly (Psalm 1) I decided to base this composition of Psalm 1 which talks about the blessed and the wicked and I thought that Aphrodite and Hades represent these two characteristics. The piece is in Ternary Form with two very clear styles that start separate but join at the end which represent the words in Psalm 1 and then finishes with a flurry.

Music Honourable Mention

Music

Leo De Luca (Fifth Form)

‘Piano Concerto No. 1 ’

The piece that I composed is about the Roman/Greek God Jupiter. Each movement represents different characteristics of his powers. I chose the key B flat to write in as it is a key that is commonly used to promote a heroic character which I thought would be appropriate for Jupiter.

The first movement is about how Jupiter is the God of storms and thunder. The whole movement is a journey through a storm where at the start it’s the calm before the storm which then develops until the chaos of the storm is unleashed which then ends with the main theme repeated at the end to signify the storm is over.

The second movement is about how he is the God of the sky and I chose the key of E flat major as I believe it’s a key that can be associated with a peaceful and reflective nature, which I believe it is like after a storm such as the nice clear blue skies.

The third movement is about how Jupiter is the King of the Heavens and the King of the Gods. I returned to B flat major for the final movement as I believe it is a very triumphant key and suits the characteristics of a leader and someone of heroic characteristics.

Music Honourable Mention Feyi Okusanya (Lower Sixth Form)

‘The Seraph’

The seraphim are a type of celestial or heavenly being originating in Ancient Judaism. They play a role in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam as six-winged angels that fly around the throne of god crying “holy, holy, holy”. The name seraphim clearly indicate their ceaseless and eternal revolution about Divine Principles and I’ve used this idea to help me develop a light motif throughout the peace and use the A-B-A structure to help give a sense of repetition and eternality.

Music Honourable Mention

Music

Caleb Sanders (Fifth Form)

‘The Throne Room’

My composition refers to the theme of Gods and Goddesses by it being called “The Throne Room”. This is based on the main hall or meeting place of the Greek/Roman Gods and Goddesses of the stories and myths. The music reflects the different and swift mood changes that occur in the Throne room quickly going from major to minor to reflect this. The fanfare at the start represents the entry of the king - Zeus/Jupiter. After this, the piece progresses to represent a classic meeting with jolly and rather hash topics and arguments interchanging between both, represented by different themes/ subjects with polyphony showing the different views being shouted over on another. It ends with the precession of Zeus/ Jupiter back out to conclude a meeting.

Creative Writing Creative Writing Introduction

by Nicholas Hopton, Head of English

Gods and goddesses take many forms and the same can be said of this year’s entries for the Detweiler Creative Writing Prize. The judges were treated to re-imaginings of classical myths, humorous and thought-provoking conversation pieces between deities from different faiths and heroic tales of quest and tragedy. There were well-researched essays about religion, authentic-sounding folk tales that introduced us to new divinities and well-crafted poems about belief and unbelief. Shortlisting was akin to pushing a camel through a needle’s eye; picking a winner was even tougher. The pieces by Nathanael and Ruben stood out for their exquisite language choices and engaging narrative approach.

Both, interestingly, suggest something about the somewhat deistic power of a storyteller. I would like to thank all the boys who entered the competition and my colleagues in the English Department who took part in the adjudication.

Creative Writing Winner Nathanael Hylton (Lower Sixth Form)

The Legend of Vireuk The old Storyteller came into the light of the clearing.

At first the travelling merchants didn’t notice the Storyteller standing at the edge of the light and he didn’t make himself known. Instead he simply watched.

The merchants laughed and joked with the ease of people long acquainted; it was obvious they knew each other very well. In these travelling circles where a merchant would take their entire families with them, a sort of rolling village was likely to spring up as they realised their wares could complement one another. The children laughing and playing around the fire, the men and women softly talking while they checked the food, and the strained groaning of weary travellers settling down to eat, all spoke of community.

The smell of cooking meats suffused the air and overpowered the subtle scents of wine and the animals.

The crackle and pop of meat taken off the fire, as well as the earthy smell of fresh vegetables arriving, woke the hungry monster in the Storyteller’s stomach, which drove him further into their light.

The people around the fire instantly became aware of him, and shifted, the guards among them looking him over for weapons, as these were dangerous times.

Tension rising as the stranger intruded on their private, communal moment. Then, the faded cloak he wore came into the light of the fire and they relaxed. They recognised it as the purple and green cloak belonging to a priest of Syam, the god of messages, music and stories; among other things. Priests of his were welcome

at any fire, as they made the long, dark evenings of travellers brighter.

“Lo teller of stories, come, break bread with us,” said a large man who had the air of leadership about him.

“I’m sure you are weary; please, be seated. I am Vold Lopper, leader of this unruly troop.” A few laughs at that; it seemed a common joke.

“I would be pleased to” said the Storyteller wearily. “I’ve had a long road to travel and have a longer one to go. I would be pleased to spend a night by your fire.”

The men closest to the fire shuffled their chairs away and Vold sent a boy running for a chair for the Storyteller. After a few moments, the Storyteller was seated and eating with the practice of a man expected to eat quickly so he can entertain others eating with him. In minutes he had finished and was ready to start his story. He looked around the campfire and met each person’s eyes as they touched his, then he pulled out a small drum and began to beat it mutedly, an undercurrent to his words. It drowned out the ambient sounds of forest and fire and drew them into his words.

“Now let me tell you,” he began, and his voice seemed to change, melodious, rising and falling with the beat of his drum, “of a time, long ago, before there were ten Gods seated high in Tanalight. Before the heretics and would-be God-Binders were cast into Tanafall. At this time there were only six Gods seated and they had not yet gained Tanalight.”

Creative Writing He paused there, letting the rhythm of the drum fill the silence of the night.

“I will tell you a tale,” he intoned, this time speaking in a high and mighty voice, the drum beat morphing into an imperious marching tone, “of Vireuk, seventh seat of the ten, Artisan of the gods. He is the god of fire and strength, of volcanoes and deserts, of craftsmen and blacksmiths, maker of the weapons of Tanalight and breaker of the celestite chains. But most would know him as the Godforge.”

He paused again; this time the drum seemed to deepen and soften.

“He was once a mortal man, a genius artisan, but a mortal man… This is the tale of how he became a God.” *** Our story begins in this land, many centuries ago. A time much like our own, as this was before the Vallation Wars of old, the ones so terrible that civilisation first faltered and then regressed. But this time was peaceful, albeit not entirely, but there are always those who cause rancour and trouble, even in times of peace.

Vireuk was born the son of a carpenter in a capital city of a kingdom. His parents quickly realised his talent; it is said that by six years old he had already mastered his father’s trade. Often his father took him with him

on jobs, but this stopped quickly when the boy’s work surpassed his own. Out of jealousy or frustration, his father sent him to other craftsmen of his guild. For ten years he mastered all the trades of an artisan: he learned to smith and to fletch; he learned the arts of the wainwrights and the coopers, the chandlers and the masons. By sixteen he had learned all they had to teach him, and they were ready to put him out. These craftsmen, who had dedicated their lives to their crafts, were frustrated with this boy who could outstrip them in a matter of weeks; they were done with him.

