Lockdown Literature

LOCKDOWN LITERATURE "Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind."

VIRGINIA WOOLF (A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN)

Dear Students, Parents and Staff of Ashford School, It is with pleasure that the English Faculty share some of the best bits of work from our time in lockdown.

Our students have admirably and enthusiastically risen to the challenge of remote learning day in and day out. At times we have all struggled with the imposed isolation from friends and family, but I hope as you read the samples of our students’ work, you will recognise the power of education and the power of language during these strange and unusual times.

You’ll be taken to the dark depths of frightening Gothic tales; to the dismal trenches of WW1 through a pigeon’s perspective; to the inside of a dead man’s mind as he witnesses his own demise; to the city of New York as the wolves of Wall Street prowl through the night; to a critical interpretation of Lady Macbeth’s madness and finally to witness the abuse of power in 'Ozymandias' and 'My Last Duchess'.

We hope you enjoy reading our lockdown tales.

Mrs R. Smith on behalf of the English Faculty

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CONTENTS 3 3 4

Year 7: Reflecting on Poetry of World War One SF - 'War Hero' AO - 'A Dog's Duty'

7 7 7 8

Year 8: Exploring Grim Tales of Gothic Fiction EC – ‘Let the Night Begin’ BS – ‘Darkness’ MTB – ‘Beginner’s Luck‘

9 9 10 11 14 15

Year 9: Refining the Writing Craft NA – ‘A Question of Perspective’ AD – ‘The Abhorred’ LG – ‘Red’ GS – ‘A Protector’ AT – ‘Out of Time’

16 Year 10: Explorations into GCSE English Literature 16 ET – ‘To what extent is Lady Macbeth shown to change during “Macbeth”?’

19 PH – ‘Compare how the poets present ideas about power in “My Last Duchess” and “Ozymandias”.

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YEAR 7: REFLECTING ON POETRY OF WORLD WAR ONE When lockdown commenced, Year 7 were completing a unit on War Poetry, with a particular focus on the experiences of poets during World War One. One aspect of this topic involved researching the roles of animals on the front. Having presented their findings, the students were inspired by their ideas to write a short story. Enjoy reading about the contributions of Sharon, the pigeon and a dog called Peggy.

SF - 'WAR HERO' Guns echoed throughout the battlefield, along with the sounds of screams and despair.

The situation was becoming dire and there was nothing to do except battle and fight to the end. It wasn’t just the sound of humans dying and screaming, the faint whinnies of horses and squawks of birds could also be heard.

‘We’d better send this to the CO,’ said the officer of the trench. He attached the vitally important message to the pigeon’s leg and sent it up to the air.

The pigeon, who was called Sharon flew out into the bleak sky and over no man’s land.

She witnessed the scenes of violence and inhumanity that plagued the battlefield. Men showing no mercy, slaughtering each other without hesitation. Other men shooting the injured, making sure they do not take one final breath. She saw the objective: it was only a few hundred metres away. Looking down one last time, she saw an injured medic, with a horse barely living, crawling through the mud. An injured soldier was sprawled out on the floor metres away. She dived down to help them.

As she went down, she saw guns being shot in her direction. Moving quicker, she came to the medic and lifted the bandages out of his hand.

‘Save him,’ he uttered with his last breath as he ceased to exist in front of her eyes. She soared back into the sky and landed on the soldier with the bandages, dropping them in his hand.

‘Thank you,’ he muttered with a shortage of breath.

Just as she as was returning to her mission, a bullet shattered through her leg. She squawked but continued to fly up. She could see where she needed to go. Another bullet came. This time it hit her in the wing. Falling to the ground, she began to lose conscious and landed with a thud on the chest of the soldier she had saved earlier. Her mission was not to be completed.

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A field ambulance drove through the field and upon noticing the pigeon and the wounded soldier, it stopped. Two of the three paramedics patched Sharon up, but could not do anything about her lost leg. Taking the message off of her leg, they read it and realised its importance. Sent on her way, she soared to the sky unsteadily but in a matter of minutes reached her destination. The CO read the message and knew exactly what to do.

She had won them a battle that was a pivotal part of winning the war. Later, she was discharged with a medal of honour and placed in a home for retired war pigeons. She died there after a few years, forever remembered as a war hero.

AO - 'A DOG'S DUTY' Pitter, patter went the rain on the cobblestone streets. Peggy was abandoned in a cardboard box with the rest of her siblings. She watched, soaking wet, as the other puppies were picked up by sympathetic people who happened to be walking down the dark, lonely street. She was alone. Shadows loomed over her, as the last glimpse of light faded away to join the gloom that surrounded her.

That was the last thing that she remembered before she found herself in a moving vehicle with food and water. Terrified, she backed into a corner and curled into a ball until a strange man opened the door. Although his appearance was scruffy, his face was kind. Slowly, Peggy approached the man and let him look at her name tag.

“Ah, hello Peggy. I’m Jake, your new owner.” He put a red lead, with little white first aid crosses on it, around her neck and led her to a large square of grass. Other dogs were sitting beside their new owners, but all of these dogs were fully grown and looked pretty experienced. Peggy let out a little whimper of intimidation.

Jake laughed softly, “Don’t worry Peg, you aren’t training with these dogs.”

Of course, Peggy could not understand what he was saying because, well, she’s a dog, but Jake’s voice was still somewhat reassuring.

Making their way past the others, a little brown Labrador puppy came into view. It was playfully rolling around on the floor and tugging on the trousers of a young man who looked about the same age as Jake. The puppy wagged her tail uncontrollably at the sight of a fellow dog, but Jake and the other young man were quick to control them both.

