Home

As Inspiration

ANTHOLOGY

Winning Entries from

FRRL Children’s Writing Competition 2017

FRIENDS OF ROCK ROAD LIBRARY

This anthology is a collection of winning entries and runners-up in the second writing competition for children and young adults organised by the Friends of Rock Road Library in 2017. The theme of the competition was ‘Home as Inspiration’, inviting entries in the form of short stories, poems and plays with “home” as a source of inspiration. The competition was divided into two categories: 7 – 11 year olds and 12 – 16 year olds. We are very thankful to our judges, local authors Inbali Inserles and Julian Sedgwick.

CONTENTS

12 – 16 Year Old Category ................................................................................................ 7

7 – 11 Year Old Category ................................................................................................... 8

HOME AS INSPIRATION .................................................................................................. 10

OUR HOME ............................................................................................................................ 13

ORCAS ..................................................................................................................................... 14

MIKE AND TESS .................................................................................................................. 16

THE TREEHOUSE ............................................................................................................... 17

HOME ...................................................................................................................................... 23

HOME IS WHERE YOUR FAMILY ARE....................................................................... 24

VIKINGS .................................................................................................................................. 25

HOME ...................................................................................................................................... 27

GABI/HOLLY ........................................................................................................................ 28

HOPE? ..................................................................................................................................... 31

WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO BE HOMELESS? ................................................... 38

HOMES .................................................................................................................................... 39

CABBAGE AND SWEETS ................................................................................................. 40

MY FUTURE HOME ............................................................................................................ 41

AUTUMN MORNING ......................................................................................................... 43

HOME ...................................................................................................................................... 44

MY HAUNTED HOUSE! .................................................................................................... 47

HOME ...................................................................................................................................... 49

UNTITLED ............................................................................................................................. 51

‘There were an extraordinary number of high quality entries this year

in the upper age category. That made judging great fun – though

really rather hard! I can honestly say that every entry I read had at

least one great idea or beautiful sentence, and many had far more

than one…

With stories, prose and poetry ranging from the streets of Cambridge

to Beijing, from wild wolf packs to mighty orcas, from Saxon England

to thousands of years into the future, it was reassuring to see how

good the young writers were at imagining what it’s like to be

somebody – or something – else, living in another place or

circumstance or time. That’s so important for writing – and for

helping to make the world a more thoughtful place in general.

Whether the writing came from heartfelt experience – or from

creative imagination – I felt my mind and emotions engaged, and

frequently laughed too! And was glad I had agreed to be a judge

again. Well done and congratulations to all who entered, and keep

writing!’

Julian Sedgwick

Judge 12 – 16 year old category

February 2018

‘It has been a pleasure to judge this year’s younger category and read

such an excellent selection of stories, poems and essays on the subject

of “home.” While a number of the entrants focused on what their own

home means to them, others explored how it would feel to be

homeless. Some of the entries were funny, others were thought-

provoking or sad. Each had its own, distinctive take on the theme.

I can genuinely say that I agonised over the short lists and really

struggled to exclude entries because so many shined! The overall

winner was a touching story of a homeless boy unravelling a mystery.

The story was inventive and the author invited us to feel the boy’s

exclusion and longing for a family. It was well-paced and plotted with

a likeable narrator. I really found myself rooting for him – which is a

sign of a good protagonist.

Congratulations and thank you to everyone who entered!’

Inbali Inserles

Judge, 7-11 year old category

February 2018

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12 – 16 YEAR OLD CATEGORY

WINNERS Miriam Wassell Home as Inspiration

Trystan Barnett Our Home

Marcus King Orcas

Solomon Gibbard-Fatti Mike and Tess

Leo Fox The Treehouse

RUNNERS-UP

Eleanor Freestone Home

Ciaran Wright Home is where your family are

Oscar James Vikings

Naomi Binks Home

Clara Kanz Gabi / Holly

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7 – 11 YEAR OLD CATEGORY

WINNERS Raidah Haque Hope?

Eadie Kendrew What it would be like to be homeless?

Surya Prakash Homes

Amelie Bentham Cabbage and Sweets

Lavinia-Marie Harlow My future home

RUNNERS-UP

Leila Hariri Autumn Morning

Kieran Sentance Home

Matthew Hardy My haunted house!

Amalija Hripkova Home

Luigi Reyes untitled

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12 - 16 Age Group Winners

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Miriam Wassell Age 12, The Netherhall School

HOME AS INSPIRATION

Whistling kettles, the smell of frying bacon; padding footsteps and a toaster popping, your mouth already dribbling at the thought. Blinds opening, dogs barking and the loud insistent squawks of birds. You can feel the sun coming in through the window shining on your closed eyelids. Cosy, warm and comforting you feel a harsh dash of cold air on the tip of your nose, you brush your nose, feeling how icy cold it is. You turn over squishing your face into the hard as rock pillow. Wiping the hair out of your mouth and smearing it on your pillow, you realise how loud everything is: loud whirring alarm clocks ringing through your ears, footsteps pacing and pacing so loud they couldn’t be much more than an inch away you can feel a constant jab all over your body. Trying to wiggle your legs apart but they move as one, struggling to get away from each other. Thrashing your arms and legs wildly, trying to escape the constriction; you open your eyes; realising everything a tear rolls down you check as you look around, you can’t see pillows and your duvet on your moth balled carpet, you don’t hear whistling kettles or smell frying bacon. You see only the bleakness of the street in front of you; you feel the big drops of rain jabbing all over your body and the cold-damp air all around you. Smelling only cigarette smoke and smog you unzip your sleeping bag and unwillingly get out. As you start to roll your tattered sleeping bag, you let your mind wonder back to what life used to be. As you put your shoes on you remember having family, safety and security as you shove your sleeping bag away, you remember being happy and not having to worry about tomorrow, being able to feel the warmth and love, and most of all you remember the feeling of being at home. You sit on your stuff: sleeping bag, battered toothbrush and a small heap of pennies, to make it fit in your ripped bin bag. You walk to the public toilets, gingerly placing your bag by your side as you splash your face with the

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metallic-smelling water. Fishing for your tooth brush you sigh loudly, hearing someone grumble in the toilet, you freeze and turn the tap on loudly so they can’t hear you. When you finally find your tooth brush, it is covered in fluff, the bristles thread bare and bent in all directions. Carefully you run it under the flowing water and wipe it round your mouth as you have no toothpaste. As you open your mouth to spit out the water, you catch glimpse of your blood –red swollen gums and close your mouth hastily. After you’ve finished, you walk out smelling the fresh air once again, feeling the bright morning sun in your eyes. You walk past some cafes, smelling the aroma of sausages bacon and freshly buttered toast. The lion in your stomach is roaring and snarling as you walk past the smells. After walking through the wet dank streets for a couple of minutes you sit on a damp smelling bench, feeling the water soak into your clothes. Rummaging through your bag you find out your money and start to count: 94p. Wondering what you could get, you cross the deserted street and head into the packed comer shop. As you push open the door you hear a bell ring and feel two cold pairs of eyes looking at you as your eyes drift up to meet theirs, you give them a polite smile and start to walk round the shop. You can feel their eyes on your back and hear whispers as one of the people comes up behind you and seems to be supposedly stacking something right behind you. As you reach out to grab a banana, you feel the person so close you can feel their breath on the back of your neck. Slowly, you turn around and give them another polite smile; as they smile back, you can feel them almost mocking you with their eyes. You place the banana on the counter and start to shamefully count out the pennies, you hand them the right number and they give you a death glare as they check. You look down at your feet willing yourself to disappear in to the ground. You feel something poking you as you look up the shopkeeper is poking you with your banana and the other one is holding the door open for you. As you leave the shop, you feel tears streaming down your face like a waterfall. You grip your banana tightly and scowl to yourself this was not going to get the better of you. You walk for some while, eating your banana and letting your mind drift back to home, the comforting hugs from your family, the living room with

