020 7267 0975
  • Home
  • 24 Haverstock Hill
  • Chalk Farm
  • London
  • NW3 2BQ

News

Every Year 7 student can write a great story!

Twenty-five of our Year 7 students are proving that every child can write great stories, in an imaginative extra-curricular project, 'Words Awry, Stories Told'.

Each week, the students meet in the Library, where they look for inspiration in their English curriculum books. Working individually, each child finds characters, themes and words that interest them. They discuss these as a group. And finally the children work together to weave their ideas into one brilliant shared story.

In the words of Mohammad: 'Our story Trapped is excellent! I imagined I had Bear on the Chair on my lap, and it helped me relax and get writing.' And Emine agrees, 'We all enjoyed the work. I was able to really let my imagination rip!'

We're delighted this scheme has been recognised by the John Lyons Fund for innovative school projects. 

Image: Year 7's Reilly creates his story characters. 

TRAPPED

Monday Morning. Abdi Trapa Father of Nine stood in the lift at the Sony Headquarter Offices. He was feeling depressed: yet another babysitter had left because his children were so naughty. All of a sudden he blacked out. He came to, as the elevator ground to a rapid halt.

Silence.

The lights began to flicker overhead. Abdi’s ears began to pick up a low moaning sound, like a constipated baby: Errughmmm. Slowly the lift descended. The floor indicator lights flashed:

40th Floor
39th Floor
38th Floor

A metal–sounding noise startled him, like an anvil dropping to the ground. Ching Ching. Ching. Abruptly the lift gathered speed, like a Ferrarri on a racing track. Abdi hit his head against the lift wall with the thought: 'I’m going to die...'

Shaking and crying, a high pitched whistling sound hit his ears, like an explosion in a child’s cartoon. PEYOWW PPHHEW!! Abdi Trapa Father of Nine toppled over.

Silence.

The thought 'What will my wife do now? What will my wife do now?' was like a strangling anaconda. A wave of devastation hit him for the umpteenth time since his wife Shakana had died five months ago in a car crash.

Sunday had almost been a normal day. Abdi had taken seven of his children to the Park. Markie aged two, the youngest, and Lyra aged 12, the oldest, had colds so he left them with Maltilda the baby sitter.

A homework book floated before him: 

‘On Sunday I went to the Park with Dad and my brothers and sisters. We played football and everyone laughed and laughed and then it rained so we decided to go home and play Monopoly. When we got back, Dad opened the door and Roger came downstairs screaming – he had a toilet seat on his head! My Dad tried to pull it off but Roger just screamed even louder. Dad then put butter on the toilet seat and it came off. Afterwards Dad put his coat away and discovered Lyra and Maltilda had put Mum’s coats in plastic bags outside for Oxfam. Dad went mad! When he had finished, I gave him the Monopoly set so we could play, but he threw it out of the house too.'

Abdi Trapa Father of Nine didn’t want to remember...

Something moved in the corner of the lift. It was a little green goblin. Yet he had seen those eyes before, they were his son Roger’s eyes.

Abdi felt a wave of guilt.

Slowly the little green goblin lifted his arm and a part of the wall cracked open. Abdi gradually moved towards it. Ahead of him was a seemingly endless black tunnel. He crawled through the tiny gap like a mole. Rats scurried past him and he heard the distant sounds of people outside. A cockroach ran over him he felt sick. A faint light appeared. His head turned to the walls beside him showing images of his children all lined up, smiling and waving and running in beautiful grassy, green meadows.

'Hi Daddy. Hi Daddy.'

Turning away he felt tears flow, his wife Shakana appeared at the end of the tunnel. She looked like a beautiful Princess. He crawled towards her but she kept moving back. So near but so far.

'My wife, she is my life. My wife, she is my life,' he muttered.

The little green goblin with the eyes of Roger appeared: 'No Dad. She is a ghost.'

Rage flowed through him and a huge black oval mist descended and attacked him. It was as if a bomb had detonated in his head. Silence. Then golden lights flashed through the darkness.

Abdi Trapta Father of Nine was in a lift in the Sony Building. His hand went to press the button and stopped. A decision had been made.

The End.

Words Awry, Stories Told