6F WW1 Narrative Writing

Here's a bumper upload from 6F for half-term. We have been combining our character description techniques, as well as our atmospheric writing techniques, to write WW1 based narratives. These are excerpts from Rosieanne's, Sophia's and Hilary's.


Rosieanne's:


Lit by the flare, the sky was awoken with a bang. It was show-time. Flares jumped, grenades exploded.

“Time to go, Young!” Andrew shouted.

“Come line up! Sergeant is waiting for ya.” Tick tock - the time had come.

“Ready boys… 3, 2, 1!” Sergeant barked, blowing his whistle.

Suddenly, a grenade exploded. His blistered fingers felt the soaked wood of the ladder. He gave a nod to his fellow soldier. They were off. The sight of the quagmire was overwhelming. He wanted to run, even hide, but he couldn’t. BANG! The screeches of the shells were horrific. He scrambled behind a blackened tree, wishing that he’d never joined. So much was going through his mind; his mother, his sister’s 15^th birthday, he was going to miss his sister’s wedding. He was definitely going to die, and that was undeniable.

WHOOSH! A flare lit up the sky again. The darkened sky had turned to light. They had been seen…

Sophia's:

SCREECH! Suddenly, a flare leapt into the inky night, shining a torch over her; filling the dead sky and becoming its blood. It whistled. Then fell to the wet, squalid ground. Lucy stared out into the dark, gloomy scene. “It’s a massacre!” she screamed, “We’ll be busy today!”

Petrified, she tip-toed out of the tent looking for people that needed her help. Suddenly, she felt something, or someone, grab her muddy leg. It was an Englishman. His wound was pouring blood, staining the mud. It was like the earth was bleeding itself. A bullet was stuck in his rib-cage and she could not help him nor bring him back to the trench hospital. “What is your name?” the boy asked.

“Lucy, nurse Lucy. Why?”

“You saved my brother Tomas Chester. I’m Lincoln Chester.”

Hilary's


Gazing down, the flare painted the sky orange.

“Go! We have to go now!” the Sergeant boomed, “Hurry!” They all stood to attention. The flare went up again. There was nothing they could do. Rain tapped on the men’s shoulders and meandered into their boots. Frantically, they heaved themselves up the ladders. It was time…

Petrified, Luke stood there amidst the carnage. Blood everywhere. Bile rose and threatened to explode from his mouth. Blood gushing from people’s heads, so abhorrent it looked like the sodden quagmire was bleeding itself.

5E's Victorian newspaper report: Jim's escape from the workhouse

We have been continuing to look at newspaper reports in Year 5 this week. We have just finished writing a newspaper article based on Jim's dramatic escape from the workhouse. Below is Alfie's report:

Rogue orphan escapes death-trap workhouse

By Alfred Washington

During the late hours of Saturday, an impoverished orphan, supposedly named Jim Jarvis, escaped from the most spacious workhouse in London.

Immediately the Matron reported that: “Although lots of labourers escape, they always get caught and whipped. However, Jim was not caught!” she bellowed, ad added: “I never liked him.”

Last night, we can only imagine the the walking igloo rolled down the littered, frozen, ice-rink streets of London, given that this the month had been a chilling November of shuddering bodies.

On the other hand, in the workhouse, it appears to be a megladon with the amount of body parts being lost because of the machines. The workhouse is like a death trap.

Furthermore, another concern has arisen: why was Jim so enamoured to leave the only building in which he could eat and lie on a bed ? That is a question you have to answer! Send a letter to 9 Vicarage Way in London to try and guess.

Meanwhile, we hope the eternal future will enfold good luck for the young lad. We will keep you updated whatever the weather brings to us.  

Newspaper Article - Jim Jarvis Escapes by Alex 5G

This week Year 5 have been looking at newspaper reports. We have written articles from the viewpoint of a Victorian reporter describing the escape of Jim Jarvis from the workhouse. We have been focusing on our connectives and generalisers!


Orphan pulls off audacious workhouse escape!


