Phillips House Writing - 2025 Forward
Welcome to the 2025 Phillips House Writing Magazine, on the theme of Refuge!
It has been an incredible journey and a wonderful experience to work with so many people on such an astounding endeavor. After weeks of analysing hundreds of submissions and designing the magazine, I am overjoyed to present our final product.
I want to thank firstly the imaginative minds and dedication of the Phillips students that contributed to our House Writing effort; I promise to finally stop nagging you in assemblies. We have had hundreds of pieces from all age groups; even the year 11s and 13s, swamped with exams, put pen to paper and crafted a House Writing piece. Each piece has been carefully selected as to display a wide variety of both writing expertise and ingenuity, so congratulations to any pieces that made the final magazine, but also a huge well done to all entries.
In addition, nothing would have been possible without the Phillips editing team, notably Daniel, Tom, Owen, James, Will, Matthew, Alex and Luka, who gave up their lunchtimes to evaluate each piece of writing and worked hard to compile the magazine and design it to perfection, and especially Ethan who helped lead the House Writing effort. For the captivating front cover, thank you to Tom and Owen for their creativity and artistic talent. Our Phillips staff was also crucial: Mrs Tangi’s help with the magazine design and front cover, and Miss Johnson’s advice to the students, on how to write the best piece possible, were invaluable. Mr Gibbs even went as far as to write a haiku!
Finally, an enormous thank you to Mrs Jackson, for her immense contribution to every aspect of House Writing: running writing sessions during lunchtimes, joining the editing team and motivating Phillips students to write. Mrs Jackson even decided that the best way to contribute was to write her own piece to put in this forward, on the following page.
Now, dear reader, We have the expected, but still innovative, stories of refugees and tales of war as well as the unique: robots and reefs love and lockdown storms and
Read on an
Fact-Checking Mr Roald Dahl’s Forward Claims About Fantastic Mr Fox
Mr Roald Dahl has delighted many generations with his story of Mr Fox and his family seeking safety underground in the deep tunnels of their den, away from the tyranny of the three local farmers, Boggis (a chicken farmer), Bunce (a duck and goose farmer) and Bean (a turkey and apple farmer).
In this well-known story, Mr Fox, Mrs Fox and their young children seek shelter and sanctuary in burrowed out dens but the farmers are persistent and determined to catch and kill them The farmers embark first on a strategy to dig them out and latterly on a stubborn stake-out. Impatient, the farmers get fed up waiting for the foxes to resurface and take to their tractors and bucket scoops to dig them out of their place of hiding, excavating a hole likened to that of a volcano crater Meanwhile, the foxes underground are unable to surface fearing for their lives, hungry and thirsty; they are forced to stay hidden and to dig deeper and deeper underground. Fantastic Mr Fox earns his name from his wife, for his clever ruses in digging his way towards some novel food sources and ensuring that all his family and mammal friends survive in their underground den
Claim: If Mr Boggis was hiding behind his Chicken House Number One, Mr Fox would smell him out from fifty yards off and quickly change direction
Foxes have a much better sense of smell and hearing than humans, although not as strong as a cocker spaniel for example. Osterholm, a Finnish biologist, found that a fox’s sense of smell was limited however to a distance of half a metre (2ft) which is considerably less than the 50 yards claimed by Mr Roald Dahl It seems very unlikely that Mr Fox would be able to smell the dangerous trio of farmers from his den.
Claim: According to Bean “it’ll take three days at least before he [Mr Fox] gets hungry enough to come out again”.
Mr Fox describes how they are starving to death and desperate for water after three days, unable to surface to forage for food and water, trapped in their den Depending on the ages of the cubs, they will not be able to go without food for long. If Mr and Mrs Fox’s cubs are very young they will be able to rely on their mother’s milk for the first few weeks, but if they are 4 weeks and older they will need solid food and to eat daily. Mr and Mrs Fox will fare better because adult foxes should be able to survive for 2-3 weeks without food, although they cannot survive without access to water for more than a few days
Claim: Mr Fox asserts that nobody in the world can dig as quickly as a fox and Mr Roald Dahl recounts the extensive underground digging of Mr Fox and all his family.
Mr Fox might be overstating his den digging capabilities, for it is widely accepted that badgers are the best diggers amongst mammals, being both quicker and stronger at digging.
Whilst it is true that foxes do sometimes dig dens underground, they are known to more commonly take over or share dens dug by other animals, such as rabbits and badgers. Foxes are also said to prefer sites that are sheltered (for example under trees and buildings) and so it seems unlikely that Mr Fox and his family would have chosen the open ground site of the farmers’ fields Additionally, it is widely understood that male foxes tend to stay above ground and that it is usually only the vixen and cubs who stay underground. Studies have also shown that foxes tend to use their den for daytime and prefer to be above ground in the nighttime Notwithstanding this evidence contradicting Mr Roald Dahl’s account, in exceptional circumstances, as might be considered the chase of the three farmers, it is conceivable that the foxes might alter their habits in order to survive.
Claim: Back in the dens, the foxes and badgers enjoy a feast of stolen cider. Foxes and badgers alike seek out fresh water to drink and there are no known sources or evidence of their interest in cider Cases of intoxicated mammals are indeed rare and the very rare instances have usually been a result of these mammals inadvertently eating fermented fruit It would seem that Mr Roald Dahl has been his most fictitious in suggesting Mr Fox and his friends would drink anything other than water.
