Highly Commended
I Think There’s a Panda in My Back Garden
“I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I said to Mummy yesterday when I found bamboo on the grass.
“I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I said again, because bamboo definitely does not grow here on our farm. We have grass, and one football permanently stuck in the hedge…but no bamboo!
On the way to school that morning I saw something strange.
There was a poster stuck to a tree. It said:
BEWARE – PANDA ON THE LOOSE.
I stared at it for a long time.
“I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I said quietly.
But nobody else seemed worried.
When I got home from school and we were having tea, something strange happened.
I heard a loud CRUNCH outside.
Then another CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
I looked out of the window but couldn’t see anything, just a few bamboo sticks on the grass.
I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I said.
Mummy said it was probably the wind.
But the wind doesn’t eat bamboo.
“I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I whispered later that night when I heard CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH outside of my window.
So I peeked out.
And there it was…
A panda sitting in the middle of my garden eating bamboo like it owned the place.
“I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I said quietly… but something was different.
This panda wasn’t black and white. It was GOLD.
Its fur shimmered in the moonlight like treasure. It looked exactly like the panda on the gold panda coins my bampi once showed me in a book.
“I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I said as it dropped something shiny on the grass. The panda bowed politely (which I think is very good manners in China), finished its bamboo, and rolled quietly away. In the morning the panda was gone.
But the bamboo was still there.
And the gold coin.
I picked it up.
A beautiful gold coin with a panda on it glowing like a tiny sun.
“I think there’s a panda in my back garden,” I told Mummy.
And this time…
I know I’m right.
Braxton Kelsey, 7.
The Power of Gold
I held up my younger brother to ring the marble doorbell at my grandma’s, or as I like to call her Nani-ji. I shivered from the wintery chill, the excitement of treats I would be given and the weight of a wiggling five-year-old in my arms. Nani-ji opened the door, greeting me and my brother with one of her warm wrinkly hugs. As I walked to the soft hollowed out leather sofa with Mummy, I smelt wafts of spicy sweet cardamom, fragrant fennel seeds and then I heard the soft sizzling of samosas.
After a while of hearing Nani-ji and Mummy natter, I decided to go rummaging in Mummy’s old bedroom. I sneaked upstairs and opened the brown wooden door. The wallpaper still had Blu-Tack marks, the floorboards creaked as I crept in and then I saw the wardrobe door slightly ajar, teasing me to open it and as I did my eyes were awe-struck by illuminating gemstones and colourful Punjabi suits – slightly out of date in style but that didn’t stop me. As I yanked out an outfit, a gold necklace clattered to the floor. I picked it up and stared at its swirly floral pattern and lustrous sunset shine. It felt enchanting and so much heavier than my trinkets at home.
I ran downstairs to show my treasure.
“Look at what I’ve found Mummy, can I keep it please?” I begged.
She answered, “It’s not a toy so no Preet.”
I replied, “Isn’t it a case of finders keepers?”, looking longingly.
I could tell it was a no, my shoulders sighed as they slumped down, I felt wistful.
“But why…” I pleaded.
Nani-ji smiled and ambled over, “Preet come sit…” she said.
“You know women don’t just adorn themselves in pretty gold, they hold strength in it.” I knew the way I tilted my head in confusion, Nani-ji would give me more.
“Well, this necklace was given to me by my mummy who had received it from her mummy, I am keeping this safe for your mummy.”
That’s a lot of mummies! I thought.
Nani-ji continued ‘’Gold isn’t just jewellery, it’s also wisdom passed on by women for women.”
“Gold has quietly supported families.”
“Before women had a right to an education or earning a living, gold was their safety net.”
“Then when women could learn, gold enabled them to.”
“See, this necklace came with bangles and earrings which my mother sold so there was enough money for me, the first woman in my family to go to university in Punjab, the land of the five rivers.”
It dawned on me, gold isn’t just for dressing up, pirates or royalty. Wealth doesn’t always sit in money. Sometimes it sits quietly in your grandma’s house, ready to pass from one generation of women to the next ready for them to use to fulfil their wishes. It is a dream maker.
Preet Kaur Bains, 8.
The Golden Wish
"I wish we could go on a proper holiday" Tom whined as he trudged through the woods. The forest floor was a mosaic of autumnal colour, golden leaves dripped from the trees, shimmering in the sunlight.
