In Creative Writing Club in March, pupils worked at creating their own poetry and prose inspired by women. Here are two excellent and very different examples:
“Queen of the
Waves” – a first person account inspired by the true story of Gertrude Ederle who became the first woman to
swim across the English Channel.
As I stepped into the
freezing waves, foam splashed against my grease covered skin. I placed my
bright red swimming cap over my head.
"Cheerio," I
called behind me. Then I dived into the navy-blue waves of the English Channel.
I started to do my
strongest stroke, front crawl. I could feel myself gliding through the water
with tremendous speed. My home-made swimsuit was working! With every kick I
could feel myself getting further and further away from France. With every kick
I could feel myself proving those small-minded doubters wrong.
I could feel their
words in my head, pounding on my skull like a drum.
"Front crawl? No,
breaststroke is much better."
"You? Cross the English
Channel? Such a task is way too difficult and dangerous for a woman!"
I would prove them wrong;
I know I would. For I was Gertrude Ederle, and I would never give up.
A few hours passed,
and although my body was aching, my determination was as strong as ever and I
didn’t slow down. As I turned my head to face above the water to breathe, I noticed
a swarm of jellyfish on the horizon. Most people would scoff at the bubbly fish
that looked harmless, but I knew different. They attack relentlessly, their
tentacles stinging like shark bites. Once they grab hold of you, they will drag
you down and leave you defenceless. They could do a lot more damage than people
gave them credit for, and for that reason, they scared me.
Another thing I had to
worry about was the strong weather. It was a roll of the dice as to what the weather
would be like. It could be warm and sunny, therefore, the currents that opposed
me would be calm and smooth. I wouldn’t have to worry about anything, I would
be guaranteed to have a peaceful, happy swim. If fate was against me, the
weather would be rough and stormy. Huge waves would pound over my head,
dragging me down further with every wave that hits. Fierce currents would stand
in my way, currents that were almost impossible to overcome.
I should know - it had
happened to me before. My face blushed with shame as I remembered my previous
failed attempt: it was called off due to bad weather and I never forgave myself
for giving up and surrendering to the waves. It wouldn't happen again - and definitely
not today.
My head dived back
into the waves as I kept a wary eye on the jellyfish. The next time my head emerged from the waves,
something caught my eye that made me gasp. The something I saw was the coast of
England, Kingsdown Beach to be exact. My goal was in sight. Determination flowed
through my veins, and I started swimming faster than ever. Looking up at the
English shore, a wave of doubt came crashing over me. What if they said that my
swim didn’t count because I was a girl? Or that I must’ve cheated because no girl
could have crossed the channel. I shook my head, trying to snap out of it. I
had come so far; I wasn’t giving up now.
I arrived at the
shore, my body shaking from exhaustion. I was so deeply lost in my own world
that I didn’t hear the people clapping, celebrating my arrival. I limped over
to my friend; my body wrapped in a woollen towel.
“H-h-h,” My teeth were
chattering so loudly that I could barely form words. “H-h-how l-long did it
take?” At those words, her face split into a wide smile as laughter spilled
from her lips.
“Why are you
laughing?” I asked in a worried tone.
“Trudy, you finished
in 14 hours and 31 minutes!” She replied, she had stopped laughing but her grin
remained.
“So...?”
“You beat the three
men who swam before you by 2 hours!” Shock washed over me like a wave crashing
into the shore as I suddenly became aware of the onlookers clapping and
cheering her name. I had done it. I achieved my goal by doing it my way whilst
proving everyone who doubted me wrong.
Can you do the same?
Cerys H – Y8
Some sides of stories don’t get told,
Truths rotting in the dark,
The ‘villains’ in the tales of old,
Left stamped upon, a mark.
What they don’t tell you is awful,
Secrets around each door,
They wouldn’t be considered lawful,
But for promises she swore.
Medusa didn’t want the snakes,
The burden that they brought,
But she was up against the stakes,
It was one hundred to naught.
For she was up against a god,
Who reigned over the sea,
She never gave him the nod,
He took it all, ignored her plea.
Throughout this she did nothing wrong,
But didn’t receive the same,
As he, the villain, all along,
Yet all she got was shame.
That and the burning taste of guilt -
Guilt she shouldn’t have had to feel,
Ambitions crushed from chaos he built,
Forced her to make the deal.
It was Athena who she ran to,
Eyes red hot with despair,
Promised change, living anew,
But serpents to her hair.
Now she sits with her hissing crown
Wary yet dutiful
Tears spill down her tired cheeks:
Price of being beautiful.
by Kezia P - Y9
This poem was inspired by the Greek myth of Medusa. The author was keen to show the other (lesser known) side to the story - that in fact Medusa was a victim, not a villain.
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