-Mrs Jackson
Phillips House Writing - 2025
Escaping the storm, Thomas
The Court, Edward
Finding Solace, Gabriel
Frío, Ethan
Everything is a Lie, Jacob Friday 27th? September 2086, Brandon
Just a Boy, Asvin
Is There no Refuge for Palestinians?, Musa Refuge in the Falling City, Daniel
Roy’s Story, Sai
Heru’s Refuge, Pavan
Week 68, Sammy Refuge of God, Thomas Greece, Krisna
Maybe Tomorrow?, Thisan
The Land of Hope, Rocco
Between Two Worlds, Brandon Mama, Arjun
The Runner, Shay
An Isolated World, Will
A Refugee in London, Pranith
Forced Out, William
Dear Dad, Thisum
A New World, Nihal
Tethering, Kerthekan
My Saviour, Adi
Editors Comment, Dominic
The Lockdown Box, Ethan
Lockdown Memories, Arthur
This Year was Supposed to be Momentous, Harishan May 20th 2013 14:45PM, Alex
One Reef
Dominic
Phillips House Writing - 2025
Escaping the Storm
It was stormy, the rain beat down on me as I walked through the almost deserted streets, the wind thrashed and pounded around me, my ragged clothes could not stop the elements, my feet were numb and bruised but I kept going. I had no one to call, nowhere to go, the misty fog created dark shadowy silhouettes that danced in and out of view only illuminated by the barely visible street lamps. I pictured the people I knew, gone, I was in a new unknown place that I did not want to be in, I felt lost, wandering the streets looking for something, somewhere to go. As darkness fell like a blanket I still wandered, I didn't know what I was wandering for, but yet kept going, I finally stopped when I could no longer continue against the harsh environment's wrath. I sat down under the closest thing with a roof above and just watched the rain, thinking. What happened for me to end up here? What do I need to do now?
-Thomas H, Phillips 10
The Court
When problems riot and wishes begin to fade, In hunt of refuge my heart searches for a glade. To the court where round the ball I chase, A jolly place where issues exist in no space.
In this realm of sport, my fears take flight, With every dribble, all my woes ignite. As I shoot and run, in rhythm I shall play, On this grand court, I find my bright foray.
-Edward
D, Phillips 8
Phillips House Writing - 2025 2
Finding Solace
In the hustle and bustle of the city, Peter found solace in music. Every day, he'd retreat to his tiny apartment, seeking an escape from the relentless noise and stress. With his headphones snug over his ears, the chaos outside would dissolve, replaced by the soothing melodies of his favorite songs. Those rhythms and harmonies became his sanctuary, a place where he could truly relax. In those moments, he felt safe; each note seemed to melt his worries away. Music was his refuge, his constant source of comfort and strength amidst the demands of his busy life.
As for Emily, her refuge - her one place where she could feel like she hadn’t nnnnnnnn a worry in the world, was exercise. At the exact time everyday, she eagerly slipped into her cerulean trainers, and snatched her cozy, padded earmuffs, ready to escape to a different reality. The moment her foot was outside her front door, she found peace and tranquility. The fresh air filled her lungs, the warm sunlight touched her skin, and the steady rhythm of her feet on the path helped her escape from the reality of a depressing,gloomy, and grey world.
Frío
Su cara es un sitio por mis ojos a relajarse, Su feliz y paz es que quiera a dedicarse.
Sus ojos son las estrellas en mi noche, Te necesito y sabe que además lo conoce.
No puedo vivir si no estoy contigo. No puedes seguir su vida si no conmigo.
Eres mi refugio.
No me entiendes; Crees que seamos demasiado diferentes
Mi mente ha sido como una tormenta del mar Ya no tengo nada más a dar
Estoy perdido en mis emociones, No podemos estar juntos y por eso mi corazón es
Frío.
Necesito mi refugio.
-Gabriel O, Phillips 9
Your face is a place for my eyes to rest, Your happiness and peace is what I’m devoted to.
Your eyes are my stars in the night sky, I need you; and I know you know it too.
I can’t live if í’m not with you. I know you can’t continue living without me.
You are my refuge
You don’t understand me; You think we are too different
My mind is like a storm on the sea Since I have nothing left to give you
I’m lost in my emotions, We can’t be together and so my heart is Cold. I need my refuge.
-Ethan J, Phillips
The young are told to never leave, fearing what lurks outside Stories of those things - they wield the sun in their hands, shaking the very earth with the deafening booms from their weapons - those stories run through the colony like wildfire. If they see you they will take you and no one has ever returned. Annabeth always wanted to leave to see if these stories were true or not, but no one let her leave.
Annabeth always knew she was different but never knew how. It wasn't her teeth or her broken fingers or her scruffy hair, not even her disgusting smell, because everyone had that. Something on the inside that you can't see, maybe it's her curiosity, or her sense of freedom, or we may never know. She always wanted to know what the bright things were beyond the horizon, but little did she know she would find out sooner rather than later.
For the cure it was a day like no other Annabeth felt calm until night fell when large balls of fire were sent into the sky and exploded in colours of red, white and blue. The Cure were terrified.
The women and children stayed back while the strongest males left to see what was happening. Once the men left, Annabeth quickly followed behind She realised she was going to the lights The men snuck up and attacked, the aliens fought back in their armoured fully white suits, giant machines with spinning swords in the sky shot at them. All the warriors fell in an instant and were taken away in cages.
Annabeth could not believe what just happened. She knew she needed to tell the rest of the colony. So she ran back faster than she had ever ran before Once she arrived back she shouted at the top of her lungs,” EVERYBODY RUN, SAVE YOURSELVES.” giant lights came from behind her. She was followed. The aliens decimated their homes and took all of them one by one including Annabeth. Days later she woke up with the so-called aliens. She saw them and realised they were normal, not Annabeth or her colony. Annabeth's colony are the monsters.
-Jacob J, Phillips 7
Phillips House Writing - 2025 4
Friday 27th? September 2086
Dear diary,
It’s been a few months since an anonymous corporation had unleashed the Mechanoids. Killer droids with one sole purpose: to wipe out humanity.
It all started when a deranged mind stole blueprints of the caring robots from TechFound and twisted their programming into something far more sinister. What was once designed to help now existed only to kill.
My paranoia never actually accepted the robots even when they were created to help us every day. Ever since it was released by TechFound, I was worried, and I'm glad I was. From day 1, I’ve been preparing a safety bunker ( which I am currently in) with a couple of good friends. We have food, water, lighting - all the necessities to live the rest of our lives care-free from the robots. But do I want that? The rest of my life underground? I miss the fiery painting the sun draws as it sets; the celestial pearl in the sky when it’s night; the lush green grass and the magnificent towering trees Walking around through the city, exploring new places with family, eating in new restaurants with friends. All of that, stripped away from us because of some idiot. I’m not having it, I want it back. I want it all back.
I’m gonna go to the surface. Find out who did all this.
Just a Boy
It was pitch black.
-Brendan L, Phillips 10
“D-D-Dad, Is it safe to come out?” I whispered, my hands were trembling in fright and my chest palpitating as if there were a rabid animal inside it pounding to be let free.