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its blazing fire and blankets and pillows scattered on the fluffy carpet, the kitchen, the warmness of the oven, the fruit bowl always over flowing and the pile of photos and magnets cluttering the fridge and your room covered in clothes and things you couldn’t bear to throw away. You would give anything to be there now. You sit in your usual spot, a raised concrete area outside the train station your head facing your feet. More and more people come and go, not one giving you a second glance. It was like you were invisible or people didn't want you to exist - you were always over looked, forgotten by everyone. You let your mind dwell over this and you could feel your brow creasing and your chin wobbling. "Excuse me," said a passer-by. You flinched but looked up inquiringly "y-y-yes" you stuttered back. They gave you a smile not in a mocking or pitying way but in a way that made you feel like they cared. “I’m going to go get a coffee, would you like one,” he questioned. You looked up at him astonished. “Please. Please,” you replied. "I’ll go and get you one,” they said smiling and then walked across the road into a shop. Stunned you sat there and thought: it was like they cared, it was like they understood; it was like they wanted the best for you. You carried-on thinking to yourself while he came back, cup in hand and for the first time in what seemed like forever you smiled, not a polite smile but genuine. As they walked away you watched them, motivated to make a difference to your life. You didn’t know how or why but you felt like it would be okay, you would be happy again so you walked down to your usual spot and sat there. Only you didn't think of what your life used to be rather what your life would become. You knew you were going to be safe and secure, you knew you would once again hear whistling kettles and toasters popping. You had hope, a gift greater than no other. You knew you would be going home; you were not yet sure of what form home would take but such a difference in your life had been given to you by a single act of kindness. Without knowing it, that one passer-by had given you a chance to be in the one place you longed after, home.

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Trystan Barnett

Age 12, The Netherhall School

OUR HOME

Our Home,

Just a point in space,

Nothing significant,

A rocky planet,

With a common star,

So why is it so special,

Well,

It’s not,

Our star ships Jump from system to system,

Exploring the great expanse,

A galaxy of light and dark,

100,000 light years of glittering stars,

Searching for somewhere, else,

To call home,

Yet no where else is quite like Earth,

No fish,

No Birds,

No flowers in the spring,

But we keep on searching for,

Our Home.

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Marcus King Age 13, The Netherhall School

ORCAS

A vast mosaic of blue stretched into the distance. The orca’s fin sliced through the surface, gently parting the waves. White foam washed across its back as it breathed slowly, sending a jet of water into the air before diving back into the depths below. Its pod swam beside it, mothers protecting their calves. The males on the outside acted like a wall, protecting the weak from any possible attacker like a great family. Bubbles drifted up to the surface, popping gently, but quickly. A forest of kelp stood in front of them, gently drifting from side to side. Fish darted in and out of the green kelp, their scales glistening in the glaring sun. The lead orca, twelve years old, slowly turned producing a series of whistles and shrieks directing the pod away from the green forest. The orca’s oily black shadows cast an immense line of black along the kelp, scaring the small fish inside. The sun began to sink in the orange-yellow sky darkening the waters and exciting the pod, for this was hunting time. A series of clicks organised the orcas into a hunting arrangement. A shoal of silver-grey fish swam in front of them, possibly more than 100,000 streaks darting about. The pod swam around them closing any gaps and moving the fish into a tight group: silver, grey, black, white, blue, a collage of colours. Suddenly, the orcas burst into the shoal. The alpha male swung his huge tail, stunning hundreds of fish and the pod followed. Soon, they could feast on the thousands of stunned, motionless fish. They gorged themselves, and then left the scene like silent killers. The once turquoise blue waters were now a black-blue. The moon had risen, a jewel in the coal black sky. The orcas rose slowly, breaking the waves. They sent a jet of water into the night sky, splashing the water around them. The lead male began a descent to the ocean floor. The eternal silence of the sea hung in the waters as the pod began a relaxed swim until daybreak. The pod slowly headed forward to the shallower waters. This was their home, the entire ocean. The shallow waters, the deep waters, the warm

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waters and the cold ones. The fish that swim in them, all theirs. The pod was one huge family, one of the true beauties of nature.

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Solomon Gibbard-Fatti Coleridge School

MIKE AND TESS

You could say Mike doesn’t have a home just because he is homeless. Well then you would be wrong because Mike has his dog. For Mike he has the best home in the world. Mike lives in a small alley just off a small road. He sleeps on a cardboard box and he has a small sleeping bag to keep him warm at night. But best of all, he has his greyhound Tess. Tess makes him feel at home. Mike is content. It is a Monday morning in mid-October. Mike pulls his battered coat closer around him trying to keep himself and Tess warm. A woman walks down the alley towards Mike. She slows as she gets near him. As she talks to Mike, he can hardly believe his ears. The woman is saying she is from a charity which aims to bring the number of homeless people in Cambridge down. She says she can get Mike a flat. 3 weeks later . . . Mike sits in the taxi heading closer and closer towards his future. When he gets to the flats the woman that met him before greets him and shows him around the flat. She tells him how lucky he is as this is the only flat left that is available. What she says next hits him like a truck. She says ‘of course, no dogs are allowed’. Mike goes back to living in his small alley just off a small road and back to Tess.

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Leo Fox Age 13, The Netherhall School

THE TREEHOUSE

I just lay there thinking, thinking, thinking about what the day was going to bring. I don't want to go. I don’t want to leave...

My name is Ping. I am 11 years old and I am the son of a very important scientist (my Dad) and mathematician (my Mum). We live in a large country house on the outskirts of Beijing, China and I love it here. Our house has a massive garden and I really like playing with my friends there. At the bottom of the garden, there is a monstrous oak tree with a tree house in it. When I am there, I feel warm and safe. In my house, I have my own music room. I love music and want to be a musician when I am older. I play many instruments but my favourite, by far, is the violin.

Today was going to be the best day ever. I had band auditions and, if I got picked, I would be part of the largest children’s orchestra in the country. So, I got out of bed and brushed my teeth excitedly. I then went down stairs and ate my breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal. After that, I went to school. As I walked to school, I found my best friend, Wang, waiting for me. Wang is a lot like me. We like the same sort of things and both play the violin. We walked and chatted about the orchestra auditions. I was really nervous about it, but Wang thought that we were both definitely going to make it in. “If we don't get in, I will eat my hat" he said confidently.

When we arrived at school, we both went our separate ways. “I'll see you at lunch for the auditions” l shouted after him. School went by so slowly. By the time it was lunch, I was ready and raring to get playing.

I saw Wang and went with him to the music department. As we got there, we saw many good musicians milling around already waiting. The way it was going to work was that the Musical Directors would call us in one at a time and we would play the best piece of music we could. At the end, we would hear who made it in to the orchestra and who didn’t. The wait was agonising. When they finally called my name, I was trembling like a leaf. As I entered the room, I noticed the two, tall men who were sitting opposite a stool on chairs (the Musical Directors). They asked me some questions and I answered them as best I could. They then told me to go and sit on the stool and play my piece. I was so terrified, I accidentally knocked over my music stand as I sat down. Then I started to play.

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Outside, Wang asked me how I got on. I said, “I did ok, however it was not my finest hour”. After the last people had performed, the Musical Directors emerged from the music room and announced the people who had made it through. When the Directors came to the last person, Wang and I had still not been called. The Director looked at his piece of paper and he called "Ping, please come up to the front.” As I went up, I could see sadness and anger etched on Wang’s face.

