Creative Journal

Ark Kings Academy
Journal of Remembrance
A collection of student work on war
1

Foreword
This collection of work was produced by the students of Ark Kings Academy
for Remembrance Day 2016. Students were asked to reflect on the
topic of ‘war’ and to write or draw their own interpretations.
All of the competition entries were of a very high standard as the quality
of work in this book demonstrates which made the judging of this competition
very difficult.
I am very proud of the students response to this competition and the
creativity, critical thinking, reflection and love for history that they have
demonstrated.
I hope you enjoy reading and viewing their work.
Mr C. McElwaine
Teacher in Charge of History
Ark Kings Academy
2

Contents
1st Prize written work………………………………………………………….Pg. 4
Caitlin Thomas……………………………………………………………Pg. 4
Chloe Suzuki………………………………………………………………Pg. 5
2nd Prize written work………………………………………………………..Pg. 7
Jamie - Ray Chandler…………………………………………………..Pg.7
Neneh Gibbeh Barry……………………………………………………Pg. 9
3rd Prize written work………………………………………………………...Pg. 11
Heather Neath…………………………………………………………..Pg. 11
Abbas Naqvi……………………………………………………………..Pg. 13
1st Prize artwork……………………………………………………………….Pg. 20
Haaris Ebohon……………………………………………………………Pg.20
Harriet Verona……………………………………………………………Pg. 21
2nd prize artwork……………………………………………………………...Pg.22
Paris McLoughlin…………………………………………………………Pg.22
Keeley - Marie Sheward………………………………………………..Pg.23
3rd Prize artwork……………………………………………………………….Pg.24
Charlotte Pullen………………………………………………………….Pg.24
Lois Brooks…………………………………………………………………Pg.25
Experiences of war…………………………………………………………...Pg. 28
3

1st Prize Writing
Caitlin Thomas (KS3) , Keep Calm and Carry On
“Smile old chaps, nothing’s going on here.”
The newspapers broadcast louder than
the cries of limbless men stumbling home.
“The war will have ended by Christmas.”
The posters fluttered like the mothers
waiting for their sons to help take the tree down.
“All women like soldiers, sign up now!”
The radio muttered as the soldiers sat
alone and liverish as they drank their ale.
“There’s a space for you, why not take it?”
Shouted the colonel that once had four boys
by his side which are now in the ground.
“Your country needs you”
Until you are lying fatally broken making
no sound.
4

Chloe Suzuki (KS4), The Posh Lad
Prior
I was a lucky person to be born into a life where I had a sturdy roof over my
head and where food was always on the table. My parents were wealthy,
had a good reputation and were widely popular amongst their ‘group of
people’. When I was younger they were both extremely busy individuals, but
still made time for their only child – me.
That is a slight backstory of me. However, I have my own small family now: a
beautiful wife called Lillian, and two wonderful children – my eldest, Walter,
and my youngest, Claude. The reason I introduce my family now is that I will
be going to war for the first time, and I fear that I will not return.
Present
Autumn
I am walking through the trenches, which will be my home for the next few
weeks or months. As I do, my heavy leather boots sink into the sloppy, dark,
damp mud on the ground, where I struggle to pull my foot out. When I do, I
topple over and graze my elbow. Men laugh with a cackly tone. I lift myself
up and brush the mess off my uniform, trying to ignore the fact that they are
saying I am a “goopy posh lad.”
Winter
It’s night time, where the air is more bitter and cold than it is in the morning.
Flakes of snow fall to the ground softly. I try concentrating on them drifting
below, but it does not help me take my mind off the dropping temperatures
or the curse words people throw at each other across the trenches. Frostbite
nibbles at my fingers, making them shake, tips turning to a sickened purple. I
will go to sleep so that I can have enough energy to work tomorrow. This is
only the start. I’m doubting whether I will stand a chance alongside these
strong, courageous men. I am not the man I thought I was going to be. I’m
just off the boat…
Spring
I have received a parcel off Lillian that is as big as my palm, thicker than an
inch. With my heart beating fast and my emotions rising, I rip open the
brown paper wrapping and bite off the ribbon. Inside, there is a tin full of
sweet delicacies: hard, glazed glass candies which smell as sweet as her signature
perfume. Berry, lavender, pear, peach, fill my senses. Oh, how it
brings an ocean of tears at the back of my eyes. to live.
5

