Albyn School is a co-educational private day school, founded in 1867 in Aberdeen, Scotland.Albyn was originally an all-girls school before becoming co-educational in 2005.The school has a nursery, primary school and secondary school; pupils can attend from aged 2 to 18
"Albyn School is a community. It’s a community of pupils that want to learn It is a happy, safe and vibrant community where pupils feel that they can be themselves, and be valued for who they are. It’s a community of staff, parents and pupils who want to work together to nurture talent, and develop knowledge and skills. We focus everything we do on our core values of becoming more self-aware,ambitious and outward-looking "
-David
Starbuck, Albyn head of school.
PRESIDENT
MEERA TIOE
VICE-PRESIDENT
OLIVIA OPE-ADELEKE
THE PROSE EDITORS
AAKASH KULIAANDHOP NGUYEN
THE POETRY EDITORS
FELIX KAMANDASIRAYAKUBU
THE DRAMA EDITORS
ANATOLE GUISESAND
CRYSTAL OBIEKEZIE
ENDER SAYHAN
LUCY PHILIP
ESHAN HANEEF
LILY BARRON
ZAINAB JAVEID
ABISOLA OGUNDANA
JOY OLAWALE
Hello everyone!
A century isn’t just a number. It’s the sound of chalk on boards that no longer exist. It’s the echo of bells that rang before any of us were born. This year, our school turns one hundred years old. And for this, we let the weight of time guide us.
Welcome to The Alba Lynes: 100 Year Celebration.
Inside, you’ll find prose that showcases horror stories of creaking floorboards and whispering walls. In poetry, we explored the fears and anxieties set in the 1900s, the weight of expectation and the dread that lingers in a world that is strict and uncertain. And in drama, we kept it simple: a conversation between students, because sometimes, the most human moments are the ones that echo across time.
This edition is special for another reason. It’s our team’s last. We’ve learned how to edit and design, how to encourage others, and how to chase down that one piece a day before the deadline! Next year, a new team will take the reins, and I hope they find joy in shaping words and telling stories.
Thank you for reading. Thank you to everyone who submitted work and helped bring these pages to life. And thank you to this school for one hundred years of stories, and for the ones waiting to be told.
-Meera Tioe President of the Literary Society.
EDI
EDI
A crossword puzzle created by Lucy Philip
Still Smiling By Aakash Kulia
One of Us By Ender Sayhan
The Bell that Never Stopped By Hop Nguyen
Elizabeth By Olivia Ope-Adeleke
The Jotter By Crystal Obiekezie
The Anniversary Photo By Lucy Philip
The Lost Jotter By Meera Tioe
Jotter Assigned to Whom? By Eshan Haneef
Green Fern By Meera Tioe
Cautiously Bold By Felix Kam
Pen to Paper By Anatole Guises
Hard Hands - Soft Voices By Crystal Obiekezie
The Ring of The Bells By Zainab Javeid
by Lucy Phillip
STILL SMILING
ONE OF US
THEBELLTHA NEVERSTOPP
ELIZABETH BY OLIVIA OPE-ADELEKE
“Have you heard about the ghost that lives in this classroom? I hear she haunts and whispers, she has no face and no name." Aaliyah swayed, “And she’s not settled with her death so she pulls and scratches on classroom doors, waiting for a student to knock on the wall 3 times to summon her, waiting to take an Albyn student away ” Her voice turned painfully quiet, before rising in the peak of the moment, “And pull you below the school!” She screamed. Rose squealed, pulling away from Aaliyah. “That’s not funny! No more horror stories.” Aaliyah doubled over in amusement, whilst Rose slapped Aaliyah’s shoulder, attempting to catch her breath.
This year was the year Albyn School turned 100 years old. It was a cause for great celebration, and a huge milestone, but also the cause of many spooky stories, as pupils made up silly old stories about the school. Aaliyah and Rose had stayed back after school to finish their homework.
Aaliyah huffed, as she giggled, “Well, we are in the classroom,” she smirked, “Why don’t we summon her?” Rose flew up, her face turning deathly pale. “Are you crazy? Why would we do that?” Aaliyah was already standing, walking over to the wall at the front of the classroom. “Don’t be such a baby, it won’t even matter!” Aaliyah smirked as she leaned on the wall
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She grinned, “See? Nothing happened!” Rose's mouth fell open in surprise. Horrified, she didn’t make a single sound, and could only conjure her hand to just point. Aaliyah furrowed her eyebrows, “What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” She laughed nervously.
“Behind you!” Rose screamed, jumping up and hiding behind her chair. Aaliyah turned quickly, now face to face with a girl who was completely transparent Aaliyah fell back in fear, “What I thought !”