I was so excited. I ran home as fast as my legs could carry me. When I got there, I almost knocked the door down. When my Mum finally got to the door and unlocked it, I ran in and hugged her saying “I did it Mum, I did it!” When she replied, I was surprised that she wasn't happier about my achievement. She said "I’m really proud of you son but there is something that your Father and I have been meaning to tell you for a very long time. Come to your Father’s study and we will tell you together."

As I entered my Father’s study, I noticed something very odd. My Father was sitting on a chair with his head in his hands. He looked like he had been crying. When he noticed me and my Mum, he got up and asked, “should we tell him?”

"Yes" she replied, “it's time.”

He sighed and looked at me. Then with a heavy heart he said "Ping, we’re leaving.” He let it hang there for a second before saying "Ping, I'm so sorry”. I froze. I couldn't move. It was like someone had stabbed an invisible knife into my heart and I couldn’t get it out. I was dumbstruck. When I could finally move, I ran. I ran to the place that I love the most, the place which makes me feel safe, warm and like nothing in the whole entire world could ever hurt me.

I was in the treehouse. I snuggled into the pillows and stayed there for what seemed like hours. When my Mum came to check on me, my eyes were red and puffy and my throat was raw from crying. She was holding some food and water on a tray. I took it gratefully and ate like I had never seen food in my life. After finishing, my Mum sat next to me and said, "We didn’t want to leave either Ping but it is for the best. It means that your Father and I can develop our careers. The companies that we work for are moving us to give us harder, more challenging tasks.”

"Where are we going Mum?"

"We are flying to London in England. We have bought a flat there.”

"When are we going?”

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"We will leave tomorrow evening. We will fly from Beijing Capital International Airport.”

"But what about me being in the orchestra?"

“I am so sorry darling, but you will have to say that you can’t do it.”

“But Mum, it is what I have always wanted.”

“I’m sorry but you can’t do it if we are living on almost the other side of the world.”

I just lay there thinking, thinking, thinking about what the next day was going to bring. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave China, I love it here. All my friends are here like Wang. But most of all, I don’t want to live in a new home. I don‘t want to go to a new school or speak a new language. This is my home and I love it here. The thought of living in a different place made me feel sick. Everything would be different: the smells of all the wonderful flowers; the noises such as the butterflies flapping their wings or the crickets clicking in the long grass; the feeling of wet morning dew on my toes and the taste of Spring as it touches my tongue. All of it would be gone.

When I woke up the following morning, I thought it was all a dream until I saw the boxes my Mum had filled to take to the airport. I went downstairs and Dad got me a piece of toast. However, I didn’t feel like eating anything.

Walking to school was the worst experience of my life. I had to walk past all the things that I was most going to miss. The final stop on my trip of sadness was Wang’s house; it was about the same size as mine but with a smaller garden. As I approached his house, I saw something that I had never seen before. It was Wang, standing where he usually did on the pavement, but his head was down and he didn’t have his normal smile; instead he looked like he was upset. I went over to see him and he said, “I can’t believe that I didn’t get in.” Then I had the most amazing idea, so I told Wang. I said that he could take my place in the orchestra because I was leaving. Wang was so thrilled that he hugged me like he was my brother. However, then I saw a look of utter misery because he would never see me again.

At school, we explained everything to the Musical Directors and they said that it was ok for Wang to take over from me as one of the violinists. On my way home, I knew that I had done the right thing. As I walked in the door, I saw my Mum and Dad waiting to go. I got my bag and we all climbed into the taxi together. I was sad to go but I understood the reasons behind the decision. I had never been on an aeroplane before. My Dad told me that it

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was an experience to look forward to. I didn’t remember much of the flight because I was mostly asleep. The thing I last remember was waking up in a taxi on the way to our new flat. When I first saw it, I was appalled by what I saw. It was a muddy grey building with peeling plaster. Some of the windows even had missing panes of glass!

There was a damaged concrete path that lead up to the front door which looked like it hadn’t been repaired in 50 years. The thing that made me hate the place most of all was the shared garden. If you could call it a garden that is. It had no grass instead it had a massive gravel area that children were running around in. There were weeds growing in the ground that I was desperate to pull up.

We entered the building and what I saw made me want to choke. The place was a mess! The raggedy old carpet in the hall was torn up in places to reveal missing floor boards and plaster was falling from the ceiling like snow. When we finally managed to get to our flat, having climbed three flights of stairs, we were covered with plaster and caked in grime and dirt. To my surprise, our flat seemed quite warm and cosy. The people who had owned it before us must have treated it with lots of care. The bed that I slept in was comfortable, almost as nice as my one in China. The only problem with my new bedroom was the noise that I heard from the North Circular, the noisy road that runs around central London.

In the morning, I went to the kitchen to find my parents putting my school things into a rucksack. They told me that I was going to a new school and that I needed to be ready in five minutes. When I arrived at school, I found all the children playing football in the playground. This was different to what we would do in China. When I walked into the school itself, I noticed lots of people looking at me strangely but I took no notice and walked over to a place that was quiet and sat down on a chair. When the bell rang eventually, I got up and took my things to the classroom that my Dad had said to go to. On entry, everyone turned around and looked at me. The teacher, a kind lady called Mrs Opie, said to me "Ping, why don’t you come and sit on this table here."

"Ok" I replied and went over to the table that she had pointed at. As some more children filed in, the second bell went and Mrs Opie said the register aloud and everyone answered their name by saying "Yes Miss”. After the register, Mrs Opie said "Today, we are welcoming a new student to the school. Will Ping please come up to the front?" When she said my name, I

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was petrified. I hated speaking in public to my friends, let alone children that I have never met before.

"Ok Miss" I said. I tried to get up but my legs were trembling so much. Finally, I got up and managed to get to the front of the class through the sea of chairs and tables. Looking at all the expectant faces was like a nightmare. Then Mrs Opie asked me a question. “Ping, would you mind telling the class about yourself?"

"Ok yes, I will.”

After explaining about myself, Mrs Opie said "That was very interesting Ping. Thank you." Going to sit down was a lot better than going to the front. On the way back, I got a lot of reassuring nods and I felt a lot better about myself.

“Mum, Dad, you won’t believe this!" I was charging up to our flat at top speed wanting to tell my parents what had happened at school today. As I came into the flat, Dad said "Calm down son. Come and tell me and your Mother about your day.” So, I did. I explained about the morning and how I had told the class about my time coming from China to England. I told them about the lessons I had done such as Music, Maths and Science. I then said the thing that I had wanted to say from the very beginning. I had made a friend.

"His name is James. He is friendly and he plays the piano. In music, I accompanied him on the violin. We got chatting afterwards and he said that he lives here in this block of flats. Even better still, he, and a few others who live here, want there to be a luxuriant garden to play in. So, we are going to dig up the old concrete and we will plant lots of wonderful plants and flowers. We might even have a treehouse."

“That’s great darling, we knew you would like it here" said Mum. We all had a monster hug after that and I was the happiest person in the world.

A few months later…

“Yes, James over here” I yelled as we played football in the new garden with some of the other boys and girls. It had been a struggle, but we had managed it in the end. The garden was complete, and everyone loved it. I am getting on well at school now and I have got into the school orchestra. The last few months have been the best of my life so far. I can’t believe I didn’t want to come here.