I remember last Christmas when she wore a silky black gown with ice bejewelled
on the shoulder straps, her onyx hair in an updo matching perfectly
with her lavish garment. I miss her laugh that fills up the room without being
too loud, and the softness of her hand in mine. I remember that, before I
left, my boys reached out to me and hugged me, where I felt their warmth
in the centre of my chest. I shall make a promise to return. For them.
Summer
The war has started, and already I spot an old friend amongst my crowd. His
face is stern and focused like the other men, his jade green eyes locked on
the men in front of him. I get ready and quietly load the bullets into my
heavy rifle, about to head into a future, raging bloodbath, and save my
country.
I hear men shouting to each other to watch out for grenades, to load their
weapons, or, from the top of their lungs in a hoarse voice, “help!” I duck
and try to dodge the bullets which are firing at me, staying cautious of
where to step because of the enlarged, carved-out openings in the ground.
As I get to the screaming man, I look down. I see his leg, shot straight
through the bone, flesh severed, showing his muscles which look stringy and
deformed. Chunky crimson blood oozes from his wound every time he
breathes in. His throat sounds dry and weak too. He is panicking, tears
streaming down from his eyes and teeth gritted together firmly from excruciating
pain. I shout for a medic who is nearby, and he runs over. I help to
bandage the wound to stop blood from his escaping his body. He asks if he
is going to live. I say “yes” to reassure him, so that he isn’t more distressed
than he already is. The terrible feeling washes over me after his pulse stops.
The colour drains from his cheeks in moments, and I suddenly feel sick. I
have been shot.
I stumble to the grass, where my head slams off the ground. My helmet feels
like it is digging through my neck, but I can’t concentrate on that. My heartbeat
is slowing down, a shrill high-pitched noise rings in my ear. I taste a
coppery liquid froth up from my throat, which I believe is my blood when I
raise my limp arm to touch it. I see a moving body hovering above me – telling
me muffled words which I can’t decrypt. The suffering is starting to
come, as I feel a strangling strain in my lungs. I am trying hard to keep my
eyes open, but –
Epilogue
There you see a soldier’s life flash in plain sight, Where he lived and he
fought, But he had passed to heaven to see the light. His family will miss him
greatly indeed, Where he gave them love and gave them laughter Now his
soul wanders peacefully in the fields of poppies and their seeds.
6

2nd Prize Writing
Jamie-Ray Chandler (KS3) , We March On
For thousand of years we marched across distant and foreign lands. We
marched into battles for Emperors who used us as pawns in their everlasting
game of chess. But we marched against even those who merely thought
differently, massacring them and those they associated with
Yet those who controlled use evolved a few hundred years later, we
marched for reasons other than whims of some tyrannical king. We
marched to bring civilization to lowly savages. But alas, we did not evolve as
much as one would like, only causing evil to spread. We marched with
death, destruction, discrimination and degradation, spreading the unrightful
lands of the many empires of Europe. Those we marched by, were
mutilated or enslaved, the never ceasing violence against the defenceless
natives only came to a standstill when the masters revolted against each
other.
Yet again we would march, but this march was different. As we marched
along the once beautiful fields of Flanders, we witnessed an unimaginable
horror never seen before. Those you marched along with would breathe
their last breath with the corrosive vapours of chlorine, their lungs dissolved
into a satanic fluid. We marched into a no man’s land only to be cut down.
Again and again and again we marched, for four maddening years until it
ended.
Our march, we believed also to have ended, until one like us, a marcher,
grew to prominence, expressing the belief that we had been betrayed! Betrayed
by rats and the filth of society! So yet again the entire world was our
target. But our belief of embarrassment through our past defeat caused by
a fictional betrayal only betrayed us. The ones referred to as filth were only
seen as so, as we were blinded and as a result, 6 million of those entitled
filthy were exterminated unjustly. It was us who were now the filth because
we were mislead by the true rats to cause the demise of 10’s of millions in a
second great march.
7

