Young Storykeeper Volume III

202 | STORYKEEPERS VOLUME III AGE ELEVEN | 203
SEAGULL SAVES SEASHELLS ON THE SEA SHORE
There was once a seagull who lived in Galley
Head Lighthouse, Cork. He was lonely, but
that was okay.
He collected beautiful shells to put in
his nest inside of the lighthouse. He also
made pictures of various scenes such as
the sea, a beach, or a rainforest on his wall,
made of leaves, shiny bugs and blunt shards
of glass.
Every morning, when the sun was just
rising above the sea, creating vibrant clouds
in shades of flame and gold, the seagull
would fly out and search for new seashells to
add to his collection. He watched the other
seagulls flying about, looking for fish and
other small sea creatures. Not to collect, like
him, but to eat.
Sometimes the seagull felt twinges of
sadness that he wasn’t with them, but then
he’d see a shiny new shell, or a grass-green
beetle that was just crying out to be part of a
lizard on some mural.
One day, as he glided out of the
lighthouse, he saw a large group of people all
wearing the same shade of leaf-green down
on the beach. They had small transparent
bags.
The seagull landed on a cold seawashed
stone rock and squinted at the
bags. His heart dropped as he saw that
all the people were collecting his precious
seashells off the beach.
There were a lot of people, at least as
many as a school of fish. They would take all
the shells in no time.
Suddenly a whistle blew from someone
wearing a darker-green coloured shirt. All
the lighter-green people brought their bags
of seashells into a pile and laid out rugs a few
feet away from it. They took out sandwiches
and crisps and began what seemed to be
their lunch break.
The seagull knew what he needed to
do. He took off and grabbed a bag in his
webbed feet. He lifted them up and up, while
the people below shouted. He then ripped it
open with his sharp, fish cutting beak and let
the seashells flow back out onto the beach.
Then the seagull repeated it as many
times as he could, swooping down for the
bags quickly to avoid the waving hands of
the disgruntled people.
Soon enough, the beach was once
again littered with shells of all shapes, sizes
and colours. The darker green human blew
her whistle and waved to everyone, then
they all went into a silver-with-some-redlogo
bus. Soon enough its engine roared
and it drove away down a sandy tarmac road
with all the green people inside. The gull’s
job was accomplished, and he was sure the
seashells would stay in their rightful place…
until he picked them up for his collection at
least.
The seagull picked up a few shells in
his beak and flew home, his white wings
aching with soreness from carrying all the
heavy bags of shells.
He added those last shells to one of his
murals, one of his home, then settled down
in his nest and fell asleep.
Alice Hooke
Co Dublin
AN EVENTFUL EVACUATION
Belfast, April 1941.
I’m standing at York Road Station with my
twin brother, gas mask and suitcase in hand,
trains wheezing past. My name is Alice
O’Brian, I’m 12 years old and waiting to be
evacuated.
The next few hours fly by in a blur and,
before I know it, I’m standing in front of a
patchwork of green fields. I look round to
see a kind face with a broad smile hiding
under a bushy ginger beard
“Welcome to Donegal, Alice, Jonny.”
It’s our Uncle Fergus. “Come on, we’d better
get back home before it gets dark.”
We seem to walk for miles in the fading
light but, when we stop, I can still make out
the most beautiful sight, something we’d
never find in the city - a huge shimmering
white tower. We look at each other with
amazement. A real lighthouse!
After Uncle Fergus shows us our room,
he announces that he’s off to town to get
food for tea. “Make yourselves at home and
have an explore around the place.”
We are magnetically drawn to the tower
and, seconds later, we’re racing up the
winding spiral staircase. It seems to go on
forever and when we get to the top we’re
totally breathless.
“Wow, look at that view,” Jonny gasps.
“It’s amazing! Oh, look Jonny, there’s a ship
on the horizon.”
Suddenly there’s a blinding flash and
the light vanishes.
“What just happened?” Jonny
stammers. “The bulb must’ve blown! Oh
no! The sun has almost set and without the
light the ship could crash into the rocks! We
have to do something! Get Uncle Fergus.” I
shriek.
We’re halfway down the stairs when I
remember. “Uncle Fergus is in town!”
“So, what do we do now?” Jonny asks,
panic rising in his voice.
“I know! We could light a fire, just like
in Scouts.” I suggest. “Quick, let’s collect
some twigs and leaves.”
We rush outside and gather everything
we need. We furiously start rubbing two
sticks together when Jonny stops me. “Alice,
we don’t have enough kindling here to make
a big enough fire for the ship to see.”
I frantically look around and spot a log
shed at the side of the house. “Quick, grab
as many logs as you can carry.”
We haul the bundles of wood over to
the grassy cliff top. “We need to hurry, it’s
almost dark and the ship is heading straight
for us!”
I rub the sticks together for one last
desperate attempt to make sparks and
miraculously it works. Flames rise into the
dark night sky and after a few minutes we
look out to sea.
“It’s working!” I cry with relief. The ship
is slowly turning away. “We did it!” I cheer.
“You two sound happy.” It was Uncle
Fergus.
After we tell him all about our eventful
evening, he chuckles “Well, I think we can
safely say that you two are going to bring
some adventure to Fanad Lighthouse!”
THE LIGHTHOUSE
I woke up this morning,
With a pain in my head,
I yelled with its lovely colours,
White and light red.
As I walked inside,
I ran up the stairs,
The old wood gave a squeak,
Each time I took a step.
Celia Kerr
Co Derry
At least I’m here, it took me a while,
Turning on the light for the bold there was
white,
I felt very tired after all that,
So I win, back to bed for another little while.
Kevin Long
Co Cork