Last night a famished boy executed an escape from the indomitable workhouse, a remarkable feat. Jim Jarvis, a resident of the wretched workhouse, was nowhere to be found at bedtime. Panic-stricken, the matron and overseers craned their heads all over the workhouse but there was no sign of the missing boy.


Tip, another dejected inhabitant of the large monolith, reluctantly divulged further details.
"We were carrying heavy burdens of carpets into the frozen yard when abruptly, Jim turned to me with a gleam in his eye. Then he scanned the bleak grey surroundings and darted for the steel gates'.


Although it appears that Tip is Jim's only friend, he did not join his friend in the daring escape, being too fearful of the consequences if caught. As this is a particularly cold November, it may be that the weather also gave him a reason to be wary of stepping out of the confines of the workhouse.


Whilst Jim is reportedly an orphan, it is believed that he has sisters still living and that this escape may be an attempt to reunite with them. The public is urged to contact the workhouse with any details of the boy and his whereabouts should they happen to see him. He is described as being short, with ribs visible through his clothes, and dirty brown hair.


Alex, 5G

6B Narrative Writing

This week in 6B we completed our own short narrative about a soldier in WW1. Our narrative has three sections: the calm beginning, the change point and the action. Read our example and see if you can pick out these pivotal moments in the text.


 There was a full moon, the brightest he had ever seen. The barrel of Paul's Bolt-Action riffle glistened. He was thinking, as he always did, whilst the other soldiers chatted. Feeling cramped because he only just managed to fit in the communications trench, he began to write home. Sucking the end of his pen, he talked gibberish to a general expelling froth as he opened his mouth. His scruffy hair limited his vision and this annoyed him. He thought war would be fun, what it was like on the 'Your Country Needs You' posters. He didn't know about the shells, the grenades or the flares.


Silently creeping, he ventured out to the front line. Soldiers each found a place on a firing step. Paul rested his round face onto the trench wall, closed his medium eyes and big mouth. Suddenly roars went overhead. Paul saw shells, squadrons upon squadrons of them. Paul realised that if there were shells up ahead then there was danger too. The Germans were coming...


Everybody loaded their guns for the worst battle yet. There was the first wave of the bayonets, but worst of all... a grenade had been thrown into the saturated trench.
"Take cover lads!" a gruff voice yelled. The grenade exploded. Everything fell silent. An object fell on Paul's shoulder, it was cold. He looked on his shoulder. It was a hand, a cold, wet severed hand. He looked behind him and there were debris and equipment everywhere.


His comrades were dead and the German snipers were approaching with their tactical weapons and beady eyes. Paul heard shuddering. Only the machine gunner survived. It was down to him and Paul...


By Eric, 6B

6B Black History Month

In 6B we have been learning about Rosa Parks. We learnt about how her small act of defiance changed the world as we know it. We then thought about how she inspires us still today. Here are some of our thoughts...

5C News Report Videos

This week in Literacy Year 5 have been looking at news reports. After watching News Round and discussing what makes a good news reporter and report, we decided to take on the role of news reporters ourselves. Here are some of our reports, we hope you enjoy watching them! 

WWI character descriptions - 6R

In 6R, we have been continuing to learn about writing effective character descriptions. This week, we have applied our learning to the context of our Theme, WWI, by writing descriptions of soldiers in the trenches.


Here is an extract from Gershon's description. What sort of soldier do you think this is?


Murky and moist, rainwater seeped through the holes of Private Baldrick's mud-coloured boots as he dragged himself up from the rotten, uneven floor.


Although now dirt-encrusted, his intelligent face was a glimmer of hope, his mouth was a thing of cruelty, and his plump cheeks underneath his jet black eyes glimpse out from behind their glasses.

5E's Newsround video

In Literacy this week, we were working on newspaper reports. After watching Newsround, we decided to act as news anchors ourselves, and wrote very creative scripts. We hope you enjoy this performance!

