Doodles, June 2022

D O O D L E S

“You can’t enjoy art or books in a hurry.”

Doodles Team

Editors-in-chief: Yasmeen Chishti and Amy Taylor

Layout and Design Team: Divya Kaliappan, Georgia Fielding, Saira Backhouse

Editors: Selena Ali and Olympia Bodker

Communications: Leah Mentesh

Advisor: Mrs C Myatt

Hi English and Art enthusiasts!

We are the Doodles Team and this year we have loved coming together to create the third annual edition of the Doodles English and Art Magazine This magazine is designed to showcase and celebrate the incredible creative writing and artistic abilities of students throughout the whole school This year we received fantastic entries, with a wide sense of talent and passion that never failed to amaze us We were so impressed with the number of submissions we received and the quality of the pieces that it made our selection process very difficult!

In this issue our focus has been on the theme of ‘Transparency’ and our genius front cover artist Olivia Grimwade has brought this theme to life The variety of art work and literature in this issue is breath-taking and we think you ’ll find yourself transported by them. We are so honoured to have been able to take on the role of organising the Doodles magazine from last year's reps and we hope you are just as excited to see the skill, passion and creativity that students have expressed, outside of the classroom, inside of the 2022 edition of Doodles

So with that, read on and we hope that once you ’ ve put this magazine down, you ’ll feel inspired to perhaps write your own poem or become the next Da Vinci Enjoy!

The Doodles Team

Georgia Fielding - 12MHC

poetry and prose

"A poet can survive everything but a misprint."

- Oscar Wilde

Stucco Walls of Love

Poem by Esme Coulter 8G

in this life, we were nothing.

the colour of misty grey clouds, the sound of a tv static.

something that just cannot be. like oil and water loving each other like the north and south pole holding hands because no matter how hard we try, we just cannot exist.

but maybe in another world, it’s possible to find.

arboretums still rustling with our soft whispers, cobblestones still dancing to the rhythm of our shoes.

the mediterranean still swimming with our screaming laughs, our bodies floating in peace.

in another world, we work, smooth like coloured oil pastels. but in this world, we repel, rough like warm stucco walls.

while we may still have romance in another world, it is not in this lifetime.

for here, we do not exist. we are nothing.

A Dying Bird and the Moon

I come from the smell of sweet apple pears… spicy, exciting hot pots, fulfilling tuna sweetcorn sandwiches and countless chocolate biscuits. I come from sugary milk teas, dark brown tapiocas, yellow puddings… transparent grass jellies, salted cheese cream, and red beans.

I come from a distant island with no human signs surrounded by ocean, on the back of a whale, enjoying the sound of nature and the happiness from isolation. I come from the hatred I feel from my unbearably vicious dog, every scar not from her pretty paws, but the way those angry eyes look at me.

I am a dying bird that has been well cared for less and less, slower and slower. My living signs fade away, as well as the righteous Ardor that used to burn in my chest. I come from incalculable random atoms from the infinite universe where every little star reflects the silver moonlight so we can see, even in the dark.

Devon 26/10/2021

Poem by Amanda Chen 10S

The Objects on the Window

Poem by Amanda Chen 10S

My favourite thing sits in front of me now, Curved and twisted, void and solid.

Between brightness and darkness lie two dimensions incomparable. Fog gradually clearing, It grew overnight, out of sight

From nothing to existence.

It is frost at the edge, it is ice and snow

It is the outlined texture of air.

It has drawn a free portrait of the glass, stored in my eyes

It is unique.

Where the snow falls, chimney smoke curls upwards. The background is sunlight, green trees and sky. My heart is in awe, grateful for this moment of peace brought to me. This wonderful encounter, seeds dropped onto the ground and taking root.

They stay there in silence, waiting for the end of their life. If I had never seen them, nobody would care. They are on the outside of my window in the morning. A small patch from small drops, and a large patch of Holy and negligible Mist.

The Tortoise and the Dove

Poem by Kesia Buckley 8D

Once there was a tortoise and a dove. In the day the tortoise would watch the dove, And in the night the dove would tell the tortoise of their adventures. One day the dove broke its wing, And could no longer fly high in the clouds. The tortoise helped the dove to heal.

But even when the wing was healed the dove still couldn't fly. The dove then asked the tortoise after being so long on the ground, "How are you so happy?"

And the tortoise replied that the dove was always by their side, And then the dove asked:

‘"Are you never jealous that I can fly and you cannot?"

And the tortoise replied that it could see the world through the dove. After a pause the dove asked:

"Why are you still here even though I can no longer fly?"

And when the tortoise answered he said:

"You can now see the world through my eyes.

I carry you on my shell as we see the other animals, I will still love you as you are my best friend."

The dove closed their eyes and said:

"But I am scared."

And the tortoise could not reply.