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12- 16 Age Group Runners-up

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Eleanor Freestone Coleridge School

HOME

Sometimes your home is not your house, or even with your family. It could be anywhere. A coffee shop with a friendly atmosphere, the smell of baking and that couple who always sit at the window, smiling lovingly at each other. Yes, that is your home. But then the biscuits are burnt and the couple stop showing up together. Maybe they found another place? No, you see one of them the next day, staring forlornly and almost longingly out the window.

Maybe a library? It’s nice and quiet and you can just curl up in one of the armchairs and start reading. It’s so peaceful that you could almost drift off to sleep right where you sit. Yes, this must be your home. But then that baby starts crying and screaming loud enough to give you a headache. The mother winces apologetically and carries the wailing child away but your ears still ring and the headache still lingers. You can’t concentrate on your book.

The park, then. The picturesque view of the lush green lawn, dotted with trees with branches like arms reaching out to embrace the warm sunshine. This, of course, is your home. But there’s something strange in watching the small children playing ‘it’ and the teenagers playing football and the adults sitting on benches together, chatting amicably about all sorts of things. It makes you feel weird. You’ve never really had many friends, always being more of an introvert, the person at the edge of the room whenever anyone did invite you to a party. You’re about to leave and go back to your apartment because you suddenly feel very lonely, when a stranger holding a book sits down on the bench next to you. They smile at you, and you smile back. You’re both reading, but somehow you end up in conversation. You get along well with them, and you exchange phone numbers. You meet again at the park the next week, and at the coffee shop the next. You both have a similar taste in literature so you give each other book recommendations and that turns into meeting at the library and pointing out books for each other.

You’re not sure when it happens, or how, but at some point friendship turns into dating. You get married the next year, and move in together. You can’t help but smile when you realise that maybe, at last, you found your home.

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Ciaran Wright Coleridge School

HOME IS WHERE YOUR FAMILY ARE

Your home isn't just a house made of bricks and cement.

A home is the building blocks for relationships.

Home is where bonds are made.

Home is where your family is

Home is the evac centre for emotions.

Home is where independence is made.

Without a home I am empty.

Home is where memories are formed.

Home is where lives are saved.

Home represents safety for all.

Home is refuge.

Home is where I am educated by no teacher.

Home is where I learn.

Home is where I learn life lessons.

Home is where people come and go.

Home is where your family are.

Home is the heart of your life.

Home is a smell.

Home is a feeling.

Home is a constant fall back.

Home is love.

Home is where your family are

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Oscar James

Age 13, The Netherhall School

VIKINGS

The peaty smoke flows out of the small hole in the old Anglo-Saxon hall. It sits in a small village with small people weaving in and out of the small half structures. It sits there in the peace and calm, the quite and tranquillity. A hive, a safe haven and, most importantly, a home . . . One calm day in the village, a noble rider came, his furry coat and cloak whipping against the still air. His grand sword sitting at his belt and mighty shield on his back. He came with urgent news and rode swiftly to the hall he stepped off his horse and knocked on the large rowan door emroydered with golden metal and two large iron handles. The door creaked open and he was let in, he strode down the columned hall with a roof like an upturned ship. He approached you, the mighty lord. He whispered into your ear “The Vikings are here”. The village scrambled. Beams were put up, weapons crafted and men trained. You look upon your village, the noble by your side. You will protect it with your life, it will not fall. What was once a small humble village had become a fortress with a wall of large wooden stakes. Each building had been transformed into a bastion with bulk heads and look-outs, yet none more so than the hall, the grand hall. Wooden columns were now stone and the golden straw roof had three towers armed with marksmen and slingers. Your house carts patrolled the grounds. For a second, your village fortress was still then the horn blew in the distance. There they were, the Vikings. Your men run to meet them in battle. There was a ring of swords clashing, shields bashing, axes hacking, and spears jabbing. Yet the villagers could not win, the enemy were strong and powerful. You sound the retreat. Your men run to the grand hall in the dusk. Their bodies silhouetted against the sun. As night falls, your village is burning, livestock are dead and memories gone. Then the evil men charge up the grassy hill towards your grand hall. Now, when a person is fighting they want power, land and fame but ,when a person is fighting for their home, this changes. They want their family a

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memory and most importantly to belong. And so this is what the villagers did. Each person fought ten times harder and ten times more bravely, for this was their home, the place with a spare bed and a place with a nice warm meal, a place each individual could rally behind. You charge, the noble by your side. With each strike of your blade, you fell five and more besides. Then you shout “oh mighty Viking warlord, I challenge you.” The warlord walks towards you, his great axe reflecting moonshine but his smile reflecting . . . death. He lunges but you dodge and swipe with your own blade. He parries it easily and drives the warlord’s axe into your shoulder. Pain floods through you but you don’t give up, no. Instead, you swing a mighty strike taking the warlord’s head. The Vikings look in horror then flee like cowards. You know your shoulder is bleeding and you’re losing too much blood. The noble rushes over. You turn and speak. “Oh, noble lord, it is time for you to be this village’s leader. Care for it with your life. Make it as peaceful as it was and make sure in the great hall there is always a bed and a warm meal.” You look down on the burnt village then up at the hall, the noble hall being sheathed in a white blanket as the snow comes down with peaty smoke floating out of the hole in the roof. You lie down and close your eyes you know, inside, this village will be rebuilt to its form glory and the hall will remain homly for as long as time stands.

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Naomi Binks Age 14, The Netherhall School

HOME

The smell of pine trees and the cool ocean breeze fills the air. Kumquat trees dotted with small orange spheres sit in rows behind me. The glowing rays of sun shine onto my skin and I feel warmth. I walk down wide roads scattered with food stools, craft stools and every other thing you can imagine. The next road I am on takes me closer to the shimmering blue abyss. I came to a small building that had been painted periwinkle on the wooden exterior. A sign above the door reads ‘Library’ in black cursive lettering. The home to my favourite books and the place I love to read. I keep walking and suddenly I see it. I stop and stare down the hill and straight into the sea. My breath snatched from me and my eyes fixated I stood and look out at the life changing sights. I let out a gentle sigh and continue on my way. Not long after, I reach the edge of small cliff and the west coast train whistles past. The grass shines like little strands of emerald all swaying peacefully in the wind. Just below the cliff I can see grains of sparkling golden sand. I clamber down a little path on the crumbly sandstone rock face onto the minute particles of bliss. My feet sink into the ground and the sand settles around the steps I take. My prints are left on the beach as I make my way to the shore having left my shoes at the base of the cliff. A sand crab scuttles past me, the beach is its home. The water laps over my feet and ankles, and then rolls back away from me with the tide. I carefully let myself move deeper into the water and, with each movement, little ripples occur around me. The water is the sea creatures’ home. But at night if the algae is up near the shore and everything is just right, the ocean becomes bio-luminescent with an aquamarine glow and I remember why Del Mar is my favourite home.

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Clara Kanz Age 14, The Netherhall School

GABI/HOLLY

Gabi:

My eyes slowly flicker open as I am staring straight up at the ceiling. Sweat on my forehead, I gently turn to face my window. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and yawn. A blanket of snow covers our driveway and a frosty sheet office spreads across my window. Quickly curling my toes under my blanket, I pick up the sweet smell of freshly made pancakes from the kitchen down stairs.

‘Home is where the heart is’, that’s what it says in gold writing on our kitchen wall; and as I push open the door I spotted a warm pancake and little orange segments on my plate. “Thanks mum”, I smiled, as I greedily finished my pancake. I don’t really like orange, so I left the little segments lying on plate, untouched. Then I ran back upstairs.