Character Invention in 6F

We have been looking at creating characters with particular traits. In order to make our writing more sophisticated, we focused on 'showing' what a character was like, as well as 'telling' the reader. We are writing in the context of WW1. Here is an extract from Demi's character description:


“Get in line you useless savages; is this what they bring these days?! I guess I will have to make you into soldiers!” shrieked Sergeant Smith. The spit spluttered across the faces of the recruits. 

Sergeant Smith was an obese man and his tummy seemed to grow endlessly. All he did was eat and scream commands at the soldiers.

Petrified, the soldiers stood still. Their bodies were as straight as a pencil lead. 

“I don’t know what they taught you back at home, this is the real world! It’s tough and hard and if you don’t like it… let the Hun kill you!” 

His eyes were fire-balls of fury tracking down its prey and despite the fact he was plump, he could still instil fear into the recruits.

5E's Workhouse Poetry

In Year 5, this week we wrote atmospheric Victorian poetry about the workhouse. Below is Leo's entry from 5E. 

In the workhouse of despair,

Where the rags that scratch are what you wear,

A petrifying place you can scream,

It’s as punishable as it seems.

Horror, terror, screeches and shouts,

The workhouse of heart broken glares,

Not difficult to find, they’re certainty not rare,

The cops will find you, so take care,

Where you hide…

A Fairytale Article by Madison, 5G

Rumple Takes Golden Prize, Ariel Devastated

Fairyland has talent has concluded with a spectacular bang! The two final competitors battled it out over three long lasting rounds with Rumpelstiltskin startling the audience by spinning glimmering gold into phenomenal shapes and agile Ariel performing a stunning swimming display. In addition to his breathtaking glistening gold shapes Rumpelstiltskin told a variety of riddles leading the judges to choose him. 

Rumpelstiltskin spoke to us just after the announcement.

'I just couldn't believe it, I expected to hear nothing but rubbish remarks but instead saw the colossal trophy heading my way!' he exclaimed in shock. He also said that he would like to open his own gold shop with his winnings. 

Despite being the cruel wicked witch of the west, one judge even gave Rumpelstiltskin a congratulatory hug. Rumpelstiltskin has also won the chance to tour the land with past winners, the Fairy Godmother and Cinderella whom he hopes will provide the transport. 

Unfortunately Ariel did not take losing particularly well and spent the majority of the after party sobbing into her runner up's silver cup. She declined to comment. The Daily News wishes her well and sends it congratulations to Rumpelstiltskin. 

By Madison, 5G

Description of a soldier 6B

This week we have an extract from Annabell's character description for you to read. What effective features has she used in her writing?


Tripping over rocks whilst walking to the trenches and pushing other soldiers aside, John told another soldier to move. The other soldier stared into John's dark deathly eyes. The soldier did not move but John was very strong so he picked him up and pushed him away. Shivering with fear, the other soldier walked away.


John was twenty and had anger problems. He was herculean and could lift ten people at once. He didn't have any friends because he loved to argue. He could be quite scary, but did have a soft centre. He was very clean.


Annabell 6B

Character description in 6F

This week in 6F we have been looking at character description. We wrote descriptive passages looking to invert Roald Dahl's description of the powerful and intimidating Miss Trunchbull. Here is our shared writing:


He was above it all a meek and mild-mannered man. He had once been an eminent scientist, and even now the pallor of his skin and squinty eyes betrayed his previous employment.
Although his slender arms, nervous gait and pencil-like neck made him appear to be rather pathetic, he had earned a jot of authority amongst his community of scientists.

Street Child adaption

This week in Literacy, Year 5 have been adapting Street Child to create our own Victorian stories. Below is Mubarak's beginning. What will happen next?

Without hesitation, Jake, who was ravenous, darted like an arrow, after jumping up to his feet. Because he was exceptionally destitute, he had to steal. Being young, he didn’t know what was right. A waft of freshly-baked, mouth-watering pastries filled the air, drifting into his nose. He was wild with hunger. It had been days. Now everything seemed delicious to him. Inconspicuously, he dashed swiftly, finding himself surrounded by scrumptious breads. Would he be able to grab one? Thinking unclearly, he did. Nothing happened. Suddenly, the door burst open and the bread danced in his hands. Petrified, he knew his future was doomed. It was the workhouse for him.

