Malika Booker at Brudenell Primary School

It is Malika Booker’s third annual visit to Brudenell Primary School.

What do you notice when you’re in a routine situation, like going shopping with mum on a Saturday? How many of you do that? How many of you like it? Hands go up, opinions are aired.

What do you do? What does she do? Malika answers for herself by reading her own poem about when she was a child dragging a basket around a supermarket and watching, as her mother slowly examined every egg for cracks and every vegetable for defects with a hawk-like gaze. The children recognise the behaviour, and smile.

And what about an unusual or stressful situation? What do you see? How do you feel? After the class’s responses, she talks about how she got lost in a maze every time she went into it at Hampton Court, where she was poet in residence, about how she walked past the same groups over and over again, and the young Chinese boy who helped her escape.

Then comes the main theme of all three sessions at Brudenell – the Second World War. Short poems are distributed and read, including one in the form of a letter with deliberate gaps. Full discussions follow, first of all based on the five senses. What would you hear in a war situation? Touch? Taste? The class knows plenty about war, and is soon writing letter poems, most of them from young soldiers to mum back home, then editing them. Malika talks about clichés, and metaphors, and many of the other things that poets should know about. The ten year-old poets write about bombs exploding, people escaping from execution, the sound of machine guns, inedible food, terrible sights, hope for the future and love for their mothers. Some of their lines are strikingly memorable.

Malika Booker and Tom Nutman

In the week-long breaks between her sessions, class teacher Tom Nutman continues the work. He groups the poets into fours, which is how they will perform at a grand finale. They begin rehearsals for this. After Malika arrives on the final day, she works with them in a big circle, tells them to read to the wall behind, not to the audience in the front row, to plant their feet. She moves on to pauses, which must be marked in pencil. On the whiteboard, she writes the first lines of her own poem about a cat which was removed from the house when she was born. Where should I put the pauses? Who has a suggestion?

This year, the grand finale is in a classroom, which means it does not echo like the gym or the main hall. It is intimate, with no distractions, because everybody packed into the room – the other class, the visitors, the mothers – is fully intent on listening to the performers, all of whom quell nerves and deliver their poems so well that some audience members cry. The clapping is frequent, and at the end is particularly loud for Malika, who steps forward to thank the class for being so brilliant.

Richard Wilcocks

Selected lines: 

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I can smell the gun powder striding up my nostrils (Sudais)

It was because the ash from the bombs that had dropped on the buildings clogged up my throat (Zain)

Here it’s as sad as a dark, gloomy night in Britain (Amaya)

It’s like an ocean’s drowning me (Hirah)

The only thing is I have a shell in my arm and an AR bullet in my knee (Hishaam)

I miss you and the incredible taste of your spaghetti  (Ian)

It tastes as bad as a rotten blueberry smoothie (Joel)

There is a silent scream hidden inside (Soad)

Selected poems:

Dear Mother,

I’m so sorry I didn’t write,

I don’t know why,

Now I see myself,

As a reflection of guilt

Bombs have been crashing down all day,

But don’t fret, I’m fine

Every day people will come to me,

Injured and in pain

And I do the best that I can,

To help the soldiers recover.

My role is very important

But I’m in danger too

Hopefully I’ll survive.

It’s like an ocean’s drowning me

Because you or me

Don’t know what’s going to

Happen in the future

If I’ll survive

I miss you so much,

Hopefully I’ll see you again

And always remember

I Love You

Love from Rose                                                                                                                by Hirah 2019   

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Dear family,

I am so sorry I wasn’t able to say goodbye.

I have no idea why.

I have been practising to call out when bombs hit rooves.

I miss you all so much.

The soldiers shouting keep me awake all night.

I am so tired

I am waiting to come back home

Alive. Not dead.

I have realised that I have come from generations from the past.

I am now regretting lying about my age.

Just because I wanted to join the army.

I have had enough of the rubble on the floor.

I always step on broken glass.

Please forgive me.

It is hard work digging up holes in the wet, squishy ground.

I am so regretful like a muddy footprint in fresh snow.

I am so sad I feel like a masterpiece being destroyed.

Goodbye,

Lots of Love from,

Jamie                                                                                                          by Amina 2019

  

Dear Family

I’m very sorry I haven’t

Written to you for so long

The constant noises keep

Coming back it’s like

You’ve got something beating

In your head 24/7

That’s it, it’s the wail of the air raids it stuck

In my head because I get used

To hearing it, I hope it stops as

Soon as possible.