Holly:

The second my eyes shoot open, a burst of cold air rushes up my spine. Breathing heavily, I try to curl up in my sleeping bag but I am engulfed a street of frost and snow. I couldn’t find a good shelter last night. I’m just lying in the doorway of a cheap newsagent. Only a lonely man, in a thick winter coat, hurries down the street. He throws me a quick glance, but then swiftly looks away and carries on walking. He pretends I’m not there. They all do that. But it doesn’t really bother me, I’m used to it by now.

Suddenly, the door to the newsagent burst open and a small man, smoking a cigarette, stepped out in front of me. Peering down on me, he said: “Oi, what do you think you’re doing her, blocking up my shop? I have customers you know, you can’t stay here.” I gulped and shivered. The wind howled, blowing my hair in my face. “ You cold?” He asked. I nodded, stuffing my sleeping bag in my rucksack. “Bet you are”, he continued “it’s freezing out here, but I’m afraid you can’t stay, I open a few minutes”. I didn’t say anything. “Wait here”, he sighed stumbling back into the store. I finally managed to zip up my ruck-sack, it was a little difficult as I felt like my fingers had been frozen stiff! Shortly after the man returned, a Bounty chocolate bar in his hand. “Thank you”, I smiled, as I gratefully took the

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chocolate. “I know it’s not much”, he said “but normally that would be 65p, I’ve got a family at home I’ve got to feed you know.” I nodded, and scurried down the road.

But I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like to have a family. I didn’t know what it was like to have a home. I quickly unwrapped the Bounty and began nibbling the chocolate around the edge. It tasted sweet in my mouth. The filling was coconut, I really didn’t like coconut but I was starving and finished the whole bar in a matter of seconds. Then I carried on walking along the pavement.

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7 - 11 Age Group Winners

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Raidah Haque Age 11, The Netherhall School

HOPE?

What do you think when you see a homeless person?

That we have nobody?

That we lose all hope?

It's cold and wet... HONKI HONK! I get thumping headaches from the vehicles screeching and the drunken people shouting! When I look in my bag all I see is: my raincoat, a couple of random clothes, bit of money and my family pictures . . . I was thrown out because we were very low on money, very low. My father was a shopkeeper and had suddenly lost his job because they were going to knock down his shop to build 'facilities' as the man had put it. He tried and tried his hardest to find another job but every single one was taken. My mother found out this situation and threw me out with my bag; her last words to me,

"You use too much money!” She slammed the door and I wasn't ready for what would happen next . . .

My father cried but he knew nobody could overpower my ‘mother'. My friends all suddenly disappeared- not like they would be allowed to help. I feel invisible like I am not really there, people walk by not noticing me, I've even got trodden on before! If I pass away I know that no one would really care— except from somebody special.

The scene still haunts me, day and night. When it pours down, when the dark clouds squeeze each other with all their might, I put on my coat and rush to an abandoned shelter. I think it might be one from WW2 and nobody uses it anymore, even though it's MASSIVE! Life rushes by: people making big mistakes or small, people getting extremely angry, people crying and people beaming with joy!

I sometimes go to the homeless shelter but it's always so crowded. There is a question that I always get asked:

"Why are you here?”

“Because of money," I answered.

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"We are all here for reasons, some because of money, but tell me, who has the HEART to throw out a 10-YEAR OLD!"

Every day, I get about 30p which to me is normal — once someone gave me AN AMAZING 3 POUNDS! It might’ve been because they felt smidge sympathy for me (!).

The thing that pains me is people throwing left over food in the bin- it’s a normal thing for them! We have feelings you know; I just want to scream to people who I see about to chuck away the food. If I got the warm food they have, I would lick it finish clean!

I always dream about cuddling on the sofa with family and movies, watching sport matches with my dad plus eating homemade food! Wait, I can hear two men whispering about something weird...

"Right, we need to hurry up but can you believe mum wanted to give some of her inheritance to the homeless?” A young man's voice whispered.

I'm hiding near a bin, they can't see me!

"I know; those grimy people who were mistakes in the world!" a man with a deep husky voice spoke subtly.

“You know what, we have to burn that homeless shelter down!"

"Yes my brother, we will burn it down after the funeral which I believe is on Thursday."

“Course it is, it was the only reason I came to town I”

"We must go before someone hears us, but we have to do it soon."

“Good idea, bye."

I don't think there is anyone here so I’m going to come out, nope luckily nobody is here!

This is bad news, wanting to take their mum’s inheritance instead of giving it to us homeless. They must be very greedy, but I wonder who this mum is. Why haven’t I met her? WAIT! My friend would know as she knows everyone in the small town! MRS GANDY!

Mrs Gandy is an old woman who lives in the flats near my usual spot for sleeping. She is quite old, her husband died in a war and her children have moved away with their lives. She has calm brown eyes, pale skin and warm, brown hair! I had nobody till she saw me on the streets! I help her carry

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her shopping bags and in return get a biscuit! Sometimes, I get to stay round and tell her about my life and she would give me a big hug! She was the grandma I always wanted!

When you are homeless, you may feel invisible but there is someone who will notice you and help you and that person for me was Mrs Gandy! Last year for Christmas, she brought me a pair of socks and they are snuggly and warm! In return, I looked round for change (in a parking lot there was £1) all together I made, £1.20 and brought her some biscuits and a little keychain which was a heart! I wrapped it up with some of the free newspaper and gave it to her. She squealed with excitement and gave me a big hug! I'm walking to her door but there isn't the door-bell and newspaper has covered up the walls! She is the only person who could help me! I go back to my spot and realise there is a letter waiting for me on my bag! Inside it says:

Dear Thomas Hankley,

I’m writing to inform you to say that that beloved lady who lived on sesame Road in flat 12A; Mrs W Gandy, has sadly passed away in her sleep. In her latest will, she has asked for you to attend her funeral as she has left a letter for you. We understand you are not in good conditions right now and would need a suit! Please come to your nearest council ASAP to clean up on 23’" November 2016, this Thursday. Mrs Gandy is having her funeral very quickly, it is told in her will.

See you soon,

Mr S Cassidy

My heart has stopped; the letter has swiftly fallen to the ground! I have frozen in time and everyone around me is going faster - I feel the world turning again and again! A little drop of water is on the paper and suddenly everything goes black...

"You alright, son?" A man with a lovely, calm voice asked. My eyes flicker open and I notice my sack is beside me. "You fainted on the streets in front of a lot of people and luckily I was around to help!"

My eyes come to focus and there is a middle- aged man standing in front of me in police gear! His badge said Mr Dawny!

"Hi?" I question.

“Hello, you better get up as its Thursday!”

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“THURSDAY?” l jolt up it was only Tuesday, yesterday.

“You have been a sleep a very long time- I was very worried also I'm going to be taking care of you for today!”

My mouth widens.

“Now into the shower!”

I follow his orders, without question, I don’t remember the last time I've had a shower! I have just undressed and now I’m pressing... C-C-COLDII Other button - COLD! WAIT it’s getting hotter, I love the dropping sensation; it's like rain but hotter and nicer! I look down to see muddy water — from me? I take one of the bottles off the side, shampoo! I mush it into my hair and when it washes out bits and pics fall out! Next, peppermint body wash. I smell incredible!!! I stand in the shower for a couple more minutes then come out and brush my teeth! I brush very hard that it starts to bleed- I clear myself up and look in the mirror! Fresh hair, cleaner teeth and smooth body: I feel a lot better!

I suddenly remember that the two men were supposed take their mum’s inheritance – IT MUST BE MRS GANDY’S MONEY! Should I tell Mr Dawny? I come out "Finally, right go change!" Mr Dawny was waiting for me...