As they were planning what to do with him, Vireuk overheard, and under the cover of darkness with nothing more than what he could carry, he left the city, never to return. He left the kingdom shortly after and established his own shop in a modest city of the next kingdom, the name of which is lost to time. Within two years people where coming from the length and breadth of the kingdom for work done by the Artisan, as he had become known. His shop was small and his work rare, as he still preferred to do all the pieces of it himself. It wasn’t unusual for people to walk in and ask for something to be made, but the waiting list was months long and many were turned away.

One day, deep in to his second year at the shop, a woman walked in; he paused in his work and looked at her, judging. She was perhaps into her middle years, though that was hard to tell; she had an agelessness quality that made it difficult to judge her age. She

was dressed in gown of verdant splendour, and Vireuk could recognise it as master work. She was beautiful and something about her compelled him to stop his work.

“Can I help you, my lady?” he asked, respect evident in his tone; the woman was obviously a noble.

She didn’t answer. Instead she made a gesture for him to follow her. He stood and did so, but he wasn’t sure why; something about her seemed familiar and compelling enough that he wanted to find out. Enough so that he followed her without question to a large mansion on the outskirts of the city. She disappeared inside, but he hesitated at the door and then stepped in.

He emerged into a brightly lit throne room, and scanned the room with the eyes of an expert. Not as a soldier looking for exits but as a craftsman. The room was big with a high, vaulted ceiling and huge columns. Each column was carved with a likeness that Vireuk didn’t recognise; the effect was awe-inspiring and wasn’t lost on him, even as he was trying to memorise some of the columns for his own works later. All the majesty of the room was quickly forgotten when his eyes reached the other end. Occupying the throne, there was the woman.

There was no obvious difference about her but suddenly her presence filled the huge room and understanding filled him. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head respectfully. “Bellanis,” he breathed. Bellanis, goddess of wisdom and strategy.

“Rise,” she commanded and he stood instantly before he had time to process. He kept his eyes downcast and respectful. “Look at me.”

He met her eyes; there was no fear in his gaze, just awe.

But not overwhelmingly so. He was curious too.

“You have been summoned for your abilities.” She began with the authority of one who is not interrupted. “You are a Godforge. I think you know what that means.”

He did. He had suspected that his skills weren’t purely mortal and now he had conformation.

“I have a task only you can complete, my brother is being held prisoner by chains that are impossible to break. You do not need to know why. You will free him with the aid of some other mortals,” she said, waving a hand to the side where two people stepped from the alcove behind the throne. “This is my daughter, Uriah, a renowned warrior and leader. With her is Renairon Stalwart, a knight of the halls.”

The woman nodded her head to him; she had some passing resemblance to her mother but compared to her she was obviously mortal. She held a bow in one hand and was dressed in clothes meant for travel. Then the man stepped out. Vireuk had heard of the knights of the halls, renowned warriors who served the Gods directly.

This man didn’t disappoint their reputation; he was a giant, easily seven and a half feet tall and he carried an immense great sword and shield. Vireuk wasn’t a man easily intimidated being tall himself with the muscles of a blacksmith but this man frightened him.

“Together you will find my brother, Lichtan, and return with him to my Father,” the Goddess continued. “He will reward you; I believe that you are the only one who can do it.” She finished speaking then, made a dismissing

Creative Writing gesture and suddenly they were in a different place.

They travelled together for months, adventuring and slaying monsters. The three heroes’ exploits are renowned, but they are a tale for another time. During their journey, they became known throughout the land and their deeds live on to this day. They never forgot their original purpose, though, and after many months of searching and travelling, they came upon a place known as the Crystal Peaks, somewhere far to the west, a place of stark, harsh beauty, a place of wonder but still sinister.

A mountain range made of sharp, smooth crystal both lovely and deadly… A place to trap Gods. In the depths of those mountains, trapped in a crystalline prison with shackles of pure celestite, they found Lichtan. He was bound to the mountaintop, unconscious. He was exposed to the sun for he was its master; if it could not see him then it would grow enraged and burn the world to ash.

But nothing they did could break the chains. Vireuk then realised that this was his purpose.

He quickly set up a place to work, carving it straight into the base of the mountain where Lichtan was held. A work shop of sparkling majesty but still practical. It is said that to this day, if you can find that forge, then Vireuk will grant you one boon.

He set up his forge in a night and a day and then he slept for two. When he woke he set to work. First he shaved off a piece of the chain to test, and he tried as many methods as he could think for breaking something. He burnt it, he smashed it, he dropped it from the top of the mountain and he submerged it in acid. He continued in this vein for three days until he realised that only something of

itself could break those chains. But they had a problem, for celestite was unbreakable and couldn’t be mined; it needed to be found but could not be forged even in his hottest fire. So he decided he needed hotter.

So our heroes searched for a core of celestite and once found, Vireuk tapped the molten core of the mountain itself to fuel the fires required to forge the ore, and for one entire night he worked. He worked the crystal-like metal, drawing it out and folding to increase its strength. When he emerged from the workshop the next morning, he held aloft a gleaming double-bladed axe. It was entirely made of the celestite and he named it Thráfstis, breaker.

He gave it over to Renairon and told him to break the chains. In one swing, he did so and then they were taken in a swirl of light to the palace of the Gods.

Estan, King of the Gods, and first among them was so pleased at the dedication of the heroes and the return of his son that he offered them Godhood. Renairon and Uriah refused and were instead granted boons of a kind never seen before or since, but what they received and what they did with it are stories of another time. Vireuk, however, accepted this gift for he believed that it would give him the time and materials necessary to truly master all the skills available to him. To this day it is still believed that he works toward that goal but it is always beyond his reach.

However, this is not the end of his exploits; he is a God now, but that did not stop him from accomplishing much in the Vallation Wars and in the gaining of Tanalight but, as I have said before, those are tales for another time as this one is complete.

*** His tale told, the Storyteller stowed away his drum and looked around the campfire at the enraptured faces. He rose, smiled at them and asked for a place to sleep. Vold showed him to a spot under one of the wagons and he fell asleep easily, content in his telling.

In the morning, the traders tried to convince him to stay and travel with them for a bit; he refused saying “I have a long road to travel and I’d best begin now.”Then he turned and walked off in the opposite direction. As he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, a great wind seemed to sweep past the traders.

“Can I go ask him a question,” one of the children asked as they began to break camp.

“Why didn’t you ask him when he was here?” his father scolded.

“I didn’t think of it then.”

“Well, go quickly now, before he gets too far.”

The child nodded and took off, running in the direction the Storyteller had gone. He rounded the corner, the question jumping from off his lips…and died in the cool air of the forest. The Storyteller was gone; not even a trace of his passing remained on the path or in the air, not a footstep or shadow to say he was here or even close. The child looked up and for the rest of his life, he swore that he saw a bright purple star streaking away into the distance and he said that it winked at him.

Creative Writing Runner Up Ruben Jacob (Fourth Form)

A Strange Encounter “Come hither my friend… The night draws in and the witching hour beckons... I believe what you have seen… In this diary, you will find a tale… perhaps it may soothe you.” You follow the old man into a wood-panelled room. He bids you to sit at the oak table now long-weathered. In one corner of the table a fading photograph sits in its pewter frame.

A young man with tousled hair, a sadness about his eyes, looks at the camera. The old man lights two lamps and their flames bring a quivering light to the room. From the earthen fireplace comes a warmth for which you are grateful. Outside, the mist curls at the windows as the clock strikes midnight. Not a soul comes near this house and you, the reader, are quite alone in this place of sorrowful silence. You turn to the first page of the cracked, leather-bound diary and as your eyes move slowly across the words, your heart quickens and an uneasiness descends upon you. You pull the cloak draped around your shoulders tighter but the disquiet remains like an unwelcome guest.