"What do you mean? This is a proper holiday," replied his dad, "this is the Lake District! We used to come every year when I was a kid, and I loved it. I still do!"
"But there's nothing to do!” said Tom. “We don't even have any Wi-Fi in the caravan" he moaned.
"You don't need Wi-Fi when you've got all this," his dad said enthusiastically, gesturing his arm towards their surroundings. Tom didn't respond. They resumed their walk, Tom trailing along behind his parents, head down, lost in his own thoughts of where he'd rather be.
After a while they came across the trunk of a fallen tree – a huge log resembling some sort of mythical creature lying in wait, its gnarled back covered in an array of vertical scales. Tom’s brain couldn't interpret what he was seeing at first, then slowly, he realised...coins! The log was covered with coins that had been driven into the bark - a bristling armour of different shades of copper and nickel. Some were twisted and deformed where they'd been hammered into place, others barely visible, buried deep in the moss-covered bark. Tom tried pulling one out. "Don't do that," his mum snapped "that's someone's wish. If you take it out it won't come true."
"What!?" asked Tom, confused.
"People tap in a coin and make a wish," his mum said.
"Here," said Tom’s dad offering him a shiny new pound coin. Tom found a small rock nearby to use as a makeshift hammer and gently tapped the coin into a crevice while he silently wished to himself that next year they could go on a proper holiday.
Months later, their trip now a distant memory, Tom and his family were at the village gala. They visited all the stalls and as they were leaving, his dad sent Tom to buy some raffle tickets with the change he had left. Tom looked at his tickets, numbers 631-636, and saw they boasted the words "First Prize: A holiday in Disneyland" in gold lettering. "If only..." he thought.
At the end of the gala it was time for the raffle. The official plunged her hand into the bowl full of tickets to draw the winner of the first prize. Two tickets were in her grasp, numbers 298 and 636. There could only be one winning ticket so she had to let go of one.
Meanwhile, somewhere in a forest in the Lake District, a young girl and her family had stumbled upon the tree and, just at that moment, the glint of a shiny coin caught the girl’s eye, its golden edges glistening in the sun. The temptation was too great, she gripped it between her fingers and pulled...
Thomas Smith, 11.
Gold Never Lets You Down
As my Delhi-bound flight from London landed, I realized Delhi doesn’t ease you in gently – it grabs you by the hand and pulls you into the noise, colour and chaos. The first thing I noticed there wasn’t the heat or the noise. It was gold.
As we drove through the busy streets, I pressed my nose against the taxi window. Everywhere I looked, gold caught my eye – on the street hawker’s wrists, on the temple deity, on babies hardly old enough to walk. It didn’t feel like showing off. It felt... important.
Soon the taxi pulled up outside my Nani’s house. She was waiting at the gate, arms wide open. As we sat together with a glass of nimbu pani, she caught me staring at her gold bangles. The question rushed out before I could stop it. “Nani, why does everyone here wear so much gold?”
She stroked her bangles gently. “Beta,” she said, “gold isn’t just jewellery here. It is a family’s savings, a safety net, a nod to age-old traditions. It never loses its worth, crumbles or disappears. Even Lord Krishna wears it. Gold never lets you down.”
As the sky turned from gold to pink, Nani led me quietly into her bedroom.
She sat in her rocking chair and said softly, “My dad did not have much but worked very hard on the farm. When times got better, my mom bought some gold jewellery. One day, she divided it all into three pouches and asked her daughters to pick one. My heart leapt when I opened mine.”
She handed me an intricate velvet case. “I almost sold these once,” Nani said quietly. “When times were hard.”
I looked up at her, surprised.
“But I couldn’t,” she continued. “Because they carry my mother’s story. And now, they will carry yours too.”
The room went silent as if the whole of Delhi was waiting for this moment. I opened the lid with trembling hands. Inside, on a bed of faded red velvet, lay two small flower shaped gold earrings, simple, perfect and older than anything I had ever owned.
I kept those earrings close as years passed. One rainy Sunday morning back in London, my granddaughter Meera sat beside me. I looked at her curious eyes and remembered myself as a little girl stepping off a plane in Delhi, dazzled by gold. I called her into the bedroom quietly, just as my Nani had all those years ago. I told her the story of my golden flower earrings as I placed the same velvet box into her tiny hands. “Thank you, Nani,” Meera whispered.
I had never met my great-Nani, yet whenever I wore those earrings, I feel a warm glow, as if she were a part of me. Now Meera would feel it too.
