Submarine -your voice-
Note from the editors: After a peculiar term, we are glad to bring you this edition of The Submarine. We are very thankful to the pupils who put hard to come by free time into all the pieces published here. We would also like to thank Mr. Jameson, who is the new patron of The Submarine. He has been very understanding and helpful this year despite being busy with both online and in -person classes. We hope if everyone returns as planned next term we can bring a fuller Submarine.
Avi and Edna Johnston
Zoﬁa Cannon-Brookes Form IV
The State of Glass Elija was the most spindly person I had ever seen. It was like his bones had grown faster than his ﬂesh could keep up. It's common in teens of course, but from his rapidly increasing height, he looked to be somewhere in his late twenties. His speech was always pressured and ﬂighty, scattering from one topic to another with only the loosest of connections. He often laughed at something that wasn't really funny, then stopped himself short, eyes moving quickly from one side of the corridor to the other, searching for help. “Where do you think you’re going, chicken legs!” Laughter reverberated along the halls, as well as the sound of excited conversations and shouts of eager students. Elija knew better than to respond, he’d learnt that the hard way. “So now he won’t talk. Well, if he won’t talk. maybe he’ll squawk!” Elija knew what. was coming, a mixture of excited roars’ and a sharp, throbbing pain across his cheek and stomach , it would be tender for many days. Nelson and Slim. stalked towards him like a. pair of hungry wolves ready to taunt their prey before they went in for the kill. This couldn’t happen again, he. wouldn’t let it. The last time Elija had come home with a bloodied nose and a bulging, black and blue eye, that had almost grown to the size of a small peach bulging from his face. His father stood over him once he had gotten home, loomed over him. “How could you let this happen Elija!” “It wasn’t my fault, there were four of them and… .”, a hard blow was inﬂicted against. his face, leaving his already bloodied nose to make a loud crunching sound. “I didn’t ask how many there were!” His father paused for a brief moment pinching the ridge of his nose before he went back to battering his son with harsh words.
Isabel Warnock Form IV
“You know, when I ﬁrst saw you I knew you’d be a disappointment! Just another annoyance , another mouth to feed, a bottom to. wipe. And what do I get in return for clothing you, feeding you, putting a. roof over your head! A lousy excuse for a son!” In a distant , still functioning part of Elija’s brain, he knew that he was the one screaming , but couldn’t stop himself . A ﬂash of light exploded behind his eyes, and oblivion reached for him. Elija suddenly snapped out of his memories, and realised that he was still standing in a circle of pre-pubescent teens. It seemed that his whole world had frozen for a split second, Slim and Nelson still stood where they had been just seconds before , eyes glaring, and a strange cheshire grin of sorts was slapped across their faces, it was the kind that was so wide it looked as if they were about to eat him. “Are you gonna run, chicken legs?” Nelson asked mockingly. “Yeah, you gonna run chicken boy?” Slim retorted. “Shut up Slim!” Nelson elbowed Slim right in his rib cage and he let out an exasperated “oof”. “You gonna run away like your momma?” The circle erupted into a sea of. sardonic grins and a cacophony of wicked laughs. “Yeah like your momma!” Slim mirrored Nelson still clutching his most likely bruised ribs. “Where is your momma , Elija? Did she leave you? I’d understand why she would”. Slim sniggered behind Nelson’s shoulder, like a goblin. People began to shove Elija further into the circle. Everyone wanted something more exciting to happen. Like last time. Elija could feel a dulled warm feeling in his chest, but it was beginning to get hotter. His knuckles had gone white from clenching his ﬁsts too hard , and gritted his teeth from eﬀort to remain silent. Elija’s hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid. Burning , slicing , and potent . He could feel that his face was red with suppressed rage, and when Nelson set even a ﬁnger on him, he knew that he would snap. And wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Your pa beats you, doesn’t he chicken boy?” Nelson looked back at Slim for approval of what he had said. But, he had. gone too far, he had struck a nerve that could not be un-struck . Elija moved in a swift clean movement and he felt the contact of his ﬁst meeting Nelson’s face. His ﬁst burned, not out of pain but the itch to inﬂict more pain on Nelson. He wanted to make him understand even a fraction of the pain that Nelson had inﬂicted on him.