5th November 1938 Rain pours from the evening sky. Down the windscreen of the battered old Morris flow a thousand rivulets.

He grips the steering, fighting to control the tyres as they slide across the drenched road. The road is old and long forgotten now but it runs through the forest and he knows he will save time on his journey home.

Suspended between the racing clouds, he sees the dim

moon as it struggles to keep the darkness at bay. His eyes desperately try to pierce the gloom but it is as if he is entering a cavern that has never been graced by the light. Even the Morris’ headlights struggle to guide his path in the lashing rain.

Tonight is different: a foreboding gnaws at him. Where it comes from, he knows not. But it is there like an uninvited companion whose presence brings with it dread. The long branches of the ancient trees seemingly reach out to grasp at the car. Yet, he finds a way that escapes their clutches. He seems to be travelling interminably, the journey’s end is not in sight. He hears the staccato beating of his heart steadily pounding in his ears. It seems to sound a forlorn cadence, a mournful cry of anguish.

In the distance, a form, almost ephemeral, emerges from the gloom. He clears the glass of the Morris, squinting, unsure of what lies ahead. As he draws closer, the inky darkness is briefly banished by a flash of lightning. In the brief light the form is resolved into a woman dressed in white. The Morris comes to a stop but the woman remains unmoving. He beckons to her and she slowly comes towards him but there is something about the manner in which she moves that unsettles him. Although her legs move, it is almost as if she floats just above the moss-covered road, her white tunic billowing about her and her dark hair matted and streaming in the wind. He reaches behind him to open the door and as she enters, the scent of the wet earth

reaches him. But there is another scent, one that he has difficulty identifying but which he distantly associates with mould and decay.

The chime of the old clock as it strikes quarter-past midnight makes the reader pause. The dance of the flame from the earthen fireplace casts shadows around the room. The reader feels as if a great weight presses upon him. In the distance, from the hills that overlook this once-proud manor, comes the howl of a lone wolf. “Who is she?,” the reader asks.

“Read on, friend and you will find the answer,” replies the white-haired man, the lines drawn starkly across his face, his body ravaged by time.

He drives on through the bleak darkness and lashing rain. The woman remains silent and perhaps the cold and damp have shrouded his mirror but he cannot quite see her behind him. He briefly glances around and perceives the silhouette of the sitting figure and yet her reflection seems as indeterminate as his first sight of her. The woman’s face is drawn and pallid, her thin lips pale, her skin as white as ice. Her breathing is laboured as if she struggles for air. Her eyes are deep and dark, their irises like liquid pools of watery silence. He finds himself unable to banish the fear that creeps into his heart. He finds himself silently asking, “Who is she? Why is she alone in this godforsaken place?”

A shroud of mystery hangs over her like a veil. If only that veil could be lifted, he thinks to himself, and yet he is gripped by trepidation at what it might reveal.

Foreboding claws at him as the woman finally speaks but the sound of her voice resonates not in his ears but seems to come from everywhere at once. It is a voice that reminds him of someone that may be secretly grinning, a voice that is close and yet seems far away at the same time.“ From whence I come you know not…

The curse of a human has kept me chained here and it is the sacrifice of a human that will at last set me free… I have chosen you to free me and you will do my will.”

He has lost all power of movement and although his hands no longer clutch the wheel, the Morris continues on as though compelled by some higher force. The road twists and turns but the old car unerringly maintains its course until it draws close to the gates of the place that he has not set eyes upon for what to him feels like a lifetime. The old car slowly comes to a halt.

The woman’s emaciated fingers stretch out and push the door open. Her sandals leave no impression on the wet earth, he fearfully observes, as he finds himself leaving his seat. Through a gaping hole in the gate, the woman leads the way as he follows her into the ruined graveyard. To his right, what remains of a chapel stares down forlornly at moss-laden tombs. All around him stand crumbling ornaments that once adorned these final resting places. A stone angel, hunched over as if the burden of time has eaten away at its nobility, lies prone over the grave it once protected. The howling that echoes through the cemetery resounds with torment. It is a place where the void of heartfelt loss drains all hope and peace.

Creative Writing He follows in her footsteps, the ground broken and uneven, littered with greying stone. Her long black hair is whipped by the wind and again, as he follows her, he must strain every sinew to stop himself from screaming at the sight of her floating like some wraith.

An old tomb covered in ivy appears out of the mist and rain. No name graces it, no cross sits atop it. In between the ivy, he sees a squirming mass of worms. They seem to writhe in elation at the woman’s presence. Her eyes fix upon him malevolently and he finds himself, he does not know quite how, lying on the cold, wet stone of the tomb. She crouches over him, a dagger poised in her hand above her head. There is no pity in her eyes, only malice. “I have always been and always shall be for I am the goddess of death of whom those who know of me speak in whispers.” He is paralysed by fear but somewhere deep within him, he summons the strength that makes him pull at the crucifix around his neck, brandishing it like a shield in the woman’s contorted face. She shrieks with terror, falling beside him and in that moment he runs as he has never run before towards the gates of the cemetery. All he can hear about him is a despairing moaning that pierces his bones like an icy wind that blows over a cold sea. His last sight of her, one that will always live with him until his dying day, is of the white-shrouded figure disappearing into the tomb.

The reader turns the final page and closes the diary.

He sits back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the old man, searching for meaning. The first dim glow

of the rising Sun lights the sky above the hills.

The distraught reader slowly stands to his feet.

There does not seem to be a need for words to be exchanged between the two men and instead, the reader makes his way out of the old manor house, bidding his host only the briefest of farewells. He emerges into the gravelled drive and begins to walk up the path that will lead him to the road that runs to the closest town. The sound of a wooden door slamming in the wind makes him pause. In a ramshackle shed, he briefly glimpses an old car. It is from an earlier era and, as he walks up to it, he observes its sculpted bonnet and wings now rusting and bereft of paint. It has lain untouched for years.

As he draws closer, his eyes are drawn to the round emblem that sits on the bonnet. With his finger, he brushes away the dirt and dust that shrouds it.

Slowly, the letters “M-O-R-R-I-S” take shape.

Creative Writing Highly Commended Eric Breslin (Fourth Form)

God’s Perfect Creation In the beginning, God created heaven and earth.

The earth was fathomless water, a never-ending dearth.

God commanded that there be light. It was good, God explained.

He divided the light from darkness, but the darkness still remained.

And God said let there be a void between the waters to cleave them in two.

With them came the sea beasts, who dwelled deep in the blue, Some lived in utter darkness but, for God, it was a breakthrough.

And then the land animals, and predators and prey Who killed others for survival, in a harsh, and bloody ballet.

Finally, the first humans, intelligent and brave,

This void he called ‘sky’, then added scenery to view.

Eve crafted from Adam’s pain, with a rib that he gave.

Next was dry land, seas, plants and trees,

And on the last day of creation, when all was said and done,

And the plate tectonics below, that disrupt and cause unease.

Did God really rest, and make the day a holy one?

Next God created the Sun, a scalding sphere of light.

Or did he welcome evil and strife to fester in a hole,

Then the stars and moon, to compensate the night.