But still we march, not as before, as it is under the banner of complete
annihilation, as to march wrongly will cause the marching of weapons great
enough to dwarf all of our actions combined over our entire history by splitting
the littlest of particles.
We who march, we are the common man, slaves of combat, the soldier.
Called so as we are seen as being strong and courageous and the role
models of society. But we are tired and depressed, all we want is to stop
marching. But we have too much to lose, we fear for those we love and
hold dear, that they will be met with a foreign threat and wiped out. We
march even if it is not ideal to die in some far away soil never to see our
loved ones again. We march on so those we march for do not have to
themselves even if they do not want us to go. We march on...for them.
8

Neneh Gibbeh Barry (KS4), My Mom Was a War Witch
I was born at a time of dejection, hatred and pain. A time of war. Nevertheless,
she still calls me a lucky child. My mother. Sometimes I understand her,
but sometimes I don’t. She hardly ever speaks about my father. All I know is
that she met him when they were both child rebels, in Uganda. It’s not that
she chose to be one; she was forced to after killing my grandparents. To be
honest with you, for me, I’d rather be killed than to kill my parents. But I can’t
judge, because I’ve never been in that kind of situation.
It has been thirteen years now, and rebels still exist. I always asked my Mother
how she escaped that rebel camp. To be honest, I don’t even know that
my father is dead or alive, or if he still is a rebel.
I am very shocked with the fact that she prepared the seats for me, to have
a serious talk. It seemed that I have reached the age to be told the whole,
tragic, story.
She first sits down faintly, and looks at me rather pitifully, and sighs. It feels
like she is going to say something even more horrible than I am expecting.
“Your father wants to speak to you” she says, and stops, like she is waiting for
me to say that I believe her.
“Have you been well?” She says. “This is your father speaking” she adds.
I had already been confused, from the beginning, and now cannot follow,
for my mind is already blown.
“My mother’s gone crazy” I think.
“Amaka… Amaka…” My mother calls to me. “Are you listening? Your father
is trying to sp-.“
Just as she is about to finish her sentence, I get up drastically with a very
loud, screeching chair. I look at my mother in despair.
“Mother, I think that the porridge I started cooking is burning,” I say, with
tears nearly running down my cheeks. “I’ll go and check it now.”
I try rushing out of the room, but my mother calls out to me again. I slowly
turn around after wiping the tears from my face.
“Yes, mother?” I answer, trying, very hard, to sound comfortable.
“Come back and sit down.” She doesn’t seem to be cross, but her face tells
me she does not feel good, either.
9

My mother drags another chair next to us. “Sit here, and we’ll talk.” She
speaks to thin air as she talks.
“Mother, are you.. perhaps.. speaking to Daddy?” I ask hesitantly.
She nods her head, faintly thinking that I understand.
“Your father died while trying to save me, and you.” She speaks as if she is
about to lose her voice. “It was a time when the White Tigers were fighting
with the Bulldogs. They were the names of the rebel groups,” she continues.
“We planned to escape that night because we did not want the group
leader to know that I was pregnant. We would have all died if he had
known. He knew anyway. He hunted assassins to hunt us down. Your father
was shot during that assassination, and I fled to a faraway town by a canoe
alone.” My mother finishes talking, and my eyes and face are filled with
tears already.
“So, are you saying that you are seeing my dead father right now?” I ask.
“Yes. I started seeing dead people when the rebel leader asked me to drink
the spiritual dew from the Amani tree,” she says.
“So, this is what war is,” I say to myself.
War has caused me to lose my father, caused my mother to be a runaway
rebel, and led her to become delusional. This will cause me to feel sorry for
her for my whole life.
10