This day, Peggy and the puppy (whose name was Meg) were taught how follow simple commands such as ‘stay’ and ‘come’. After training, Peggy and Jake went back to the tent that they would be sleeping in. Inside the tent there was one bed and not really anything else apart from a lantern and a few blankets. Jake poured a generous amount of dog

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food into a bowl and gave it to Peggy, the food was dry, but she was starving after such an eventful day so she ate it anyway. Gently stroking the puppy on her head, Jake fell asleep. Shortly afterwards, so did Peggy.

Peggy and Meg were both training to be first aid dogs, but their jobs were very dangerous. They would be trained to deliver first aid kits to injured men stuck in no man’s land! At the moment they were delivering packages to dummies but would soon be ready to do it for real.

Today was the day: the dog’s first ever time traveling to no man’s land.

Jake put on Peggy’s harness and filled the sack will the required medical supplies; he gave her a good luck stroke and then ran with her to the edge of the field where Meg was waiting.

“Go!” shouted Jake and the two dogs sprinted through the woods and fields then into the chaos of bombs and bullets. Together they jumped over barbed wire and soon came across an extremely injured man and another soldier taking cover behind a few sandbags. The uninjured soldier hastily unzipped the sacks and then sent the dogs off again. Explosions were all around them. They sprinted for their lives. Suddenly, a huge gas shell plummeted to the ground and a sharp piece of debris was launched straight into Meg’s chest! She let out a whine of terror and agony! Peggy didn’t know what to do; she dragged her by the scruff to the nearest cover where an exhausted looking soldier was clenching his gun. The land around them looked familiar to Peggy and she knew that she could get to base if she ran quickly enough but Meg would have no chance.

Suddenly, Peggy felt a big weight being lowered onto her harness; it was the soldier putting Meg onto her back! The strange man clipped the two dog’s harnesses together so that Meg was secured. Peggy looked at the man with a confused expression.

He smiled and almost at a whisper said, “Go, save your friend!”

She licked his face thankfully and ran as quickly as she could which was not very fast as she was carrying Meg on her back, Peggy could feel Meg breathing slowly. She ducked behind sandbags when she heard the whistle of shells falling to the ground like birds being shot out of the sky.

Finally she got through all of the chaos and into the familiar woods close to base. Her pace was slowing down and she could feel Meg slipping off her back. Gently, she let her slip into a pile of leaves and then barked and barked all the way the way to base.

Jake had heard the familiar bark and was running out of a building, “What is it Peggy?

Should I follow you?”

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Peggy sprinted back towards Meg and Jake followed. Meg came into view.

“Oh! Meg!” said Jake with a worried tone. He took off his coat and tightly wrapped it around Meg’s wound, then picked her up and rushed to the medical centre.

“Help her! Please!”

A nurse showed Jake to a bed. He put Meg down and then had to leave the room. Meg’s owner had heard the news and came straight in but all they could do was wait.

In the end Meg was fine - and all because of Peggy.

Peggy was awarded a bravery medal and was the first dog to receive one!

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YEAR 8: EXPLORING GRIM TALES OF GOTHIC FICTION Year 8 have used this time to study Gothic Fiction, something perhaps rather apt in these uncertain times as it is a genre that exploits our underlying fears. Gothic fiction often features isolated, dark settings with vulnerable characters who find themselves in an unfamiliar situation. Some students were set a challenge in which they were asked to write a short gothic stories in 200 words and we were delighted with their responses.

We certainly seem to have a gothic revival on our hands! Read on, if you dare….

EC – ‘LET THE NIGHT BEGIN’ I lie there, in the shop window. It was dark outside with the rain pattering onto the pavement. Gently tapping away in the wind. The wind howled as the rain tapped, like a band with a non- stop dancer. As she spun, the wind swept along all the leaves, sweeping them in to a frenzy of background dancers.

The shop was old. Old and dusty. The shop keeper was just closing up the shop. I waited silently until I could no longer hear his soft footsteps.

This is what we waited for, every night.

The magic was about to begin.

I jumped down from the window shelf, gave my limbs a gentle shake and ran in to middle of the room. There, I shimmied up the chair leg, and on to the soft red velvet cushion. Then, I jumped onto a desk, and with all my might hauled up the long black stick, that the man writes with every time someone give him those nice shiny buttons. I took the ribbon tied neatly round my dress and wound it round and round. Then I waved it around shouting “let the night begin!” over, and over in an excited high-pitched squeal.

BS – ‘DARKNESS’ I was scared. The huge castle was looking down on me as I feebly walked towards the gate and tried to calm myself. Was I really about to do this? Was I about to enter the supposed Dracula’s castle? Would this be my last adventure ever?

As I pushed open the huge oak doors I heard the loud creak of the neglected hinges scraping together. I jumped in fear. Shaking with nerves, I heard a small, quiet cackle. I realised I came too far.

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I turned to run out the door, but as I reached it, it slammed shut. A shiver ran down my spine. I could hear the sound of footsteps behind me, slowly getting closer. As I turned around, I braced myself for what would be there.

But there was nothing. Was I just being paranoid?

Maybe everyone was right and there was no Dracula?

As I turned to my left to explore further, I heard a voice. My lantern suddenly went out. ‘’Darkness.’’

MTB – ‘BEGINNER’S LUCK‘ “By what means do you come here?” I asked the small, shaking man who had appeared at my door.

He replied, “I come from a far island and have travelled here to pass on the stone.” This puzzled me so I let him continue. “It is a rare stone, a stone with a spirit - made of swirling ivy and gold. It blesses the owner whilst owned, yet curses the passer once passed. I have come to pass on this stone.”

“What makes you do that,” I enquired, “Surely now you shall be cursed?”

“Well, I have lived a long life, yet now the time has come. I wish to be cursed.”

I thought over this for a minute, before saying, “If you wish to pass on the stone, then I will happily receive it.”

“Oh, goody!” He answered, clapping his hands and feet together, “Take it, take it now!”