He peered through the small crack in the trap-door below and replied in a soft soothing tone, “No son, keep hiding.”
The sound of gunshots echoed through the air followed by the screams of innocent parents and children as they sought refuge from the Israeli soldiers. I slowly and cautiously rose up in an attempt to peer through a small crack in the door, and saw the Israeli soldiers shooting down the Palestinians - despite their begging for mercy. My blood boiled as I watched helplessly, knowing full well that there would be nothing I could do to help - I would be regarded as nothing but a 15 year old boy. The marching of the Israeli soldiers grew louder and louder, and I slowly peered at my father, seeking refuge in his stoic gaze.
He then wrapped his hand around me, I slowly began to seek refuge into this embrace, and began to relax until he whispered in my ear:
“Goodbye my son ” -Asvin S, Phillips 9
Phillips House Writing - 2025 5
Is There No Refuge For Palestinians?
Palestine. An oppressed country for over 75 years. Buildings have been obliterated and people killed. Currently it has the world's worst hunger crisis. War has evidently left its mark on not just architecture and death tolls but the basic needs for the people living there. Here in the UK, the average person lives on 142 litres of water a day for all their needs. For your average Gazan, it’s 3. Oxfam International tells us most people there survive on ‘245 calories a day, less than a can of beans’. But why are there so many Palestinians staying in these dangerous places? Many people have fled however there are about 6.8 million people still in Palestine. "Even if it costs us our souls, we will not leave Gaza," says Muhammed Bhajat, a Palestinian in Gaza, talking to the BBC. So what are the main reasons behind this?
Well, one of the big reasons is that seeking refuge in neighbouring countries isn’t always an option. The main reason Jordan and Egypt are not accepting Palestinian refugees is because if they enter, it may be very difficult to go back. They know that Palestinians leaving Palestine means they might never reclaim their homes. Refugees aren’t meant to stay away from their homes forever. According to AP News ‘The Israeli military said Palestinians who followed its order to flee northern Gaza to the strip’s southern half would be allowed back to their homes after the war ends.’ However, this doesn't reassure people, especially after recent failures to release Palestinian prisoners, going against the Israel-Hamas deals.
So is there no place of refuge for Palestinians? Well, they don’t quite feel that way. They feel their refuge is not necessarily found in a physical place. For Palestinians it is in their belief that their country will be free again. Their togetherness. ‘Freedom in Palestine is inevitable,’ says an anonymous Palestinian.
-Musa
K, Phillips 7
Phillips House Writing - 2025 6
Refuge in The Falling City
I looked up as I heard that whistling screech once more and all but the red glow of fire turned white as my vision failed me. We all dropped to the ground and made ourselves small - this supposedly meant flying debris won’t hit us (don’t ask me how) - as we had been told over and over. I realised this time was different to before. My ears weren’t ringing, but everything was muted. There weren’t enough scream I could hear the buildings collapse, they were close, too close to me.
I did my best to get up. Stumbling and tripping over my own feet as my hearing returned. My senses were overloaded and it felt like I was in a completely different place to just a few minutes ago. The sky was painted a dark grey with smears of blue sky peaking through the heavy smoke. I stood, hunched over, surrounded by fallen pillars and walls, bodies ripped by flying glass, lives quashed by great stones collapsing upon their frames.
After what seemed like days my body finally cooperated with the commands I gave it and I began to run. I ran over only a few streets before my lungs were searing with pain, the smoke forcing me to slow down and choke. I struggled in defiance and attempted only to keep moving forwards. My goal was not known by even myself. I simply knew this place was not fit for living in.
As the Sun fell below the horizon darkness did not fall. The fires raged, illuminating the city in its entirety. And then I sat, I had discovered a small building, just about standing despite the corroding walls. At last I had found at least some refuge. Something everyone needs and should have.
-Daniel
K, Phillips 11
Phillips House Writing -
Roy’s Story
The rain pounded against the entrance, reflecting the storm also within Roy. He huddled deeper into his bed, deeper into his duvet. The scent of the burnt candle lingered with the smell of the damp earth barely covering the heavy fog. The cave, his refuge from the relentless outside world, was small and damp, but it offered protection from the ceaseless storm outside and the people within it. Roy thought of his home, which went up in flames, now a smoldering ruin. The War. Those people. That storm. Had taken it all. The war had taken everything – his family, his friends, his life. He had to flee. A lone wolf in a ravaged land, scavenging for scraps to survive.
A shadow fell over Roy. A reminder of the past. He remembered a figure, a woman he longed to see again. A fierce and explosive emotion welled up within him. He wanted to run to her, hug her, and put his head on the back of her head to make it clear that he was himself. And yet, he lacked the legs with which to run to her, the arms with which to hug her, the will with which to get up, and prove he existed. Even though his heartbreak made him want to cry, he didn't understand why these emotions manifested within him, deep within him. He just didn't know. He just didn't understand. He just didn't understand anything. But the figure seemed to understand how he felt, slowly reaching out her arms, somehow closing the unchanging distance on its own. Those two hands gently came close enough to hug him tightly. When her fingertips touched him, great happiness flooded throughout him, as if joy was gushing from every atom within his very own body, filling every nook and cranny of his body.
-Sai
S, Phillips 12
Phillips House Writing - 2025 8
Heru’s refuge
It was the time of World War two. The immense crisis that came upon my home country. It took away all the happiness and glamour from me. I have not experienced this feeling until today.
I said, ‘Why do I have to go to Denmark alone, can’t you come with me?’ Mum said,’ You are intimate that me and your father have to stay here in England to keep fighting.’
Dad chimed in,’ Don’t worry, Denmark is a safe place for you to stay until the war ends.’ ‘Quick, the ship is leaving’, screamed Mum.
We all hurried as fast as we could. I for one could not keep up with them as I wasn’t sure about their decision. How could they believe a 10-year-old boy would live independently without his parents in a totally incompatible country he has never been to?
After the debate in my head, I figured out we had reached the harbour. My father handed the tickets to a dark-haired, pale man. The man said,’ Next’, with a bit of a shove.
He was not the type of guy I would feel safe around.
