Make Doves Not War by Writing on the Wall

Make Doves Not War

Writing on the Wall Kuumba Imani Millennium Centre 4, Princes Road, Liverpool L8 1TH Published by Writing on the Wall 2014 ÂŠ Remains with authors Design and layout by Rosa Murdoch ISBN: 978-1-910580-00-4 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. 0151 703 0020 info@writingonthewall.org.uk www.writingonthewall.org.uk

MAKE DOVES NOT WAR

Contents Foreword

Poetry 8-10 Year Olds

Flash Fiction 8-10 Year Olds

Poetry 11-13 Year Olds

Flash Fiction 11-13 Year Olds

Poetry 14-16 Year Olds

Flash Fiction 14-16 Year Olds

Afterword

Foreword Writing on the Wallâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Make Doves Not War creative writing competition was created as an exciting and engaging way to encourage children and young people between the ages of 8 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 16 to reflect on peace, war and conflict in the centenary year of the First World War. The writing you will read in this book reflects just some of the diverse, truly powerful and emotive work entered around the idea, Make Doves Not War. The success of this project and competition has exceeded our expectations and has been a very memorable experience for all of the staff, writers, teachers, children and young people involved. The competition has been wonderfully bookmarked between the launch of Make Doves Not War at the Bluecoat Chambers as part of the Writing on the Wall Festival in which we invited several schools to create messages of peace on paper doves and then charmingly, released real doves into the sky to say yes to peace, to the fantastic, celebration event to announce the winners as they are presented with a copy of this book to cherish. We would like to thank writers, Jon Mayhew, Cathy Cassidy and Sean Street for their involvement in the extremely difficult task of selecting the winners and especially to Jon Mayhew, who delivered a series of brilliant workshops to several schools in Merseyside for Make Doves Not War. The final few pages of this book also includes what our writers believed were some of the most memorable and eloquent lines across all of the work they read, as well as some of the beautiful artwork we received depicting peace through the eyes of children. i

Poetry 8-10year olds

WAR Winner Flashes of fire smashing in front of me. Smoke rushing past the muddy trenches. Smoke from the fire blocks the sunlight. The men are struggling to go through the squelching mud. Gas is filling my lungs, stopping my breathing. The planet is dropping bombs in our death zone. Mason Ako, aged 10

War and Peace War Bricks lashed everywhere, tanks smashing into barbed wire. Fire is flicking and spitting, while reflecting off the squelching mud. Bullets are whipping into the ground beside me. Smoke oozes over the trench side. We saw the bloodshed, bodies scattered across the battlefield. I wish I was home. Peace Poppies dance in the breeze across the meadow. The grass, waving side to side. The site is beautiful. It touches my eye. It's hard to think that this once used to be a battlefield. I can't believe my eyes as there's no gunfire now. Kian Fook - Mcgowan, aged 10

Make Doves, Not War Tanks rolling in the destroyed meadow Bombs firing in the distance Smoke surrounding the earth above Blood pumping Rubble unburied Lying full of their dead bodies, fire won't help me now! I hear explosions I feel heroic, yet scared I see bombed houses Men drunk with fatigue Puddles of mud Soldiers with trench foot and rats. Anxiously, the men fight with devastation. In Flandersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Field, the poppies grow. There's no gunfire now! Elenya Despoti, aged 10

Bang Bang! I begged for it to stop, but they kept on shooting, Killing and falling to the ground The sounds of planes boomed across the battlefield. I didn't know what to do Should I carry on sitting behind the strong brick wall, Or be brave and face the mad house? I felt like a coward, but I was in pain The captain calling my name I limped out of my hiding place with tears rolling down my cheeks "Fight, boy" the captain said to me Bang Bang! The bullets strike again I fell to the ground and from then the war stopped. Laura Williams, aged 10

Flash Fiction 8-10year olds

Make Doves, Not War Winner War Fire blitzes through the midnight sky, charging over the breeze of air. Gunshots whip into the shattered ground below, heavy tanks rumbling and ravaging into the landscape with a thunderous sound. Explosions plummet and destroy the terrain, the grenades hurtle viciously in the dark air. Tree stumps cover beds of muddy, muggy men, gunshots speeding into the end of men's lives. Musty air encloses hope, bayonets roughly scattered around the earth. Devastated families pray for a relief of happiness, but all they prepare for is an ocean of sadness. Peace Beautiful flowers sway in the gentle summer's breeze, butterflies drifting through the crystal clear sky. Birds twitter joyfully nearby green apple trees, bees collecting amber nectar. Animals gaze off into the distance, munching on the tasty grass. The sun sets past the transforming clouds. It's hard to believe this was once a place of terrible war. Jon Macigelski, aged 10

