The Salopian no. 160 - Summer 2017

14 SCHOOL NEWS
The Drink
Pupil work
This poem, written by Johnnie Dowd (Rb IV), was inspired by the study of the poem
Cold in the Earth by Emily Brontë, from the IGCSE poetry anthology.
In times of thirst I run the tap and cup my hands below it,
The water flowing through will hit my palms before I know it.
Before I move my hands to lips and then begin to drink,
The liquid level in my hands will slowly start to sink.
Water has a striking way of choosing its own route,
It finds the faults within my hands and from them starts to shoot.
From each small pore it trickles through and from the basin runs,
Towards the plughole, cold and harsh, a tunnel with no sun.
Left in my cup is not so much, I sip it up with haste,
I savour now just what I had, let nothing go to waste.
I leave the sink, resume my life, and work and time go on.
That little drink I loved so much will help me carry on.
A drink of water’s not unique – we’ve all had one before,
The drink within this poem though, becomes a metaphor.
The tap is God who serves us all with what we most adore.
The cup is me, my body and the cracks show up each flaw,
The plughole is my later life with stress and work galore,
The water is my childhood: how I wish I could have more!
Culture Clash
By Maja Stockley
This short story, by Maya Stockley (G IV) is taken from Fire Engine: Volume 2, a student-led anthology
produced each year by the Creative Writing Society. Edited by Charlie Johns (I LVI) and Sam Bayliss
(Rt LVI), it is out now, and available free from the Moser Library.
The air was bitterly cold and the wind unyielding as I
stepped out from the warmth and comfort of my school
house and onto the path that lead towards my first lesson
of the new school year. I watched as scattered groups
of students along the path gossiped and chatted with
excitement about their summer holidays as they too made
way to their own lessons. Some were laughing and gesturing
animatedly; some huddled together like penguins seeking
shelter from the icy, biting wind and speaking in different
languages entirely which brought a half smile to my lips
– “penguin chatter for the penguin huddle,” I thought to
myself. People always find a way to migrate to what they are
accustomed to. In this instance it was where language lay in
common. I noticed this a lot.
I stepped hesitantly into my classroom, a little fearful of
what this new school year would bring. A seating plan neatly
written on the whiteboard provided details of my allocated
seat and I sat down as I watched my peers file in. The newer
students seemed quieter and drifted towards the back of
the classroom, which included most of the foreign language
speaking students. When the teacher walked in, a silence
fell over the class and there was a discernible tension in the
room. This particular teacher was not well-liked due to his
strict demeanor and an apparent hatred of children. His
grey, slicked back hair, dark rimmed glasses and permanent
scowl made him intimidating even in appearance. So unless
spoken to the classroom stayed as quiet as the night. The
room remained silent as each student replied with the