“Please don’t scream!” the ghost girl exclaimed, she waved her hands nervously. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, I need your help!” She spat.
Both girls looked at each other with matching faces of confusion and horror.
The ghost smiled, “My name is Elizabeth. I have something you need to see.”
THE JOTTER
THE ANNIVERSARY PHOTO
On the 100th anniversary of Queens Road, the whole school took a photo to commemorate the day Then, when the pupils downloaded the photo, there was one pupil that nobody knew, nobody had seen, and many were convinced that they didn’t even go to Albyn School. When the pupils showed the photo to the teachers, they didn’t recognise the pupil at all.
A few days later, students reported strange noises in the room where that photo was taken Until, one day, I looked in the room and I heard the noises as well The further I went into the room, the louder the noises were I heard quiet footsteps coming from behind me.
Instinctively, I turned around to check what the noise was. There was nobody there. At least, I thought at the time nobody was there. I heard the footsteps again, louder than before.
Then, suddenly, something bumped into me, maybe a ghost One that looked exactly like the pupil in the photo. They wore a uniform, possibly for Albyn, but it looked very different from the one that I wore. It looked about the same age as me.
I knew I should have told a teacher about the discovery that I made. Except when I looked around the entire school, no teachers happened to be passing by. I ran into the basement, the heels of my shoes creaking on every single step on the way down. I looked around the basement, trying to find a teacher, but then I heard loud footsteps, crashing and clanking against the metal of the stairs, coming from behind me. I turned around. The ghost had followed me all the way here, to the dark and mysterious basement of the school.
I tried walking to the corridor. More footsteps. The ghost was now following me everywhere When I walked into the corridor and let the door slam shut behind me, I walked towards the door at the other end of the hallway. However, every time I walked forwards, the door just kept getting further and further away.
MEERA TIOE
THE LOST JOTTER BY
JOTTER ASSIGNED TO WHOM? BY
ESHAN HANEEF
There was a radiator in the school that would randomly hiss uncontrollably. The reason was unknown but rumours and speculation suggested that the room itself was unholy, filled with demonic entities and black magic.
It was on one fine night, the 100th anniversary of the school, a trio of friends had stumbled across the so-called ‘haunted room’. Although they never paid any attention to the rumours, as they were outcasts, never social enough to talk to others. Therefore, they were never told the rumours, or rather, the rumours had never reached them.
Suddenly, the radiator started hissing, but one of the boys found a jotter hidden behind it, and the instant the jotter was removed, the hissing permanently halted. The one who found the dried-out, crusty and dusty jotter very carefully opened it, trying not to snap the fragile pages hidden within the cover.
On the pages were completely illegible names. Although some letters were legible, they couldn’t form a cohesive word. The most disturbing part was that the names that could be made out were the names of the people who had died tragic deaths on school grounds. But the reason behind many of the deaths is still unknown…
I haven’tdone myhomework…
The page is blank, a field of snow. I told myself an hour ago, I’d do it… I didn’t though. She knows They always know I never had a choice. She's going to call my name. I should have done it.
Now the dread Stupid. Stupid! Is what I said last night, inside my foolish head. A sound A hand
The cane is lifted, white with seams. “You. Stand up.”
My legs are wrong, my hot face streams. I’m the one who thought she might have somehow, somewhere, forgotten. Forgotten!
The room is still, the smell of fear wafts from me
They stared at their books, unseeingly. I look down at the floor. The crack.
“Your hand, girl. Out.” I hold it out, my fingers slack. and then the wait, the longest black Then comes the whistle, the thin, cutting sting that turns to be a burning line that spreads and glows, and up my arm the feeling goes. I snatch it back
“Hold it steady, or I’ll do it twice. And cover your wrist. The bone.” She takes such care to shield me so, as if the flesh she strikes, the blow, is fine to burn and welt and grow, to swell, to ache and slow. She guards my wrist but lets the cane fall on my palm, again and again.
byMeeraTioe
The second bite. I’m ready now. I flinch, but keep it out A vow of silence kept behind my brow. The third one lands. My vision swims. The fourth. The world is made of fire. I count the whippings, she does not tire.
“The other hand ” I switch The right, the hurt one, hovers, holds from sight the other wrist. In fright.