During several soul destroying days at the treacherous workhouse, Jake realised it really was hell on earth. Being whipped by the remorselessly cruel teachers became a daily habit. Every whip was like lightning striking Jake’s feeble body. Unimaginable, excruciating pain filled his bones. Did the teachers actually expect him to work in these barbaric conditions?.....

Original Victorian Story from Daneel in 5E

This week in Literacy, Year 5 have been adapting Street Child to create our own Victorian stories. Below is Daneel's beginning. What will happen next? How will he feel in the workhouse?

On one desolate day, Didbia Prosper, who was lingering near a famous footbal shop, and was looking at an significant ball which cost 20 pounds, instead of trying to buy the ball, he actually stole it! Although it was very expensive, it was an artificial ball. 

At the end of the day, Didbia traipsed home with the ball. Then, he had suddenly discovered that his ma had died! His dad was finding it incredibly hard to look after him and his son. Would they cope for long? Before long, time had gone by and the time was: 20:00! 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, a policeman arrived at their tattered house. He announced to Didbia and his father: “I have been stooped by an old man, who told me that he had seen a mysterious boy holding a blue ball." The policeman pointed his finger of suspicion at Dibbia. "I know it was you! Come on, we‘re going to the workhouse to so that you can pay for what you have DONE! If you do not go, there will be serious consequences!" 

Character description - 6R

In 6R, we have been writing character descriptions based on Roald Dahl's description of Miss Trunchbull - but with a twist! We imagined the absolute opposite type of character and described what we thought they would be like. Here is Alfie's...

He was truly a most timid animal. He had been, many years before, a well-known scientist, and even now the stench of the slimy liquids revealed his old job. His nervousness showed in tremored limbs: his hands, legs and arms never took a break from shaking. Looking at him, you would notice, if you realised his presence in the room at all, that it looked like his body and pallid skin would fade away into nothingness. His face, I'm afraid to say, was not a picture that defines beauty nor the face of an distinctive-looking person, and did not show signs of a single spark of personality. As for his clothes….to say the least, they were worn and ironed to precision, and too had no personality. He wore the same combination of smart clothing everyday apart from Sunday when he marked the occasion of finishing another week (by himself). His handkerchief was a new dull and old colour every week and almost never came into service and his jet-black plimsolls were neatly threaded and repaired every day – and seemed to smell of the same scent every time you entered the room, a strong lemon and lime smell. The belt, a leather belt wrapped tightly around his slim waist, shone like a pile of diamonds or a pile of glass bottles with chemicals inside. Overall, in short, he looked more like a brainy nerd than someone who had the best managerial expertise in the country and managed the most successful football team in the world.                                                

An extract from our original Victorian stories by Chloe, 5G

Panic-stricken, Susan sprinted back to the dank, dark dormitory whilst she began to frantically think of an escape plan. After several hours sifting through various possible answers Susan finally landed on a plan. She was going to climb over the wall.

Sneakily, Susan tiptoed over the front gate then without anyone seeing her, she climbed over the wall and was gone! Because she was so delighted to be free, she did not think about what she was going to do or where she was going to sleep. Susan happily skipped down the street into a dark alleyway where she saw other children huddling down for the night. She realised she would have to do the same so she sat down heavily and eventually fell asleep.

As the sun awoke above the street, Susan woke up. She wandered around the streets when suddenly she came across a notice on a lamp-post. It was advertising a free school for poor orphans run by a man named Dr Barnardo. She thought about it for a second and wondered whether she would like to go to the school. She decided that she had had enough of grown ups and would survive by herself on the streets. Eventually, after a long time in the cold, Susan became ill. She realised that her only chance of survival was to find Dr Barnardo and his school.