So I did, then wished him goodbye and proceeded to bed.

The next morning, I looked out over the rolling planes of the moors and saw the strange man. He seemed to be in a hypnotized state, yet had managed to buy me a free breakfast.

My luck had begun.

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YEAR 9: REFINING THE WRITING CRAFT Year 9 have begun to progress towards their GCSE Language course, by consolidating their writing skills and experimenting with some different techniques such as using contrasting perspectives, experimenting with unusual narrative identities, playing with the structure of time, extending imagery and building suspense. This culminated with some independent creative writing, which has led to a rich diversity of material such as offered below. Their work is just a snapshot of the brilliant writing produced by Year 9, which certainly suggests that although we are in lockdown, nothing can hold back the imagination of Ashford School students.

NA – ‘A QUESTION OF PERSPECTIVE’ New York City, 2020. As the wolves of Wall Street prowl along the streets next to the towering skyscrapers with scrumptious hot dogs splashed with mustard all around, martyrs have agitated sleeps next to the city’s finest gum-filled bins, along with a side of a half-finished happy meal. The wolf skips past with his chest pumped up moulding the fine muscles of the beast. Have you ever wondered why their wrists reach out so high?

Could it be to look at the time on their numerous ornamental watches? A briefcase in their hand, their face on their boots, only their eyes lie invisible, perhaps a technique to intimidate whoever passes by. If the eyes are invisible, then how can you tell the fear or weakness? Outside there is none, the wolf has managed to lock them all up inside, beating it in - if there is even a need to.

A book cannot be judged by its cover: if a rich businessman is to make a book, he spends his time decorating it, captivating the audience. It’s a piece of art. If you look closely enough, you may even see the fragments of a mosaic. For him, it’s yet another business affair: he sells it to them. It’s a shame the pages are currently unavailable. Our poor man too wrote a book; he spent so much time thinking about the perfect words and so much precision went into each and every one of his letters, that he forgot about the front. It’s not his fault he didn’t go to marketing school.

No one has the time these days to read a long book.

People are in a hurry and prefer the short books. They skip straight to the ending to make their judgement.

Worn out by the writing, the arms don’t elevate while the body stays at low ground. His dialogue is short, his words are limited, but the tone in his voice gives it all. As the wolf walks past our poor man, as ravenous as a hyena, he spots the potential marketing profit, and passes to the next act.

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A tear glides down the poor man’s cheek: “Please. I need money. I can’t survive.”

But the wolf’s thick fur is not penetrable, and skips straight to the end of the book: “Well what do we have here? I could honestly give you a portion of my hard-earned money which I worked for and deserve, to you who lies here all day long. Let me guess…?

Bad grades, alcohol, drugs, dealing, debts…? So why should I help you, when I had to work my whole life, and spent my entire life working, just to lose it to a lazy… man? I’ve got nothing to blame myself for if you’re here, and I’m up there.”

He walks out with his imposing stride, as the other falls, seemingly touched to the heart, figuratively and literally. Just another addition to the thousands of daily deaths in New York, rejected by a broken society.

AD – ‘THE ABHORRED’ People hate me: they are scared of me. They are disgusted by me and would rather me gone from the world. There are cracks running through my dry, peeling skin. They create a mosaic of scales inside my pale, vomit-coloured cuticle that lies upon my powerful muscles and bones. You may say my skin was the colour of an ill person.

However, this great bundle of muscle inside me gives me some of my huge potential: potential to kill.

I would say I am one of the strongest beings alive.

Another source of this killing capacity comes from my perfect face. Perfect for murder, that is. My impeccable sense of smell can detect the weakest signs of fear. I also have a curious tongue; not only does it give me that satisfying taste of blood but it whispers in my victim’s ear. I am the last thing they will ever hear. My mouth foams with saliva; a gurgling, deadly juice in my mouth of death. And before their horrific ordeal, I lie there, watching them with my beady eyes.

Most of my time is spent sleeping amongst a pile of rocks. This pile of rocks is engulfed by the vast emptiness of the desert. Sand is sprinkled across the floor like icing on a cake. A cake nobody will ever eat. The occasional cactus rises from the nothingness and stands tall and proud. Nevertheless, they’re lonely and have colossal daggers reaching out, protecting the outside and seeking precious water. I don’t need its valuable elixir when I guzzle the deep red, addictive wine that rushes through my victim’s veins. That I how I survive in this death camp ruled by the tyrant burning in the sky. Its heat is hungry and contagious. I think it is almost as obsessed with slaughter as I am.

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Suddenly, an unexpected visitor appears in this arid wasteland. Big hiking boots dug into the sand leaving a trail of polluting footprints behind. My eyes focused on them as I had never set my eyes on anything like this before. I inspected every drop of delicate water lost to the surroundings by sweat. His peeling, burnt skin reminded me of my own and so did his bloodshot eyes observing his surroundings. No matter how expansive this infinite plain is, there is no space for both of us. He has to go.

His lack of fear seemed baffling to me and impossible to comprehend. Those colossal boots were advancing and making their way to my walls of my fortress. This was a declaration of war. The tanks lying on this man’s feet were hovering above me. I knew I was superior. My muscles projected my weaponised head at his leg. His fear leaked. He knew what was coming. I plunged my two swords in my mouth into his body. They would never let go until I decided. My poisonous saliva gushed like white water into his puny leg. It infested his blood with one thing: death.

I was not done. I began to swallow him whole. Every lump of flesh was pushed down my body. All that was left was an oasis: a dark puddle of dear blood and sweat. The time had come for my serpentine body to slither back to the rocks.

Even so, my beady eyes will still be watching.

LG – ‘RED’ It was dark. Too dark, almost as if there were sheets of black ink sealing his eyelids shut.