The strange part is she waits until I’ve covered it, and I am still
Besides the fear, the same, the chill, besides the tears I cannot will to stop, she does her best to shield from lasting harm, from wounds unhealed. The last one lands Its truth is sealed “Sit down.” I walk.
by Aakash Kulia
Minutes that felt like days pass
And I find myself in that same stall
Except now it is I
Sprawled on the floor
The ridges on my arms
Remind me of my mistakes
I drown in my own shame
A sinking feeling pulling me down
To the bottom of an ocean
Filled only with pain
A Factory of Answers by Lily Barron
Make my home into a classroom A classroom is not A classroom Yet when I leave, I hav
ForgottenHomework
by Abisola Ogundana
Every clock ticking down, waiting for the time to run out, Every student rushing, trying to get everything out. Every mind scattering in every direction, The invigilators’ tiptoes circling my perception Pens scratching like whispers in the air, Pages turning with quiet despair.
A room full of panic, silent and loud, Thinking too fast but never allowed A place where hopes and dreams come down to this, The final minute comes down to this One final grade, one moment of risk
The clock strikes loud, the papers close, That’s the way the exam hall goes.
by
Asira Yakubu
My eyes wander to the front of the class, As they stop at his desk my eyes glisten like glass. I feel the sting - sharp, quick and small, The ruler’s crack echoing down the hall. The mark carved into the back of my hand, A warning I can barely withstand.
My eyes wander up to his face, His gaze meets mine, his expression grim-laced. His long, thin fingers wrap around the splintered ruler, A shiver down my spine - he couldn’t be any crueler.
I take his gesture as a warning, To avoid waking up with welted hands in the morning. “Keep your head down!” his voice booms, His low, authoritative yell echoes through the room.
My eyes wander across my page, My glassy tears now threatening to spill, I glance at my right hand’s day-old bruise, Black and blue, I feel ill.
Lots Of Punishments
by Lucy Philip
s hit with a ruler, made of wood cher’s hit, it never did any good it by a leather belt g themselves expelled!
Ink and Discipline by Zainab Javeid
The bell rings, but no one runs.
We sit in rows, hands flat on wooden desks.
Ink staining our fingers blue, Sir reads the register slowly.
There are gaps nownames that echo, but no one answers.
Outside, the sky is the colour of smoke. Inside, we copy sums, and pretend the world is steady.
When a door slams, everybody looks up.
At home they call it “hard times.” At school we call it silence.
Room of Regret
o T mpenAcrack.Thenadull,lifeless Barkingpiercingthroughthethinwalls. Sanguinedesires,carpetstainedwithblood. Ayoungewefaintlybleating,ignoredareitscalls. Alife,notlived,buthiddeninfear. Effortless,pointlesspain,inflictedbyacruelpen. Anever-lastingnightmare,hope,long-deaddisappears. Themercifulring,freedom,untilthecyclebeginsagain.
NineDays by Oliva Ope-Adeleke
I feel I've been stuck here for 100 years. I sat at the back of the classroom, Looking down at my own two feet.
For nine days, the world stopped. The whistles are hushed at the Aberdeen docks, A ghost has been winding, turning back The schoolroom clocks.
The General Strike is set on the street
There was an obvious divide between the other Children in the silver city and me.
They walked with no shoes. Feet stained dirty and brown. I knew the granite was cold underneath Barefoot feet.
There was no steam in the station No ink in the press
The world was blank, in a velvet dress.
The silence is heavy, a physical weight, It barters the soul at the Albyn gate.
A girl at her desk, with a pen made of lead, Writes a story whilst she wonders What will be of the school once she goes to rest?
For the air is a vacuum, the pulse is a blur, And the century stops if you listen to her
“I hope there’s a difference in 100 years.” I wish she knew she wasn't talking upon deaf ears.
d 100years ago. .
Kathleen enters quietly, stopping when she sees Helen, who startles and tries to hide the pot behind her ba
KATHLEEN Hiding contraband, Helen? You’re trembling like a rabbit.
HELEN (flustered) It’s nothing. Go away, Kathleen. The prefects patrol at this time.
KATHLEEN I know. I had piano practice. I have a pass. (She steps closer, her tone shifting from teasin curiosity) I didn’t take you for a rule-breaker. What is it?
Helen hesitates, then slowly brings the pot out from her back
KATHLEEN (A sharp intake of breath) Is that from the Headmistress’s conservatory?
HELEN (whispering) It was going to be thrown out with the rest of the plants, the frost had gotten to them. The gardener said it was “too far gone.”
KATHLEEN So you decided to steal it?
HELEN I rescued it! (She runs a finger gently along a leaf) Look, it’s not dead. It just needed someone see it wasn’t
KATHLEEN You’ll be caught if you’re caught You know that The Headmistress has a fondness for t conservatory, she’ll see this as anarchy
HELEN (A defiant smile) Then let it be anarchy. It’s only a bit of green.
KATHLEEN Nothing here is “only” anything. Everything here is a lesson. You know that. A beat of silence.
