Final NWW Children's Competition Winners 2018 (Primary)

NORTH WEST WORDS
PRIMARY FICTION
The House of the Goose’s Nest
The house had a name, but I had to ask Mum what it meant. Nead na Gé. It’s the house of the
goose’s nest, she said, but she noticed I was paying more attention to the sky. When we set off
walking from Burtonport, it looked like it might bucket down at any moment. It was a dry spell on a
freezing February day and the wind off the sea kept nearly knocking us over. I couldn’t see why we
were walking so far away from the car.
My little brother, Johann, would have loved to watch the fishing boats but it was too windy.
We walked past harbour buildings, under the massive white windmill. It was my first time seeing the
windmill up close. We live on the other side of the bay and from there it looks like a toy. It was loud
too, when you’re hurrying along underneath.
My dad is a landscape painter and I could see him looking around when we left the fish
factory behind. Now it was all land and sea and rocks with small boats. The kinds of things he puts in
his pictures.
It felt like we’d been walking a long time, but we really hadn’t. The path got narrower and the
clouds got bigger and darker. I wanted to turn back.
There’s the boathouse, said Mum, pointing to an old grey building. Still there, said Dad. It’s
starting to rain, I said. We all looked up. It’ll hold off, said Dad. Come on, quick.
Soon we found ourselves standing in front of a huge closed gate, taller even than my Dad. We
lived here, said Mum. A long time ago we took a year out of college and ended up here. Mum and
Dad met in art college in Dublin when they were teenagers. I would be a teenager in two years.
Dad was opening the gate. Mum said careful, there might be a dog. Look at the place, said
Dad, pulling the gate wide. No one has been here in ages.
We walked in. We stood in front of a long building with three padlocked doors and boardedup
windows. Mum and Dad were just staring. Johann was looking all around. This is where we lived,
said Mum. I couldn’t believe anyone could live there. It looked more like a shed than a house and
like it might fall down before our eyes. It was grey and dirty and sad. It looked nicer when we were
here, said Mum. It was pink. She was pointing again, this time at little specks of pink on the grey
walls. Don’t go to art college, guys, said Dad, heading off in the direction of a little path.
This was the main house, said Mum. The caretaker lived here with a big black dog called
Barry. We didn’t have a kitchen so we cooked dinner up here. Look, the curtains are still the same.
At least this looked like a house, a very big house, but it was in a bad state. Moss was growing all
over the roof and the paint was worn away. It looked sad too, but happy in comparison to where
Mum and Dad lived.
Although evening was hours away it was getting dark. We should go, I said. Nobody moved so
I just set off back down the path and they followed. That’s when I saw the little grey cat curled up
12