His ears pricked in surprise as he heard obviously nocturnal creatures, owls out hunting and foxes searching for a place to rest their tired legs. Shakily sitting up he allowed his eyes to absorb his peculiar surroundings. An enormous gothic style church in the distance greatly stood out from the hundreds of jumbled rows of dulled graphite tombstones it was looming threateningly over: a small amount were recently cleaned and littered with vibrant yet wilting flowers, obviously containing a still loved soul. While others were completely barren, most likely even more lifeless than the person held within, not getting in the way, or standing out, just there. Still, scarce, forgotten. His frozen neck twisted rapidly, desperate to discover the source of a horrific crunching noise. Instantly, he located the culprit that interrupted the eerie tranquil of the churchyard. It was him. His body lay in a poorly assembled coffin, cast unceremoniously into a bare grave, no flowers on the stone or elaborate design on the wood of the broken coffin lid. He noticed that his clothes were not those that he had requested to be buried in and thanked every higher power that as a pathologist he was able to look past the decomposition of his body and recognise that it was not even given any proper care before being discarded into this dismal hole in the ground. He stared for hours and as the light began to seep beneath his eyelids, a sea of blood-like rays overcame his pupils and all he saw was red.

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The rouge abyss begins to morph into a scene, children in a school yard. A young boy strutting around the climbing apparatus with his small friends, fully intending to overthrow the current owners of the toy pirate ship. The man allowed a small grin to cover his face, recognising the boy as himself. The scene changed into the same boy again but much older. His face was plastered with concentration as he furiously scribbled onto a lined page while occasionally glancing at a rusted clock in the far corner of the room, the man realised he was reviewing his memories. One from his childhood, another from his time at university and finally the scene morphed once more to a church. The same church that was standing only metres away from him now. But in this image, it was raining. It was pouring as though the heavens had opened, but the two young adults in the picture didn’t seem to notice or care. They were dancing around in it, laughing with absolute glee. The unmistakable glimmer of new wedding bands sat among their fingers. They stared adoringly into each other’s eyes. His wedding day. This let his mind wonder, where was his dear wife? Why was he discarded to ungracefully into the earth when he had a wife and children to attend his funeral and mourn his death?

Then it struck him, a spot of light opened in the sea of red in front of his eyes as he realised. The car accident. The way he treated them afterwards, his most colossal mistake.

The man’s translucent legs guided him out of the iron-clad gates of the graveyard and down the narrow lanes of the countryside, dagger-like branches striking straight through his torso as he made to avoid a horse and rider on the lane. Only when he attempted to say good morning to an old friend once he reached his village did he discover that people were unable to see him. He was like a ghost from a children’s story, invisible. As his seemingly mythical body led him down a winding road, he began to notice small details, little nothings. The blackberry bush where he lifted his young daughter so she could reach the tallest branch; the swing where he pushed his son until he soared like a raven in the clouds, the apple tree that he and his wife visited every spring for their anniversary. He was finally home again. The glazed window in the front of the large stone-clad house showed a just over middle-aged woman and her two children, they themselves looked to be in their mid-twenties. His family had aged tremendously since he saw them last. His children were still children and his wife had no grey hairs. Yet now the children were adults and his wife had a glistening sheet of silvery locks flowing down her back. He wonders what life would have been like if the accident had never happened. If that car hadn’t hit him and he was still able to work and do things for himself, if he hadn’t taken out his rage on his family and forced them to loath him as they waited on him hand and foot until his passing. Would they be happy? Another barrel of light was allowed through the grey hue covering his eyes and he was able to see it in the distance. His perfect life.

It starts on an autumn evening, the warmth of the summer just passed and the deadly chill of winter threatening to bite. The man sees himself walking down the country lane, exhausted after a long day working. He is blasting retro music through his earphones as a distraction from the cold, this causes him not to hear the car speeding down the road

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behind him, blissfully unaware of the danger about to befall him. He takes a step around the bend, invisible to the driver. And as he begins to dance to what was his wedding song, he is struck from behind, soaring over the windscreen and plunging into the gravel below. The man watches on in horror, a repetition of his accident is not what he needed.

His memory reverses to the point before impact, the man takes the phone from his frozen self and skips the song until it comes to one he is sure not to dance to. The memory repeats itself, but the car drives on by. His past self reaches his home and greets his family. Unaware of the damage that he had just caused, the man watched on as his family lived on in happiness and prospered in each other’s company. But his children had changed: they were not the smart young adults with jobs in the big cities he had previously seen, they were lazy and arrogant. The man watched as his home crumbled from the outside in, he stared in shock as his children spent their money until they were bankrupt and in poverty without their parent’s financial support. They wormed their ways into early graves through obesity and substance abuse, having not known any motivation to be better.

The man has discovered that he was the reason for his children’s want to be better, the driving force behind their success, their need to not turn out the way he did in the end.

The man knows that the only thing he can do is return to the day that the accident happened once more and allow the car to hit him. Understand that the only way his children will receive their motivation is if they have a few years of unhappiness. Another beam of light shines through the red as he goes back to the day of the accident. only this time, there is no car. After replaying this moment thousands of times in life and death, the thing that ruined his life but inevitably caused his children’s success had disappeared. The man heads down the road to see if the car is there, but it isn’t. In messing with the delicate constructs of time, the man had reached a point where the driver of the car was on a schedule five minutes later than his live self, with this time gap the car wouldn’t hit him at all and his family would still be reduced to ruin.

So, the man makes the decision to take the car himself and speed down the narrow lanes until he finds the image of his past self, dancing to his wedding song. A crushing wave of sadness and doubt overcomes him as he reconsiders what he is intending to do. But a glance at the blackberry bushes tells him all that he needs to know. He must make this sacrifice so that those he loves can prosper. His foot nudges the accelerator and nausea overcomes him. As though he is experiencing the crash all over again. He was the driver all along. Time had been replaying for however many years it took for him to gain the courage to do what he had to for his family.