Make Doves Not War War Bullets whipping across the front line while smoke drifts across the ground. Drenching rain bouncing off my back, my clothes were saturated, dripping wet. Machine guns rattle and bullets buzz through the air looking for prey, anything will do. The coils of barbed wire echo as they twist and twine like a hissing snake ready to pounce. Peace Poppies lay between the crosses row on row, the sun sets with a glow. No gun firing now as the poppies blow. No more war and no more guns. Calm and peaceful the battlefield lays. Ben Pauls, aged 10

Survival War I see puddles of blood below my black, steel boots I feel the drenching rain hit my banging head I smell the fire as if fireworks have been lit up I hear the rattling of the gunfire The fire, a reflection of the revolting, murky stagnant, squelching water. Peace A hundred years later, shadows of ghostly buildings lay calm and silent. On flanders field, poppies blow peaceful and tall row upon row. God looks down on broken hearts, streams of tears from the past. The spirit lives and they died for us. Their families devastated in tears. Libby Hazeldine, aged 10

Make Doves I ran towards my handkerchief as the gas passed by, it was like a cloud of fog that was strangling me. Hope was all I needed to survive as I trudged through the squelching mud which was like a rope pulling me down. Triggers were shot all around the horrific battlefield, smoke spread everywhere. BANG! The shotgun fired its last target! I was anxious about what was going to happen next, will I survive or not? Sarah-Rose Rush, aged 10

War and Peace War I sit, it's quiet... too quiet, but I know it's not over. Then it happens. I see it. I hear it. I'm part of it. One thing leads to another. I'm lying on the floor unconscious, yet alive but it won't last for long. I wake up hours later on my friend's shoulders. I scream for my life but may be screaming for death. Peace It's quiet, but it feels right. The poppies fly with the breeze and the sun is settling from the pink sky, which looks like it's been painted. I hear birds chirping as l lie where I once lay unconscious, but it doesn't feel like the right place. Grace Jones, aged 10

Poetry 11-13 year olds

Send Me Winner Send me away, away from here, Send me peace, to end all my fears. Sink me in a river, drown me in mud, But I’ll live and die with British blood. If I die young, If I die old, Send me away with peace, show them I’m not cold. I’m only human, I bleed when I fall down, Their words in my head, my knife in their heart. Is this heaven, is this hell, But please mum don’t say you love me, I might not say it back. So send me away with peace, to end all our tears. Charlotte Burke, 11

Make Doves Not War Make doves not war, Make biscuits not bombs. Make love not hate, Make cars not tanks. Make poppies not shells, Make friends not foes. Make blue skies not grey, Make people not sad families. Make happiness not sadness, Make peace not explosions. Make warm hearts not sad faces, Give to the poor not to the person in the crown. Take happiness from people and give it to the sad, Once theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re happy, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll soon be sad. Make the poor pose a smile, Not a town frown. Charly McGivern, aged 11

Peace Peace is; The loving smile on a friends face, The memories you make every day. Peace is; Realising the sorrow is over and happiness will begin, That the loss and death has ended. All the prayers you said have been heard, That it is true that joy will come soon. Peace is; Knowing that the white feathers of a dove will fall above you, That they will spread across the world, And all the red blood will wash away leaving land clear once again. Peace is; The change you begin to see as the world brightens, The new possibilities that you see around you, The laughter that helps you overcome what you once were afraid of. Peace is; Whatever you make it, And whatever brings you joy. So always know peice is with you no matter where you go. Lucy Hesketh, aged 12

The Horror Mail In a moment of horror, He rests in peace. The cruel war destroying a family in a second, With just a glace through the mail. Such a horrible thing can rest on your mind, In minutes of taking it in, a single tear of a family member. This single tear, expected for years. After the letters stop coming, they knew he was home soon. The confirmation of his death had been feared but expected for months, As he ascends down the grave. You can hear the birds chirping from the fields, a single poppy is left on his grave. His fellow companions all lie next to him, They had a whole life to live but the war took them away. Luke Miles, aged 13