I said my goodbyes to my parents and sauntered reluctantly into the vast ship. The days passed by quickly on the boat. As the days passed, my fear of staying alone augmented. Soon the boat presented itself in front of its final destination, the glorious country of Denmark.
A figure approached me as I got off the boat with all my luggage. I looked around and saw a pale woman staring at me with widened eyes.
She questioned,’ Are you travelling alone?’
I responded politely with,’ Yes madam.’
At home, I was always reminded to be polite to my elders. She asked,’ Do you need a guardian or foster care?’ I replied,’ Yes.’
She replied eagerly,’ Well you’re in luck because it is my job to direct kids to foster homes.’ ‘Follow me!’ she said, with a smile.
I did not know if she could be trusted but I followed her anyway because it was my only chance
She took me in her car to a home. I reckoned this was a foster family’s home. She pressed the doorbell smoothly.
In a flash, the door opened and a middle-aged woman stood by the door and said,’ Welcome to our house. I will take care of you from now on and feel free to do whatever you wish.’
We proceeded forward into the lovely house.
‘My name is Mrs Watson, what is yours my dear?’, she questioned, pulling a smile across her face.
After moments, I replied,’ Heru.’
The woman who brought me here said,’ I’ll leave it to you two then, and, Heru tell me if anything is wrong.’
I replied,’ I think I want to stay here.’
With that, the woman departed. Days passed by and I was starting to miss my parents. On the 9th of April 1940, Germany invaded Denmark and I was beginning to feel scared. Mrs Watson placed a hand on my shoulder and said,’ Don’t worry dear, you’ll be fine.’ Days turned into weeks into months and years worrying about the war and my parents. Finally, on the 2nd of September 1945, World War two (the worldwide crisis) was over. I had a superlative refuge like I had never received before.
-Pavan K, Phillips 8
Phillips House Writing - 2025 9
Day 482:
16:26
Something vaguely interesting happened today. I heard a knock on the door, which is unusual since I live in the mountains. I answered the door to someone with a camping rucksack sweating with his hands on his knees. He asked me if he could stay the night so of course I said yes…
20:41
I just finished dinner with him. He eats in a very weird way. We were having Spaghetti but he didn’t use his cutlery at all and instead ate it with his hands. Strange man…
Day 483:
8:32
I woke up last night. I heard him whispering to the air. I couldn’t pick up exactly what it was but he seemed petrified. He was running in his sleep. I was gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I hope he’s okay…
-Sammy
Phillips House Writing - 2025 10
Refuge of God
The screeching whistle of shells ring through the atmosphere. Treading across the unrecognisable, barren land, I flinch. Running from shelter to shelter, life in war has a monotonous feeling No matter where I look, I see either terrified, panicked faces or lifeless bodies that feel the cold sting of death. This house has something different though; a face clinging on to life, resisting taking their final breath
I grab him by his arms, too heavy to lift but I manage to drag him. But the grip of the reaper comes again with the loudest whistle yet I lose my hold on him as I’m sent flying and another one has been claimed by death. A sight that’s indescribable is seared into my mind as I recover from the shock, only to find I have lost my left eye Tearing some fabric off of my already de age over my eye.
As I regain awareness and notice my surroundings, I see the blast has sent me near a church. I stumble my way in and collapse to my knees I’ve never been much of a religious man, but now I see no other way I say the only prayer I know. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven... now and forever Amen ’ Suddenly, there is a deafening silence I’ve finally found refuge
-Thomas B, Phillips 12
Greece
Transit They lay, frail and lifeless, on the specky sand outside the market square Their children recline on their overfilled bags watching the pedestrians scurry past - They flow through their crowds, like debris in a river.
Only occasionally do they take a glance at the resting foreigners The natives seem to have become blunt, now. They disregard the presence of these new-comers, now.
The pristine blanket of blue is rooted in all its glory, as Helios rides his blazing chariot across it; It is speckless The blanket has no burns or smoke or fog It must be very unlike home to these aliens The sea around is as magnificent and vibrant. Algal blooms ride the cerulean waves. The towering trees overlook them. Their leaves are fresh and green. To these intruders, this must be paradise. Athens, It should be.
The sun is scorching
The dust upon the asphalt is disturbed by the lumbering trucks and vans. Hordes and hordes of these country-runners scurry onto these small trucks, into these miniscule vans, as if it was an open field that provided them sanctuary
The smugglers, compassionate and welcoming, escort them. They secure the tail lift. They slam the doors shut. They are off, they are off on an undecided journey. rq this one or.... -Krisna V, Phillips 12
Phillips House Writing - 2025 11
Maybe Tomorrow...
Dear Diary,
Today was one of the longest days yet at the refugee camp The tents stretch out as far as the eye can see in every direction, one identical dirty brown color to the next, blurring into the dry, cracked earth at my feet. Every so often, I close my eyes and try to remember what it was like to sleep in a real bed to slide into a comfortable mattress, curl up under a warm blanket, and hear the birds singing softly in the room next to mine. There, the nights are different. Where the song of the birds are replaced, there are hushed whispers in the dark, voices laden with sorrow and expectation, whispering of everything that has been taken away and the fragile hope of everything that one day might be recovered.
Today, I saw a boy named Amir He's about my age, or a bit older, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and he has a large scar running down his cheek. When I pressed him to tell me how he had gotten the scar, he paused before answering that it occurred when the forces came to his doorstep. I wanted to press him for more, but there was something in his eyes a pain so naked that I knew it was wiser to steer the conversation elsewhere. So we played football with a deflated ball, its surface cracked and peeling from having been played with too many times in the dust. For a brief moment, while we played kick-around with it, I could almost delude myself into thinking we were just ordinary children, playing with no worries in the world. It felt good to forget, if only for an instant.
Lunch was, as always, plain rice, spooned into small, battered bowls I tried to make it sound like my favorite dish, the one my mom made with chicken and spices, the aroma circulating through our home. I closed my eyes and took a bite, trying to taste something besides plain grains. Before me, a group of younger children sat quietly, their large eyes looking towards our bowls Their tummies growled, and my chest tightened in guilt. I reached out blindly and prodded a piece of my rice in their direction. They hesitated for a moment, then accepted it, their faces contorted in thankfulness In that one action, I felt something akin to happiness a reminder that there is still kindness here.
