2011 School Magazine

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Yoss by Odo Hitsch tells the dramatic, haunting tale of on innocent village boys encounter with the corrupt life of a mediaeval town. Year 10 students were Qsked to write their own episodes using the characters and world of the book.

He looked so sad that I considered letting the subject drop, but I needed all the information he could give me. Apprehensive Iy I dragged him back up from his past "What did you see of the town? What did it look like?" I asked "It was very busy, very loud and very crowded. The smells and the filth of the town are as opposite to our little village as you can get. I only saw a little bit though my dear. Why so curious all of a sudden?" I dropped my head, letting my dark hair cover my face. " No reason. " Grandpapa lifted my chin with one hand and his eyes sparkled as they looked down into mine. He could tell what I was planning, I was sure "Grandpapa?" I began tentatively "15 that why you built the Wall?" "in a way. The Wall was built to keep the evil out and the good inside. Alas I forgot Curiosity, an unsympathetic foe. A foe which it seems 15 eager for history to repeat Itself. " None of this made any sense to me and I wondered If perhaps Curiosity was the name of someone from the town "Goodnight, Gala. " Grandpapa smiled at me and slipped away to the jarrow Oak where the villagers were waiting. I glanced down at Bran and our parents, then back up at the full moon and the Wall on which it shone its silvery light I retrieved Bran's pack of food - which he had given to me after he discovered my plan - and followed my little path which wove its way through the trees to the base of the Wall. it stretched up above me as high as three men standing on each other's shoulders, seeming to brush the sky. Jasmine clung to the stones of the Wall and laced the air with their rich, calming scent. The stone blocks at the foot of my path had been pierced by tree roots and grown loose and I quickly and easily slid them from their place. Wriggling through the small hole, I replaced the stones and without a backward glance, stole down the dewy hill towards the lake and beyond

Light from the setting sun caught my eye and briefly dragged my attention from the people gathered beside the Jarrow Oak Grandpapa stood talking to our neighbours while my twin brother Bran leant against the trunk of the magnificent tree The sun slipped behind the Wall as I made my way down the hill towards the party gathered below, the tiny glass bells sewn into the hem of my dress tinkling in the wind " Gala sweetheart I " Grandpapa had left the jarrow Oak and was moving quickly towards me. Eagerly I stretched up on my toes to embrace him "Tell me one of your stories Grandpapa! " I begged He smiled down at me amused. "Which one, Sweet?" "Please tell me the one of when you left the village. " I held my breath for this was a forbidden subject Grandpapa's eyes hardened. "That is not a story for the innocent Gala. " I bit my lip, "Please?" Grandpapa paused, watching me carefully for a moment. "Very well. it started with two men; one very bright and very cruel, the other very vain. I met them on my journey to the town when I was just Bran's age. " He looked grim "What did they look like?" I asked, trying to picture the unpleasant Grandpapa frowned, lost in memory "Conrad - the cruel one - much resembled a pig, red and splotchy skin stretched across a liberal stomach, hands as fat as hams. The selfish one Gaspar was enthralled by raiment. He wore funereal black velvet and had a long thin face. " My mind quickly conjured up these loathsome men "I was quick to believe the lies that fell easily from Conrad's silver tongue and invariably became a puppet in their quest for treasure They coerced me into robbing a merchant and tried to teach me skills they used to trick desperate men from their gold. " men

Winner of the Mary Alexis MacMillan Prize for Years 9 grid lo, awQrded to the best individual poem.

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An empty house without a home, Windows to look in but no one to look out, Old books for none to read, The life is gone, the memory lives alone The dusted kitchen never to be used, Ageless photos as old as time, Empty shoes for no one to walk, An empty longing too long refused

A new owner comes along, And takes away the house I own,

The empty mirror with no reflection, A cold couch of faded leather, Rusted taps and mouldy pipes, The f resh made bed that will not be slept In A shadow of a house among happy homes, Lonely and empty, Torn wallpaper and faded paint, The memory of this house dies alone

Removing the Items of a lost loved one, And no longer does this house I belong The hope and love this house now arouses, Far better than before The no longer creaking floorboards, This home now shines among the houses