Make Doves Not War You come back to your welcoming home, His wife will sit the day in sorrow. You’re a great man, they want to be you, Her dad now, she wonders who. You run and play with your family, He struggles with his legs, unhappily. Your wife comes home, puts your baby to bed, His daughter wants to see him, emotions in her head. Through the door, a crackling fire, She loved him plenty with desire. Will you tell, what will you decide, His wife, she is dying inside. Tomorrow you will wake up next to her, Tomorrow he will be here in the hospital chair. You’re unaware, he’s wounded, He’s scared, thinks nobody cares. You live your life forgetting your sins, He’s gone now, where will they begin. This was not the Great War. Make doves not War. Chloe Jones, aged 13

Make Doves Not War Pacing back and forth, Gazing at the emptiness of no manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s land. Mud coated the ground like chocolate on a cake, Guarding the front line was my demand. The town flows as normal, Nothing out of the ordinary at all. The smell of pies filled the air, And a huddle of children round the fair. The frightful sound of a grenade is deafening, Men hurling themselves over the top. The guns shoot at each other, As Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m writing to my mother. He sits proud in his chair, With his pot of tea. The boy on the floor, looks up thinking, Will that be me? Jamie Lyon, aged 13

I Remember I remember war, the grey smoky skies. The dismal dark trenches, the teary eyes. I remember war, the letters from home. The scent of my mother, I felt so alone. I remember war, the sound of guns. The screams of brave soldiers, and the red wounds. I remember war, wishing it would end. A world full of peace, a world full of friends. Nicola Billington, aged 12

Make Peace, Not War Make peace, not war. Throw Frisbees, not grenades. Shoot in football, not a gun. Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be burnt by a flamethrower, get sunburnt by the sun. Make peace, not war. Stop hating, open up a door, To a peaceful land, without any war. Saving many lives with no robbery, no breaking the law. Make peace, not war. Jamie Mason, 12

Why did we kill the Peace? A young soldier went away to war, Eager for battle, death and gore. He was blind to the horror that surrounded him, Blind also to the men he had killed. Eventually, the horror of the war dawned upon him, He realised what was going on. He cried out at the dead corpses, Littering the field with death. The soldier wept in the truth that night, He wanted it to stop, he wanted all of it to stop! His friends laughed at him, his general yelled at him, But still, peace could not come. Two years passed, still no hope, Until a dove passed overhead. The soldier stopped fighting to watch the bird, Before falling to the ground. He was just another one, Forgotten and dead as he lay among the others. Now ask yourself this, through the horror of war, Why did we kill the peace? Olivia Fletcher, aged 12

One More Siren War is horrible for an eleven year old, A loud siren. Everyone is going to their bunkers, Kids screaming. What is happening? My mum is holding me tight as I look up to her face, She stares into thin air as a tear streams down her face. A bomb hits the bunker, she squeezes me tighter. I cannot breathe. I’m getting claustrophobic. I wonder where my dad is? Another big bang hits the bunker again. I tried to ask my mum what is happening, she stays so still, it’s as if I was not there. All I can hear is children screaming in the distance, planes flying by and houses falling. One more siren to go. One more siren to the end. One more siren to the end of war. One more siren to peace. Every remembrance day I visit my dad’s grave and put a poppy there, but one time I was not alone. A little German girl was there putting a poppy on her dad’s grave. As I walked over, I put my hand on her shoulder; a little tear ran down her cheek. She reminded me of my mum. She turned around to look at me as two doves flew past us. This truly must be a sign of peace. Poppy Laird, aged 11 22

Make Doves Not War Deep in the trenches he lies there still, Wondering if they will come. Thinking of whether to go out and fight, After all this is World War One. No man’s land sits in front of him now, His gun ready at his side. Running towards the enemy, “Get down, Get out and hide!” He lies there on his own, Wondering how we got there. Wanting to go home To dream, to live, to forget… Bang. Boom. Clap. Shot. Finally my duty is over Finally I’m free. Let my soul rise like a dove, Out of the mist. The death, the betrayal, seeking peace, Seeking rest, set me free. Isabella Parsons, aged 12

Make Doves Not War It should have been me I tell myself, It should be me in there. You didn’t deserve to die this way, It was my fault this happened, I think to myself every day. But why did you take the bullet? Is what I want to be told, but what you did for me, I will treasure like gold. As the days go on I think about the memories we’ve had, Not all good, some are bad. I can still picture you there lying on the cold, hard floor, Blood gushing out from your heart, with my life slowly falling apart. And now I find myself standing over your grave, Thinking about what happened, trying to stay brave. Because it shouldn’t be you down there, it should be me. Ben Findlow, aged 13