"I have something important to tell you later!" I tell him, then I walk into the room - I see a black suit waiting there with a white shirt and a black bow tie! I start to put it on, I think it’s just the right size, and brush my hair it's all frizzed up; I don’t think I will tell Mr Dawny about it, he won't believe me. I walk outside and see that he has a suit of his own on he pushes me back in again, doing my hair [like a father] waiting for the question:

"It doesn't matter!” I say but I don't think he cares any more as he is very focused on my hair! After a couple minutes later, he hasn't said a word to me. "YES!" he says enthusiastically.

In the mirror, my hair isn’t frizzed up and crazy it's neatly put to the side with some sort of hair glue holding it together!

"Thank You Mr Dawny!”

"Please call me Chris!”

I nodded and we are driving off to the place I am in the back with a bunch of police stuff! We are listening to a bunch of music! Hey here is my Dad's favourite song — YOU TAKE AWAY MY HEART!

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I start humming it and so does Chris! We end up singing and I haven't had this feeling since I had my first hug with Mrs Gandy! It’s an amazing feeling and I love it so much — sadly it’s very rare for me. l don’t think I want to call my mother and father mine anymore! I will remember them - but maybe I have better memories. Yet, I still remember that I’m going back to the cold, hard streets tonight and feel more alone than ever... I look out of the window to see the homeless shelter; they wave at me and give me thumbs up! They knew how much Mrs Gandy meant to me and wanted to help me in every way – I never thought this before but maybe I don’t need a mum and dad when I have everyone in the homeless shelter! We are coming to a halt and I come out of the car. There are still autumn leaves around, it's quiet for now and I feel a cold present, there are a couple of seats (which really surprises me as she’s very known), a Church is in the background and around us are a lot ogress. In the middle there’s a coffin... I can’t take this anymore. “I’m just going for a wander" I tell Chris. He nods and goes to help set up. I go around the park and all my thoughts and questions burst out: who was I, why did she die, where am l going and most importantly those two boys want to burn down the shelter?

I'm a 10-year old boy, Thomas Hankley, I'm a homeless person, a nobody, and I'm alone… I’m walking back to the venue and I see a clock is hanging up – 1:55 p.m., the funeral starts in five minutes. Everyone is coming in and taking seats, Chris grabs me and we sit down together, "Chris did Mrs ever have kids?”

“Course she did, she had two sons but they didn't turn out quite the best."

Before I could ask him anything else the man at the front started saying prayers and before we knew it Mrs Gandy was in the grave and echoes of sobbing would be around forever. I was still crying in the car. Chris knew he couldn’t look after me but he brought me a new jeans and top to wear. It was very awkward but I started to walk back to my space. I knew I could always go to Chris whenever as he gave me a little card with his address. It was getting colder and I sat back in my spot, trying to get some sleep, I eventually nod off. A couple days pass and the whole town seems very quiet but I can't stop thinking about the shelter – I have to help them as they are family. I don’t get that much money so I go to the homeless shelter to eat and think more. Hang on, maybe I should tell everyone about the burning down, but nobody would listen to me... ever heard of a homeless 10-year old to be the saviour? Nope, because it can't happen. I am going for wonder, who knows what can happen . . . The town is still really quite but I suddenly

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look next to me. "Thomas?" Chris was standing in his dressing gown picking up some mail, I wave and he calls me in and guesses the only polite thing is to go in. “You must be starving let me get you a drink and l have some egg sandwiches’!” he said while grabbing a lot of stuff, his house was stuffed with police gear, trophies from rugby but was also quite modern and had a lot of abstract art on the walls. I really liked it! He comes in with some water and egg sandwich with a tea for him, I start eating; I suddenly burst out "Chris, Mrs Gandy's sons wants her money that she was going to donate to homeless shelter, so they are going to burn it down!”

I hadn’t noticed but he was writing it down and then he immediately said "We must think of a plan but if the police find out, they won't be sneaky!"

“WAIT, I have got it why don't we secretly tell everyone in the homeless shelter about it!"

"Yes but how would they get out and where?"

“Leave that to me Chris!"

I've just figured out the plan I say goodbye to Chris and walk to the homeless shelter, who knows when this could happen, we have to start now. I'm here now, I think I might whisper it to everyone first. I start whispering to everyone line-by-line and there are a couple of gasps, arguments but at least they were listening. After telling everyone I am going to tell the speech!

"Everyone here, I have told you quietly but now I have a speech, I’m a10-year old boy but believe me there is going to be a burning of this place by two selfish men, when I say a secret word randomly, we must evacuate to the abandoned shelter near here."

People start to whisper and some people scream "I don't believe it!” I don’t know what to do.

“I know you won’t believe me but please we need to save ourselves — look I will show you the shelter!"

In little groups I'm showing everyone and I think it’s going all good. By the end, I still see people protesting but lot of people are confused, they do nod when I tell them more details. I am going to let them think; I have told them the secret word and there is a little door near the back to go through just in case. As weeks pass, I am saving my money and getting some of the cheapest food, Chris is helping me and says that the boys have just picked up some money and will be coming over to 'meet’ the homeless shelter I’m

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so scared what happens if this goes wrong! This lies with me and I have a feeling this won’t work . . . I start eating my soup; it’s so warm, wait! Who's that? It’s not anyone I have seen before- why are they lighting a candle? Not just one, lots and he put more and more, who was he?

"CORRER!" I scream with my all my might, everyone looks and I point to the candles, we can all see the man talking to the two men! Everyone grabs the stuff, even though some people didn’t believe me! We all rush out and everyone is heading to abandoned place! I'm going to watch from a far place. There it is, the homeless shelter, the outside full of candles and the smoke soldiers are spreading out to attack! People arrive to the scene but it’s too late. A tear falls to the ground and a hand gives me a tissue.

"You did very well, Thomas, a lot of people even police officers wouldn’t have been sneaky and intelligent as you." Chris says while holding my shoulder, I can’t help it but hug him. I had only met him recently but he felt like a father!

The firefighters have just cleaned away, the shelter it’s dead, lifeless and gone. Chris is taking me back to the new shelter to make me feel less depressed, I hear silence from the outside but when I walk in there is cakes and different snacks on the table! “SURPRISE!” everyone jumps up and I feel extraordinary! I hug everyone and especially Chris. He had planned this entire thing just for me, we immediately start eating and from the outside many people of the shelter are coming in and are joining in, we have some music and I’m laughing lots.

“We've heard that you are a saviour of all these people say some words to the camera." a man with bunch of cameras appeared:

“All I have to tell you is I have so many question left about me but, for now; l’m a 10-year old boy, Thomas Hankley, l’m a homeless person but I haven’t lost hope, I have my friends here, Chris and even though she isn't here, Mrs Gandy, help us homeless out and in the end it always pays off!”

We hear a voice outside "Would the two sons of Mrs Gandy, Jaden and Alan come out, we have on here evidence that you are the reason for the burning of the homless shelter!”

"How did they —"I was about to finish but Chris winks and says

"It’s a secret!”

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Eadie Kendrew Age 11, The Netherhall School

WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO BE HOMELESS?

When I was really probably around four years old, I used to think people that lived on the streets chose to sleep outdoors. I thought they were having a trip in the urban jungle and it wasn’t until a year or so later that I realised the sad truth. These people did not have a home; they had nowhere to relax and talk to their family after a hard day at work and nowhere to cook a warm, comforting meal or get a good night’s sleep. Think about how terrible that would feel.

You spend your whole day trudging round town searching for a good place to sleep. All of your belongings live in you frost-bitten bag. When you finally plonk your things down, it starts to rain. Biting cold droplets land on your ancient grey coat and slowly dribble down bringing all of your hope with it.