So that when it was ready, that evil, could really take its toll?

Next were flying creatures, birds who swoop and soar, And bugs that harm humans, even render them no more.

Creative Writing Highly Commended Harry Clifton (Fourth Form)

The Diary of Hei Kang April 14, 1989 Eomeoni*was lying in bed, head in her pillow. She had been sick for months, coughing and wheezing through her days. The lack of health care in North Korea means that we all know her time is coming to an end, so I visit her most days, giving her the love she deserves. The people of this country are forced to pray to Kim Jong-il but I am a secret Christian as it is illegal here. I carry with me a necklace my mother gave me when I moved out; it is made from silver, has a golden cross and it’s engraved with ‘ut in illa miseratione cum domino’ which means something like ‘be at mercy with the Lord’ in Latin. One day I wish to escape this prison of a country and move to somewhere like Italy or England where I could live a peaceful life with freedom. I wonder if anyone will ever read this and imagine what my life was like. Anyway, it’s getting late and tomorrow is a big day so I’ll wrap it up here.

February 15th, 1989 I am writing this in the morning, to explain what is happening today. February 15th is known as The Day Of The Sun in North Korea. It is a holiday and the anniversary of the birth of Kim ill-Sung, the founder of this country. It’s the biggest celebration of the year; it’s like Christmas I suppose. We are forced to visit some of the hundreds of statues around this country and worship him like a God. It’s despicable that in this day and age there is a supreme leader and not a democracy.

I feel like an ant drowning in the deep ocean; I am just another one of his people. Today I will be visiting *Eomeoni- mother in Korean.

the Mansu Hill Grand Monument in Pyongyang with Eomeoni. I will update this diary later after it has happened.

We arrived at the square at 11 o’clock to watch the rally and celebration. There were thousands of soldiers all lined up with perfection ready to greet Kim Jong-Il and we were previously informed that we had to clap joyfully when he appeared on the balcony. After about 30 minutes of waiting, he walked out and started waving. Trumpets and drums were played as a huge orchestra conjured together the national anthem to the leader’s greeting. I had to put on a fake smile and pretend to be excited, but I just felt horrible inside.

Seeing him overweight yet most of his country are so malnourished brought tears of rage to my eyes. After the parade, Eomeoni and I sat on a bench to have our packed lunch. We then had to go to a statue and pray to him. We had to bow down and give thanks to the beast of a man for what he has supposedly given us.

April 16th, 1989 I woke up early this morning as I am anxious about what lies ahead. I am coming to a time at which I must serve my mandatory time in the military, so I am leaving later today. I’m unsure whether Eomeoni will be able to look after herself but there is nothing I can do as we have no relatives who could help. I work in the mines to supply us with food and pay the rent but in the army we only get around $100 a month. At least it will be safer than the mines; people are always losing their limbs or lives there. I had a brother once. He was

just like me and we were best mates. He started in the mines but got caught up in an explosion and from there onwards my life turned upside down. I hadn’t taken notice of my mandatory service until about a month ago when I got a letter reminding me that if I didn’t do it, I would end up in a labour camp. I have an hour from when I am writing this before I have to report to do my duties so I will end it here and update this in the evening.

April 17th, 1989 ............................................................................................ ............................................................................................ .......................................................................................... ............................................................................................ ............................................................................................

April 18th, 1989 ............................................................................................ ............................................................................................ .......................................................................................... ............................................................................................ ............................................................................................

April 19th, 1989 I haven’t written in this diary for a couple days now because the worst has happened. I reported on time and collected my uniform along with all the other men, mostly younger than me. We got sent to the changing rooms where we had to put on the clothes and prepare

for training. I got changed and sat down in the hall ready to start. When just about everyone had arrived, a short, bald man appeared shouting instructions of what to do on the first day. We all sat there as quiet as mice; nobody wanted to make a bad impression from the start. As we were about leave, a man appeared in the corridor with a megaphone and said, ‘Soldier Hei Kang, please report to the changing rooms immediately.’

I sat there for a second, in shock and shivering. What have I done? Has something happened to Eomeoni? I slowly rose from my chair and made my way towards the corridor as a million eyes tracked me like snakes. My heart was hammering against my chest. I took a deep breath, walked down the corridor and pushed open the door. I got to the changing room door, tidied my uniform, and walked right in. Bang! I was hit in the side by a club and suddenly a bag was pulled over my head and then, well, I can’t really remember. Something was held up to my nose that must have made me faint but when I woke up, I was sat in a chair, cuffed to a table and there was a large mirror on one of the walls. It was what looked like an interrogation room. I was thinking that there must have been a mistake! I have never committed a crime.

A door on the left wall slowly creaked open as a menacing looking man came in and sat opposite me.

It was only then that I realised that I had a cloth over my mouth so I struggled to get it off, but I couldn’t. He slapped me in the face then took off the cloth.

‘Why am I here? What have I done and who are you?

I’m sorry but there must be a mistake. I was about to start my service in the military!’ I said. No response.

He looked deep into my eyes, as if he were seeing something so I looked away in fear. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a chain, then a…it was

my necklace! It dawned on me what had happened.

They found it. My Christian necklace with the cross on it. I must have left it in the changing room when I was getting my military wear on. I can’t believe I let myself take it! He fiddled with it between his fingers and then snapped it, chain links flying everywhere. I cried out with rage and struggled but there was nothing I could do.

Long story short, I ended up with 16 years in a labour camp. My life is shattered, and I don’t know what to do.

I must go and pick up my daily rations now, but I will keep this updated.

April 20th, 1989 I am writing this in the evening to explain what has happened. We had to wake up at 6am and eat breakfast at half 6. From seven o’clock we have the worship period for half an hour. We have to pray thanking Kim Jong-Il for what we have but of course I worship the Christian God. I beg to him that he will help me and end this but being honest, I am starting to lose faith. I then had hard labour of farming until 9 from when I was interrogated right until 10pm. Apparently the interrogation only lasts for the first week or so and then it’s just hard labour every day. In the interrogation they broke my fingers, trying to get me to admit for crimes I haven’t even committed. This is unbearable. I have no human rights or rights of any sort here other than my tiny allowance of rice to last the whole day. I can feel myself getting weaker already and know that I won’t last these years.

April 30th, 1989 I haven’t written much as there’s not much to say. They heard me muttering ‘amen’ in the prayer period, so I got a beating, blood leaking everywhere. People are dying around me from starvation and malnutrition along with the labour. I am getting weak too. I look like a skeleton that has been wrapped in skin and I am pasty white.

Eomeoni will suffer as well. She might have coped with 2 years, but she won’t manage for too long and it was all because I took my stupid necklace to the military. I don’t believe in God anymore. I was loyal to him so why won’t he help me? I cry and pray to him at night but still nothing changes. When I was out farming in the fields there was dry sick on the floor, and I was so hungry that I forced myself to eat it. I don’t know how much longer I will last but I hope somebody finds my diary and reads my story. Someone who will do something to stop this.

To end the wrath of North Korea. To bring justice to the people.

May 2nd, 1989 I am becoming so weak now. I have fainted three times recently, and I know that this is it. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, if it exists at all. Eomeoni, if you are reading this, I am sorry. I am sorry that I was not enough. I’m sorry that I couldn’t live up to you and I’m sorry I didn’t live up to my brother. Be good now and don’t go and get yourself into trouble.