Dont' Trample on My Dreams

Poem by Matilda Hardman 10D

You may look at me and see an unfortunate bloke.

One whose colour had been washed away by the solitude of the streets. One whose energy had been drained by the vacuum of clouds above. That haunts him.

That haunts him like those stares

Penetrating and icy stares from the passersby.

Hearts bearing not pity but pit saws.

Pit saws of the mind that incinerate your dreams like a fire.

Wallets sealed as tight as the lips of the non-speaking commuter. But I ache not only for coins but the change I want to see in the world.

I strum the strings of my heart, Not just my guitar.

To enlighten a world that has only ever bedevilled me in darkness.

To a world only half listening.

As the human traffic absent-mindedly trundles along, Dazed by the scent of early morning coffee.

As they continue their bus stop swing to my tune.

Oh how gloomy London Town can be!

Dark and dismal on these autumn evenings. The flicker of a lamppost.

Or the flicker of an eye that turns away. An eye pretending not to spot me.

Who strides on like the others,

To sugarcoat the sour guilt

That glistens on his brow.

So walk on. Catch your train.

But please don’t taunt or tease or torment me. Or trample on my tattered hat.

For when you do, you trample on my future.

On my dreams

I’m no beggar but I beg of you thisPlease.

Don’t trample on my dreams.

Olivia Grimwade - 12HC

Alternate Worlds, Alternate Voices

Poem by Jasmine De-Rosa Rashid 9S

We sit here in this world in this life

As we take life with the clasp of a knife

But we never wonder what others think or hear In this Universe that we endear.

With a population of 753 billion

Not even with a quarter in Illion

We are on our own railways

Our lives being multiple phrases.

But what if there were others out there For which this universe is something we share And they live in their own worlds and galaxies

Which we think of as nothing but fantasies?

These different living things far away Who knows maybe they are made out of clay? We might never see or hear these creatures. So are we unknown to their features.

But that does not mean they don’t exist

So we should not let the idea be dismissed. For this world we all love Should be shared with those above.

Some people might also hear voices

Which indicate their different choices

Everyone has at least one

Which is the one we use to communicate a tonne.

But we also have other sounds

Coming from our heads' grounds

These sounds are good and bad And write down our options on a notepad.

Many people in our one world

Sometimes go through their life being hurled

So we use our different voices and lands

To escape from our choices uphand.

I live in multiple worlds away from this one.

I live in books, movies and poems which are all very fun And the multiple voices in my head make me who I am.

I am sure even those famous had voices like Mr Abraham

In conclusion I live in this world with the voices in my head

For I must live this life to the full extent as we only hang by a thread

Everyone has these similar thoughts, sounds and lives

For we are each different and unique like the blades of knives.

Byrony Marden - 8T

The Future Woman

Anahita Azarbod 7H

Once upon a time lived a planet called Earth, A land which had a frozen Arctic And sandy deserts. Opposite to now.

Once upon a time lived a land Where you could enter the outside world And dance among the trees

Without becoming poisoned by intoxicating air.

We live on that same land, Earth. But it is different

The future is different. The bees have died. The trees have fallen. Chaos reigns. We are told to stay indoors. I say, no more.

If the past made the choice, Raised their voice And said, no more, We wouldn’t be in this Mess.

Instead, they didn't care

Said we have acres to spare. They raised their voice and said We don't care.

Grandpa tells me stories of what Earth used to be, Tells me tales of dancing lilies. Clear ponds, Fresh air. He says, “And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.” I beg to differ. The earth delights to be Hydrated, Cleansed of our wretched souls.

Grandpa says, "If you look closely, It is the same world." I beg to differ.

No One Knows

Lucy Avetoom 7N

“But you told me , ” Valery murmured

“Shhh, shut it! Not a word! No one must know how many people you have killed and how much blood we have on our hands This is a life-and-death situation we already have the stone Now we need to deliver it There are people out there Bad ones, not all are good, who are ready to kill us Armed to the brim! So, let's make this easy for you Let's play hide and seek," Heather said and smiled

(Present day)

"HEATHER!!” Valery screamed “HEATHER?” she screeched, hoping for any sight of life

(Flashback)

Valery woke up in a field of flowers. The wonderful smell of petrichor filled her nose. She then sat up and realised how good it felt to be alive. How nice it was to be able to touch wet grass and enjoy the way it tickled your skin. The wonderful sun and how warm it felt on your face while the wind threw your hair back and made it dance in the summer bloom. The refreshing taste of water as it trickled down your throat. The way the birds sang their hearts out to fill the emptiness which surrounded you. And the way in which the sun always rose and set, no matter what had happened. She didn’t want to remember. Waking up in a heaven like this and remembering something like that. Luckily, she was away from the city. Away from the deal.