You watch hurried shoppers sprint for the sales, bashing you with over-sized bags crammed with things you could never afford. When they see you they hurry off, careful to avoid eye contact. They treat you like you are a monster ready to pounce.

Your only friend is your dog, who you spend your little money on. His big brown eyes are pained with hunger as your money is not enough, even though you work so hard to earn it.

Worry tugs relentlessly at your mind: your life is constantly on the edge and one wrong move could push it off. It seems like your life is only cigarette smoke, the bustle of town, chewing gum and the endless worry of finding somewhere to live and you have made no progress. It is like living in a black hole and you can see no way of escaping it.

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Surya Prakash

Age 11, The Netherhall School

HOMES

Our home is very large and spacious, An ant’s home is quite a small hole that leads into an ant kingdom, A squirrel’s home is in a park, a tree with a hole in it, A snail’s home is a shell which it can just about fit. Spiders homes are webs, they are sticky, Pigs in mud, for us it’s mucky, Dogs and cats in people’s homes that’s so scary, Birds in nests high in the sky, Sometimes we will see them flying by. The buzzing bees live near trees in a hive, The bees will see eagles soaring in the sky, Moles hide underneath the soil, Meanwhile in the desert, camels try not to boil, And those pesky caterpillars eat our beloved plants, And that will touch our hearts. Lions and tigers, scary jungle fighters, And leopards Panthers, And cheetahs too, Everyone has a place to come home to.

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Amelie Bentham Age 11, The Netherhall School

CABBAGE AND SWEETS

When I think of home I think of the grass made of sweet sugar crunching under my feet as I walk, I imagine flowers with luminous different colours of the rainbow made out of … chewy Haribos. The trees are grown with mouth-watering chocolate and a bush of candyfloss on top but my absolute favourite is the chocolate lake. The chocolate lake falls out of a cave high up at the top of Biscuit Mountain. It cascades down a beautiful chocolate fall of delight. Now I’ve only told you half of it, what else is there that you can never get rid of even in your dreams? … Parents! The other side of the island is not as pleasant as what I’ve just described. … No, this side had a forest of cabbage. You had to brush your teeth every morning and evenings, you had to do all the house chores and go to bed at seven o’clock. That’s the time a baby goes to sleep! That’s only half of it! The grass has to be neatly mowed every day and the main meal consists of either cabbage soup, cabbage pie, cabbage bread, cabbage mix (which consists of mouldy cabbage, fresh cabbage and cabbage that had been picked too early) and sometimes, if you were lucky, you might get some spinach. Now the main point I want to get to is … well I think you should stay over the sweet side . . . that’s my advice.

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Lavinia-Marie Harlow Age 11, The Netherhall School

MY FUTURE HOME

My future house will be hip and cool.

In the garden it will boast a hundred-foot swimming pool.

I will have a swinging hammock bed,

Where every night when I go to sleep I’ll rest my head.

My house will be as tall as the Empire State,

Every day I will eat my dinner off my diamond plate.

My house will always be blasting the best new tunes,

While me and my mates are loving life in the spiralling flumes.

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7-11 Age Group Runners-up

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Leila Hariri Age 11, The Netherhall School

AUTUMN MORNING

The river glistens in the moonlight

The birds tweet in the cold autumn night

The florescent crescent moon

Lights up my cosy room

The night sky

Shimmering with stars twinkling up so high

The morning Sun shines bright in the sky

As the birds begin to sigh

The willow swaying in the cool autumn leaves

The white fluffy clouds dancing in the sky

As the birds begin to fly

The dew dripping off the lush green grass

The Sun shimmers on the glass

The flowers are opening

As the frogs tart croaking

The ducks swimming in the lake

As the world begins to wake

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Kieran Sentance Age 11, The Netherhall School

HOME

Two hundred years the house had been in his family’s possession, passed to the oldest child, never needing proper construction until now. The house apparently, had a dangerous possibility of a gas leak, and would have to be reconstructed once the fault had been taken care of. He hoped that all the work that had to be done wouldn’t erase the memories held within the old brick walls.

When the house was first built, Jonathan’s great, great grandmother had decided to buy a plot of land in the quiet Cambridgeshire town, to get away from the noise and heaving crowds of London. After her father, also named Jonathan, had died, she had used her inheritance to have the house constructed from red bricks. The house sat within about an acre of land at the bottom of a narrow cobblestone path. Other than the furniture and some decorations, the house hadn’t changed at all, and Jonathan wished that it could stay that way forever.

Jonathan had lived in house all his life, growing up there with his mother and father, and two younger sisters. Now he and his son Michael lived there alone, ever since Michael's mother had divorced him four years ago.

Every day, Jonathan and Michael would play football in the back garden after school, because Michael's dream was to become a professional footballer. In the master bedroom, where his mother and father had used to sleep, Jonathan had spent many hours watching football on the TV with his own father. His father had suffered a bad back injury, and had not been able to leave his bed for months at a time. The bed had been positioned to face a cabinet that the TV sat on top of. A window behind the bed had looked out over the garden, and Jonathan had often looked out to see his mother gardening while they watched the game.

“I don‘t want the house to change, Dad. It’s perfect the way it is.”

Jonathan looked down at Michael as they stood in the driveway, watching the builders arrive. He felt the same way, but realised that he would have to help his son adjust to the situation.

“It's too dangerous to live there, son. If we don't fix it, we‘re putting both of our lives at risk. I know the house means a lot to you, but this is a good thing

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for us. When we rebuild the house, we can make new memories, and one day your own children will be able to make memories there too. It’s a fresh start for us.”

Michael nodded glumly at what his dad had said. He understood completely, but it would be hard to let go.

"What if we built an extension on the new house, and make ourselves a games room, so when your friends are round there’s space for you guys to hang out on your own. Maybe we can even get table football?”

Michael looked up at his Dad, and smiled. "That sounds excellent, Dad.”

As Jonathan and Michael both looked back towards the house, one of the builders approached them, and said, "I'd like to ask you to leave the premises now. It’s not safe to stand here while we start the demolition."

"Ok, thank you". Jonathan said. “Your mum should be arriving soon anyway, Michael. Let's grab your stuff and walk up the road to meet her. When she arrives l’ll head over to the hotel.”

As they walked away from the house, they heard a massive crash and Michael began to cry.

Over the next few months, Jonathan stayed with family abroad, checking in with the builders regularly, and asking about the project. His parents were also quite upset about the house being torn down, but as time went on he began to realise there was a way to keep part of the old red brick house.

Four months later, on a cold but sunny November morning, Jonathan and Michael drove down to see the new house, that was finally finished and ready for them to move back into.

The new modern design looked very different from outside, and when they walked in through the wooden front door they saw sturdy wooden floors and a huge, well-furnished living room. Michael recognised a few similarities to the old house, but it was not the same and it felt very unfamiliar.

They walked around the ground floor of the house, and into the kitchen. Jonathan looked around and was flabbergasted. He loved the new modern design. There was a lot of counter space and an island in the middle of the room. Jonathan had loved to cook ever since his mum and dad had taught him when he was a child, and he realised he was looking forward to teaching Michael to cook in this kitchen.

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Michael continued looking around, and found his bedroom was nothing like the cramped but cosy old room that his dad had slept in, and his grandad before him. Meanwhile Jonathan found the very spacious dining room which easily housed the old seven-seater oak wood table in the centre of the room. Jonathan went upstairs to find Michael in his room, which made him realise that he had not seen his own room, the room that his descendants would one day sleep in. He found that the old window was still there, and that he could easily move the cabinet to a similar position. Michael remembered his dad had promised him a games room, so he went seek it out. It was awesome. It had Pacman and table football, but Michael could never forget the old house.

