Sunday 4 January 2015

Story of a Ship

I am an English ship and proud. My flag, the Union Jack of course, flew high, visible from miles away. The sails that stuck up out of the planks of wood that constructed my body, were spectacular. Big and bold, flying high. They were never a part of me but we often chatted and I would say they were my friends. They were under my control and I was under that of the human beings that walked over me. I had guessed the weather had some control. I never guessed how much…

I remember the day well. It’s stuck in my mind like a sore thumb. I set sail early - 5am if I remember. I was heading for America. I was excited. This was the furthest I had been before, especially with 20,000 happy cruisers on board. I had been in the navy before they recruited me as a cruise ship. I had probably been replaced by newer models but I didn’t care. At least they could use the fact that I had been a navy ship to sell more tickets to history enthusiasts. I was quite a confident ship; you have to be in the navy. I was carrying a heavy cargo that day so it’s a good job I was confident. 20,000 people. That’s a lot! I miss the soft feeling of human footsteps. 

The weather was alright when we set off, good enough to sail in at least. People were sat up on my back eating lunch when it started to rain. They all scurried inside at the first sign of rain, as people do. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter- that was the best feeling of all. It was a little windy too by that point. I was gently rocking to and fro, but I was still fairly steady. That was alright, I’d sailed in worse.

As the sun went down so did the people. Slowly taking themselves off to their rooms. I was starting to get a little worried by the weather then. Most of the people had resorted to their rooms so as not to get soaked or blown overboard. The waves were around five meters high by this point. Fear welled up inside me like rain filling the rivers and then flooding out in all directions. I just wanted the sailors to take cover, shelter from the harsh conditions. Even a few brave passengers were still admiring the night sky at sea. I miss the beauty of the night sky and the moon shimmering on the waves. I miss the sea from the surface. 

Anyway, back to the story. I was tired and scared. I didn’t get scared very easily but the waves were crashing against my surface as if they were trying to penetrate my hull. The driving rain was pelting me from all directions. 

I was exhausted; more than tired, more than fatigued even. Simply exhausted. Besides, I was getting old. It wasn't my fault - I had been working, doing my bit for the country, for over 40 years and I wasn’t quite as agile as I had been in my navy days. I was not weak. They wouldn’t have used me if I were weak. But the storm was just too much for me.


by Ella Roy

Saturday 13 December 2014

Saxon Sword


This is the story of a sword. A true story and a good story. My story.

Blood-and-death. That was the way to describe it. It was only one way, for if blood comes from someone’s body it effectively means death. There were no doctors in those days and I was the cause of it all; the cause of all the poppies growing and the cause of hell and death.

Cut, slash, bang, clang! The noise was deafening. I hadn’t lost a battle yet, but there is a first time for everything. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t face it. One last effort. Yes! My opponent dead, victory was ours! No time to celebrate, there were more coming. They just kept on coming, on and on. My master was getting exhausted. Suddenly out of nowhere arrows came flying. In every direction, swords were also thrown. They were aimed at my master. I threw myself towards the arrows and, using my skill to move in the air, with the power from Zeus I let all the other weapons have the skill to move by themselves. Unfortunately this meant that my opponents’ swords also could move. Clangs were heard everywhere, as metal met metal. Then there was only deathly silence.

I have grieved for my master ever since that day. The death day I call it. The day on which the Saxons turned on my master. Now I am in a museum, in the Pitt Rivers in Oxford. I live a peaceful life and will not see or meet war again. I will live happily ever after.

THE END

But wait, what is this? What is happening? Is someone coming in the night? Help! A burglar is stealing me! Noooooooo!

10 HOURS LATER

Now I know my true purpose in life: to cut cheese. This really is ‘THE END’.



by Daniel Varney