There are bad days The wind is thick with dust, and the sky is always empty I cannot remember when it last rained. Back home, I would love the rain how it washed everything away, made the trees shine, and filled the air with new and fresh fragrances. Here, it is as if even the clouds have given up, not wanting to cry over this land Sometimes, I take a stick and inscribe on the ground, sketching out pictures of the home I miss so much. It's how I hold onto memories, maintain them in mind when all else is negotiable.
A part of me is hoping for more, that maybe we're eventually headed for a future where we can stop running, where I might go home again. But until then, I'll keep playing football with Amir and keep holding on to whatever hope I still have.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow will be different…
Phillips House Writing - 2025 12
The land of
Hope
Refuge is a theme that is looked on, a certain way, It could be happiness, tears or even dismay, But even if you look at at from both ways, The only truth is if the country will allow a stay,
Through endless fields and endless seas, The hope, the want, and all of its glee, When dawn breaks and starts another day, You are ready to walk again for the rest of your stay,
Seeking refuge in another country is greatly desired, As you travel through cities, the woods and even quagmires, The cold of the night is lit by a fire, As you huddle for warmth, surrounded by wire,
The journey is a long one, as you fight through the heat, Your hair is messy, your appearance is not neat, But that is irrelevant as you walk through the seasons, Winter, spring, summer, autumn for only one reason, To find the land of hope.
Now loss is another thing you dread on the way, But it is inevitable as you go through each day, You lose your sanity, your rope and maybe your dog, As you battle through the eternal and endless fog,
But one day you arrive at your desired location, All far, far away from the fields of devastation, Your life has changed, your another person, All you know is that your fate can no longer worsen.
You have found the land of hope!
-Rocco R, Phillips 9
Phillips House Writing - 2025 13
Between Two Worlds
Dear Diary,
This place is strange to me, its customs and its culture, but it is better than home. The people here seem to despise me and my family, though I have no idea why. It doesn't matter either way. My home country is a wreck of corruption and death, and I will not place myself or my surviving family in that situation again. One by one they were taken - first my siblings, then my parents, then my husband. All dead and at peace, while I had to endure the hellish reality of living in that horrid place even longer, and trying to leave. But that is behind us now. I must persevere, for my children and their future. This place isn't like home. Its people aren't as open or welcoming. Someone spat at me yesterday and called me a name I don't recognise. What crime did I commit against them? Is it displeasing to see me trying to provide for my children? Finding work here is even harder than back home. Nobody wants to hire the middle-aged immigrant mother who barely grasps the language, but I need it the most. I don't understand why these people are so angry at us for trying to find a better opportunity. They claim that we are stealing their jobs and land, but would they rather that we were dead instead? Are our lives worthless to them?
-A Refugee
- Brandon G, Phillips 11
O, how I hate the way they look at me, Mama! Different, unalike, disparate, The lack of solicitude, Mama! They make me feel isolate
O, how I hate the way they stare, Mama! Apathetic, cruel, inconsiderate, Their unchanging nature, Mama! That notion of hate
O, how I hate the way they glare, Mama! It suffocates me, Keep me safe, Mama! Give me refuge, mama.
- Arjun S, Phillips 11
THE RUNNER
Among a tempest, where raging winds do wail, We look for a haven, we look for a trail.
Among the high trees, where the shadows cling, Is a quiet shelter, a place so singular.
The softly whispering leaves chant a soft lullaby, A calming whisper, where worries really die. The gentle, warm earth comforts and gives peace,
Accepting the weary in, yielding sweet release.
Walls of silence, a roof of sky, Smooth grass as carpet, where dreams pass by. Beneath the stars under a blanket of moon, We find our way home, to the bright light soon.
In the laughter of friends or the warmth of a fire's flame, In stories shared spoken, our spirits soar the same. This circle, a haven, where love entwines, A sanctuary formed on the strength of our signs.
So let the world tremble, let chaos hold sway, In refugees of peace, true asylum will stay. In deeds of kindness, in the beauty that we share, We have our haven, with hope to spare.
- Shay S, Phillips 8
Phillips House Writing - 2025 15
An Isolated World
How is it possible that we face loneliness in a hyperconnected world? A society which is the most connected it has ever been, is the same society that faces chronic loneliness in millions. In the UK 60% of 18 to 34 year olds say that they often feel lonely. It's clear the problem isn't lack of connection but the quality of these connections Social media creates an illusion, instead of meaningful socialising we spend hours doom scrolling, substituting face to face interactions with superficial digital exchanges. Ultimately leaving us more disconnected than ever.
Loneliness is defined as: "sadness because one has no friends or company". The problem with this prevalent stigma around loneliness is that many people will admit to being depressed before they’ll talk about being lonely. This fear that they’ll be judged as an outcast of society prevents them from being able to speak up about it, however loneliness is much more complex than that. Everyone will feel lonely at some point in their life and many people experience loneliness even when surrounded by family, friends and colleagues. Studies suggest that those who feel lonely actually spend no more time alone than those who feel more connected; but why does this feeling exist?
Loneliness stems from the fact that tens of thousands of years ago it was a great indicator of how likely you were to survive. It is biologically coded into us as a survival mechanism to ensure that as humans we are collaborative. In the same way hunger drives us to eat, loneliness drives us to cooperate. The consequences of chronic loneliness can also be compared to the consequences of hunger. Research has found that it is twice as deadly as obesity and as deadly as smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. The stress that comes from chronic loneliness is among the most unhealthy things we can experience as humans. Furthermore once it becomes chronic it can become self-sustaining, making it harder to break out of this negative feeling.
Finding refuge from loneliness. While it can feel overwhelming it is possible to relieve yourself from it Firstly, recognise that loneliness is a normal feeling felt by everyone Secondly, various studies also suggest that people who experience loneliness are more likely to perceive social interactions as negative. For instance a delayed invitation to a party might be interpreted as a sign that they are not wanted, even if this is not the case. This causes the individual to decline until the invitations stop coming altogether. By reflecting on your social exchanges, determine if they really were negative or if your feelings of loneliness led you to believe it was. Lastly, push yourself to engage with the community. Whether that's taking up a new sport, volunteering or participating in group activities, as these can all form meaningful connections to help reduce the feeling of loneliness.