I smiled. Nani had been right all along. Gold never lets you down.
Outside, London was grey and drizzling. In that room, something glittered.
Kiara Gupta, 8.
My Treasure Garden
One sunny morning, whilst I was playing in my garden, a piece of paper landed by my feet underneath a big tree.
Oh, it looks like a map! I thought. I decided there must be treasure in my garden.
Pirates bury treasure and pirates don’t have gardens so maybe they borrowed ours overnight. Under our big tree are some muddy bits where the grass doesn’t grow which is exactly the sort of place pirates would pick.
I got my blue shovel from the sand pit and started digging.
The dirt was cold and smelled like worms. I looked up at the tree and thought to myself, this tree looks like it has secrets!
After a while I found something small that looked a little bit shiny. “Gold,” I whispered. It was small, but maybe pirate gold shrinks when it’s underground for too long, I thought to myself. I rubbed it on my shirt to make it shinier.
Then I heard a caw.
A raven landed on the wall and looked at me like it knew my secret. “Shhhh no telling,” I told it. It cawed again which I think means okay in raven language.
Then it flew away. Pirates always have birds so maybe this raven used to belong to the pirate who buried the gold.
That made the hole feel much more important. I dug faster. Dirt went everywhere, my knees got muddy, and my hands looked like chocolate, but sadly dirt doesn’t taste like chocolate. The hole got deeper and deeper until it looked like the start of a secret tunnel.
Then my shovel hit something with a clonk! I scooped the soil away and saw something that looked like a treasure chest, a gold one to be exact. I pulled it out. Inside was a rusty gold coin and a marble.
“Treasure,” I shouted.
I picked up the marble, the sun shone right through it and made sparkles on the ground.
I think the raven from earlier has gone to tell the captain ghost I’ve found their treasure first.
I put the treasure in my pocket because explorers always keep the best treasure. Maybe the gold coin is worth a lot of money and I could take my family on adventures around the world.
Then mum called me for lunch. I looked at the hole one last time. Maybe there is more treasure in there. Tomorrow I will dig again.
The end
Harris Gould, 8.
The Golden Games
One day Grimon the golden dragon, with his mighty gleaming horns and his ferocious claws and teeth, his black body with a pattern of glittering, golden scales across his middle and shoulders, and his smooth golden underbelly, he, Grimon, one of the most important dragons of the time, realised that he had a problem.
He had collected a massive treasure hoard of gold over the years. There were smooth stacks of gold bars, rough nuggets piled like pebbles and engraved gold coins from sunken pirate ships. There were golden goblets and plates, an assortment of jewellery and a few shiny trophies and medals.
But Grimon was worried that he would become too greedy if he kept all his gold. He’d be unable to think of anything but his gold and would want to get more and more. He had seen this happen to other dragons and it had never ended well. He thought, “What should I do with my gold? If I keep it, it will corrupt me like it has corrupted many other dragons. I have too little gold to give to all the other dragons, and it would be unfair to give my gold to only a few of the other dragons. Oh, what shall I do with my gold?”
But then Grimon remembered that he had recently overheard some two legs talking about something that would happen in a couple of months in Greece. Grimon strained his memory for a long time, trying to remember what the two legs had said, and then it came to him: “The Games will be happening in two months.”
The Games! Grimon stretched out his wings and took to the air. When Grimon arrived in Greece, he stealthily watched the Games and saw that they gave prizes to the best in each event.
Then Grimon knew what he would do. Every four years he would hold his own secret version of the Games. It would be called the Golden Games and only dragons could attend and enter. The winner of each event would get a golden prize out of his treasure hoard. So Grimon sent out word of his competition to the far ends of the Earth.
All the dragons of the world came. The bravest and strongest competed in a variety of different dragon events. One event was the fire breather, where the dragons endeavoured to see how fast they could melt a ton of gold. Another event was the mid-air marathon, where dragons raced to carry gold 26 miles through the sky without being seen by the two legs.
So Grimon’s Games saved him from the curse of gold greediness. They still secretly continue to this day.
Sam Plant, 8.
Macaroni Mouse and the Castle
Macaroni went on a day trip to the castle. He arrived at the castle and started to explore! He saw canons, the keep, armour for a Knight and the banqueting hall.
He was about to go home when he spotted a door that was not on the guide map. He opened the door, and it led to a secret passageway.
