Cranford Review 2015

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Stephen Kelman Workshop On Friday 19th June <strong>2015</strong>, the English Department organised an author event with Stephen Kelman, author of “Pigeon English” who delivered an inspiring workshop to students at <strong>Cranford</strong>. Firstly, he introduced himself and told the story of how a young boy felt isolated in his new town. Not all students had heard of his novel, but we were all so intrigued by the stark reality of this storyline. We then completed a writing task in groups, thinking about how we would feel in the boy’s shoes and to write from the perspective of someone outside their comfort zone, having moved to a new place. The groups came up with lots of different ideas for a story about moving to a new place, from an alien on a new planet, to a student in a new school. I really enjoyed it because we were able to work on teamwork skills and Stephen was there, helping us think of ideas and making suggestions for our stories. He encouraged us to brainstorm and create new ideas so our stories could be exciting and interesting. He spoke to us at the end to encourage us to read widely, visit the library and write short stories in our own time. I’m really glad I went. Here are two stories written by students who attended the workshop. Ayisha Mahmood (year 7) I swam off into the rubble peacefully residing on the seabed, it was almost frightening. The scale of destruction came overhead. Miniscule pieces created a sandstorm like movement. The movement was not violent, just beautiful. “Wow!” I said to myself. I laid back to float and waited. I did not wait for anything but myself. My relaxation was shortlived as I hit my head on an arched door. I cursed. The door was corroded heavily through time and sea water. I wandered through that very door and found myself in place more beautiful than that meatloaf from earlier. It was the little remains of parliament, it was just a mixture of rooms and halls with no roof, I sighed in disappointment. Looking down, I found an unusually old container; it looked to be a box of importance - yet if I were to open it, anything inside would be destroyed. While investigating I was covered by an ominous shadow, my heart skipped a beat. I dare not look up. At that moment, I hated everything. If I looked up, I felt everything I sought after would have ended. I expected something of goliath proportions. I had repeated those lines. My fate and my soul were up to me. I looked up and I was right. Everything I had wanted in life ended right there, thousands of fathoms below sea level. The shadow was, I whispered “Big Ben” in all its glory. Karan Kumar (year 9) Big Ben 18
Healing ... Today it’s his birthday. A very special day for all of us but no one has said a word about it; I would like it to stay that way. I don’t want the past to perpetuate itself in the present. It has been three whole months since my father’s death and our family is still – healing. More pain grows into our hearts with each passing day. We’re all in the same place, on the same plane, heading towards the same country but we live in different worlds, on different planets, dealing with our own frustrations. My mother has died on the inside. She has built her walls so that no one could climb themand now she’s alive – but her soul isn’t. I’m so much like my mother. I have the same dark, brown eyes, the same short, brown hair, the same nose, hands and face but a completely different attitude. When I look at her I see the pain in her dark brown eyes. However, my eyes don’t show pain, they show enormous hatred for the people who killed my father. The people who have caused so much misery into our lives, but in a way they have managed to open new doors for me and my mum, and my sister. We’re heading to London today. Looking around the plane, I spot my sister talking to her teddy bear and I envy her with all my heart. Her brown eyes are gleaming with joy and her long, light brown hair is suffocating the teddy bear’s face. She’s not aware of what is happening in the world because she lives in her own colourful world. Unlike mother who’s in a world of her own too, full of pain and misery, my sister Lana, is in a happy place full of dreams and beautiful things. For her, father is still alive. ‘When is father coming back from work?’ she asks sometimes, when her mind can’t think of anything else to say. How lucky. I close my eyes, lean my head on one of the hundreds of blue, tiny chairs on this massive plane. I hope I can get some sleep before we arrive but it seems impossible as too much excitement mixed with pain is running through my body. This is the first time I am travelling on a plane and I have to say that it’s very fascinating as well as scary. The scariest thing so far was the take off because it felt like the plane was attempting a backward flip and it got stuck in the middle but now everything is fine. In London I’ll finally get a chance to go to school and get the education I need to support my family. I’ll get a home. My home; away from the bombs and the tears, and the wars; away from all the agony. Thanks to my aunt, who has offered to do everything she can to bring us here, all my dreams are now possible, but I still think about Syria. I still think about my friends, my burnt down house and most of all, my dad. Christiana Eftenoiu (year 9) 19
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