3rd Prize Writing
Heather Neath (KS3), Consequences of War
Smoke fills the polluted air as I walk across this godforsaken place I used to
call home. The year being 1939 during WWII and the time, day and month
unknown. My uniform covered in dirt, blood of others and other things that
smell disgusting. The air having smoke in it with a hit of decaying and rotting
bodies.
This was the New England.
As I walked across the dirtied and bloodied battleground I could hear the
sound of bombs, people screaming, crying and begging for mercy but all I
heard after than was the bang of the guns. It was an apocalypse out here.
Being distracted by thoughts of when will this all end, I didn’t hear the shouts
of my fellow soldiers to move and duck, but all I heard was the bang of that
dreaded, heavy metal machinery. I was shot.
I had felt a searing pain in my chest as the bullet pierced my body, blood
poured out of me like a fountain of blood. I could hardly hear my fellow soldiers
as I unwillingly fell to my knees, then my back. My vision was slowly becoming
black as all I heard were muffled sounds. I started to feel cold,
numb and tired. I was fighting myself not to close my eyes but the urge was
getting stronger.
Then I realised something, the bombs, the lives taken, homes destroyed and
the terror all represent one thing. A consequence of the war. Suddenly, the
urge to close my eyes took over and all I saw was darkness. All of my past
memories, of me, my friends and family came rushing towards me.
And that leads us up to here. The white light that I see, forcing me to go to it
and I unwilling more to it but there is an upside, I can finally escape from the
grasp and consequences of war.
11

Goodbye England.
I hope you recover.
Time skip: 2016
On one long gravestone it says:
“Here lies one of the great soldiers of WWII who passed away from a fatal
shot by the opposite side, she will be missed dearly by others around her”.
That same gravestone is where I was buried many years ago. My dead sprit
grows old and lingers like the consequences of war. The people still in wars,
fighting for freedom then the cycle will start all over again. No matter what
the consequences.
12

Abbas Naqvi (KS4), Remember Those
13

Highly Commended
Dana Burdan (KS3) , WWII
“John! I think we’re losing him!” A concerned man practically dressed in
crimson red had shouted out. He was tending to another man’s wounds, it
seems as if he had been shot. He coughed up blood, using the last of his
strength to rasp out “leave…before the…G-g-ermans arrive…”. The man
was horrified, he wasn’t going to leave him. “I’m not going to lose you,
dammit!” Tears that had been forming in the back of the man’s eyes had
finally began to fall. “T-tell mother…that I l-love her…” Another cough of
blood, his skin was a pale ghostly white, although you could barely tell within
the gloomy atmosphere.
The man had clenched his teeth and fists, trying to stop himself from
screaming out. But no, it wasn’t enough. He had cried out to his partner
again. “John! Help me! My brother his d-…” He had turned to his partner.
Paralysed. His body was as stiff as a board.
“J-John?” It didn’t seem he was going to get a response anytime soon. So
was surprised to hear John’s crooked voice, almost whispering out. “They’re
here…”Silence. The guns had stopped firing, darkness had consumed the
area. The bomb had detonated. Everything was gone …
“‘The world will end one day’. That’s what my father would tell me. I believed
him of course. I just didn’t expect it so soon … Our voices have been
abridged, taken away. The only sounds left are gun shots and the melancholy
of the world. The suffering. That’s all that’s left now…” Said a man, low
in spirits. “Ohh come on John. You sound so mundane, lighten up and share
a meal with the rest of the lads.” A voice had followed.
14