Just know that I love you and I’ll see you on the other side.

May 3rd,1989 ............................................................................................ ............................................................................................ .......................................................................................... ............................................................................................ ............................................................................................

Creative Writing Highly Commended Fred Dickson (Fourth Form)

In the Footsteps of Apollo Chapter 1 - Cambridge 1952 “Now boys, over the summer break, finish reading the story of Apollo and Daphne. There will be a test on it at the start of next term,” said English master Mr Roberts of St Michael’s College, Cambridge. Giles Phipps, a 20 year-old member of the college was preparing to go on a trip to the Greek Island of Delos, most famously known for its connection with the Greek God Apollo and its Ancient Theatre built in 250BC. This summer, Giles and his friends would be seeing the Greek myth Apollo and Daphne performed at that very theatre and that is where our story begins….

“Why does the journey have to be so insufferably long,” Giles says. “Just remember that once we are there it will all be worthwhile, three weeks on the beach and staying on a beautiful Greek island,” says his friend James Doris. The journey would also involve the five friends discussing numerous political topics.

Once they arrived in Delos, the gang checked into the small villa, appropriately named Villa Apollo, they had rented and met with the butler Spyros and chef Darius.

Giles had decided to take a walk with James across town and check out the Temple of Apollo. He had always been a lover of Greek mythology and was eager to check out the site of the temple.

It would take twenty minutes to arrive at the temple but on the way they passed the auditorium and noticed the most peculiar thing. In the centre, a man was lying on the sand and there was a certain creepiness about it so Giles followed by James decided to look and sure

enough they found a body with an arrow sticking out of it.

James spotted in the distance a man running away towards the town but he was wearing a rather peculiar outfit. He raced off before James could see.

Chapter 2- What to do about a death Giles ran down the cobbled streets towards the local police station and, sure enough, there was a policeman with a smiley face and Giles told him everything. The policeman, who now had a name - Lucas - and Giles, raced off on a moped and met James at the scene. Lucas said how the man’s name was Nicholas Baros, an actor in the play Apollo and Daphne. “Nicholas plays Apollo, he is well respected amongst the people on the island.

What a tragedy. Guess we should get it down to the station,” said Lucas. “Sorry, but you wouldn’t happen to know a detective who is on the island. We don’t have one and due to the weather. We can’t get a new one.”

Giles said, “we don’t know one but I could give it a go. I am quite good.”

Chapter 3- Looking for a murderer Giles had decided to play this by the book. From his reading, he knew he needed to round up witnesses and suspects that meant visiting all the nearby bars, beaches and shops, asking about what Nicholas was like and who would have wanted to kill him. He decided to take his friend Doug who was a real people person and very persuasive and also Spyros who would interpret in case of a language barrier.

Creative Writing Meanwhile, at home James, Seb, Lewis and Darius the cook would try and come up with a timeline. Lewis however had not been himself since the murder. He had been very frisky and irritable and he, unlike the others, had no alibi as he was out having a walk alone. He also had been seen by a local named Demitri, walking by the auditorium alone at around the time of a murder. From these interviews conducted by Spyros, Doug and Giles, there were three clear suspects: Phillip the caretaker was angry over the show taking place and the stake he had in the show. He needed more to pay the rent for his home and Nicholas had cheated the percentage take.

Kostas playing Apollo in the play was jealous of Nicholas and his love for the woman who plays Daphne in the show - Stephanie Andino - as Kostas loved her. Finally, there was Lewis. Although not a local, he had previously been on the island and would have known of Nicholas, as Lewis’s family owned a small fishing business on a few Greek islands and Nicholas was involved on the Delos branch.

There had been some financial difficulties regarding Delos. Nicholas had not paid up so that could’ve been a motive. Finally, there was Andras who was Nicholas’s brother. They had fallen out years ago over money and Nicholas had invested well and was now reasonably well off but Andras was not. He had lots of debts and could’ve killed Nicholas for money.

The facts discovered by the gang (excluding Lewis as he was now a suspect):

• Murder took place between 7-7:45pm two nights ago.

• Suspects Andras, Phillip, Kostas, and Lewis all had means, motive and opportunity.

• Andras would have loved to see his brother dead as he was still angry over the inheritance.

• Phillip felt cheated by Nicholas as he was causing the auditorium to close by not agreeing to a fair percentage take.

• Kostas and Nicholas had a history. Kostas had beaten up Nicholas at school and was always bullying him as he was jealous of Stephanie.

• Lewis knew Delos well from previous visits and was a very good runner so could have made it from the auditorium to the villa in half an hour which coincides with the time of the murder and the sighting of him at 6:45pm that night just outside the auditorium.

However, one thing that puzzled Giles was the fact that the killer was wearing a Cupid costume. Why go to all that effort unless of course there was a deeper meaning behind all this story. Why not stab Nicholas - much easier than firing an arrow from a long way away? In order to solve the case, he needed to make sense of this.

Chapter 4- Cupid and Apollo The story goes that Apollo mocked Cupid over how he was just a child and was not a man like him so Cupid fired his arrow through Apollo’s heart and made him fall in love. One person Giles had worked out could align themselves with this motive: Kostas. He was Apollo and was angry about his love and you could see the irony.

From asking the cast, there was only one Cupid costume made. Who could have stolen the costume and taken the massive risk which was that of being caught in an open space whilst shooting someone?

However, whilst interviewing locals, one of them had mentioned how they saw Nicholas alive at around 7:20pm. How could this be as Giles had already seen him dead at 7:15pm.

Yet whilst walking home, Giles had noticed peculiar marks on the side of the road.

They were tyre tracks. He knelt down to take a closer look and realised they looked two or three days old.

Giles knew Nicholas could not ride a motorcycle, let alone stop it that sharply as this rider had done. Also, on these marks there was a peculiar sort of texture like sand or gravel which provided the question where they had come from? And could it be linked to the murder?

Chapter 5- Sand, sand and more sand Giles had decided to take a walk along the beach with Seb and search for further tyre marks yet the most likely possibility was that they had been washed away by the sea or glazed over but they thought they would have a look. They walked for an hour and could not see any. They also decided to take a pot of sand from the beach as they had found an exact replica of the tyre that would have been used as it had exactly the same marks. So Seb and Giles planned to see if, when they

applied roughly the correct amount of sand, the tyre would make the same marks on the cobbles. Then they could trace where it had come from. They got home and there was no luck: it did not match. Yet one place with sand they had forgotten to check was the Auditorium and sure enough, right next to the statue of Apollo, there were some tyre marks that matched those of the cobbles and they were two or three days old. That was the evidence needed to put these two pieces of this murder jigsaw together.

Chapter 6- Putting the jigsaw together The gang decided to take a walk up to the temple as, while trying to solve this mystery, they still had not had time to visit the famous Temple of Apollo.

They wandered round and spoke to the priest and took a few pictures for the scrap book and did what any normal person would do when visiting a famous temple. Yet on the way back, Giles heard the sound of a motorbike and sure enough, in the darkness, he noticed a small black motorbike, perhaps a Vespa, leaving the auditorium. Giles sent Doug down to the police station and requested him to find something very specific out and said it was integral to solving this mystery. Doug returned a couple of hours later with the answer that Giles had been looking for. Then Giles told his team to round up all the suspects (including Lewis who had been staying in the house but not allowed any knowledge of the investigation) and tell them to meet at a small bar at the beach called Athena Bar. Chapter 7- Unmasking the killer “I am sure you all know why you are gathered here today to discuss the tragic murder of Nicholas Baros, an islander here that you all know and some loved,” Giles said. Then Giles went on to introduce each of the suspects which were: Andras, Kostas, Lewis and Phillip; then he discussed their motives which were love, jealousy and money. “I thought I would take you

through that fateful night and the events that occurred and the order in which they occurred. This will hopefully make clear the killing of Nicholas,” explained Giles.