The passageway looked long, dark and creepy! At the end he saw a mysterious looking box. He opened the box and to his surprise he found a magical map!
The map showed every room there was in the castle, but the most surprising thing happened when he touched a room name.
Macaroni was transported to the room he touched! He saw so many great rooms full of wonderful castle history.
After exploring all the rooms on the map, he noticed one had an ‘x’ in the corner. Being a very curious mouse, Macaroni just had to touch it! It took him to probably the most special room – the room of…. The lost treasure!
Inside he found lots of jewels, crowns and gold and silver. He spotted a large gold coin covered with diamonds and one very large ruby. He gathered as much as he could into the treasure chest and touched the map once more.
Being a very honest mouse, he took the treasure to the owners of the castle. They couldn’t believe their eyes and gave Macaroni a reward!
Macaroni appeared in the local newspaper telling his story for all to read. He was treated to a lifetime supply of cheese from the castle creamery and finally made it home for a long overdue cup of tea.
The End
Zachary Hyde, 7.
Jamie and the Golden Secret of the Philippines.
My name is Jamie and I am currently sitting on a giant aeroplane that is flying over the ocean.
We are going to the Philippines to see my Lolo and Lola (Grandpa and Grandma). It takes a million hours to get there, but I don’t mind because the aeroplane gave me a tiny bag of pretzels and a TV in the back of my chair.
When we finally landed, it was very hot and smelled like yummy mangoes. My Lolo has a house near a big mountain with trees that look like giant umbrellas.
“Jamie,” Lolo said, “be careful of the Duwende! (gnome) They are tiny people who live in the dirt and guard the gold.”
I grabbed my blue shovel. I wasn’t scared of tiny people. I was a professional treasure hunter.
I went to the backyard where the banana trees grow. The dirt there was dark and wet. I started digging a hole to see if I could find a volcano.
THUMP. CRACK.
My shovel hit something hard. I thought it was a coconut, but when I pulled it out, it was a rock, but it was covered in shiny, yellow glitter! It was shaped like a star, and it felt heavy like a big bag of coins.
“Sparky! Look!” I whispered (but Sparky was back home, so I told a big lizard on the wall instead). The lizard blinked at me. He knew I was rich.
I wiped the mud off my shorts. The rock was so bright it looked like a piece of the Philippine sun was trapped inside. I ran into the house and hid it in my backpack under my extra socks. I had a big Philippines plan:
Buy a boat that looks like a shark to go to all the islands.
Get a lifetime supply of Jollibee chicken.
Build a tree house made of gold in Lolo’s backyard.
Buy a pet monkey that wears a tiny hat.
That night, I kept checking my backpack. I was worried the Duwende would come back for their star rock. I dreamed I was the king of the mangoes, and my crown was made of my shiny gold star.
In the morning, I showed the rock to my Lola while she was making breakfast.
“Lola! Look the tiny people left me their gold,” I shouted.
Lola put down her spoon and put on her glasses. She looked at the sparkly star. Then she smiled a very big smile.
“Oh, Jamie! This is pyrite, but here we call it ginto ng tanga. Fool’s Gold! It’s a very special rock that comes from the mountains.”
I felt a little bit sad. No shark boat? No monkey with a hat?
But then Lola hugged me. “But Jamie, look how it shines. It’s a souvenir from the earth. Since you found such a big treasure, I think we should go get some Halo-Halo ice cream with extra purple scoops!”
I grinned. Real gold is just a heavy rock, but Halo-Halo is the best treat in the world. I put my golden star in my pocket. It’s my favourite thing I found in the Philippines, and it’s definitely staying on my shelf forever.
Jamie Froom, 7.
The Heist
“Dong.” The church bells chime, the flag atop the spire billows in a gust of wind.
I pace the dirt-speckled rooftop of the bank. Shivering and hunching my neck, I gaze intently down at the bustling midday town centre. Plumes of petrol mingle with the smell of oil and food waste. Frustrated drivers slam their horns, yelling at meandering pedestrians. The hustle and bustle of the market square vibrates below me, where the stall owners haggle over prices and office workers sit down to enjoy their lunch.
Target vehicle at two o’clock. Three operators inside. Seven cameras visible.
The time creeps by like molasses in January and the bell chimes once more. In a nearby courtyard, children shriek with joy, chasing the drifting petals that pirouette in the gentle breeze. I wince at the light that bounces off the vehicle’s roof as the sun appears. Wrappers litter the dull grey paving slabs.