KATHLEEN What do we have to remember here? What will we look at in twenty years and say, “that my life”? The smell of wood burning? The sound of spoons hitting bowls in the hall?
HELEN (her voice quieter) We’ll remember each other’s names We’ll remember the time you put a fro Miss Morrison’s desk
KATHLEEN That’s not the same. Those are stories. I mean… something you can hold. Something tha grew, not because it was instructed to, but because it wanted to.
Helen looks at the fern. The light shines through the leaves.
The distant sound of a door opening and the echo of footsteps on stone approaches. Both girls freeze.
KATHLEEN Go. I have a pass, you don’t. I’ll get it there.
HELEN Kathleen?
KATHLEEN What?
HELEN Thank you. For seeing what I saw.
Helen gives her a grateful smile before slipping away into the shadows.
KATHLEEN Right then. Let’s get you some light.
She ensures the corridor is clear, then. Walks purposefully in the opposite direction.
MISS WILSON Stop that nonsense right now! That is utterly un-ladylike Such disgrace for Albyn Students
The more quiet and reserved Xilefa looks down in grief and disdain, having been caug of misconduct - tarnishing her reputation The loud and outspoken Poha is left unscathed and mentally stable
Poha side eyes Miss Wilson with nothing but disgust
POHA That plonker!
XILEFA (a visceral reaction) SHUSH, (diffidently) she still might be able to hear you!
POHA (with incredulity and bravado) No wayyy.
They both glance at each other and subsequently eyeball Miss Wilson drifting away round the corner
POHA (with a hurt expression) That was a bit aggressive, Xilefa
XILEFA I… apologise. I have just been feeling a bit uneasy lately. (shying away gradually)
POHA (concerned) oh, what's wrong - my acquaintance?
A look of grumbling annoyance and a twinge of laughter is shown on Xilefa.
XILEFA “Acquaintance”... That was three years ago and and.. I just met you!
POHA (smirking) It’s still as amusing today Cannot believe you called me that It sent me guffawing to the headmistress’s office
Poha recalls the memory with great happiness
XILEFA (ruminatory) Well… ever since Miss Baker left and got replaced by Miss Wilson, it has never been the same. Miss Baker was so kind, caring and compassionate. She was a top notch teacher. I loved sharing my poems with her at end of class. But, disaster struck when she went away and had her baby. Leaving th pile of ruthless nothingness to roam the halls with her ever so beading eyes. They pierce my skin and give me frigid chills from top to bottom.
POHA (sighs) Indeed.
XILEFA Now do not get me started on her teaching. My palms spasmed from the absurd quantity of writing she made us do. Even the most minute mistake would ge me whacked with a dozen on the hand Ughh, I utterly detest her
POHA (destroyed) Yea, we all loathe her (enthusiastically forced) But hey! Cheeru it's mutton monday!
POHA Well let's be off Xilefa! We ought to obtain an adequately spiffing seat in th canteen!
XILEFA But what if Miss Wilson Xilefa contemplates, finding newfound conviction afterwards
XILEFA Okay, let's run.
POHA (shocked from what she is hearing, compliantly responds with exuberance) We shall make haste!
The two students rush to the canteen full of vigour and youth, securing peak seats an delightful lunch, euphorically enjoying their time spent together.
starless night sky (Looks over at Edwin s ink) What where is that from Edwin that
EDWIN (poshly) Yes, yes. Midnight liner. Imported. My dad was gifted it by the king of Cambodia. Carried in a pitch black 50 millilitre vial, yes, astounding no? (Stares at Montague confrontationally)
Montague’s head is hanging, seemingly flustered. Basil scoffs from the corner of the classroom.
BASIL (confidently) Ah. I seem to remember the Midnight liner being a bit too… runny
EDWIN (taken aback) Well such should only be true if one lacks an adequate nib
A sleek silver fountain pen appears in Edwin’s hand
EDWIN (boasting) Hmph… behold the Iron obsidian fine nib… number three. Forged by hand, from the heat of Mount Fuji. Only three in existence.
Montague is now visibly shaking and sweating. Basil’s eyes are locked onto the pen, staring at it with intense envy.
BASIL (defensively) Well, your ink doesn’t live up to that…beautiful…detailed…r stylus. Look here, Sherwood Green, infused with a touch of Aquatic Prismarine. Sovereign Blend is the brand. This vial is…one of a kind. (Basil smirks victoriousl
Meanwhile, Percival retracts a fountain pen of his own from his blazer pocket
PERCIVAL (begins writing) Gentlemen observe Burnt Ebony reserve ink (Silence They all stare)