Anyways hope you are healthy

Well as you could ever be.

Wish you all the best

Norma Ward

Good luck

Wait a second! I have realised I haven’t

Described how much I missed you I

Miss you all the way to the sun

And back

I was squelching through the mud

Calmly until I tripped on something

And fell into the mud not being able to get back up!

Love you so much

Norma                                                                                                                             by Mawadah 2019

Dear Mother,

 I’m so sorry for leaving without a goodbye

Silence was loud it was like a clock ticking

In my head tick tock tick tock.

Salty dust took over my tastebuds as I struggled

To breathe a breath of clean air, I have seen some

Terrible things that are still in my head.

I am shattered and I am tired, of digging holes

Day and night it’s like I’m being pulled into the

Fires of hell. Help me I’m burning!

I hope to see you again soon!

From your beloved

Betty

Hope. There’s not much hope left here. If anything happens

To me, please stay safe.                                                                                                             by Praise 2019

Dear ______

I regret joining the army.

I’m so sorry that I haven’t written back until now.

The guilt I feel inside myself looks like muddy footprints in the snow.

I hope I come out alive.

I may not as I’m not trained.

I was conscripted along with a few other boys in the village.

But…

What the army do not know is…

I am not loyal.

I am planning to run away secretly- in the dead of night.

If they catch me, I will be executed as a coward and a traitor.

I’m supposed to be fighting for the King and our Country,

But I’m not sure who I’m fighting for anymore…

                                                                                                                                                              by  Sari 2019

Dear ______

I’m so sorry I didn’t say goodbye

Because I might not see you again.

I don’t know why.

Do not worry,

I’ll be fine.

I miss you and the hugs you gave me.

I have been digging all day today.

I am tired and am having to train now for hours.

I have seen so many things I can barely remember you.

I have seen men die right in front of me.

I never should have lied about my age to sign up.

Boys my age shouldn’t have to be in this situation.

No one should.

My regret tastes like a dry mouth in the morning.

My regret feels like I’ve burned my hand on a hot cooker.

My regret sounds like the uneven beat of a drum, going on and on and on…

I lie awake at night with the sound of grown men sobbing, ringing through my ears

Love, your son                                                                                                                  by Ke’Shaune 2019

Dear mum,

I’m so sorry I didn’t write.

I’ve been off in the forest, camping.

I miss you.

I think of you from dawn to dusk.

Do not fret,

I’m safe.

Maybe a few cuts and a bullet in my leg,

But alive.

Bullets are springing from soldiers’ guns

And brains splatter through the air.

Friends and foes screaming as they fight for their lives.

I’ve seen worse.

But I cannot share it with you…

The food over here is terrible,

You’d find better scraps in a bin.

I can never sleep because of the horrible noises

The guns make.

BOOM! CRASH! BANG!

I don’t think anybody deserves this kind of life,

Except Hitler.

Love from,

Billy                                                                                                                            by Waleed 2019

The shape of things to come

We're springing into action again, or should that be sliding inexorably towards it? 

Our well-established poetry in primary schools programme - spread out over a few months - has started, with James Nash already at Ireland Wood and Malika Booker arriving at Brudenell Primary for a first session tomorrow. 

There is a cluster of events in March for your diary too, some of them also our contribution to the Leeds Lit Fest, for example the Leeds launch of I wouldn't start from here, which showcases second generation Irish writers in Britain, on 5 March at Headingley Library (sorry 'Hub'), Lee Ingham's new book of memoirs Ours: Football at the New Headingley Club on 6 March and Ray Brown's sparkling new play Skybluepink at the same place on 7 March. 

And more - like our annual gala afternoon of creative writing on 10 March with a theme of 'Sanctuary'. More details to follow!

Richard Wilcocks

Ireland Wood Primary School - Lest We Forget

It was a Wednesday morning in Ireland Wood Primary School, and as it turned out, a very special morning.  I was sitting in the school hall and behind me [in front a display of their fabulous work] sat sixty year 6 pupils.  We had an audience of two Year 5 classes and approximately fifty parents and grandparents.

Some of us were a little nervous.

Class teachers, Mrs. Amos and Mrs. Stringer introduced the morning, talking about the learning objectives achieved by and the inclusivity of the project.  Mrs. Amos observed how when the project first started in the school seven years before we had only half a dozen parents in the audience, and how interest had grown every year.