Being at Dr Barnardo's school was different than anything Susan had imagined. She had no chores to do, and he didn't threaten them with a ruler if they spoke in class. She was given real food twice a day and in winter a cosy fire was lit in the classroom.

Chloe, 5G

Character Description 6B

This week we have been learning how to create an effective character description. Below is an extract from our shared writing, have a read and let us know what you think!


She was above all a most respectable female. Unbelievably, she had once been a singer in a band, and you could still hear the enchanting tone of her melodies when she hummed in the mornings. As she glided through the flowers and trees her dainty shoulders swayed to and fro without her noticing. He fragile arms hung like weeping willows and rocked slowly in the breeze. Patched up with a plaster on her left knee, her snowy legs looked as if they hadn't seen the sun in a while.


Looking at her you got the feeling that this was someone who could lull tiny animals into the palm of her comforting hands. He face, no doubt, was a work of fine art, a joy to behold. She had a peachy chin, a compassionate mouth and large sparling eyes.


As for her clothes... they were, to say the least, conventional, but when she wore them they sprung to life. She always had on a lavender blouse, which made the green fleck in her eyes pop. Fastened down the middle by pearlescent buttons, her knee length skirt swooshed as she walked. On her feet she wore flowery sandals. She looked, in short, more like a pixie than a teacher. She was youthful and glowing yet was wise beyond her years.


By All of 6B


Which well known book character could we be describing?

A letter from a Victorian Workhouse

Wednesday, 10 September 1810

Hackney, London

Dear Matron,

I am writing this letter as a plea for you to consider letting me leave this miserable workhouse. It is like hell on earth. Although I should be grateful that you have put a shelter over my head, I cannot spend another sleepless night of fear and terror here. As the cold, misty nights turn into long, bleak days, I regularly question how long it has been since I arrived through the doors of this soul-destroying prison. Maybe it has been a month. Maybe a year. It feels like a lifetime. If I stay much longer my future is doomed.

The workhouse is unbearable. Every time tears flood my eyes, I get whipped with a belt. It is like lightening striking my body. The food is horrendous, even the thought of it makes me heave. I am living in a nightmare, the fear and terror flooding my mind like the deep, dark, Atlantic Ocean.

I am only in the workhouse because my beloved family have all deceased. Living on the rough, bustling streets of London, without a penny to my name, I had no other choice but to steal. I was ravenous. One single waft of the sweet smelling bread from the bakery. I could not resist! My stomach was crying out, wild with hunger! Unfortunately, one day I was caught by the bobbies and forced into this treacherous workhouse.

I beg you, with all my heart, to take your time to consider letting me leave. I am asking in desperation. Please let me walk to freedom so I can hear the cries of the city again.

Yours Sincerely,

Spinly

Thomas, 5C

Atmospheric writing round two - 6R

To improve even further on our atmospheric writing from last week, 6R have been 'hugging' a sophisticated passage from a book set in WWI, modifying it while keeping the meaning and the overall tone. Here is James' version.


He lay, unable to move, on the crumbling tunnel floor beneath the foreign fields, but still he hadn't reached death. He felt soil drowning his eyes and dusty nostrils, and a mass on top of him. Trying to move his rigid limbs, he felt himself pinned to the dying earth, as though it had coiled around him in weighty, comfortable blankets and was luring him in with the promise of eternal sleep. The fading sound of the explosion bounded from corner to corner like a bullet flying from gun to heart. He pictured the exit to life sealed off; a spark of panic lifted in his belly, but was extinguished beneath the mass of his motionless state.


The imprisoned sound finally died out.


He listened for it to be substituted by the regular noise of the soldiers' screams, of those whose limbs had been blown from their place or whose brains had been cruelly removed from their skulls. He heard nothing at first, only silence. Then, as the last pieces of displaced soil settled in the gloomy tunnel, he heard a long thick sigh; it was an irregular sound, but he knew that it was the noise of dozens of men decaying simultaneously.

More atmospheric writing from 6F!