Soldier Boy â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;The War Needs Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; posters excite me, The fun I am going to have! 17 and fighting for my country, Bring it on, come on lads! Air thick with stenches, Blood stained wooden benches, Dirty muddy sandbagged trenches. Cold, damp stiff and numb, My young hands unable to grip my gun. Shoulders ache beneath my pack, Sun turned to rain, all is black. Empty belly shivering like jelly, Shrapnel shells shriek through the air, Eyes filled with death with no one around to care. I want to go home now, The snipers actions fill the air. The rats eating me alive, I begin to wonder, will I even survive? Mia Pilling, aged 13

Every Manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Duty His eyes turned black, His skin turned cold, All he had left was his poor young soul. Slowly destroying from the inside, He screamed and a tear fell from his eyes. He stumbled around surrounded by smoke, Gasping for air with a cough and a choke. As he died he fell to the ground, The men took him, there was no longer a sound. For all those men who died this way. Those innocent young boys who were destroyed with pain. You did not deserve to die like this. For our peace and integrity, Our love and tranquillity. For all those men who fought us, We say thank you for not giving up. Leah Packingham, aged 13

My War Poem As the machine guns fire, crackle and rattle. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not a whisper, not a word. Yearning only for sleep, after their long cold march. Overwhelmed by the fear, as well as frozen hands, and cold, wet feet. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not a whisper, not a word.. Lily Butcher, aged 13

Make Doves Not War With distorted views of others pain , They count only what there is to gain. They lock up doves and try to hide, Any peace they find in others minds. They gain nothing from their mindless acts, They hide behind their fighting masks. Too scared to voice their personal views, They play follow the leader and obey the rules. But the bird will one day find its wings, Will finally belt the song it brings. And humans will look from below, Repenting violence that they show. Voices echo through the war filled world, Words tainted, twisted, made to burn. While humans dig their way to hell, Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re only fighting with themselves. Esme McKenzie, 13

Flash Fiction 11-13 year olds

I'd Rather Die in Peace Winner ‘What's war, Granddad?’ - They don't know of it now. The gentle breeze swaying, the delicate, cherry poppies and sounds of laughter fills the air. There is a trickling stream in the distance and birds cheep cheerful songs. Soft patters of toddler's feet come towards me and the fluffy clouds that dot about in the pink sky pop with bubbles. The smell of fresh grass and pine wafts into my nose. Happiness... I close my eyes. A piercing scream deafens my eardrums as brave soldiers collapse at my side. I stumble, and then trip on an unexpected landmine, the heat of the burning, fiery fire exploding around me. Mud and water slam me down and bullets zoom and whizz above my head, missing me by only millimetres, finding poor victims. The deadly barbed wire snakes to me, coiling around me tightly, and the blackened smoke suffocates me. I lay there, glaring angrily at the ash sky. Why war? ‘Granddad?’ But I am no longer there.... Am I asleep, in heaven, Or just daydreaming? In loving memory of Albert Diaz, The greatest gift in life is love. Because one day, I believe that people all over the world will gather together and be united. I believe in world peace. I’d rather die in peace early than live old age sad. I have lived in happiness. I have died in peace. R.I.P Louise Fung, aged 11

War to Peace War Boom! Another mine has blown, flicking gooey, stagnant mud onto my wet, icy, cold skin. Sometimes I think the mud is the real enemy - it grasps onto our ankles and drags us down slowly until we choke in agonising pain. I see bodies of our dead, imbedded with bullets scattered in confusion or shredded into smithereens. Fire chewed and crackled through the rubble of buildings and even the never ending drenching rain couldn't put it out. Heaven knows if I shall see my family again. Peace Ruby red poppies nod gracefully in the cool, calm breeze that whistles across the meadow. A rabbit is grazing on a farmer's haystack without a care in the world. While cute, small birds sing peacefully, swooping and diving in the air. Bees dance rhythmically under the shade of an ancient willow tree as the sun sets below a swirl of white clouds. Could this really have been a battlefield? Amelle Turan, aged 11

The Dove I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes. It perfectly fluttered it's wings as it guided through the air, it felt like the world fell silent and froze. It felt like the war had come to an end and peace would be returned. I thought maybe this is it. Maybe this is a sign, a sign of forgiveness and hope. Maybe, just maybe if I close my eyes it will all go away, but no. to my disappointment, I could still hear the shrieks and cries of innocent people. I wish it had brought peace back and restored hope and joy. If only the world would go back to the way it was. That majestic bird could have ended this war if it had been seen by the world. The creature was so pure and white, as it flew over me. The world was lightened from this grim war for just a moment, but when it was out of my sight, I was again filled with fright and loneliness. It was a dove. We should make doves not war. Holly Smith, aged 12