We were there to share our writing about the Great War and to explain our writing journey.  Every pupil read some of their work, some their complete poem.  Their empathetic writings of what it meant to be a soldier at the front, or one of those left behind waiting for news, provided a moving commentary to World War One.  Poems like ‘Dear Valerie’ and ‘White Feather’ will stay with me for a long time.

I explained what we did in my first two mornings with Year 6, an ideas session in the first week, with an editing and redrafting workshop in the second week.  I took away my ideas from the first session and wrote a first draft of a poem which I was then able to share with the pupils, explaining what I had done, and how they might edit and redraft their own poems.

In between my explanations we heard individual recorded clips of children reading favourite lines from their poems, interspersed with live readings of complete poems.  And then all of Year 6 stood and read from memory the poem. ‘In Flanders Fields’.

We finished with everyone singing, ‘It’s a long Way To Tipperary’.  I looked into the audience and was moved to see parents and grandparents joining in.

The young people had a chance to talk about what they had learned from working on the poetry project and amongst others observed that ‘a poem doesn’t need to rhyme’, ‘how to be more confident about writing a poem’ and ‘how to work on and polish their work’,

Mr. Blackburn, the head teacher, spoke a few words of thanks to the audience, and said how the writing project had become very much part of what the school did.

I continued to sit in my chair as parents came forward to read from the display of children’s work.  Many of them said how their children had enjoyed the project and how much they had been inspired and learned from it.

It was as ever a brilliantly interactive experience, both working with staff and pupils at Ireland Wood and then sharing our writing with parents.

James Nash, 18^th November 2019

PS  I received an email last week from our vice chair, Di Wood Robinson and this is what she wrote: The 'Lest we Forget' assembly by year 6 was just amazing. The poems were stunning and very moving. Loved the music too. I read many of the displayed poems and thought they were such a high standard. I wish we could somehow get them printed in book form, they are so good. James is really exceptional. The children totally relate to him. A certain grandchild talked non stop on the way home about James’s Blackbird poem and quoted from it. This from a child far more into Maths and cricket. James is so inspiring. He had high praise for all the staff involved and holds the school in very high esteem. Funding for next year might be in doubt. It would be criminal not to continue with his input. She has also asked to find out how much you cost (!!) because if next year is in doubt, she thinks school should fund you..... Here is an email from a grandparent who attended the assembly: Dear Mr Blackburn I would like to thank you and your staff for organising such a wonderful assembly on Wednesday focussing on the poems the children had written about World War 1. Ireland Wood is such an inclusive school and it was delightful to see every child involved. The display of poems was outstanding and I felt emotional listening to the readings. Thank you for including families in what was for me a very memorable event. With best wishes Tricia McKinney As for Emma and me, we were once again delighted by the poetry the children created. It's always so fascinating to see the process they go through and having this opportunity, thanks to the Headingley Litfest, certainly impacts the children's experience and standard of writing. Adrienne x Class teacher Adrienne Amos adds:  I received an email last week from our vice chair, Di Wood Robinson and this is what she wrote: The 'Lest we Forget' assembly by year 6 was just amazing. The poems were stunning and very moving. Loved the music too. I read many of the displayed poems and thought they were such a high standard. I wish we could somehow get them printed in book form, they are so good. James is really exceptional. The children totally relate to him. A certain grandchild talked non stop on the way home about James’s Blackbird poem and quoted from it. This from a child far more into Maths and cricket. James is so inspiring. He had high praise for all the staff involved and holds the school in very high esteem. Funding for next year might be in doubt. It would be criminal not to continue with his input. She has also asked to find out how much you cost (!!) because if next year is in doubt, she thinks school should fund you..... Here is an email from a grandparent who attended the assembly: Dear Mr Blackburn I would like to thank you and your staff for organising such a wonderful assembly on Wednesday focussing on the poems the children had written about World War 1. Ireland Wood is such an inclusive school and it was delightful to see every child involved. The display of poems was outstanding and I felt emotional listening to the readings. Thank you for including families in what was for me a very memorable event. With best wishes Tricia McKinney As for Emma and me, we were once again delighted by the poetry the children created. It's always so fascinating to see the process they go through and having this opportunity, thanks to the Headingley Litfest, certainly impacts the children's experience and standard of writing. Adrienne x