THE results are in for our young peoples’ competition.
We asked children under 16 years of age to send in their poems and stories inspired by the older generation.
I’m pleased to announce two winners: Frankie Shaw-Velardo and Hannah Kent, both aged 14.
They each win a brilliant bundle of books from World of Books, and also a £20 book voucher. In addition, each of their schools will win 50 free books. Thanks so much for everyone who wrote in.
We will look at running another competition for young people in the new year.
My Great Nan
By Frankie Shaw-Veiardo
Durrington High School
I have always known my Great Nan, Joan Edwards, as ‘Ma’, it’s what we all call her.
She is now 93 and still a strong spirit, shaped by the war time and austerity years.
There was a ‘Pa’ too but he died when I was very young and I can only recall him rasping, “Shut that door” as we unpacked ornaments in their new house. Six months later he was dead of cancer. Ma coped incredibly well as a widow and enjoyed cooking for us and remained a keen shopper even with a stick.
After three falls in one day last year, sadly, she had to give up her independence and the budgie she loved and go into the Queen Alexandra Nursing Home in Worthing. Here she paints and reads and reminisces.
When I was little I did find it boring visiting Ma, yet as I have become a teenager I appreciate her so much more. My mum reminds me it must be so hard not being able to go very far and that we might all be old one day.
Now I see Ma in a new light as a piece of living history and a person just like me and you.
She laughs and cries like all of us and she has got wise through experience.
For me visiting my ‘Ma’ is a privilege and I feel fortunate to have known her for my 14 years.
Whatever the future, a little piece of her will always live on in me.
The Tales My Grandma Told
By Hannah Kent
Davison High School for Girls
My grandma had wrinkles,
And lines and crinkles,
And needed to be ironed out,
She hugged me too tightly,
And shook ever so slightly,
But I miss her now she’s not about.
She kept lots of clutter,
Some said she was a nutter,
But I liked her old things,
Like her delicate dolls,
In satin clothes with holes,
And her beautiful pearls and gold rings.
She told stories of all sorts,
Jumbled up with thoughts,
But they always made sense to me,
Through all I did listen,
And watch her eyes glisten,
As she spoke of things I should’ve seen.’
She spoke of houses in flames,
And bombs from enemy planes,
Horror stories and she’d witnessed each,
She also told of steam train rides,
Through beautiful countryside’s,
Or maybe even to the beach.
She wanted proper old records,
And tunes truly to die for,
And real movie stars she’d once seen,
She had been on glamorous trips,
And seen proper chic flics,
When you used to go to the ‘big screen.’
When I think of the tales she told,
I know they will never grow old,
For with us they always remain,
With friends’ forgotten names,
And places she couldn’t place,
In our hearts their stories do stay.