“Firstly our killer, who I will call ‘X’, followed Nicholas up to the auditorium and fired an arrow through Nicholas’s heart from about twenty metres away whilst dressed in a Cupid outfit which he had changed into. X then followed the process of glazing over the sand tracks made by his feet in order not to incriminate himself and his motorcycle’s tracks too, as from our investigation we discovered the killer travelled on a motorcycle. Now, whilst riding out of the Auditorium, he is seen by me and James, and we find this peculiar as he is wearing a Cupid outfit. I will come to this later. Once he leaves, unaware of his sighting, X rides down the road to town and proceeds to dispose of the bike (as X does not actually own a bike himself) so he gets rid of the bike, probably by hiding it in a bush nearby and he changes and wanders into town. The first problem I encountered was how Nicholas had been seen alive at 7:20pm yet the body was discovered at 7:15pm. This was very easy once I worked it out: X had planned for the body to be discovered at around 7:20pm as that is the time he returned from the Auditorium and therefore he has an alibi as he is in town and he was seen so he could therefore not have been the killer – but was it really Nicholas who was seen alive?”

“Doug do you remember why I sent you down to the police station a couple of hours ago?” Giles asked.

“Yes, I do,” replied Doug.

“I sent Doug down to the police station to find a birth certificate. You see, Nicholas had a striking resemblance to one of our suspects, Kostas! They have the same father so anybody with poor eyesight (such as the man who saw Nicholas alive) could easily mistake Kostas for Nicholas and vice-versa. So, Kostas, as you were wrongly identified as Nicholas, you don’t have an alibi

and you were in fact Nicholas’s killer. You rode the bike up to the theatre and shot Nicholas because you and he shared a love for Stephanie Andino, so when Nicholas went out with her, it must have hurt. You were jealous so you killed him thinking you would not be caught.

It would’ve worked if we hadn’t identified you. Kostas killed Nicholas dressed as Cupid as he loved Stephanie so wanted to kill her lover by shooting him with an arrow.”

Kostas was sentenced to life in prison. His last words before going to prison were “I hated him.” Giles and the others visited Delos many times more and always said that their favourite Greek myth was that of Daphne and Apollo.

Creative Writing Highly Commended Harry Pascall (Fourth Form)

Shipwrecked Captain James Bernard looked out to the approaching storm that they had been trying to escape from for the past three days, without success, and now it was almost upon them. As he watched the black clouds edge ever closer to his ships, his mind began to ponder what had brought this terrible weather down upon him. They had left two weeks ago, commissioned to take a large sum of gold, silver, and spices from the Caribbean out to England. It was a long and treacherous journey but paid very well. He took all the precautions; he had a decently sized escort, in the skies he had seen no sign of storm, the soothsayer he had consulted had foretold nothing but good luck on his voyage, and he had said his prayers the night before. So why was he standing here, facing a wall of black clouds about to overwhelm his ships?

He searched his mind for the answer to his question but found none.

He was plucked from thought by the shattering impact of the first wave; it crashed onto one of his escorts, sending men overboard. Then the spray hit the boat, throwing water over the bulwarks and onto the ship, sending a few men spinning around the boat. Already men were bailing the water back into the sea, trying to keep the boat from sinking. From his position on the poop deck, he could see a group of four men rushing to the bow of the ship to throw lines to the men in the water.

‘Leave them, and get back to bailing’, he shouted, his voice carrying over the howling wind that was threatening to send him overboard. The men looked at

him in confusion, not understanding why they were being ordered not to save their fellow sailors. ‘We need every man on bailing if we’re to make it out of this storm, and anyways, they’re probably already dead,’ he bellowed again.

His face was a mask of calmness, and the four men saw this, took a small amount of courage from it, and abandoned the ropes to take up a bucket. While his face was utterly serene, in his mind there only seemed to be panic and fear. Fear that he would never get to see his family again, or his crew and ship for that matter.

As another massive wave got ready to pounce upon them, he managed to force his fears down. He knew that this next wave would surely bring the two masts down, rendering his ship useless and at the mercy of the storm, and he also knew there would be no avoiding it. “Brace yourselves”, he yelled to his crew, and they threw down their buckets and grabbed hold of the closest part of the ship that they saw in preparation for the incoming wave.

The wave threw itself high into the air before coming crashing back down onto the ship, sweeping over the fore and main decks, but not managing to reach James’ raised position. It tore down both masts, bringing them crashing down onto the deck as men dived from their path. The ship was now in the hands of fate alone.

James considered his options; he could try having the men row away from the storm, but he knew the waves would shatter the oars. The boat had several lifeboats,

Creative Writing enough to carry most of the crew. He feared that they would succumb to the wind and waves, but they were probably his best option.

Before he could decide on what course of action he could take, however, he was pulled from his thought by a warning shouted by his helmsman. He looked up in alarm to see one of his convoy ships, propelled by the waves alone, careering towards his vessel. He tried to shout an order but found that his fear had pulled the words from his mouth.

The two ships collided with a crash that lingered for a second. Despite the raging winds, the crew that had been manning the foredeck were forced to jump into the plunging ocean or be crushed. Those on the main and poop decks were flung forward by the impact.

James was thrown onto the main deck, badly breaking his left leg. Then he was picked up by the ensuing wave and sent flying against the stairs leading back up, and then his vision went black.

He woke up on a stretcher inside a tent. As his eyes flickered open, he was met by an excited voice that he remembered belonging to his surgeon.

‘Captain, you’re awake!’ the surgeon exclaimed.

‘You sound surprised,’ James’ managed to reply.

‘Oh, not at all Sir, just you were out for two days and I was wondering if-’ the surgeon started, but James cut him off mid-sentence.

‘Two days!” he exclaimed, and the surgeon nodded.

‘Does that mean we survived the storm? But how? I thought the ship was destroyed,’ he added, his voice more controlled.

‘Yes, the ship was destroyed for the most part, but we were still floating, barely. We all thought we were dead men, but I suppose the Gods smiled upon us then. The ship was pushed by the waves and wind, and eventually we wound up on this island. The First Mate managed to get everything organized; we made a tent out of spare sheets for the sails, and here we are.’

‘Well, I better go and see how we’re doing then,’ and he tried to sit up, but felt a sharp pain in his head and lay back down. He reached up to his head and felt that bandages had been wrapped around it.

‘I wouldn’t advise getting up right yet, Captain; you hit those stairs pretty hard,’ the surgeon said, putting a hand on James’ chest to keep him from getting up again.

‘I don’t care about a bit of pain. I must go and see my men.’ And with that, James pushed the surgeon’s hand off and tried to stand up. Unfortunately for him, he had failed to realise that the bottom half of his left leg had been replaced with a wooden stump, and consequently, when he tried to stand, his left leg gave way, almost sending his onto the earth floor. Luckily thought, his surgeon had been prepared for such an action and managed to catch his arm and drape it over his shoulder, saving him from such a fate. James now

looked down at his leg, saw the piece of wood that was there and turned to his surgeon, a question in his eyes.

