English

It was lovely to be face to face with students once again for an entire academic year. While the past two years undoubtedly created challenges, one positive has been an increased embedding of technology within the English classroom; this year, students have embraced working on laptops, leading to more organised notes, wider opportunities for collaborative learning and greater efficiency when sharing resources and homework.

On a more traditional note, and with a view to bringing texts to life in a variety of ways, we were delighted to be able to organise an English trip and author, actor and drama company visits to KGS this academic year. Events got underway in the Autumn term when the English and Drama departments worked together to give Sixth Form students the opportunity to have a Q&A with actor Alex Waldmann. He gave us a brilliant insight into his career journey, and in particular, his roles as Horatio in Hamlet and Antonio in The Duchess of Malfi. Ms Stones’ Upper Sixth class were then lucky enough to chat to him more informally during their lesson on Hamlet. More followed in the Spring term, when The Handlebards Theatre Company’s all-female version of Macbeth, which they performed (with gusto) to the Fifth Year. This was quickly succeeded by 3L’s visit to Richmond Theatre and its visually stunning production of Animal Farm, which brought their study of the novel to life (as far as possible, of course!). To complement the English Department’s commitment to equality and diversity, we welcomed author Catherine Johnson (writer of Sawbones, which 1S has enjoyed as their class reader this year) into school in the Summer term. We are very grateful to her for an inspiring workshop to the Scholars, a writing workshop with 1S as well as her talks to the First and Second Years on diversity and her journey as a writer.

Indeed, we have continued to embed our commitment to equality and diversity across the English curriculum, with First Years completing their ‘This is Me’ project on identity as they arrive at KGS. Thereafter, students across the year groups study a range of texts which provide opportunities to explore a variety of cultures and experiences, including She is Not Invisible, The Merchant of Venice, A View From the Bridge, Purple Hibiscus, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, The Kite Runner and White Teeth to name just a few.

KGS students have continued to excel in English, with Second Year Amy Parker winning the School’s Short Story Competition, Sophie Davies, also Second Year, gaining a Commendation in the Wimbledon Book Festival for her story The Tree and Izzy Reilly a Highly Commended in the Live Cannon Poetry Competition, Year 10 – 13 Group, for her poem about a lost place, Oradour-Sur-Glane. Special mention should also be given to Ms Stones for her very well received review of Exciting Times by Naoise Dolan for The Guardian.

Finally, Mr Campbell and his writing group, The Inklings, have continued to produce exciting and inspirational work – look out for their anthology, Crossing Borders, coming to a school near you next academic year. So, while we sign off for a well-deserved break after a jam-packed 2021/2, we look forward to all the new opportunities and experiences waiting in the wings for our English students next year! Mrs S Garside, Head of English

The Important Decision

By Amy Parker, winner of the Short Story Competition

Everyone knows that grannies are the best. Mine is. And my grandad, of course. I was so excited to finally see them again, and the day was perfect – the cloudless sky shone azure, with not a breath of wind. Mum had warned me that Granny’s memory was deteriorating, and I should prepare myself for the worst, but she can be very pessimistic. My parents are always talking about moving her to a care home but I will protect Granny and make sure that doesn’t happen.

Granny’s is a short drive away, in a nearby hamlet. Car drives with my family are always fun, as my parents love singing, belting out Dolly Parton or the Beatles. Yesterday, Jolene was playing and with the windows down, the whole street turned heads and stared at our dusty old Skoda. The drive was beautiful. Towering Cornish cliffs and serene sea on one side and an expanse of fields on the other, littered with livestock and walkers. My grandparents’ house is a small, picturesque cottage on the edge of the village, covered with honeysuckle and wisteria. As we drove up the drive, music still pumping, the side gate creaked open and Bev, their old retriever, limped up to the car, her tail nearly wagging off with excitement. I gingerly opened the car and, after receiving a lick in the face, raced up to the house and rapped on the door. Grandad peeked his head round, smiled, and reached in to embrace me. The feeling of him again was so nice, so reassuring. Suddenly, I heard Granny inside.

“Frank, darling, who is it?” she called.

“It’s Rowan, remember, love? I told you earlier she was coming. Your daughter is here too!” Grandad replied.

I could see he tried so hard to sound happy, upbeat, but underneath his cheerful tone there was disappointment and frustration. He’d probably told her five minutes ago we were coming, and she had already forgotten. My mum, finally out of the car, started to console him, and walked off into the house with Grandad and Dad. Meanwhile, I yearned to see Granny and raced off down the hall to find her.

She sat in the corner of the conservatory and stared absently at the tree peonies and hydrangeas just coming into bloom. The sky started to turn grey and a drop of rain fell, hitting the window.

“Granny!” I exclaimed.

She jumped, looking round to see who had addressed her. When her eyes found me, she looked confused. They darted around my body, her brain scrambled to find some recollection of who I was.

“It’s me, Granny. Rowan. Your granddaughter,” I prompted, my hopes drained.

Suddenly, Granny leapt up, pacing in circles around the room, muttering under her breath, becoming more and more agitated. I started panicking. I had never seen her like this before. Her pacing got faster, her muttering louder. I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed Grandad, words spilling out my mouth, apologies and explanations. He shushed me, before walking off to see her.

My parents glanced at each other, a look of concern plastered onto their faces. They pulled me in, mouthing words which I knew I wasn’t meant to see.

“Rowan, love, I think you and I might head home now,” Dad whispered, “Mum will follow on later.”

This was all my fault. If I hadn’t raced to see Granny, taken her by surprise, none of this would have happened. We could be eating ice cream, or going for a walk by the sea, if it wasn’t for me. Dad ushered me out of the room and back to the car where I was sitting just 10 minutes ago.

The drive home was miserable. The upbeat atmosphere evaporated, replaced by rain and disappointment. We sat in silence, the static of the radio crackling, the rain drumming repetitively on the roof, so hard I felt like it was going to break through the aluminium.

As soon as I got home, I raced upstairs, and threw myself onto the bed. I glanced at the skylight above my bed, the dreary weather matching my mood. I could hear my dad bustling around in the kitchen, making tea, listening to the radio. How could he be so calm? Before I knew it, my mum was back. As soon as she walked through the door, tears running down her face, I knew she and Grandad had come to a decision. The thing I had promised to protect her from. And yet I caused the reason that they decided to move her to Westview, the local care home.

They told me it wasn’t my fault. So many things they hadn’t told me about what was happening. She had gone out at night, wandering the streets barefoot. She wasn’t safe, my parents told me. Why hadn’t they told me before? I could have helped. But, deep down, I knew I couldn’t, which made it even worse.

Grandad was going to stay with us for a while after we helped her move so we could help him adjust. A stifling silence filled the room. Even though it was our choice, we were all so upset. It was best for Granny, but it felt like we had lost her.

But she was still Granny. On Wednesday, we all went to visit her. The care home was an old, quaint building, but welcoming and homely, just like Granny. The beautiful weather was back, the sun shining like a halo. Inside, the walls were littered with pictures and magazines. We were directed to Granny’s room, at the end of the corridor. I clasped Mum’s hand, which was as sweaty as mine, and we were shown into the room. 80s music played quietly in the background, and the curtains fluttered in the breeze. Granny was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching the world go by. She looked so different from the person I had seen just over a week ago, calm and content. I realised that although it was hard, we had made the right decision.