As part of Year 10 and Year 11s Citizenship in Action Project students were required to research an issue that affected our community. The students decided that Poverty in the UK and the use of foodbanks was a very current problem that could affect any one of us.
With the support of their teacher, Kerry Davies, they organised for staff, students and parents to donate items that would then be donated to our local foodbank at Holy Trinity Church. The generosity of everyone who donated was incredible! One of our parents organised for her customers to donate items to her workplace resulting in three huge shopping bags of donations being brought in!
On the Friday we finished for half term our students invited in a representative from Holy Trinity Church to receive our donations who was speechless at the amount of goods our school had collected. She was also extremely grateful on behalf of the whole community for our support.
Well done to everyone who helped make this project a success!
Hear the sirens blaring,
My eardrums tearing,
Fighter jets are daring,
Bombs begin flaring,
Soldiers have their name because they've sold their lives,
You see the swarm of enemies attacking like hives.
Hiding in their shelters, the whole world spirals like a Helter-Skelter,
Everyone has independence, but yet people send missiles for them,
Why would you travel the miles just to war with them?
Just let communities be happy and free,
Tanks, guns explosives going on a killing spree.
Blood, sweat, tears, crying on the corpses of their peers,
They see straight into the plans they must be seers,
Is this really worth the millions of lives?
Men going to war can never return to their wives,
Moms losing their sons, kids losing their dads,
Because of shooting back and forth at a different group of lads.
Money disappearing, hyperinflation,
People staying in underground stations,
All over the battlefields, death after death,
Breathing heavy like dogs, panting, breath after breath,
They'll fight till they're dead, souls in the floor,
One argument means years and years of war.
The Senses of War by Bailey White
English Language: Focus on article writing
EW Year 11 8th February 2022
In many way, people that lack concentration aren't naughty people. Alot of people lack concentration for many reasons and everyones reasons are different. My main problem is staying focused.
Being able to stay focused would help me in alot of ways: getting better grades, stop me from getting in trouble and getting rewarded for my good work.
To be able to stay in a lesson without getting distracted would be wonderful. My worse problem is people,
All these make me loose my focus, I can't think when people are loud. I end up talking with everyone else. All of it is DISTRACTIONS!!!!
I had to move from mainstream education. There was a large number of pupils in a class. There are loads of negative feelings with me being in a mainstream. A couple are people walking in and out the class like animals. Shouting and talking none stop and people just distracting you with constant prowling around the room. All of these lead me up to losing concentration and getting in trouble.
I'm not angry with the teachers.....people may think why? However, the teachers helped me get away and find me a better place, and that place is Impact.
The Suspect Was Gone
I was framed for murder. I didn’t do it. I’ve been sentenced to life in prison. I’m going to die on death row. I am innocent. I’m so scared. I have two weeks left before I die. If I want to live it’s up to me break out of prison. Am I going to do it in time?
Fear runs through me as I emerge from the tunnel the smell of freedom surrounds me. Will I ever be a free man? I am now a fugitive of the law. How did I escape? That will have to remain a mystery.
LL Age 14
DESCRIPTIVE WRITING YEAR 11
STUDENTS WERE GIVEN THIS IMAGE TO BASE A DESCRIPTIVE PIECE OF WRITING ON AND THESE WERE THE RESULTS:
I didn’t always look nor live this. My life used to contain so much worth and responsibility before I lost it all. My eyes used to radiate joy but now show a glimmer of sadness.
The lines and grooves on my dry, desiccated skin show how far I have let myself go; the strain of everyday life.
My withered limbs bruised and scarred. My nails grow twisted with time; hair the shape of an overgrown hedge.
Life would never be the same.
Every line on my face tells my traumatic story that I do not often share of losing my beloved life. My joy came from my wife and daughter. They were my own slice of true success. My wife’s hair would glisten like opals in the sunlight, it would always make my day. One day life changed and not for the better.
Sitting in the cold now I am just another street rat to people now. As the world continues to turn I realise it will turn with or without me.
These old, tired eyes have witnessed many things. I have seen good friends of mine die in battle. Constant gun fire and being around the smell of smoke and death. These old tired eyes carry the guilt for those I could not save.
These deep, ingrained lines have endured many things. The painful screams of the innocent constantly penetrate my mind. My heart grows cold with the pull of the trigger. I had no choice; it was me or them. These deep, ingrained lines carry the memories of the innocent victims of war.
These thin, dry lips have been silenced from saying the things I have wanted to say. Should I have spoken out more? Orders are orders! As the years have passed I am still unable to tell my story. These thin, dry lips carry unspoken words of tragedy.
The lifeless, colourless, aching eyes stare through to my soul. It feels like he sees what I’m thinking. Face wrinkled like his life; full of suffering and sorrow. Hands held out begging for money but people just walk past him like he’s invisible, like he’s not even human. Society has failed and abandoned him.
His eyes held a multitude of memories; memories of affliction and agony of a time that stole his humanity, the day his life changed.
That day will forever be engraved into his mind. The smoke; the heat; the screams. The memory of that day obscured by the bitter taste of alcohol.
The guilt and grief consume him. It’s almost as if he’s stuck in a mental prison with that dreadful memory on replay. That was his past life; he has to continue on.
Abandoned. Ancient. Aching. The light in my eyes that burnt so brightly are now dim. The night has stolen my soul. Begging to be noticed for help, humanity strolls past ignoring my plea. Alone, neglected, I found it hard to smile.
My life was not always like this. Her hand squeezing mine, lovingly, standing proud. I wave her in to school, my wedding ring gleaming in the morning sun.
Distant memories haunt me, I am no longer the man I used to be. My eyes show the sorrow of my past and the pain in my heart. The memories of her are all I have. I over think the photographs in my mind and reminisce.
I often wonder how her life is going. Will I ever know? I carry these questions around with me along with my own despair. Alcohol brings relief if only for a short while. The cycle never ends.
Racism just means you're scared,
You're just a victim of brain wash around the world.
No-one should be scared or afraid,
The right choices need to be made.
The laws on racism need to change
Just because of your skin, you shouldn't feel strange
Or afraid to leave the house, or not fit in,
True beauty is found within,
Not because of the colour of your skin.
We need to unite and stand together,
And make the world a better place forever.
No matter what you may say,
We will all have to unite and stick together for the rest of our days.
PW Year 9