(A month ago)

“Heather! Wake up quick! Pack necessities! We must leave, now! They are coming!” Valery whispered.

“I’m ready. Do you have it? Hurry up and open the door We have no time!” Heather breathed

“I have it , ” Valery replied They ran

“Don’t forget the deal or he will get us,” Heather panted

“I know, I know , ” Valerie breathed

“Repeat the deal to me again I have to make sure you understand how important this is,” whispered

Heather

“Talk the guard into letting me into the palace, take the stone, come back out," Valery murmured

“God, Valery, high school didn’t teach you much, did it?” Heather said while she grabbed the felt bag

“Hm no, it actually didn't , ” Valery commented

"VALERY BLAKE! STOP BEING STUPID AND START TAKING OUT THE MAP!” Heather half-shouted

"Yes, Miss Tueuse!” Valery saluted her

“Valery, now listen closely This isn't fun and games,” Heather breathed

“NO, HEATHER, NO!” Valery shouted “VALERY, LISTEN TO ME! RUN! THEY’VE GOT ME, THERE'S NO POINT IN STARING. THEY ARE GONNA GET YOU TOO!! RUN, VALERY! RUN!!!” cried Heather. After walking a few miles Valery reached a small village far out in the countryside where there were no wanted posters dancing in the streets, no guards searching houses, and no need to tempt anyone into letting her go. Here, Valery could just be a sweet little girl, with a sweet little face, who just got lost in a sweet little village, and no one would know the truth. Valery strutted down the cobblestone road and found a cosy little inn with a candlelit doorway. She walked in and gets a room. Number 43. The door swung open and in the centre of the room stood a single bed with a mahogany frame and a duvet which was a seaweed shade of green.

Valery settled in and played some music on her burner phone while she took a shower to get rid of the blood and evidence. She then equipped herself with guns and knives, hidden away in her summer dress, and went to finish the deal knowing that best friends can’t be separated and that walking behind her was Heather, with a gun and a pocketknife.

Valery took out the stone as she was near, but with it there was a note. Valery read it:

V,

Meet me at the charity shop down the street from the bookshop. Go in and I'll be there.

(A few hours later)

“I like this place,” Valery said “Let's go now!” Heather tugged at Valery

Isabella Arnold - 11S

An Interview with Monica Ali

Is there a particular moment where you knew you wanted to pursue writing as a career?

When I was growing up, I always had my head in a book. I was always reading. I read a lot of the classics, but I didn't grow up in a book-filled home at all. I mean I grew up poor, so I got all my books out of the library; I was a very avid library user in my youth. I never thought of writing as something that I could do; if people like me were writing novels, I hadn't come across them. It seemed like a very otherworldly aspiration and one that was not for me So, I only started writing when I had children. I had my son first, and when he was a baby, I often couldn't get back to sleep so I would just open my laptop and just start writing short stories, but I never did anything with them By the time I started what turned into Brick Lane, I had a toddler and a baby daughter. I went to my grandfather's funeral -- my mother's father -- and the very next day I started to write Brick Lane I think there was a connection between going to that funeral and realising you only have so many days on this earth so if you never try, you will never know I think that gave me the push that I needed.

In an article in 2006, Natasha Walter described you as "a writer who seemed to have found, right at the beginning of her career and with absolute confidence, her own voice." What do you think it is that helped you find this style of writing at such an early point of your career?

I'd like to think that I am still developing and learning, and it is every writer's aspiration to find their own voice. I've been doing a lot of interviews recently because I have a new book out and one question that cropped up again this morning was "Which book by another author do you wish that you had written?" I have many deep loves for lots of authors and novels, but I never wish that I had written them because what I want to do is find my own voice. I think that from all the advice for new,

aspiring writers, I always say to write the book that you want to read Ignore all the fads and trends; do the thing that interests you and write from your deepest sense of curiosity about the world That's what I try to do

In an interview about Untold Story, you described this book as an "obliteration of self" and said you were "naive" in thinking you could write from the perspective of a white male. Do you think your audience only sees you for your gender and ethnicity?

I think there is partly a gender aspect, but I would say it is mainly to do with ethnicity. I remember people would ask me if I wanted to get away from Brick Lane after I had written the book, and now that I think about it that was quite an insulting question, to suggest that I would want to get away from my ethnicity. I mean firstly, how could I possibly, and why would I want to? I think it's that idea that people have that a person is very singular, and you only have one aspect to yourself. Whereas, for me certainly, I have a Bengali father, but my mother is English, and I've grown up here all my life. So, I think it was that questioning of authenticity, which is a word that I have come to hate really, but this is authentically me I'm not one thing, or the other. I'm both and I'm glad to be both. It is a very tricky area to explain. I find younger people usually find that easier to accept and understand than older people. I think they're more used to that idea of multiplicity in that we have more than one sides to ourselves.

