Highly Commended

The Long Lost Relative

 

It was a bleak, wet Sunday morning in London. A 9 year-old boy named Nathaniel Brown was at home watching tv in his bedroom. Suddenly, the power went out.

Nathaniel’s Mum told him to get a board game from the under-the-stairs cupboard. He pulled out a large box and searched through it for a game. Nathaniel spotted a thick photo album inside the box and picked it up. A photo fell from inside the album. The photo showed a man who looked like Nathaniel. There was a boat in the background of the photo. Nathaniel turned the photo over and saw Agwe Brown 21 June 1948.

Nathaniel thought that was strange as this man had the same last name as him but he hadn’t heard of him before. He took the photo into his livingroom and asked his Mum who it was. She said she didn’t know but suggested that they go to his grandparent’s house which was at the end of their street to ask them.

When they got to Nathaniel’s grandparent’s house, Nathaniel asked them who the man was. Nathaniel’s Grandad said he didn’t know the person was but spotted the boat in the background. He suggested that it might be the Empire Windrush and that the man may have been a Jamaican immigrant.

Nathaniel became fascinated with the story of the Empire Windrush, a ship which brought Jamaicans over to London 3 years after WW2 ended. He asked his parents almost every day if they could go to Jamaica for a holiday.

During the summer holidays, Nathaniel’s family drove to the airport and Nathaniel asked them excitedly if they were going to Jamaica. He was so happy when his parents said, “Yes!”.

Nathaniel learned that they were flying to Kingston in Jamaica. The Empire Windrush sailed from Kingston in Jamaica and Nathaniel’s parents explained that this is where they had the most chance of finding out who Agwe Brown was.

After a ten hour journey Nathaniel looked out the window and saw an island with tropical trees and sandy beaches.

After the plane had landed, they flagged down a taxi and headed to their hotel. They checked in and went to their room to freshen up. One hour later, they headed to the beach. They saw a young boy who was roughly the same age as Nathaniel.

Nathaniel smiled at the boy and asked him his name. He said that he was called Aidan Brown. Nathaniel laughed and told him that his surname was also Brown…

Nathaniel noticed that Aiden looked like him. He showed Aiden the photograph and asked if he knew the man. Aiden’s grandparents walked over and his grandad said, “That’s my father, Agwe. He was the first Jamaican to go on the Empire Windrush to London”. They soon realised that they were related to each other. This was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. The Jamaican and English families visited each other every couple of years.

Andrew Flynn, 11

Nataraja - Lord of the Dance

 

“Umama!”

The phone is echoey and glitchy, it always is, but a gushing stream of warm Tamil greets and rushes over me. Grandma gets so excited and speaks so fast! After the bomb none of the phones worked. We’d waited days for news. Mum became so quiet. The boys never seem to notice, and Dad works so hard, he has three jobs. I notice. Mum and I read one another like a mirror.

‘Kutti!”

I melt when Grandma calls me that, I am a little girl again.

‘’Mum, Mum. It’s Grandma!’’

Mum rushes to the phone, slipping effortlessly to Tamil, her voice bursting with relief. She is flushed, is she crying? I retreat to the front room where Aajay and Jaiden are squabbling over who is best at football (it’s me! ) they are football crazy- we all support Arsenal!

I put my hand on Mummy’s shoulder, she smiles at me and hands me back the phone.

‘’Umama,’’

‘’Rasakutti,’’

I am shimmering with the paprika heat, the rich green trees, the fragrance of your Kottu Rotti spicing the air. That is me, the little girl, in my orange and dark blue floating lenga, a Tamil princess. My aunties, my cousins, grandma and great grandma, uncles, friends, and even more aunties! The women dancing together, spinning gold, crimson, mint and royal blue- flecked with gold and shining glass, bangles chiming as they whirl. Tamil love songs old and new, happy and sad -laughing, chattering. We are together and we dance.