Change War As I run, I notice the wire blocking my exits like a metallic snake about to crush its prey. I look up to the blackened sky and realise I can't tell if it's day or night anymore because all of the smoke has been blocked out of the light like a poisonous cloud for so long. When I get back to my trench, which not so long ago felt like a hell hole, now feels like such a safe haven now. Even if the walls are as wet as the ocean, I feel safer already. When I've recovered from the shock, I see another one of the many soldiers get mauled down by the fire of the machine guns. I can smell the soot and gun powder from the endless showers of fire and metal that are created by both friendly and enemy artillery cannons. Peace Now the only thing I can see for miles around are the poppies, with that crimson colour that mark each fallen comrade. I see the green grass, that seems so out of place because for so long it was all mud, metal and wood. The endless trees that had for so long been nothing but stumps. Hugh Mccormick, aged 11

The Doves The young soldier waded through mud, covered in filth and the blood of the dead and wounded. They'd arrived at the village too late to save the inhabitants. The enemy had stormed it. It had been a remote village, with nothing to do with the war except they were part of one of the countries, and were close enough to the border to be an easy target. They had put up no resistance. No defence. He stumbled and fell, then realised that, with a shock, he had tripped over the arm of a young woman, lying motionless on the dirty ground. He knelt down next to her, grabbing her wrist frantically for a pulse, then dropped it. He had expected it to be cold, but it was warm. She didn't look dead, she looked peacefully asleep, radiating life, youth and laughter. All of those things war had stolen from her, but most of all - peace. He stood up and looked around. The sun had broken through the clouds, spreading light all over the shattered village. All of the broken figures on the ground no longer seemed broken. They were like the girl, shining with love and warmth. And then came the doves. They landed in their millions, spreading the word. Everyone, everywhere in the world, as if in a trance, were repeating those words in over a million languages. Peace. And peace came. After all those years, peace came. Private Joshua Smith woke up from his slumber. It was just a dream, it was always just a dream. He wasn't delusional; he knew no doves would come. But peace could. And one day, he was going to bring it. Nirupama Varma, aged 13

Make Doves, Not War War. When all reason and logic is abandoned, like the hope of our deceased allies. No. Not just allies.... friends. I had a friend during the war. He wasn't a typical friend, my friend was extraordinary. He kept me sane, made me realise that that there's always a choice. My friend was a dove. He would enlighten me with just a peck on my ear. He always flew in a jaunty way and had no idea what was happening. I liked it that way. I met him on my first day in the troop. I was a solitary, solemn soldier. I was melancholic until his arrival. He was perched on my tent's pole, innocent, yet all - knowing. He lit a spark in me that day. I knew nothing of what was to come. The dreary day taunted us with rain as we marched to battle. A lion's roar echoed across the field. The first shot had been fired. All havoc broke loose and the glamorous battle took place. I found my feathery, fragile friend lying motionless on the ground. Blood everywhere. A confused man with an armed gun still locked on to him. He was from my own troop. Rage! It destroyed my vision. All I knew, was that my finger was in place and my weapon was pointing at the man. Why would he have shot the bird? Why would anyone shoot such a flamboyant symbol of innocence? Had he not known? With his dazed eyes, staring into nothingness, I chose to walk away, leaving the man unharmed. I had a choice and I chose. I knew that the dove wouldn't of wanted it. The dove. My friend. Pritheri Raj, aged 13

The Wal-Mart Wars John Biscuit proudly popped on his neon green hat and set off on his trip to ASDA, but he wasn't a customer. Oh, no. He was a cashier and was doing the night shift. At about the same time, Giles Cushion was making his way to Tesco. He adjusted his hat while admiring himself in the rear view mirror. ‘Looking good’ he said as he found the perfect parking place. John and Giles weren't complete strangers to each other, they had met each other in the Supermarket Awards Ceremony. They had a bitter rivalry, and it so happened that something caught his ears. ‘Well done, Mr Biscuit’ a podgy figure said. Mr Biscuit? Didn't that name ring a bell? ‘Here is your pay check, and when the Supermarket Awards come by next week, we'll beat Tesco by a mile!’ Rida Munir, aged 13