The rest of the squadron had been sitting in a damaged building, barely
standing due to sleep deprivation, they were eating their rations. They
needed all the nutrients they could get to survive. Keeping this fact in mind,
John had joined the rest, sticking next to two men in particular. Davie and
Gerald. They were similar in their ways, but had subtle differences. Them
being brothers, called out a lot of sibling rivalry, but they knew they would
always have each other’s backs.
As John sat next to them, Davie had spoken. “They say Germans are heading
this way. With gases and bombs of all sorts.” Davie was the younger
brother, and often more curious, sometimes even a bit gullible. His brother
had doubtedly returned with “ohh stop being so apprehensive. There’s no
way the Germans could get her so quickly”. Not listening to his brother’s
warnings, he went on with the rest of his day, patrolling the area. Several
hours had passed. The first gunshot was heard, followed by 100 others.
They weren’t expecting it, they didn’t listen. Throughout the gunshots, a
familiar phrase could be heard.
“John! I think we’re losing him!”
15

Olivia Agbe (KS3), The Truth Beyond War
16

Katriana (KS3), Gone but Never Forgotten
17

Faridah Binuyo (KS4), War
18

Keeley Marie Sheward, Untitled
“We stood there. In heavy rain. Flooded trenches. Clothing soaked in an unnatural
darkness of a late afternoon. Rain beating down upon the helmets,
the sky dancing around with vibrant colours of hot silver, shaking the misfit of
deadly lightning trespassing across the land of God. Glorious, twirling, icy
breezes ripple between the gas mask buckles. Unpathed paths awash with
mud emerge endlessly through the sunken city of bodies. Sinking layers of
deep, burgundy soil colours streams and rivers are swollen from the steel toe
capped boots to the horizon and beyond.
And there, in sync, we marched.”
Cameras pan across the room, the veteran readjusts his uniform while the
flustered young interviewer scribbles in the corner, clicking the pen a few
times.
“Mr Tyler… I am going to ask a personal question, if I may?” Leaning backwards,
the interview disconnects all eye contact.
“Go ahead, the young people need to know!” He smiles, a raspy chuckle
escapes his thin lips.
“Do you remember the first man you killed? Did you even know them?”
Mr Tyler’s spirit dies, hands placed neatly on his lap. Tea brewed as a pleasantry
action becomes the focus for them.
“I do. I remember. I didn’t know them, but I remember their face. We were
fighting the Germans, as you would have guessed. The Germans had released
a new tactic in order to defeat us… We were trying to prevent the
Nazi’s exposure to more land. So when we were attacked, despite being
only 18 at the time, I was told to hold, point, shoot and kill the enemy. Then,
when having the threat come into my view, I followed exactly what I was
taught. To spill blood. He was German, yes, but as I stripped him of life, I
questioned about whether he had a family, friends, the usual, but I close my
eyes and see his own orbs. The man’s eyes seemed to gleam with a baleful
fire, but his dark face remained as unchangeable as marble, secrets threading
a woeful story. It was difficult to describe his features, no tapering cheekbones,
just a judicial eye and a critical nature. I won’t forget his eyes. I won’t
forget him. Now, lest you forget.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr Tyler.”
“You’re very welcome…”
19

1st Prize Artwork
Haaris Ebohon (KS3), Remembrance Day
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Harriet Verona (KS4), Lest We Forget
21

2nd Prize Artwork
Paris Mcloughlin (KS3), War
22

Keeley Marie Sheward (KS4), Untitled
“I feel as if, in this day and age, we are so focused on technology and wanting the
best materials we stray away from the more important issues in the world. Wars.
Poverty. Famine.”
23

3rd Prize Artwork
Charlotte Pullen (KS3), Untitled
24

Lois Brooks (KS4), Never Forget
25

Highly Commended
Naomi Jeffery (KS3), Untitled
26

Neneh Gibbeh Barry (KS4), A View of War
27

Andrew’s Experience
Age: 15
Location: Central African Republic
“I used to have a good life. But since the
war started, things have changed”. Andrew
pauses as he remembers happier times. His life is very different now.
“I’ve seen people beheaded. I’ve seen people have their hands and noses
cut off. I’ve seen their bodies cut into pieces. My parents were killed. Some
other family and friends too. There are lots of things that I miss. I miss school
and my school friends but I can’t go anymore. Its not safe to go.”
How has Andrew’s life changed because of war?
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What effect do you think this has had on Andrew?
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Andrew says that he misses the very simple things that he used to enjoy.
What everyday things would you miss the most in a conflict situation?
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28