The man drifts slowly back to the churchyard, his limp feet skim the earth until he reaches his final resting place. The barrels of light reduce to nothing and he is left with the red once more, no longer in anger but in love. He is now finally at peace.

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GS – ‘A PROTECTOR’ A new-born sun smiled upon the soft surface of the white sand, sand that had absorbed so many happy memories over the years. Strong bodies of rocks surrounded the petite, happy beach as if they were protecting it from the horrors of the world, a perfect clash of sturdy and dainty that fit together in the palm of a hand. They stretched so high into the sky that the beach felt like a cave, full of mystery and wonder, yet packed with so much uncertainty it was sickening. The wind trembled against my skin like a child nestled into its mother and my tongue prickled with the refreshing taste of salty, sweet water, crashing together like cymbals in an underwater band. My nostrils burn from the overwhelming sensation of fresh, unpolluted air.

A woman was walking on the beach, her gorgeous brown eyes glinting in the sun as they flirted with the warm rays that lay upon her face. “I miss her” I thought to myself as she danced unknowingly in my presence.

A gun cocked in my hand felt like a cold hard evil whispering in my ear. The devil on my shoulder cackled menacingly, as the natural beauty tried to wash it away. In the distance, a shadow forms. Birds caw over him, mocking me, like a seaside competition for our prey. He’s been here for a while now, looking for something, but I don’t know what. We share a sick interest, yielding a silver weapon in our bony-like hands as if it’s a shield for an unknown protection.

I walk onto the beach, almost abandoned. Creepy. Unfaithful. Yet, different to my usual surroundings, a dark alleyway waiting for unlucky strangers. I get a sense of fulfilment, a rush when I kill, but it was becoming too easy. The dampness and dripping of unhygienic water was giving me a headache, so I came here to experience new surroundings. The waves were like a drumroll from a crowd, cheering me on, exciting me even more. A tingling sensation in my spine grew stronger with every gust of wind, howling like my victim will be, giving a preview of what’s to come. I lift my gun into the air, aiming at her head and the hair on my neck rises like the tension in a horror film. I flinch. Is someone watching me?

I watch him as he raises his hand, conducting an orchestra of chaos, and my arm mimics his. The shiny metal fits into my hand like a perfectly fitted mould, comfortable but concerning. I watch him flinch and again, my body mimics the action, my heart pounds as I aim and suddenly. BANG! An anomaly, or broken chord in the performance of the sea echoes around me. Thud. His limp body hits the ground, buried by the wind. The deep, warm, red colour of his blood ruins the cool aesthetic of the seaside as it seeps into the ground like roots. My heart pounds with endless guilt, I don’t do this for pleasure. I only hurt people who are killers themselves, I pretend as if I’m a sort of hero, saving people from the hands of death. But in reality, I am he.

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Her warm eyes are no longer reflecting the sun, as it has retreated behind the clouds like a witness too scared to testify. Instead, they are shining full of horror and fear.

Everything stops. The waves; her dancing; his heart. Because of me. I force myself to run.

I will be there when the next monster comes. I will save another life.

But at what cost?

Am I becoming the monster?

AT – ‘OUT OF TIME’ Shaking like a leaf, he walks into the airport. His eyes flit from side to side, assessing whether he’s in danger. He wears a plain grey hoodie and a hat pulled low over his face, trying in vain to cover the map of scars all over his body. His mother’s voice echoes in his head, “Don’t draw attention to yourself Abram, it’ll only lead to trouble.” The memory comes with a twinge in his heart as he remembers her. She may not have been the best mother, but at least she tried to keep him safe. Now, he has no one.

The panic attack comes before he can try to stop it. Somehow, he finds his way into a toilet, wiping furiously at his eyes. Looking over at his reflection in the mirror, he flinches.

His hair has been dyed a deep brown and he wears green contact lenses in an attempt to disguise himself. But all he can see is his father’s face, auburn roots and icy blue eyes staring back at him.

He looks away in disgust, counting up to 10 in every language he knows. He’s just finished French when he pauses. As far as he remembers, his father didn’t any links to France. His French isn’t the best of his languages but it’s enough to get by. He has his fake passports and the money that his mother managed to steal from the old house.

Maybe, just maybe it could work...

He fishes though the duffel bag holding all of his possessions, reaching for one of 9 fake identities. He opens it up and looks at the name. Shaun Evans.

His time as Abram Wesninski is over, he thinks.

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YEAR 10: EXPLORATIONS INTO GCSE ENGLISH LITERATURE Year 10 have continued to progress through their GCSE Literature course, completing their study of ‘Macbeth’ and then learning to compare poetry which is connected through the theme of power and conflict. In the essays below, the students show insight and maturity in their exploration of how the language and structure of the texts enhances the writer’s presentation of character and theme. The examination of Lady Macbeth shows an appreciation for the way Shakespeare develops this notorious character. Similarly, an interesting scrutiny of the presentation of power in Browning’s ‘My Last Duchess’ and Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’ is shown. Both students also show their detailed knowledge and understanding of the way the context of the text influences our response.

ET – ‘TO WHAT EXTENT IS LADY MACBETH SHOWN TO CHANGE DURING “MACBETH”?’

Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’, written in 1606, initially shows Lady Macbeth to be cruel, manipulative and powerful through her association to the supernatural, and her controlling and manipulative tendencies towards the other characters in the play, but especially her husband, Macbeth. However, as the play progresses, Shakespeare presents Lady Macbeth as increasingly more hysterical in order to demonstrate her deteriorating mental health, perhaps to send a political diatribe towards his Jacobean audience of the dangers and consequences of one defying the will of God, or of one going against the commonly held Jacobean belief of the ‘Great chain of Being’.