By putting down the screen, focusing on having a more positive outlook on life and forming genuine connections we can combat an increasingly isolated society. “In a world full of noise, we must remember to seek out the voices that truly matter.”
Phillips House Writing - 2025
A Refugee In London
London is a prominent place of detailed dreams, With people’s shadows cast by towering beams, Yet on these streets, I seek for refuge, a space, Where British citizens can’t humiliate my birthplace.
Among the chatter of the bustling London crowd, I search for a soundless space within the cloud, Unpleasant asylum homes become my uneven bed, As solace whispers softly, soothing my head.
In a grand city, I’m an ignored ghost out of sight, As glances of judgment cut sharp through the daylight, Each whispered insult, each sigh of dreadful disgust, Turns humanity’s warmth into ashes and rotten rust.
I try to gather my strength from the stars above, Whispering the secrets of resilience and love, A smile from a stranger could light up the night, But kindness feels distant, just out of my sight.
At each corner I turn, whispers of hope softly call, Trying to guide me through the shadows to stand tall, With every step forward, I use my might to defy the drop, Reaching for the luxurious light as I refuse to stop.
Under the weight of my burdens, I find a spark, A flicker of courage that ignites in the dark. The rhythm of the classy city pulses in my veins, With every heartbeat, I push through the chains.
London is a prominent place of detailed dreams, With people’s shadows cast by towering beams, Yet in these streets, I fight to reclaim my light, Transforming my pain into strength with all my might.
-Pranith B, Phillips 8
Phillips House Writing - 2025 17
Forced Out
London - a city well-known for its towering buildings, tourist destinations, and its variety of cultures. But what lies underneath it is fascinating - a sloppy, smelly utopia of rats. This group of rats in particular, however, face a problem. Their home has been invaded by other rats, and they are being forced to leave or face the consequences. Will they leave what they love most? The sewer, however slimy and pungent, is their paradise, the only place that holds them in a safe embrace Why would they leave? Above the ground is a cruel place, the floor is the only thing shielding them from the evil force above. However, this is their only option.
As they escape through the pipes, they can already feel the gaping mouth of ready to consume them. They do not belong here. Unfamiliar with their surroundings, they feel compressed by an invisible force, torturing them and trapping them from movement. They are terrified, b h nyway?
At last the freedom to move again, and dash in every direction to find help Some find themselves in spooky alleys, crippling and dying just like the crooked walls enclosing them. Some find society, screamed at and persecuted, yearning for the love of the sewers to return to them. Others find themselves in housing, at last grasping a sense of their comfortable reality, but still question: Is this really what I want?
Now, the rats are completely separated from each ot e. Day by day, the oppressive surroundings chip away at their mind, like a spider consuming its prey The memories of the sewer, their home, become faint. There is nowhere they belong. Nowhere they feel safe. Nowhere that loves them. No refuge.
-William T, Phillips 9
Dear Dad,
It’s been 38 days since you left me here, to fight for our home country. It’s hard to adjust to this place with all others like me, hundreds of thousands of us placed where we do not belong. And the powerful people of the UK seem to agree that ‘people like me’, as they say, don’t belong here, I think prejudice always starts with those at the top and works its way down.
They do have school here, but I'm different from the other kids, or at least that is what they say to me. I’m being called words like ‘misfit’ and ‘weirdo’, and this is only if they are feeling nice. If they’re having a bad day the bullying becomes physical, and no one is doing anything about it. I feel isolated and powerless, and it’s because I am. What am I, a 12 year old boy, supposed to do in a foreign country where everyone seems to want me out of it.
Question, how are you doing? I see on the news that our home country isn’t doing very well, some of it is gone to the aggressor, the ones that started this war, some was abandoned by and, some other bits are being used to fight off them - this is where you are, right? The saddest part of all of this is that I don’t know, I haven’t seen you for a while.
From your son, Fredrick.
Phillips House Writing - 2025 18
A NEW WORLD
Lightning lit up the sky while he sat by a fire, hearing thunder in the distance. Rain hit the ground hard, and even though he felt lost, he wouldn’t just give up. He only thought about how he got into this mess again and again.
John woke up to his alarm ringing and willingly got out of bed. It was the final day of college, and he wanted it to be positive. His mom said goodbye as he headed to his class.
Six hours later, John left his institute with a spring in his step, eager to reunite with his family. But his happiness shattered in an instant when an explosion rocked the neighbourhood – a bomb had struck his house. Shocked, John was standing there with tears, unable to understand what he saw. When he finally dared to go inside his house, he found his parents lying in front of him unmoving on the ground.
Then, everything changed. With their home gone and no way to fix anything, John knew he had to go. He packed his things in his wrecked bedroom, wiping away tears, knowing crying wouldn’t help. He shouted to himself, “My tears won’t make any difference!”
Months passed, and he ended up living in a small, damaged shelter by the coast of Timeston. Each week, he lost more of his stuff, reminding him of how life used to be. His food was barely enough, and his hunger was taking over. His loneliness felt heavy. He often walked along the pebbled beach, looking at the ocean and wishing for more prolonged days with his parents.
One evening, as the sun set, he made a choice. He wouldn’t wait for help anymore. He decided to go to the nearby town. He could smell the fresh aroma of the bread and hear the sweet giggles of the children there.
With the wind blowing into his hair, he walked toward the joyous town. Every step felt like a little victory over his sadness. He was ready to take charge of his life, find work, and meet new people. Maybe someone would share a meal with him or help him earn some money. A tiny bit of hope lit up inside him, enough to keep him going into the unknown. He was ready for whatever came next.
He was entering into a new life…
Phillips House Writing - 2025 19
Tethering
I’m peeling my skin - whitewashing my heart. As the underlying regret tightens, I try to slowly untie the rope that tethers me to the “culture”. Fading memories of the family gatherings: the laying out of monobloc chairs with its lingering sentimentality, the South Asian delicacies of Samosas, Kalu Dodls and Boondi Ludhis beings shared around and the rife conversations that fluttered with hearty laughs. The dusk would set as the elders would nag us off to bed as they would continue their excited but hushed chatter. Despite attempts at sneaking back to catch snippets, we would ultimately be unsuccessful in being privy to their conversations.