In your opinion, do you think there has been a writer that has a type of work in terms of recurring motifs or style of writing that has inspired you?

I think I have had lots of sources of inspiration. Writing for me is not something that you can do without having read widely yourself. I mean, that is a necessary part of the training, and in fact it is the only way to learn. I've taught creative writing at university and for me, the only essential part of the process is to be a serious reader. I would say for Love Marriage, my latest book, most obviously i can trace back to my love of Jane Austen So Austen wrote endlessly about courtship, relationships and marriage which made her writing to be perceived as quite a narrow, domestic sphere but we can learn a lot about that time through her work. For example, she is very concise about money, class structure, power, and the position of women during this period So with Love Marriage, it is in a very different landscape. Yasmin, the protagonist, is a young doctor but still I think all the rituals and traditions of the family dynamic, for instance the arranged wedding, can be a very useful lens for looking at the wider society So, I would say I've taken that element out of Jane Austen's book.

How do you think characters of different ages in your novels would react differently to themes of acceptance, race, gender, immigration, and class struggle?

If I take the example of my latest book, I mean it is a multi-generational story. So, particularly in the Ghorami family, I think that we can see some of that around issues of race and assimilation. Yasmin's father is very impatient of his son who tries to draw to his attention issues of Islamophobia and

prejudice. The father, having come from a very poor background in India in Kolkata, and having made his way to become a GP in London, feels very angry with his son for focusing on what he sees as petty and trivial issues The son will tell him how just his surname alone makes him less likely to be called for an interview over a white candidate, but his father is very dismissive of this. He will tell his son that this is just an excuse, and that he is being lazy The other half of the story belongs to Yasmin's fiancé, Joe, and his mother. They are very privileged in that they are white and well-off In some ways, they have very similar, liberal ideas. Harriet, perhaps because she is older, feels more than necessary to show her liberal views It is almost integration by steamroller with Harriet as she seems to be falling over herself in order to welcome the Ghoramis, in a way that becomes almost suffocating to Yasmin

What do you think draws people to read about the complicated an transparent relationships that you depict in your novels?

I think the complexity is part of the appeal. I always write from character, that is always my starting point for every book, and as I said I don't believe there is such thing as a solid self. I think that character is formed in relationship to others. It is a temporal and dynamic process, and as the characters act within their set of circumstances and relationships, then you can start to peel

"You can start to peel back the layers, and see who these people are, in their full complexity."

back the layers, and see who these people are, in their full complexity That is what appeals to me in writing, the grappling of these complexities. I think humour is also very important, as there are some difficult things that happen in my books as in life, but I think that a sense of humour and the absurd is essential in getting through life and maybe that is part of the appeal as well I like to treat serious subjects with a comic touch

How would you say that maturing as an author over time has impacted your most recent novel?

It is hard for me to be the judge of that, but one thing I could say about my most recent novel is that it may have been affected by some work that I did over the years in screenwriting. I decided that I would like to write for TV drama, which of course, is very difficult to get into I was able to work with several production companies and I had scripts commissioned which was all great fun. Nothing made it onto the screen, although I am now adapting Love Marriage with the BBC. But I do wonder if that process has fed into Love Marriage. It's a very visual book with little narrative summary throughout It is written scene by scene and has a propulsive quality and some of those things may have been fed in by that experience of trying to write for the screen

What would be your advice for an aspiring, female writer?

I mean the essential thing that I said previously is to read a lot and read deeply because that will teach you so much by a process of almost osmosis The second thing is to be curious. Writing comes for me from a deep sense of curiosity about what is going on in the world and with other people You definitely have to dig deep internally I would also say that when you find the writing has become difficult because it is uncomfortable and is causing you feelings of shame or worry, that is when you know you're onto something and that's when you really need to dig in.

What do you think your next project will be about?

Alongside adapting Love Marriage, I also have a desire to write a play. I have an idea for one at the moment, but that is very much at the embryonic stage right now I like doing things so I can keep learning, but writing a play is currently on the agenda.

"Writing comes for me from a deep sense of curiosity about what is going on in the world and with other people. You definitely have to dig deep internally."

An interview by Amy Taylor and Divya Kaliappan, Year 12

'The Road Not Taken' Robert Frost

'Journey Home' Rabindranath Tagore

"On Clothes"

Kahlil Gibran

'The Sail' Mikhail Lermonov

art

“A picture is worth a thousand words –particularly if you can’t read.” – Harry Hershfield

Saira Backhouse - 12PHW

Saira Backhouse - 12PHW

Georgia Fielding - 12MHC

Olivia Grimwade - 12HC

Sofia Chesny - 12TRE

Maya Murfin - 9G

Poppy Bramhall- 8G

Cover Image by Olivia Grimwade