As a development of our atmospheric writing we did last week, we have been looking at using a particularly sophisticated passage of narrative from Sebastian Faulks' Birdsong. This was our good example to inspire this week's writing. Have a look at Matthew's first paragraph below:


Listlessly, he lay imprisoned underneath the slimy tunnel  floor beneath no-man’s-land, and still he was not gone! He could taste the damp soil and feel it in his weary eyes and nose. There was an ominous pressure on his chest. He tried to move but found himself motionless, as though the sullen Earth had wrapped him in bulky, uncomfortable blankets and was encouraging him to sleep. The noise of a deafening explosion seemed to echo in the slender tube. He pictured his way back blocked by damp soil, and a flicker of trepidation rose in his stomach, but then died again beneath the mass of his pinioned state. The imprisoned sound eventually diminished...

A Letter from the Workhouse by Erin, 5G

The Workhouse

Drury Lane

London

28th November 1872

Dear Matron,

                     I am writing to inform you of just some of the reasons why you should let us famished, miserable children depart this daunting work house full of broken hearts and lost souls .Let us leave this haunted house before we become the ghosts!

Firstly, I wake up every day only to discover the same painful screams of unsuccessful runaways being beaten and of course the same grimy gruel waiting to be devoured. But we only ever pick at it because even the smell is sickly. Furthermore, the tasks I am expected to overcome are catastrophic for me and other younger children who are unable to manage it. Most of us are deathly pale and yet you still demand that we are to carry on no matter how tired we are.

This would never have occurred if the tragic death of my Ma and Pa hadn't happened. I am still overcome with grief and unless you set us free my broken heart will never be fixed.My parents died of an unfortunate fever and I knew I couldn't save them but if you let us journey beyond the work house then my guilt will fade.Unfortunately, the work house is like a prison so I must beg you for my release. Just give us our freedom and we will know how nice you truly are in your heart.

If you are so kind as to allow me to leave, I will travel far distances to seek out a willing man named Dr Barnardo. If you don't know who this man is, he is a gentleman, amazing and kind to all young children (such as myself) and he will surely give me a place in one of his ragged schools.

I finish this letter in the desperate hope that it will have encouraged you to open up your heart to our plight. It is of course, your choice.

Yours faithfully,

Louis.

P.S. Shortly after I leave, (if you let me) I may write to you again.

By Erin, 5G

Letter to Matron from Aarthy in 5E

Still following our theme of Street Child, in Year 5 we have been writing persuasive letters to the strict Matron of a workhouse, asking for her permission to leave. We spent time thinking of imaginative scenarios as to why our character had been forced to enter the workhouse. 

Below is Aarthy's letter from 5E:

Work house

                                                        Room number 56

                                                                   Floor 2

                                                                HA3 ODW

                                                  Friday May 22^nd 1849

Dear Matron,

               I am writing to you in the hope that you can let me go; you should because I am your favourite girl, Alice Kulan.

Firstly, when I wake up EVERY morning I breathe the cold, disgusting air and it’s like I am in prison or an ogre’s home which has just been bogey bombed! So as to survive, I have to force myself to eat the horrible but slightly nourishing food.

After all those reasons, you should and must let me get out of this sickening, ghastly place. If my dear, tender, mother were here there would be no point in asking you to let me go because I will rather stay here with her, however now she has unfortunately and miserably died. When you let me go, I will be set free and you…..will be a hero to all the other children who are trapped here, too. 

So, I beg you, please, please let me go!

Yours sincerely,

Alice Kulan

Atmospheric writing part three!

LI: To use features of atmospheric writing.


Still half-deaf from the booming bomb, he lay there. The noise was still ricocheting to and fro in the tunnel walls and buzzing in his ear. Dourly, he thought about his only way out, avalanched by mud. Waves of horror and fright paralysed his body. His eyes widened. Fighting desperately for his limbs to work, he found miracles don't happen. Silence filled the air. Life slowly died away.


Millie 6B


We hope you enjoyed this extract from Millie's writing this week.