Poetry 14-16 year olds

The Horseman Winner War, he’s been with us for years, Ever since men have lived People have died and famine struck, Families destroyed and pestilence caused Look at their loss, so many tears shed. But for what? War, glorious you would think, Textbooks filled with battles won What have they done, these generals, but leave a pile of Bodies for all to see? Just look at the pain, it’s just work for me But for what? The 20th was a busy century for me, Everywhere suffering all-round the globe Several genocides and two world wars, Let’s hope the 21st is much more quiet I’m tired of my job, I hate the pain, It’s all up to your humans to make doves not war For I am death, one of four. Jonathan Liu, aged 14

Make Doves Not War Early in the flunk, The sun that once did, sunk Brittle me battered to a barren, Under the flooded rouge skies. And a trace of its tears fell, To taste the trickle A golden dew grew, We grow and rise above the cries. Our eyes round, We reach above ground Stretching our arms, Spreading this blossom chance. Lie serried beside sunlight, Grass to grow by so To like the limelight, Let this bud dance. Sarah Lopez Marinez, aged 16

Everlasting Death The grass is long and soggy, The morning mist hangs in the frosty air. The fanfare of warriors rings over the bright horizon. The calm before the storm. As the battle looms ever closer, I cherish the day that is long gone. I see the rats scurrying around in the mud, And I begin to envy their carefree state of mind, A feeling of peace almost impossible to achieve. There are no nails left on my fingers. An ominous silence grips the camp, As an iron fist of fear deprives us of words. The music is getting louder now, closer, Upsetting the surroundings. They are here. Tranquillity is exiled as hell comes to town. We must face our fears. We must overcome them, In order to prevent everlasting death. This is 1066. This is war. Patrick Carney, aged 14

Make Peace Not War It’s like a game of cat and mouse, But instead, putting your life on the line. Over the barbed wire, men do a suicide run, They hit the ground on the deserted land. ‘Gloriously died for your country’, And blown to bits. Limbs missing, deaf and blind, Where’s the glory in that? The strongest men quiver in their boots, The families yearn to see their loved ones. From knee high mud to waterlogged trenches, Where’s the glory in that? Saffron Gowland, aged 14

Walking in the Woods Walking in the woods, The sun begins to fade Swirls of wind are flowing, All light is gone, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shade Walking in the woods, It will soon be night Creatures start to come out, But nothing you see in sight Walking in the woods, You will have to wait For there is no warmth, Since it is very late As the stars gradually drop, Morning is here and time will not stop. Francoise Congues, aged 14

Flash Fiction 14-16 year olds

We Ran Winner We ran. The two of us ran from it all, we ran through the squalor and destitution of refugee camps. We ran, we were crippled from the hunger and delusional from fatigue. When our clothes were in shreds and they fell to the ground we carried on; we had to, we were closing in on freedom. Walter said to never look back because we have a future, we fought our way out and so we did. But Walter couldn’t save us from the suffocating claws of memories, always waiting, ready to close in around our throats. Walter couldn’t stop it when they came for me at night and I knew I was back there. I could feel strife, sense the dirty grit of it ingrained on my face, its acid burn in my nose and mouth and the blaze of it beneath my feet. Even when we reached our refuge and word spread that it had ended, that the guns had been laid to rest. Even when the gurgling screeches of new life came kicking and screaming into our world. It still raged on inside me. I could still see the death we had once run from burning in my head throughout the night. I could hear the screams of the dead, piercing my life and I could never escape it. I often wonder what would have happened if we had stayed, Walter and I. If I’d known when we ran that we would never be free, would I ever have run at all? By Caitlin Nolan, aged 16

Afterword When Cathy Cassidy, Sean Street and I agreed to read our work at the launch of Make Doves Not War, none of us expected, a few months later, to be sitting around such a huge pile of well-crafted and beautiful competition entries. The launch event was a wonderful mix of discussion about what Peace means culminating in writing messages on card doves and releasing real doves into the Liverpool skyline. September and October saw me haring around schools working with eager pupils, helping them to get their wild and brilliant ideas onto paper. I’m constantly surprised by the power and truth in children’s writing. I shouldn’t be. Children make doves. Adults make war. Jon Mayhew

A special thank you to all the schools that took part in the competition and the workshops. The Bluecoat School, Enterprise South Liverpool Academy, Matthew Arnold Primary School, St Edmund Arrowsmith Catholic High School and Saint Vincent de Paul Roman Catholic Primary School.