Firstly, Shakespeare presents Lady Macbeth as being a nefarious and cunning woman in the beginning of the play, through showing her plan to manipulate her husband. In Act 1 Scene 5, in her soliloquy, she plots to ‘pour [her] spirits into [Macbeth’s] ear’. The noun ‘spirits’ denotes the supernatural. In the Jacobean period when the play was written, paranoia and fear of the supernatural was high, with people believing that supernatural entities, such as witches, or the devil were evil, meddling in human life for sadistic purposes. When Lady Macbeth describes her influence on her husband as something related to the supernatural, Shakespeare successfully causes his audience to associate her with the supernatural and evil, and therefore they may believe her to be wicked herself. Furthermore, Shakespeare has creatively created ambiguity surrounding the noun ‘spirits’, which can either be interpreted as a concrete noun, or as an abstract noun. If “spirits” is inferred to be a concrete noun, the image of Macbeth being possessed by the spirits would come to mind. This is a common theme in Christianity, further causing the audience to fear Lady Macbeth, as it seems as though she is capable of inserting spirits into people, and the Jacobean audience were generally strongly Christian. However, this usage of Christian imagery may not resonate as strongly with a 21st century audience as it would a Jacobean audience, as the modern period has a more secular culture.

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Additionally, Shakespeare’s Jacobean audience may further get a poor impression of Lady Macbeth from her soliloquies, as she was a woman. In the Jacobean period, women were expected to be subservient to men, and submissive due to their perceived roles of being weaker. By portraying Lady Macbeth’s manipulation of men, it subverts the expected roles of femininity in the Jacobean period: Shakespeare has effectively demonstrated Lady Macbeth’s refusal to conform to her accepted place in society, something a Jacobean audience would have disagreed with, as according to ‘the great chain of being’, a belief held typically strongly by the Jacobean audience, women had a secure place in society (which was inferior to men) which was placed by God, and a contradiction of God’s order was a sin against God himself.

Lady Macbeth is further shown to have this robust personality established in her opening soliloquy following the act of regicide, which she planned and assisted. In Act 2 Scene 2, while discussing with Macbeth Duncan’s murder, Lady Macbeth says ‘a little water clears us of this deed’. The verb ‘clears’ connotes purity, cleanliness, and innocence. This juxtaposes the fact that Lady Macbeth had just been involved in a regicide, (which would have been negatively received by a Jacobean audience, who generally staunchly believed in the great chain of being, which showed kings to be superior than any other human under God. By committing regicide, one has committed a sin, and gone against God’s will. This creates the impression that L. Macbeth is unholy, and sinful). By juxtaposing these two vastly different ideas, Shakespeare has effectively demonstrated Lady Macbeth’s self-perception in which she views herself as innocent and holy, and her arrogance, due to her belief that she can be ‘cleaned’ from sin with water. A Jacobean audience may have been angered by this, due to their firm Protestant beliefs that cleansing sin can only come from God’s forgiveness. Although Shakespeare presents Lady Macbeth as strong, he has also shown her to be arrogant, and sinful, in order to make her seem nefarious and unholy to a Jacobean audience.

However, by the end of the play, and the climax, Lady Macbeth is presented to have changed by Shakespeare, in order to demonstrate the consequences of committing a regicide. In Act 5 Scene 1, Shakespeare presents this change through Lady Macbeth becoming mentally disturbed due to her guilt for being involved with Duncan’s murder.

She asks ‘will these hands ne’er be clean?’. Shakespeare has created a cyclical structure, by referencing a semantic field used earlier in the play, in Act 2, where Lady Macbeth says ‘a little water will clear us of the deed’. By extending the image, Shakespeare reminds the audience of Lady Macbeth’s arrogance. The adjective ‘clean’ connotes freedom, innocence, and purity. Her plea here suggests that she wishes to be free from the guilt of murdering Duncan. This shift in view juxtaposes Lady Macbeth’s original stance on Duncan’s murder, as she was responsible for planning it. Shakespeare is effectively demonstrating the change in her outlook and state of mind.

Furthermore, Shakespeare has successfully shown Lady Macbeth to change through her surrender of her power. While in Act 2, Lady Macbeth is presented as dominant and controlling, in Act 5, Shakespeare effectively removes Lady Macbeth’s power away from

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her, creating a more sympathetic character, and displaying the extent of the changes that Lady Macbeth has undergone. This is exhibited by Lady Macbeth’s handmaiden and doctor discussing Lady Macbeth’s sleepwalking asking ‘when was it she last walked?’. Her ailments are discussed openly on stage, without her input which shows the lack of control she now has in her life. Additionally, the fact that Lady Macbeth ‘walks’ demonstrates a lack of control in her life, as psychologically, sleep walking was viewed in the Jacobean period as being caused by unrest in one’s life, resulting in one acting out innermost thoughts. This demonstrates Lady Macbeth’s inability to control her emotions, and therefore her inability to control her own life. This is juxtaposed with Lady Macbeth’s earlier stability, and control over herself and others and successfully demonstrates the change that Lady Macbeth has undergone. Shakespeare may have intended to portray Lady Macbeth as unstable, in order to send a didactic message to his audience, about the consequences of committing regicide. Shakespeare perhaps included this diatribe in his play, in order to show support for the current monarch, James the First, who in the previous year, 1605 was the object of an assassination attempt (the gunpowder plot).

Shakespeare relied on a monarch’s financial support to produce his plays, so perhaps was trying to reassure and support James I, by exploring the dangerous consequences of regicide to the British public.