‘Your leg was badly broken when you fell onto the main deck. I’m afraid that I had to amputate it.’

‘That’s fine, just get me to the crew.’

With the help of his surgeon, James managed to limp out of the tent and towards a grassed area where his First Mate was addressing the crew. He stopped midsentence as he saw James limping toward him with the help of the surgeon.

‘Captain, I see you’re finally up,’ he said cheerfully.

‘That I am Will,’ James answered. ‘Now what’s this all about?’ he added, sweeping his free arm in the direction of the assembled men.

‘I was briefing them on their duties today, Captain.’

‘And what might those be?’

‘We’ve got three groups of three for scouting parties, six men on cooking, and the remaining five on repairing the ship.’

‘That all? We started off with a crew of thirty?’

‘We lost a lot of men during the storm, Cap,’Will said, with sadness evident in his voice.

‘I see. Who did we lose?’ James replied, although he almost didn’t want to find out.

‘One of the cooks, Jack and Christopher, your Second and Third Mates, Edward, Philip, Henry, Alexander, Thomas, Robert, and Jacob, all of them were crew mates.’

‘They were all good men.’

‘Aye, that they were.’

They stood there for a few seconds in a drawn-out silence before James decided to break it. ‘So how’s the ship?’

‘Not good, Captain. Both masts are down, and the keel is broken. I’ve started to think that it may be easier to just make a new one. But I didn’t want to tear her apart without your approval.’

‘Take me to it, and I’ll see if anything can be done.’

The ship had been dragged up onto a beach, where it could be repaired. It was a sight for sore eyes; the front of the ship had been for the most part destroyed, and there was a jagged hole in the hull about halfway down the ship, where it had impaled itself on a rock. The deck of the ship was a mess of ropes and splintered wood, the helm had been ripped clean off, and one of the masts was lying on the sand next to the ship.

James took a long look at the ship and decided that it couldn’t be repaired.

‘Looks like you’re right Will, the keel is gone, and that hull won’t be easy to fix. We may as well get started on a new ship while there’s still daylight to spare.’

Will looked at his captain and saw a deep sadness in his eyes. He knew how much the ship had meant to him.

So he said nothing.

‘Well, best get back to the crew then,’ James said, breaking the silence.

Will took the message that the words were only directed to him, and that his Captain would not be coming just yet, so he turned his back and walked away from the shore.

The next ten days were filled with the laborious task of building a new ship. The only wood available to them was from the palm trees that grew on the island, and what they could strip off the old ship. On the eleventh day, James was sitting on a tree stump that looked over where the new ship was being made. He estimated that it would be almost a month before it was finished.

Then he caught something in the corner of his eye, a small, almost imperceptible dot on the horizon. He could have passed it off as a gull or other seabird, but he thought there might be a chance.

He hobbled down towards the beach, his wooden leg impeding his speed.

‘Light a signal fire, I think there might ship out there!’ he yelled as he got within earshot of the crew.

The men looked up at him, then out to the horizon, seeing the black dot, they got about collecting firewood and greenery, so that it would create more smoke. It took several minutes to get the fire going, by then the dot had almost gone out of sight, but when the smoke was in the sky, the dot seemed to cease to move, which was a clear indicator that it was headed towards them.

‘We made it’ James said under his breath. ‘We’re saved.’

Creative Writing Highly Commended Max Pearson (Fifth Form)

Thou Shalt not Commit Idolatry He couldn’t be a man but how could he be a God? I couldn’t have been a woman, yet I was older than a girl. On Earth at least, a regular fellow would call us one of the same; one of the human race. He was so much more. Or, perhaps myself much less. Nonetheless, now I sit with you. Not him. You. In London. Where you sleep and I lay wide awake, in an endeavour to prevent myself from dreaming bigger. If I would have hoped for more, would I have found him? Would I be more the woman and you be less the man? Could he have been less the God for me to be more the woman? I don’t know.

Do you remember when I went on a work expedition to Paris? I think you do. It was a year before we had the things that now tie us together like an umbilical cord.

A year almost to the dot, actually, Steven. 1952. May. I remember it better than tonight Steven; better than any moment with you. To be honest I wish you were not here. That sounds a bit psychopathic doesn’t it? Sorry.

It’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s his.

I would imagine, as I often do, that if you knew about my longing towards another ‘us’ you would indefinitely but silently cease satisfaction. You would be upset wouldn’t you? See, I know you and I do not want to lose you. But alas, I did not want to lose him either. He left me without arriving. In Paris. 1952. May. He wore his hair black and slicked back; he appeared to take pride in his appearance, but not too much. He looked cold. But a soft cold that nurtured the snow and not the ice. The only thing warming him up a hand-rolled cigarette. I have often pictured how it got

into that place of him holding it between the delicacies of his index and blasphemous finger. I imagine he did it with hints of gentleness but with little care, embodying someone who had done the effortless task with evident ease as many times that one could not count on either hand. He sat opposite a man in a suit; holding a book.

Not reading it but holding it. His odd socks gave the impression that he didn’t belong at a table among Marlon’s celestial powers. I conceptualise that he was called Marlon. He definitely looked like a Marlon. A name with pizzazz yet maturity, with sincerity yet tender-...

Stop.

After the faceless waitress brought me my coffee and I had sipped it for a while, one eye fixed, they started talking. I sat like a wide-eyed infant watching a train fly by. His voice smooth like caramel that has been melted in a piercing sun. As tranquil as the eagle in the sky and the waves in the sea, he spoke about philosophy.

They spoke faintly of Dostoevsky, Weber and even Marx, but perhaps not strikingly he spoke a new voice.

A messianic voice. If only he didn’t whisper, might I be able to capture his essence. Might I be able to feel his soul.

Turning around, he grabbed his bag to reach for a book and for an impermanent moment the world grew silent.

The only noise was the smoulder from his eyes. As he looked up he saw. He saw, s-, saw. He saw: A female older than a girl but who couldn’t have been a

Creative Writing woman. He saw, what a regular fellow would call, one of the human race.

However, who he would call, “Mademoiselle”.

Or so I wished.

The silent movie that I was watching had been peacefully interrupted by a young interpretation of a dialogue motion picture; his soft voice. His presence brushed my skin like a grandmother’s rug. It was so silent that his voice got to every inch of my body.

Then, of course, I ruined it. I ruined the peace that I felt.

My hand slipped.

I dropped my shaking mug. The scream ripped through my flesh like a nail fired from a gun, embedding itself into every fibre in my body, so that if I listen now I can still hear it. The moment between ‘us’ was more shattered than my mug that was squealing around on the floor.

Embarrassed.

My top lip was trying to run away from my face. My eyes swelled up and I could not utter anything but the first half-syllable of ‘sorry’. It came out ‘sor’. You would’ve been ashamed at my poor execution of diction. The waitress picked up my mug.

Nonetheless, a moment of sentiment complemented his pleasant response. He said his response so politely. Out of the corner of my eye, out of the full focus of his face, I saw the blurred image of his friend’s disapproval. I did

not care for his opinion too much. Nor did… Marlon. In actual fact, he had such little regard for the opinion of his comrade that he invited me to their table. My face had now gone from risen up from its sunken embarrassment and my smile reflected an overwhelmed happiness.