This ﬁght looked as if it had been a choreographed dance of destruction. One blow after the next, the bloodied faces and reddened knuckles ﬂashed in quick motions , ﬁghting to inﬂict as much pain as they could. Elija ﬁnally pulled away from the unrecognizable face of Nelson. His nose was deﬁnitely broken, and his eyes were the size of tennis balls. Nelson’s face was a wash of deep blue, red and purple. Everyone just. stared at them in awe, mouths gaping. Elija stood up straight, trying to ignore the sharp pains that. screamed for him to stop all across his body. His lip had been cut. Elija spat a bloodied clot at Nelson, and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “How’s that for a chicken boy?” Elija shoved through the crowd of shocked people. Dozens of eyes burned into the back of his head as he walked down the corridor and out into the cool evening. Isabella Treacy Form III
Zoﬁa Cannon-Brookes Form IV
Undermining Everywhere you looked there was simply the same exact pattern of tall straight trunks with moss covered bark, small spindly branches hanging with creepers and far above the ground the canopy covering the forest ﬂoor like a blanket. Sometimes a stray ray of light penetrated the blanket and shone some light on the ground. The forest ﬂoor was covered moss. The ﬂoor was uneven with small bits of earth sticking up through the covering. In one part of the ﬂoor, it might be hard and consistent with good footing and then a metre to the side, the ground would be soft and pliable and you could step on it and sink down, never to be seen again. The silence was absolute, strange for a forest of its size. There was no trace of animals. You couldn’t hear any scratching or digging, no tapping of wood or the hooting of owls. Just cold, cold silence everywhere. The smell was the most unnerving of it all. An intrusive ungodly stench, as if there was a rotting carcass beside you at all times. It hung around at all hours and made the forest more of a living hell than it already was. In the darkness of the undergrowth, diﬀerent lichens grew. There was reindeer lichen with its ghostly purple arms and white connections. Suddenly, a shoe crushed the plant and then a long stick appeared, to poke at the ground in front to make sure it was safe. A group was walking through the gloom of the forest. You could see twilight creeping in the surrounding darkness, closing in on them. The group of travellers consisted of ﬁve people. Two women and three men all dressed in hardy hiking clothes with tents and mats rolled up on backpacks that were looking very empty. The group resembled an ant moving along, with its main body composed of the people and its legs made of the sticks that were being used to test the ground to make sure that it was sturdy. Finally the ant found a large solid area and its body broke apart.
Isabel Warnock Form IV
The group broke out and fell to work. There seemed to be two groups, with a two three split. The two went and got some ﬁrewood while the three started setting up the tents. After everyone had completed their chores, they sat down around the crackling ﬁre Tense faces looked at Simon as he reached inside the napsack and felt how much food there was inside of it. The lines on his face were pulled tight and his sunken eyes looked out from under his brow. He brought forth three small dehydrated apples, which were close to going oﬀ and smelled pungent. Nestled between the apples there was a quarter of a grain bar. From what Simon could see, this was the last of the food. Faces devoid of hope met his eyes across the ﬁre. Simon spoke. "I think we should give some more to Sasha. You all know she has those infected cuts on her arm, and her ankle is sprained. She’s delirious. I think she has blood poisoning or something so she should get some more, the rest we’ll decide what to do with it. This is the last of the food, let's use it well.” He moved to give Sasha half an apple and a bit of the grain bar. Before he could do this, Janet exclaimed, "What do you think you're doing! It's unlucky that she hurt herself but by this point we have no choice. Divide the food equally and don’t bring us down because of one person.” While she was saying this, many people in the group started to nod. One of them added, “We’ve been out here for three days, and this is the fourth night, she’s dead weight. I mean, just look at her.” While he said this, Sasha was sweating and was ashen white, seeming to sway between consciousness and a deep sleep. Everybody looked at Sasha as she sat there. Simon said forcefully, “No. We won't abandon somebody, even if they’re not contributing. Have a bit of empathy for God’s sake. If it was one of you there you wouldn’t want to be abandoned in this hell of a forest. His words seemed to sway the crowd and after an apple and the salt of the grain bar was shared between them they went oﬀ to the tents. There was however a deﬁnite discontent amongst the group and as they went oﬀ to their tents you could hear the muttering entwined with a discordant note. The next day, the fourth day of their own personal hell, Sasha could barely walk at all. Everybody remembered Simon's words the night before and helped her on. They fashioned a stretcher out of fallen branches and some fabric from their backpacks, and tied it together with some twine. Someone made a joke about how the backpacks were not needed anymore, because they had no more food, but that didn't go down especially well.