Shakespeare may have portrayed Lady Macbeth to have lost her power, to demonstrate her inherent weakness. Within Lady Macbeth’s first soliloquies, Lady Macbeth admits she needs to ‘call upon spirits’. ‘Call’ implies that Lady Macbeth was actively seeking out the supernatural, as she is not strong enough on her own. A Jacobean audience was typically very paranoid about the supernatural; they were believed to be malicious, and sadistic, trying to harm human life. This fear ran so deep that the current king, James I wrote a book (‘Demonology’) detailing tricks of the supernatural. By Shakespeare showing a woman (who were expected to be innocent, and subservient to men in the Jacobean period) being corrupted by the supernatural, Lady Macbeth could be inferred to have been innocent all along, and her ‘weakness’ could moreover be her inherent nature as a woman, while her earlier manipulative nature, could just be the actions of the supernatural. The inference is supported by the doctor saying ‘[Lady Macbeth] needs more the divine’. ‘Divine’ in Jacobean vernacular usually referred to priests.

Shakespeare’s suggestion that Lady Macbeth needed a priest may lead in the audience’s mind to the idea of exorcism. This further suggests that Lady Macbeth is an innocent woman, who was possessed by the supernatural beings which she called upon, implying that Lady Macbeth may never have changed, as her behavioural change was not her own change, but due to supernatural influences. This would resonate strongly with a Jacobean audience, who were very protestant and viewed women as weaker than men (due to their Christian belief of woman being created from, and after man) and innocent, which in turn, may allow them to sympathise with Lady Macbeth. However, a modern audience may not sympathise with Lady Macbeth, as the roles and expectations of women have changed. While a woman in the Jacobean period could not own property, or inherit wealth, women nowadays are expected to (generally) be responsible for one’s wealth, and not expected to be submissive to men, making it more feasible for a

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modern audience to believe that Lady Macbeth could be inherently reprehensible and nefarious whereas a Jacobean audience may find it easier to believe that Lady Macbeth was corrupted by higher and external powers.

Overall, Shakespeare has effectively demonstrated Lady Macbeth as a character who appears to change significantly over the course of his play Macbeth from a malicious, controlling woman, into someone who is mentally unstable, perhaps in order to criticise regicide, and demonstrate the consequences of it, or even to present the strength and the threat of the supernatural and their hold over even the most innocent beings.

PH – ‘COMPARE HOW THE POETS PRESENT IDEAS ABOUT POWER IN “MY LAST DUCHESS” AND “OZYMANDIAS” In ‘My Last Duchess’, by Robert Browning, and ‘Ozymandias’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley, the theme of power is unquestionably key to each of the poems: ‘My Last Duchess’ addresses this through the power men had over women in the Victorian times and often how they abused this power, whilst the poem ‘Ozymandias’ seeks to expose specific ideas about the loss of power through nature and over time. Both poets evoke feelings of resentment in their readers towards the protagonists, arguably in order to heighten social awareness over the abuse and arrogance of power.

In the poem ‘Ozymandias’, Ozymandias calls himself “king of kings”. Christian readers may be shocked as this is a title usually reserved for Jesus, the King of the Jews. Here, Shelley may be showing his beliefs on the corrupt arrogance of the Church as he was known to have opposed them and was even expelled from Oxford for distributing pamphlets promoting atheism to members of the Church. Alternatively, Shelley could be showing Ozymandias’ arrogance through his belief that he is better than all kings, a position often believed to be chosen by God. In this alternative representation, Shelley is showing the arrogance power can cause. Also, the etymology of the name “Ozymandias” comes from Greek. The word Ozium means to breathe and Mandate means to rule: together, they mean that ‘Ozymandias’ breathes power and was born to rule over others. Shelley could possibly be using irony here as we know that he was opposed to the monarchy, specifically King George IV who reigned during Shelley’s life, and did not believe that people should be fit to rule simply because of their birthright. Both poems introduce the importance of titles and rank to those in power, especially how it makes them believe they are superior over others and are insatiable for more power. This can be seen in ‘My Last Duchess’, when the Duke is mystified by how his Duchess could possibly compare his ‘nine-hundred-years-old name with anybody’s gift’. The Duke stating the age of his title, shows his pride of it and how he believes that those with titles have immediately established themselves to be better than others and should have

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more power. In ‘My Last Duchess’, rank is extremely important to the Duke, as well as titles. He is constantly thinking of it. This is shown when he uses a semantic field of levels stating phrases such as ‘she ranked his gift’ and ‘who’d stoop to blame’. This shows the Duke is consumed by the levels of society, wishing to always be on the top and to never ‘stoop’, a verb connoting to lowering oneself or degrading themselves, lower than others. The verb ‘ranked’ also suggests that some gifts are better than others and that his should always be regarded in first place. Browning could be trying to infer here that those with power and titles, always wish to have more and are entirely absorbed by it.

They always wish to be first. However, the reference to the statue of Neptune could suggest that the Duke’s titles only have power because of the attitudes of the time. This is shown through the quotation of ‘taming a sea-horse'. The verb ‘taming’ shows how the Duke wishes to believe he should instruct and tame women, dominating them with his masculinity until they obey his commands. Browning uses this metaphor ironically to show how the Duke views himself as a mighty God. A Victorian reader may accept this as he was of a high status, and often seen as better than others, as well as male and therefore could vote and own property, unlike women. However, a modern reader would see this as hubristic and vain. Browning could be trying to suggest here that the Duke’s power is not only from his titles but also from Victorian attitudes, giving him the ability to use others. Both poems are similar as they both use titles to convey ideas around power however, both writers portray different ideas about power as Browning suggests that the more power you get the more you wish to receive and you will become consumed by it, while Shelley, is showing that power can cause hubris and the need for their triumphs to be recognised.