Dima’s Experience
Age: 10
Location: Syria
“We were inside the car waiting for my
Dad when the rocket fell. I went out with
my mother to look for him. There was a
lot of dust, I couldn’t breathe. My Mum
was screaming… people were crying
and there was lots of blood.”
10 year old Dima and her family were in a line of cars waiting to escape the
violence in Syria. A month earlier their home had been destroyed by
another rocket. Her Dad had got out to see what the hold up in the line
was. Now he lay dead.
“I recognised him from his boots. His face was covered in blood. My Mum
was shaking him. I didn’t know what to do, I only felt my heart was beating
faster than ever.”
How has Dima’s life changed because of war?
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What impact do you think war has had on Dima’s future?
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War in Syria started in 2011. What do you think are some of the long term
effects of war on a country?
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29

Charles’s Experience
Age: 16
Location: Uganda
No one knows how long the landmine had been there...
But there it was waiting silently for its victim. He wasn't a
soldier or a fighter, he was a schoolboy called Charles.
He became a statistic — one of the ten thousand or so
children killed or injured worldwide by landmines every
year.
Charles had already lost both his parents. The landmine
blew off his leg, and threatened to cripple his entire
future.
His uncle already had his hands full with his own children. He worked hard to
put food on the table and couldn't afford to take Charles to school.
And so aged 14, Charles was stuck at home, unhappy and uneducated. A
burden to those around him. Until a charity helped him get to school.
What happened to Charles?
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What impact do you think war has had on Charles’s mental health?
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Landmines are hard to see and very difficult to remove from the ground.
Why do you think so many children are harmed by them each year?
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30

Anne’s Experience
Age: 15
Location: Democratic Republic of the Congo
“One day I was out collecting water with my aunty.
We met a group of soldiers and one of them told me
to go with him. I was afraid he was going to kill me.
He violently attacked me and then he gave me back
my water can and ordered me to collect water for him.
After that I really suffered. My body was very badly damaged. I had to stop
going to school because the other children laughed at me and I couldn’t
concentrate in class. Sometimes I would shake so much, I had terrible nightmares.
Whenever I saw a soldier or a man I would remember what
happened and I couldn’t look at them – I was so scared.
What happened to Anne?
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How did this attack from a soldier impact on Anne?
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After the events of war children are often left with fear for a long time. What
impact do you think this would have on their lives as adults?
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31

Malala Yousafzai’s Experience
Age: 19
Location: Pakistan
In 2009 when she was 11, Yousafzai wrote a blog
telling the world about her life under the rule of
the Taliban occupation and the attempts to
take away education from young girls.
As a result of this, the Taliban agreed to kill her
and as she boarded her school bus a gunman
shot Yousafzai three times. She was transferred
from Pakistan to a hospital in Birmingham for life
saving treatment.
After making a full recovery, Yousafzia started a worldwide campaign to
make sure that everyone has the right to education particularly girls. She has
won many awards for her work including a Nobel Prize.
Why was Yousafzia targeted by the Taliban?
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President Obama has called Yousafzia an inspiration. Why is her story so
inspirational?
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During conflicts schools often become the front line of war. Why do you
think this might be?
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32

_______________________ Experience
Age: ____
Location: _________________________
What have you learned today about the impact of war on children across
the world?
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What do you think the biggest consequence of war is on people?
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What has been the experience that struck you most? Why was this the
case?
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Why do you think it is important to remember the consequences of war and
the stories of people who have suffered as a result of war?
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33

Ark Kings Academy
Journal of Remembrance
Contributors:
Haaris Ebohon
Chloe Suzuki
Paris Mcloughlin
Neneh Gibbeh Barry
Charlotte Pullen
Abbas Naqvi
Caitlin Thomas
Harriet Verona
Jamie-Ray Chandler Lois Brooks
Heather Neath
Keeley Marie Sheward
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