We talked about philosophy, something that you and I tend not to do. He told stories of war; stories of pain. I remember being entranced by the acute expression of melancholy that flooded his face.

“Nothing lasts a lifetime. Neither pain nor gaiety. That is why history is repeated because people feel for a second, then let go”.

I suppose that’s why he left me. Yes, after that night our spark was as lively as a newly-lit set of fireworks.

Steven he held me! He made me feel special. So, why did he leave and you stay? Because pain lasts. Pain is long lasting. Memory is the one way ticket to suffering. I try to forget about him, Steven, I really do. But the memory seizes my heart like a knight seizes a sword and it beats in it; day after day.

He lived in London once.

So did I, once.

Now, in turmoil.

If I were to speak to you, would you help me feel again Steven? Could you help me feel? Because I don’t think I can.

Creative Writing Highly Commended James Robertson (Fourth Form)

Gods and Goddesses Max had always loved the idea of gods and goddesses.

Greek gods, Roman goddesses, they all excited him.

But what excited him more than hearing about them, was pretending to be them. With every chance he got, Max would force his friends to play Gods and Goddesses with him at playtime. Max would always be Poseidon.

He thought there were too many stories about Zeus and Hades, and Poseidon was cooler, he thought.

Of course, things you love as a child don’t always stick with you. By the time he was finishing school, Max had completely forgotten about his overwhelming love for the beings that had supposedly once ruled the world.

Like all mothers, Max’s mother had forced him to finally clean his room. Max was just sorting through a pile of school papers and books when his eyes cast upon an old kids’ book about the Norse legends. Every night as a child, he would beg his father to read him a story from this book. As Max picked up the book, he felt a strange comfort wash over him, one that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He had no idea where this book had come from, but as he flicked through the pages of stories about Valhalla, memories came flooding back into his mind.

By the end of the day, a mountain of mythological books from around the house sat on Max’s bed. There was not enough time to read any then, so he decided to wait until the next day. After an excitement-filled sleep, Max rushed his breakfast and began re-reading the novels. He had expected to be finished by lunchtime,

but after a whole week, Max was only halfway through the pile. His immense love for this topic came seeping back, and by he had finished the pile, Max felt fulfilled.

During the following days, Max came back to reality and realised that life is nothing like the stories he loved. Family funds were low and he needed to go to university to get a job. With a heavy heart, Max agreed to sell the books. The money made was enough to get him into a good university, but Max couldn’t help feeling sad. His parents reassured him that getting a job would help buy the books back. His parents had only thought Max would buy a few of the books, but he decided to eventually get every single novel back in his hands. Until then, Max hoped each book would bring someone the same love that he had. As the final book was sold, Max decided that this time, he would not forget.

Creative Writing Highly Commended Ben Smith

(Remove Form)

Gods and Goddesses Their graceful majesties were beautiful to the eye Millions of doves of peace and love flew in the sky Near nascent amber fields, they strode calmly in the sun By calm brooks, they sat, where wondrous tales were spun

So in revenge, the Gods turned to one of heart, Aegeus, his Gods-given name, So brave and strong and smart.

However, he was of age still lame.

For a time the men of land were content and at ease, As all was right and true But not long did paeans of joy and peace drift on the breeze, As the world was soon askew.

From his home, he did set out, Across the broken land Of his bravery, none could doubt, His ambitions far too grand.

Schemer Loki watched the budding land.

With anger in his heart, He snarled and cursed and so he planned To tear the world apart.

He snuck his way down to hell, Past beasts of every nature Until he stood before Loki’s fiendish dell, In the unbearable temperature.

In darkest hell did Loki search For terrors of the night, His twisted aim to besmirch The human’s fragile plight.

Into Loki’s den, he did stride, With the strength of body and mind.

From Loki, he did not attempt to hide For he knew Loki to be a cruel mastermind.

The beasts of hell swarmed the world, Much death and pain they brought.

Their infernal banners unfurled, And loathsome tragedies wrought.

Loki watched the champion of the Gods enter his abode, So frail and young and alone His mirth unfettered outflowed, And he fell off his throne.

The Gods cried out in protest, But none could match Loki’s wrath For the deep sowed seeds of self-interest, Had set him on his path.

At this moment of Aegeus’ charge, His spear he did discharge He skewered Loki through the chest And noble was his completed quest.

Creative Writing Highly Commended Olly Wright (Fourth Form)

Gods and Goddesses By the time that you’re reading this, I have unfortunately passed away.

officers to what they call the ‘police station’. It would be identity theft… from myself.

‘Unfortunate’ may not be the word that some people would use to describe this situation. Some will be happy that I’m gone. In fact, when I come to think of it, I can’t think of a single person who will be feeling sad when the moment comes. And I don’t know how I feel about that.

I suppose that I will be chosen to be the sacrifice eventually, but for as long as I stay quiet, they won’t see me. No, they’ll see me, but they won’t remember that they’ve seen me. I can confidently say that this is the case because it has happened since I arrived in the village.

I live in a small village in the countryside. Not many people live here, so it tends to be quiet. The number of inhabitants has gone down every year since before I can remember, and I have lived here for a long time. To put things into perspective, I watched the current mayor’s great-grandfather’s great-grandfather grow up. But I am yet to tell him that. I don’t know if I will have done by the time I’m gone.

I have witnessed the most sacrifices out of all of the residents. I’m approaching the one thousand mark.

Some things about this village that have never failed to fascinate me are the sacrifices that are made on the last day of every month. They are made because, apparently, a god that used to live in the village demanded that they were to take place on his death bed.

One week later…

I have not corrected this belief, simply because I am likely to be sacrificed myself if I do. After all, what would a meaningless resident know about the ‘Great One’? I wouldn’t know, because I’m not one. I know that this is false because I am the ‘Great One’, but I doubt that if I announced this in public then I would be believed.

Instead, I would probably be taken away by some

Those people had lives, and I watched them die for a god that didn’t ask for it.

I have no power anymore, so I am unable to intervene.

All I can do is watch them burn.

I have some terrible news.

They found this piece of paper. And by ‘they’, I mean the people in charge.

A resident had apparently been storing weapons in his home, and the officers saw this as an opportunity to look through every property in the village. And one of them somehow managed to find this paper, tucked into the gap between two floorboards.

Creative Writing And the worst part?

sacrifice people to gods?

The worst part is the fact that they think that I staged it. They think that I knew that they would check my property, and so I placed the piece of paper there before they arrived so that they would find it, and I was silenced every time I tried to argue.

I suppose that I will never get an answer. Because, you know… I’m dead, but I would like to know that I didn’t die for nothing.

The next day…

They have decided that I am to be sacrificed in three days’ time.

I am adding to this message in my prison cell.

Has this ever happened to someone before? Being sacrificed to oneself, that is?

Trying to prove that I am the ‘Great One’ to these people is pointless. It is considered blasphemy to speak of Him as if He is me.

But would it not be considered blasphemy if they sacrifice the god that they worship Himself?

I suppose that I would be a fool if I was to try and escape this event, and I have no desire to carry on with this painfully long life any longer, even if my death is somewhat unnecessary.

So, if you’re reading this, however many years in the future that may be, is it still considered normal to

I hope that the message that you read previously caused them to change their minds, but I suppose that I will never know.

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