I dance afrobeat at school- they are love songs too. If I close my eyes the music runs through me. It is just girls dancing, grandma. This is my London tribe- Nigerian, Jamaican, Ghanaian , Columbian, Congolese and a Sri Lankan. You would have been proud- when we danced on stage, they cheered us and clapped and sang along. I am practicing a Tamil dance to show you when I see you, Umama. You will cook for us again and I will eat until my belly is so full. I miss you.

The days when the air was too thick and hot to breathe, sticking with sweat, the ceiling fan pushing the hot air. I was so frightened of the old toilet, cockroaches scuttling, crunching beneath my feet. The snake in the garage, mosquitoes sucking me at night and the itching bumps raised in the morning. Umama, you rubbed cream into the angry little stabs, and they healed beneath your cool fingers. I miss you.

Your voice is music to me, Umama, my tongue clumsily in Tamil. I cannot find the words to say the things in my heart. It is so different here, you are so far away, your voice so thin and so distant. I wish you had been here for my coming of age. I know you bless me Umama, I will make you proud, I will make mummy proud. I don’t want to grow older without you. I will dance for you. I miss you.

Anjana Arulthas, 11

Windrush

 

In the middle of the ocean a ship roared through the crystal clear waves. On the bow a girl was writing in her diary inhaling the smell of vanilla and rolling sand dunes from the pages.

Dear diary,

Today is my fifth day on The Windrush. Everything is so different now. Mama and Papa say this is our chance but I am not so sure. “Asha,“ they say , “ We will earn money so we can visit Grandfather.” As I sit here now many others surround me and I miss the quiet of our little village and the rich roasted coffee that Grandfather always makes early in the morning.

I miss Yanka, my best friend in the whole world. She stayed behind in her tiny orphanage the last I saw of her, a speck far away. I miss the bouncy Ms Abby who sold pomegranates in the dusty village square and always pressed tiny oranges into my hand.

But most of all I miss Grandfather and his paintings of wildflowers and pieces of driftwood from the bay. Grandfather once even found a small pebble size piece of jet which he carved into the shape of a rose and gave to me.

Now as I sit here I finger it slowly wishing I could be back with Grandfather, Yanka and sweet Ms Abby. They each gave me parting gifts when I left and each one I treasure in my heart. Yanka, kind, dear Yanka gave me a speckled feather from the tiny chicken coop in the village square. If I used Papa’s favourite ink pot, I could pretend I was a rich lady with ink and a quill. Ms Abby gave me a tiny paper bag full of dry fruit like oranges and lemons that should last the whole trip to London.

I try to remember the song a rich lord had hummed once when visiting from London. Lord Albert I think his name was. Oranges and Lemons say the Bells of St Clemens. Yes! That was it. Quietly, I whistle it now. Grandfather taught me how to whistle.

Ah Grandfather, how I miss you. He gave me a healing necklace of aquamarine so I would always be in good health.

Farewell for now,

Asha x

The girl on the bow closed her diary slipping all her trinkets into the diary’s spine and closing the book for maybe the last time. Her hand reached for a small paper bag but as she did so her diary slipped from her grasp and fell into the clear ocean.

In the middle of the ocean, a diary bobbed.

Ione Knight, 10

Mali's Journey

 

Mali looked at the old photographs of her family’s journey across continents, her heart swelling with pride. It had been a long time since that adventure, but Mali could still remember it vividly. She was eight years old then, with bright ginger hair that bounced with every step she took. Mali’s little brother, Osian, was only one year old at the time!

Mali’s Dads, Dadi (Dylan) and Dada (Andrew), had decided to embark on an incredible adventure to mark the 75th anniversary of the Empire Windrush. Mali didn’t really understand what that meant at the time, but her Dads had explained to her that it was an important ship that had brought many people from the Caribbean to the UK after World War II.

Their journey began in Wales, where they lived. Mali, Osian, and their Dads packed their bags and headed to the train station. They boarded a train that took them to London, where they saw the famous sights like Big Ben and the London Eye. Mali had always wanted to see these places.