The older I got, the more out of touch I became. I was absorbed by the 21st-century comforts afforded to me by the dreams and aspirations of my parents. COVID-19 made us more isolated making the trips to Sri Lanka less frequent, loosening my ties to the “culture.” My ability to speak my mother tongue became stunted and the characters that shaped the words you could pass off as hieroglyphics to me.
I as a child used to question the ethnicity/nationality boxes on forms as my ethnicity contradicted my nationality for I was born in Britain but I am Sri Lankan. What ties someone to a country? That is the question of the 21st Century that’s dulled in any form of empathy or connection to our fellow man. The so-called “British Patriots” scream at those of us who don’t look like them to “Go back to where you came from!”. As Refugees sweep up on the shores in dingy boats in search of the common dreams shared by our ancestors to find a home, I’m expected to look at my British passport and pretend I’m not one of “them”.
What is this so-called British culture they find so sanctified that it must be preserved? Is it the drinking? The booze? The good ol’ British football where at one moment a Black England player is one of “them”, but as soon as they miss a penalty, derogatory racist remarks are made at a 19-year-old boy with his whole life ahead of him? Then there's the politicians who feed further into the dog-whistling and arm themselves with the convenient scapegoat of immigrants.
So, I can’t find refuge in either Sri Lanka or Great Britain.
I picked up the phone to my Grandad and he asked “When are you visiting Sri Lanka again?”
I tell him soon with slight hesitancy, the lingering apathy of whether I want to go still remains.
It’s not the same as it used to be, not everyone is there anymore but I know he’s getting older and I should go see him. To retie the rope that tethers me to the “culture”.
Phillips House Writing - 2025 20
My Saviour
The night was silent. The wind whispered to the trees wavering in their spectral dance. Pale slivers of moonlight sifted through the dense canopy of foliage. Distant stars winked down at the land occasionally obscured by the impenetrable blanket of clouds. All was quiet. All was calm.
With a sudden crash a young boy stumbled out onto the path. He had a mop of unruly brown hair and light blue eyes, a small pointed nose and matching ears. He wore a long weathered tunic with a frayed leather belt. Attached to it was what seemed like a small crooked dagger in a scabbard. On his feet were nothing but a pair of old sandals.
Panic was the only clear thing an onlooker would’ve discerned from his face. With a frightened yelp he ran down the path glancing tentatively back at the darkness as dozens of evil red slits emerged from it: wolves.
Unfortunately for the boy it was at that precise moment that he tripped on a protruding stone on the ground. The wolves seized their opportunity as he was down. Slowly the pack moved in for the kill…
The boy knew it was over. Not bothering to flee or to caress his wounds he hung his head in a resigned manner waiting for the inevitable. Snarling and growling drowned all the peaceful night sounds as the boy counted the final seconds he had left.
1…. 2…. 3….
But wait. He wasn’t dead. In fact the menacing growling was turning into whimpering and whining! No, it couldn’t be. Cautiously the boy raised his head. To his shock he saw the wolves cowering away from something supposedly behind him. Some had even been slain by arrows. Spinning around, the boy saw the silhouette of a person. “Come on, we can fight them together,” cried the figure. Reinvigorated by his saviour’s words the boy brandished his dagger and charged the beasts with a defiant roar. One by one with the combined aid of the arrows that kept firing over, the wolves died or retreated, knowing they had met their match.
Out of the shadows stepped the figure. A girl: blond hair, blue eyes, a grave yet sweet face. She wore sheepskin trousers and a shirt, with a rusty iron chestplate on top offering some protection. Clutched in her right hand was a wooden bow with a taut silk string and slung on her back was a quiver full of silver-tipped, peacock-feathered arrows. Shiny leather boots were strapped onto her feet.
Without a word she took the boy’s hand and ran at a surprising speed, her athletic stature blending in with the shadows. Stunned, the boy didn’t resist her and it wasn’t long before they reached shelter. By this time the boy was utterly drained. The only thought going through his head was that he had found a place of refuge. He was safe. Finally letting go of his countless worries he succumbed to the wave of fatigue that crashed upon him.
-Adi
M, Phillips 7
Phillips House Writing - 2025 21
Lockdown: a time of solitude and isolation, where we were all left to find refuge in our memories and our own entertainment, as well as to cower from the virus -Dominic H-M, Phillips 12
The Lockdown Box
I will put in the box…
The enjoyment of a sunny day out, Fun that is had with friends, And holidays spent relaxing.
I will put in the box…
A meal out where a rumbling belly is cured, A glance of normal civilisation, A day of learning and socialising at school.
I will put in the box… Memories of clubs and afterschool activities, The last hug and look at my family, The last school trip.
I shall embark adventures in my box, In my place of sanctuary, Then wash ashore on the doorstep, When it is all over.
I shall seek refuge in my box, From the loneliness and isolation of this pandemic, I shall seek refuge in my box, And think of the past waiting for this to be over.
-Ethan G, Phillips 11
Lockdown Memories
Everyday is filled with repetition. I eat, sleep and look around my room. My thoughts are filled with darkness. It has been 5 months now since I have been outside. Not a glimpse of sunlight. My mind is wrong, I have gone crazy. Where am I? Who am I? Why am I here?
Each morning a person comes with bread and water. For the first few weeks I kept trying to ask his questions, but no answer. I tried ways to escape in this 6-wall-box made out of concrete. No luck. I forgot who I was. Thoughts running in my head; pain and suffering; thoughts of never leaving this place. The person comes again with bread and water. I take it without saying a word. Suddenly a large banging sound and a voice shouting at me. Standing over me is my Mum. She says lockdown will go on for another month. I stare at the ceiling hoping this month will not feel so long.
-Arthur S, Phillips
Phillips House Writing - 2025 22
This Year was Supposed to be Momentous
Tuesday, 17th March 2020 08:40 - [Google Meet has opened]
08:49 - Harishan presents his assembly:
Good Morning Phillips 8,
On January 1st, I believed this year would be momentous - travelling to Burgundy with my mates and creating new memories as well as accomplishing personal goals I had set for myself. But as the months unfolded, I realised that life had other plans. Though it felt disheartening having to acknowledge that truth of this reality, I’ve come to understand that hope and ambition were never the problem. Giving up would have been. I’m sure many of you also had plans big plans and you might be feeling the weight of what this year has brought.