Jonathan realised Michael was still feeling down, so he led him outside and told him to close his eyes and showed him the sun-house in the back garden. Michael was underwhelmed and asked his dad what the big deal was. Jonathan smiled and told him that it was made of the red bricks from the old house.

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Matthew Hardy Age 11, The Netherhall School

MY HAUNTED HOUSE!

My house is definitely haunted. We brought it a month ago from a creepy old guy. He said are you sure you want to buy this house for bad things lurk beneath. Then he smiled a toothless grin. My parents said “ok, ok as long as it is cheap". I could tell they wanted to get this strange meeting over and we moved into the house. I soon realised that the house is haunted; and I know this because I hear loud screams in the night coming from down below in the basement. Around three weeks later, I returned home from school to find that the house had burned down! “Mum. I know it looks bad but it wasn’t me who burned the house down!" “Go to your room", she said. Her voice could give monsters nightmares. “My room is a pile of burnt embers “Then sit in the corner” - still using the voice. “Where is the corner?” She was furious, her eyes were blood red and full of rage. ”GO" So I slowly stumbled to my room. As I went in to the house, a deadly gust of wind came through the bare remnants of timber and brick. A loud creaking noise came from behind a wall, a sense of fear came across me! As I slowly crept around the corner, I saw a pile of bricks. Relief spread across me. 'Come closer" a deathly voice hollowed out! It was as if I was hypnotised but I felt urged to remove the debris. As soon as I did that, a trapdoor flung open and a storm of darkness came out of it. There seemed to be dozens of dark figures in cloaks gliding out the trap door at the speed of sound. Two minutes later, a loud emergency siren rang out. The lights of a city in the distance went black. I hopped in my family car and told my dad to follow the things and ‘step on it’. As we raced through the city we crashed around fifty times. The ghost flew overhead. Without thinking, I hopped on the roof of the car. “Get down from there” dad yelled. I jumped and caught the ghost. The only problem was that my fingers went through it. I slowly fell to the ground. The fall seemed to last forever. When I hit the ground, a sudden sense of tranquillity spread around me even though everyone was screaming. Then it hit me, the pain seemed to spread over me. All went black.

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“You must get to the basement and shut the trapdoor” said a strange thing in my head. I saw a car coming so I grabbed onto it. Before I knew it, I was walking through the house like I did before. l looked round the corner, the trap door came into sight. It seemed miles away. When I got to it, I slammed it shut, a massive beacon of light shone from the door. They were gone along with lots of damage across the world - but the were gone, gone from my haunted house!

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Amalija Hripkova Age 11, The Netherhall School

HOME

Once upon a time, there was a boy called JJ. He was one of those ‘expensive’ and ‘braggy’ teens shall I say, that never took it into any consideration of how it would be to live in a house, apartment or on the streets. Yes, he lived in a mansion, (everyone’s dream home). He always bragged about his huge home and always compared it to the white house.

JJ never really like socialising as ‘normal’ people had ‘weirder’ homes to him. Some lived on the streets, some in an apartment, but he never cared about those homes, he only cared about his. Only one person wanted to be his friend. He went by the name of Daniel. They had basically everything about them except from one thing. Their homes. You see Daniel lived in an apartment and every now and then they would give each others homes a nasty glance every time the walked to and from school. One day, they both had an argument which started by JJ, obviously talking about moving mansion, to a double sized mansion!

“Can you please just stop talking about your new house? Who cares where we live? At least you have a house. Wait sorry hard, not a house a mansion.”

“So what? I can talk about it however and whenever I want.”

“You should be grateful to live in ‘the great beyond’ ”.

“I AM!”

“It doesn’t sound like you are . . . Okay, just listen, if you for once just stop judging people by their homes, they would want to be your friend. So please, stop.”

“Whatever. Okay”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He really did keep that promise believe me or not. And even though he lived in a double mansion with millions that most people can’t afford, he finally stopped judging people by where and how they lived. Whether living on the streets, or in an apartment, he stopped caring about where people lived

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but really cared about not losing his friends and learning how it is to live like others.

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Luigi Reyes Age 11, The Netherhall School

UNTITLED

‘A chair is still a chair, even when there is no one sitting there. But a chair is not a house and a house is not a home when there is no one there to hold you tight and no one there you can kiss goodnight.’ A couple of lines from the amazing extraordinary Luther Vandross song. Luther Vandross, who has an amazing voice, got me thinking what really is the definition of a home? A home is a place where you feel comfortable, secure, happy and loved. A home provides you a chance to spend time with other people such as neighbours and the community who will always be there for you. We live in a beautiful-looking and jaw-dropping house which contains an amazing and massive three bedroom, end-terrace house. As you enter the door, you are greeted by the exotic and luxurious aroma of the food cooked by my mum coming from the kitchen. Our living room is covered with our family portraits and our baby pictures. I couldn’t help but reminisce our times with our friends singing at the karaoke and competing - who will get the highest score or laugh because you are out of tune. As you walk down towards the enormous kitchen, I could manage to hear my mum, dad, aunties and uncles laughing and enjoying the company of one another. On the other hand, in our garden you will expose the beautiful flowers such as daisies, tulips, roses, sunflowers etc. In addition, me and my brother pick rows of strawberry from the garden when they are ripe. Our bedroom, which is located upstairs, is a bunk bed and is shared between me and my brother. This is where we still talk in our bedroom with my brother, where we talk about how good the school day was. Unnoticingly, whilst talking we suddenly fall asleep together. My mum and my dad sleep in the master bedroom, which is luxurious and exotic. On the other side, is the middle room - where me and my brother study. Moreover,

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this is where we can play with our toys, books and gadgets. There is also a sofa where mum or dad will play and guide us with our homework. Every place in our home has history of our family. In the living room, is where me and my brother achieved how to walk. In addition, the back garden is where we first played football and basketball. Also, there is a door with markings of the measurement of our height on the day of our birthday. A barbeque grill during summer with friends. Lastly, the stairs where I have constantly gone up and down. I have always asked advice from my dad and he has always given me his words of wisdom. He is always faithful and kind, always there to guide me, he teaches me right things, his counsels help me to understand things. So, as a father, he has an important part in the house. There are many ways my mom helps. For example, she cooks our food. My mother is amazing, loving, strong, intelligent, caring, cheerful, helpful supportive without her there would not be a house as she holds it together. Friends are always there to support you when you’re having a bad time. They are always there to fight for you, respect you. They will include you in what they are doing, encourage you to do right things, they also stand by you and they end your sorrow. My brother, who is my best friend, helps me with a lot of things. I always describe my brother as brave, as he protects me, and helpful, as he helps me when I am down. Lastly, I would describe him as perfect as he helps me with absolute ease and confidence. Family is what makes home a home, family is not just an important thing but it is everything. The love of a family is basically life’s biggest blessing. Also, when we are all together, you can feel the love fill the air. The laughter that occupies the entire house. I am confident, and proud to say, I grew up in a home that I can reminisce the years of my childhood, the reflections of my values and beliefs that my family followed and observed. This truly is a home where the heart should be.

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Friends of Rock Road Library is a group of volunteers who share an

enthusiasm for nurturing Rock Road Library as a vibrant resource at the

heart of our community.

For more details of FRRL activities:

Email: rockroadfriends@yahoo.com

Website: https://friendsofrockroadlibrary.wordpress.com/

Facebook: RockRoadLibraryFriends

Twitter: @RockRoadLibrary

Registered Charity: 1166498