“Order number five!” A husky voice calls out.
The perfect mark steps forward: a little old lady tugging at a shopping basket shuffles to the front of the queue, stretching a frail arm towards the window.
Out they came: thick and solid, rich and crisp, vibrant and glinting, warm and shiny.
The enticing sight is too much and I cannot wait any longer – aiming at the collection window, I plot my route to the vehicle and my escape.
I break free. Wind streaks against my face as I swoop down, eyeing my sparkling prize with relish, my claws and beak poised.
The mark screams, flinging the gold pieces that showered the people nearby. She ducks and flails her arms all around her face as I let loose a flurry of feathers. A man in a checked suit tries to swat me away with a newspaper, nearly catching me full in the face. I dodge and weave, getting closer to the sodden ground and the box of glinting bars. Diving and swooping again, I grab what I can, clawing hold of something. I race back to the rooftop to inspect my hoard.
“That seagull’s a menace!” one of the operators yells in my direction, cursing.
A terrible haul, just a shimmering gold broach with a strange-looking cat imprinted on it. The eyes glare back, watching me intensely. Disappointed by yet another unsuccessful heist, I peck at the broach and chuck it with all my might onto the corner, to the rest of the miscellaneous gold junk. The sound of the badge clinking echoes away, and the hubbub of the town centre returns.
People call me many things. Yet I am misunderstood: my gold is chips. Flaky, crispy, melt in the mouth chips – so golden and triple cooked.
Mason Marsh, 10.
Artwork and Haiku by Mason Marsh.
Operation Fish
(CLASSIFIED)
London, 1940
I am Agent Goldfish. FYI, I am neither golden nor a fish.
Soldiers escorted me and the Governor of the Bank of England, Montagu Norman, down into the vaults beneath the Bank. Boots echoed through corridors smelling of metal and polish. Each door thicker than the last, until we reached the great vault.
Inside, wooden crates were stacked like silent monuments.
The Governor turned to me, “Agent Goldfish, this is Operation Fish. Tonight we move Britain’s gold by truck, then train, then ship to Canada. If it reaches safety, it will buy our freedom. If it falls into enemy hands… it will mean our defeat.” I swallowed hard.
“This gold is not treasure,” he continued. “It is the future of this country. Enough to keep us alive… or bury us. Armed guards will accompany you, and one other guardian.” The Governor glanced at the crates. “If anyone asks, Goldfish, this mission never happened.” I nodded.
That night the gold left the Bank, hidden in lorries, the crates labelled FISH, under a cloak of darkness and wailing sirens. We moved fast through burning streets. At Waterloo Station, the crates were transferred onto a waiting train – a long, black serpent-like machine. As it pulled away, I sat between the crates, the motion lulling me. Then… KABOOM! A bomb! The carriage lurched. Dust fell. My heart left my chest.
The train shook like a rattle in a child’s fist, but the gold didn’t budge a millimetre.
Instead, it began to glow. A warm light – like sunlight trapped in metal. From it rose a large figure, shimmering and made of smoke. “I am Zar-Pasbān,” it said with a slight bow, “of the Jinn.”
“You’re the other guardian?” I whispered.
“I suppose so. I was born in the fire of dying stars – the same fire that forged this gold. We have been bound together ever since.”
He caressed the gold.
“Warm as the sun. Bright as hope. It does not rust or fade. Kings used it for power.
Brides for love. Empires across the ages – Persia, Rome, Mali – have chased it. It is the wealth of the world.” He paused, gazing at the gold, enchanted. “It calls to me too,” he continued, “I’m its companion… its devotee.”
“Why guard it?” I asked.
“Because wherever gold goes, humans follow and that usually means trouble. In good hands, it builds, creates, even liberates. In the wrong hands… it ruins.”
Zar-Pasbān looked at me for a moment. “Tonight, Goldfish… your people have chosen well. You see, the gold does not choose what to do. You do. Gold doesn’t change anyone – it reveals who they are.”
Zar-Pasbān leaned back against the crates. “Sleep, Goldfish. I will watch the gold.”
As if under a spell, I did.
When I woke, dawn was breaking over the docks. Ships were waiting. Remembering the words of the Governor, I told myself, “This never happened.”
A voice drifted from the crates, amused and ancient:
“Oh, it absolutely did, Goldfish.”
Reyad Imran-Mir, 11.