But perhaps, amid all this uncertainty, we have been given something unexpected a refuge A time to pause. An opportunity to reconnect with family, to rediscover the small joys we once overlooked. A moment to take one step back, find a different perspective of life and embrace something new. Not just the routines we know, similar to the idea of fishing but not for fish, but something deeper, something different, something that changes us
Beyond our struggles, we are part of a global challenge adapting to restrictions, missing friends, and many people losing milestones like school leavers, prom, formal exams, and once-in-a-lifetime moments Now, learning virtually through Google Meets, completing Mrs Jackson’s daily challenging but also interesting puzzles and having to isolate at home. Many families are facing financial hardships, and frontline workers continue to be true heroes for us all. Birthdays, once filled with joyous fluster of emotions, have passed in quiet reflection. Even the smallest things, like a simple trip to the hairdresser, serve as testaments for what we once took for granted and now yearn for.
Yet, amid these challenges, I believe it's important to view this time as a valuable lesson for us all It encourages us to take deeper reflections on our lives, find new interests and develop interpersonal skills that shape our character. Whilst we wonder how long this will last, we need to remain connected together in resilience and a shared commitment to finding productivity and meaning amid uncertainty. Together, we are navigating a rare, defining experience one that will shape our memories
Let us not forget the selflessness of our frontline workers who fight valiantly and endlessly. Their dedication reminds us to strive for more than just returning to ‘normal. ’ We have an opportunity to rebuild and to create something better. This period will not just be a dented memory of loss and fear but a constant reminder of our endurance and how we found refuge not in certainty but in each other. Let us take this time to reflect and to emerge stronger for the brighter days ahead, which we have truly earned. Not just waiting for the world to return but utilising the lesson of reflection and resilience and shaping it into something greater. Thank you for listening -Harishan S, Phillips
Phillips House Writing - 2025 23
May 20th 2013 14:45 PM
Weather Warning
I stood under the cover of my porch so as to not be burned by the blazing sun, a light breeze could be felt everywhere and was a nice refresher to divert my mind from the intense 40 degree heatwave. I decided to re-enter my house to enjoy the refreshing air conditioning that I had recently installed, not like that was worth it.
I sat down on my couch and turned on the TV to the weather channel as I always do. The weatherman looked quite dishevelled, like he had just got out of bed and been late to work He said something about wind shear, cold fronts; things too complex for me I thought nothing of it and went to the counter to get myself a sandwich, I remember that sandwich all too well, must be the trauma I proceeded to get myself a beer and sat back down on the couch and changed the channel, I was watching some documentary when my phone buzzed. I assumed it was my friend telling me about some stupid game he had been playing, I wish I paid attention back then.
It wasn’t until 20 minutes later when I got another beer from the counter, I remember a vivid sea of black outside my window looming over me like an evil spirit. I passed it over as a storm not being uncommon for Oklahoma, especially in May, having one at least once a week. I sat back down on the couch before once again being disturbed by another buzz from my phone, I again foolishly assumed that it was one of my idiotic friends but that couldn’t have been closer from the truth. Glancing over at my clock, the bright display informed me that it was 15:15. I luckily remembered that I had to take out the bins ready for collection the next morning. I ambled towards the front door before unlocking it and readying myself for my duty. Whilst slowly sauntering towards my bins I once again looked upwards towards the dark hanging mass, I had seen clouds before but these were different, these clouds were gargantuan black spinning monsters and foolishly, I blamed it on the beer
Eventually after getting back inside I returned to my nest on the couch and slumped back into my seat taking a short amount of time to fall asleep. My dreams were weird, all I remember was being inside a cloud most likely triggered by the dark mass I had just seen above me. I saw my house appear in front of me in this dream and then felt myself falling, a feeling we have all experienced whilst dreaming something about this fall felt wrong though it felt like I was falling but not moving, I was still inside this cloud. Thinking about it now this dream may have been prophetic but, what do I know about dreaming.
My dream was abruptly ended by a loud wail as I suddenly jolted awake. I once again glanced at the clock, 15:50, I looked out the window to see what the sirens were blaring about, my heart stopped. An enormous cloud had dropped out of the dark looming mass and was appearing almost stationary but getting larger and larger, I checked my phone to see if this was what my friends were talking about and then saw it in the centre of the screen:
“TORNADO EMERGENCY FOR MOORE-OKLAHOMA AREA - THIS IS A LIFE THREATENING SITUATION, SEEK COVER UNDERGROUND NOW.”
My heart stopped again, I didn’t have a storm shelter or anything underground, I ran to the neighbours house, rang the door, there was no answer. I ran back inside my house and took cover in my bathtub. I could hear the deep rumble of the vortex inching closer to me. Suddenly the winds erupted decimating everything around me, the last thing I remember was being flung out of my tub into the dark abyss. Sometimes there is no refuge…
Phillips House Writing - 2025 24
One reef remaining
Coral reefs cover 0.2% of the ocean floor but still provide a home for at least a quarter of all marine life. However, since the 1950s, in only 75 years, the global coral reef cover has halved. Habitats have been demolished, millions of marine lives and entire ecosystems have been lost. At this rate, scientists predict we could lose over 90% of our coral reefs by 2050.
An increase in global temperature and ocean acidity caused by more atmospheric carbon dioxide has led to coral reefs all over the world becoming bleached. The coral polyps eject the algae which live in them, causing them to lose their primary source of food and making them more susceptible to disease, as well as stripping the coral of its dazzling array of colour.
With coral reefs at risk of global collapse, a single crop of coral is left unfazed: Red Sea coral reefs. These reefs are specially adapted to be less reliant on oxygen in the water, so they are not as affected by climate change as other reefs. “It is crucial that we preserve the northern Red Sea as one of the last standing coral refuges, because it could be a seed bank for any future restoration effort,” said Eslam Osman, from the King Abdullah University of Science and Technology in Saudi Arabia.
These reefs could be the only ones left by 2100 and, as the only coral reefs so well adapted to the impacts of a changing climate, the Red Sea coral reefs will likely continue to thrive and support the extensive diversity of marine life that calls them home. Furthermore, they provide hope for repopulating reefs all over the world. These resilient and colourful reefs are a display of beauty, a wonder of the natural world and a source of hope for the future.
-Dominic H-M, Phillips 12