Their next stop was the Royal Mint. Mali’s Dads had heard a rumour that there was a magical coin hidden somewhere in the building. It was said that whoever found the coin would be granted a wish. Mali was very excited about this and hoped they would find the coin. They searched the building from top to bottom, but unfortunately, they didn’t find the coin.

Mali and her family continued their journey, travelling through Europe and then on to Africa. They saw so many amazing sights and met so many interesting people. Mali especially loved the markets they visited, where they could buy all kinds of exotic fruits and vegetables.

Finally, after months of travelling, they arrived in the Caribbean. Mali was amazed by the crystal clear waters and white sandy beaches. They attended a ceremony to mark the anniversary of the Empire Windrush, and Mali’s Dads gave a speech about the importance of remembering the people who had travelled on that ship.

As they were leaving the ceremony, Mali felt something hard under her foot. She looked down and saw a shiny silver coin. It was the magical coin they had been searching for all along! Mali picked it up and showed it to her Dads. They were all thrilled and couldn’t believe they had finally found it.

Mali closed the photo album and smiled. She was so grateful to her Dads for taking her and Osian on such an incredible journey. Mali knew that they had crossed continents to remember an important moment in history, but they had also created memories that would last a lifetime.

As she looked at the photos, Mali knew that she wanted to travel the world someday, just like her Dads had done. She knew that there were so many more adventures to be had, and she couldn’t wait to start her own journey using the magical that she had found!

Mali Charles, 8

Windrush - My Journey

 

As I stumbled up the rickety gangplank, trepidation beat through me rapidly, tackling my ever-growing spark of excitement. My stomach churned like the swell of the ocean as my head span. Happiness for new beginnings bubbled through me, but sickness for leaving my beloved home crippled me. The towering vessel loomed over me like a colossal monster ready to engulf me. People bustled around me: noise shattering my ears. With one steady breath and a few uncomfortable nudges from nearby shoulders, I slowly ascended the plank with one last wave to the swaying palms and golden sands.

The gentle sway of the floorboards beneath me sent my gangly legs shaking violently. My dishevelled clothes felt so strange up to the zoot suits the men wore. I was coming to London to find a job, and that’s it! Icy tendrils slithered down my back as I took in my new surroundings. Condensation hung like a thick blanket in the air and bulky bunk beds lined the oak walls. A cascade of people entered and my heart flipped, this was just the beginning…

The ship was huge. The biggest liner I had ever seen. I figured that the first night was always the worst: how right I was. The blood-curdling nightmarish roar of the engine thrummed through my fragile body, jerking me from left to right. An anxious lump settled in my throat and a hollowed pit sank to the bottom of my stomach.

This was only temporary, I repeated through my mind. Distant murmurs from hushed voices seemed to deafen me. My breathing was ragged and sleep felt far out of my grasp. When I eventually fell into a disturbed slumber, memories of home trickled into my dreams like a quiet waterfall of grief.

An entire month passed by before we reached London. As I wearily descended the plank and stepped my first step onto a British pavement, a feeling of triumph encircled me. Rain dripped down my wide-eyed face and grey clouds hung above like a solemn barricade from dreamy, blue skies. Trembling I placed down my bag in my new home: Clapham Deep. I was met with despair and excitement, both battling together like my heart was an arena.

After searching for an appropriate job for a fifteen-year-old girl, I found an immense, polished building with monumental pillars. It shone like a star in an inky sky. It smelt of burning metal and was named: The Royal Mint. I had no clue what it meant but I continued to tip-toe inside. I met a tall, dainty man who labelled me Penny Presser and guided me to a metallic machine. He taught me how to work it and after some tries, I was pressing pennies as fast as a bullet. Although I missed my home desperately, a constant ache in my chest, I’m ready to face diversity and call London my home.

Mia Sanders, 11