Secondly, in ‘My Last Duchess’, the Duke continues to hold power over women and the cycle of power continues, however, in ‘Ozymandias’, his great Empire falls, and his power is lost over time. Both poets use structure to convey their different ideas about power and its cycle. In ‘My Last Duchess’, there is a strict rhyme scheme of rhyming couplets which creates a sense of control. ‘My Last Duchess’ also has a steady rhythm of iambic pentameter which supports the idea of extreme control and dominance. This reflects the Duke’s character as he is obsessed with commanding others and continues to do so even after the death of his wife. Alternatively, the enjambment can cause the controlling rhyme scheme to be hidden. An example of this would be: ‘My gift of a nine-hundredyears-old name// with anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame// this sort of trifling?’. The caesura also breaks up the dramatic monologue. A reader might not notice the rhyme scheme, possibly reflecting Browning could have done this to make it seem as if there are slight irregularities and that possibly that the Duke cannot control everything, despite how hard he tries. The form of ‘My Last Duchess’ is also interesting as it is one long verse. This reinforces the idea that the Duke has insecurities and cannot control himself as he rambles to a silent listener, who is arranging the marriage to his next wife.

Browning’s message could be that Victorian men are weakened by their dependency on their power over women, suggesting that it is not true power to weaken another as they reflect the person you are. Similarly, in ‘Ozymandias’, Shelley uses form to suggest ideas around power. The sonnet form is usually used for love poems and it could be used to

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possibly show ‘Ozymandias’’ self-love or his love for his Empire and achievements.

However, Shelley does not completely obey the concise rules of the sonnet form. Shelley follows the Shakespearean sonnet at first with an alternate rhyme scheme before the rhyme scheme turns away from the usual sonnet. It also resembles the Petrarchan sonnet form with a Volta, or sharp turn, when ‘Ozymandias’’ inscription is announced.

However, the Volta could be seen before the last two lines, traditional to a Shakespearean sonnet, with ‘nothing beside remains’ as this juxtaposes ‘Ozymandias’’ grandiose statement. This mix of these two sonnet forms after an orderly beginning shows Shelly’s theme that nothing man-made lasts forever and will be taken with time.

Both poems are similar as they use form and structure to show their themes and the personality of their character. Browning uses strict rhyme schemes to make it seem as if there is ordered control, however the use of caesura and enjambment make it seem as if there is a loss of control and power. Likewise, in ‘Ozymandias’, the form of the poem seems to be a Shakespearean sonnet, however, it does not remain that way. Both poets are suggesting through structure that no matter how hard you try, you cannot have complete control as nothing lasts forever.

Furthermore, both poets show how individuals with a high rank use material objects to show their power, despite how they are inanimate and are effectively meaningless. The Duke uses the curtains over his last wife’s painting to finally hold power over her and whom she may smile upon. The Duke explains in an annoyed tone that ‘Her looks went everywhere’, with the adverb ‘everywhere’ suggesting that his wife looked at others constantly. However, after her death, her portrait is covered by curtains which are controlled by the Duke only. The Duke now controls where and upon whom his wife can look. His declaration that ‘None puts by the curtain I have drawn for you, but I’ shows how the Duke relishes his power. The pronoun ‘none’ reflects the Duke’s selfish attitude towards his wife as before she could look upon everywhere and now on no one, only her despotic husband. A suffragette reader of the Victorian era may see how the controlling power of the Duke over his wife’s life has been extended in her death and he must be content with controlling her lifeless portrait despite the fact that she looks ‘as if she were alive’. Additionally, the noun ‘curtain’ suggests a heavy blanket covering her portrait, blocking any light from reaching her. Browning could be using the curtain as a metaphor to show how the Duke smothered his wife and hid her from view as well as prevent any light and happiness from entering her life, as he arrogantly believed that she would be content with his title, a lifeless object as lifeless as the portrait regardless of how realistic it may look. Similarly, in ‘Ozymandias’, his inscription is held on a ‘pedestal’. The noun ‘pedestal’ suggests that ‘Ozymandias’ wished for his words to be raised high, away from the sand and dust of the desert and closer to the open sky. Furthermore, pedestals are also used for objects of great importance and value. This shows Ozymandias’ pride over all his works and that they are of great value, including the inscription made to inspire jealousy in others. ‘Passions read which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things’ shows Shelley’s beliefs on the foolishness of materialism, something often associated with power, and the importance of emotion, something Shelley, a romanticist, always tries to show in his poems. The verb ‘stamped’ suggests a repetitive, careless action with

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little interest, reflecting Shelley’s attitudes to material values and how all with power are repeatedly trying to show the world their power through vast statues. The adjective ‘lifeless’ reinforces this idea of memories, and things that are alive, trying to be grasped and held onto in objects which cannot come alive. Shelley’s use of forceful language could be trying to show the reader to not waste time building objects that will eventually come to ruin: power will be forgotten. Shelley is trying to impose the idea that memories survive without the need for objects. This is shown with the quotation: ‘Passions which yet survive’, the noun ‘Passions’, meaning emotions and a sense of life. Both poets use material objects to reflect their protagonists' character and personality in a negative light. Browning uses the painting to show the Duke’s obsession for power over his late wife, and how egotistical he is, while in ‘Ozymandias’, Shelley uses the crumbling statue to show Ozymandias’ foolishness and naivety that he can preserve emotions. Both the Duke and Ozymandias want to preserve life in objects, to remind them of power however both result in being seen as greedy and dominating.

Overall, Browning and Shelley uses similar methods to convey different ideas about power. While Browning believes that the Duke’s power over women shall last and the cycle will continue through structure, Shelley shows how power is eventually lost over time through structure. Both poets use materialism to show the pride their characters have over the ‘objects’ they controlled but Browning’s tone is instead one of bitterness, possibly as it is a dramatic monologue, whilst Shelley’s tone is one of irony highlighting the fallen empire now reduced to ruins.

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