Hall of Fame
I love visiting schools to deliver workshops in creative writing. Many of them are based on my mudlarking finds and they never fail to ignite students’ imaginations. Here are some of the stories that students have written in response to my workshops.
30 th January, 1940 The impertinence! How dare a filthy beggar appear in our line of sight? Take him away and dispose of him in the river!’ Charles’ voice was high and squeaky, like a fork scraped down a dinner plate. His puny body was rigid with anger. His head, with its long, perfumed curls, shook with indignation. Kneeling on the tiled floor, the beggar’s mismatched eyes looked up, straight into his king’s face. His smile was unafraid, pitying almost. ‘What? Not a single coin for a poor, unfortunate soul like me?’ The edge of humour in the beggar’s voice enraged the King even more. Besides, the man had mismatched eyes – one deep blue, one brown. Charles hated mismatched eyes.
' The Floor of the Banqueting House, '
Mudlarks by Emma Rowling
The waves gently washed ashore and laid a small, brownish, worn-out looking lump on the dark silt before retreating back again into their icy barracks. Looking closer, one might be able to discern the features of a gallant soldier atop his trusty steed; albeit, the rider was headless and the stallion legless. If a head were upon those shoulders, it would’ve worn a sad, tired expression with a long story to tell. After being made, their world was darkness. Then suddenly the darkness tore open for them to be plunged into a world of light, noise, grabbing hands and a child’s delighted laughter. I love it! I love it! I promise I’ll treasure it forever!” Many happy hours followed of daring fights, thrilling chases and exhilarating escapades
1943 Bullets rained and whistled down from the blood-covered sky and cries from children echoed through the deserted streets of London. The sky was bleeding red and the city was a glowing bonfire as the German planes circled parliament before retreating to bask in their glory. 2010 Police sirens wailed through the crowded streets of London city and headed for the London Thames. Sophie had heard the sirens from her terrace and wondered what it could have been, so she silently followed the flashing lights of the police. To her surprise, the police stopped right by the Thames and she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened;
We Meet Again by Rosie Edwards