Janet and her friend were at the back of the stretcher, with Simon at the very front testing their way. They had decided to strike North, as any direction was as good as another. At the back there were whispers in a harsh tone, at the front words like “Sick of this” and “Unfair treatment” could just be heard, but not by the person testing their way, Simon. As they were going forward, they reached a marshy area and needed to turn right for a bit to get past. As they were turning to the side, the back supporters managed to stumble and ‘trip’. The stretcher slid into the mud and with the sudden weight load, the front supporter dropped his part. The stretcher had fallen in at an angle, so Sasha slid into the bog. At the last moment, she seemed to gain consciousness. Her mouth opened to shout, but it was too late. She slid below the bog. All of this happened within the span of about three second. By the time it happened, it was too late. When the thought had occurred to dive in to get her, there was no way to save her. Of course no one suspected it had been deliberate, except Simon. He looked at Janet and for a second there was a smirk across her face that then seemed to disappear like a ghost, and it was replaced by a well-made mask of grief. They made camp a bit further on that night, not wanting to be close to the bog where Sasha had fallen but Simon was thinking. He couldn’t exactly remember what had happened to Sasha’s ankle, and realised that Janet and her friend had set themselves up at the back of the stretcher. He went to sleep terriﬁed of whether he would have an accident the next day. Lorne Walsh Form III
Zoﬁa Cannon-Brookes Form IV
The Open Undermining of Donald Trump He was ﬂawed, liquiﬁed like butter under the heat of public opinion and law. He had one exit, powered by his companion, money. The brutes tagged him as a jester who beneﬁtted from his infamous reputation through Twitter and Facebook. He had armies of admiring citizens behind him, but they were soon outnumbered after the career-altering event of the clash between donkeys and elephants, covered by the same embroidered ﬂag, and stalking for justice. In 21st Century politics, there is no longer the “whole truth, and nothing but the truth”, but double-dealing decisions under corrupt leaders, who gain from the peril of others. In 2016, he expected a win, but he was oblivious to the catastrophe lying in wait to slit his ankles. He wanted to exalt the past. His speeches were comforting and a relief to war heroes and ‘old folks’, but blatantly adhered to breaking the US into divisive fragments. He spoke on delicate topics with callused hands, a fresh carcass to a crowd of hungry wolves waiting to replenish their hunger, to tear the carcass apart till there was nothing but futile bones remaining, the skeleton of a politician. His opinion on Waterboarding, a sport used for defence, interrogation and a tactic, a “peanut allergy” to Islamic state groups. He ignored the critical state of our planet, gesturing to it as an inconvenience, solving it by sustaining “clean air” and “clean water". Brushing it under the doormat, staging it as a “hoax” with no guarantee of a result. For him, Obamacare was ineﬀective, Black Lives Matter protests were trouble, NATO was a rip-oﬀ. Isn't it peculiar, when we read this information, we immediately assume that he is a powerful “narcissist” but there was more to him than just this. He brokered not one, nor two, or three, but four Arab-Israeli peace accords. He shut borders with China while the unfamiliar pandemic hit its hardest blow. He avoided a second Great depression by the Cares act, ‘Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security’ with a 2.2 trillion stimulus bill, that has boosted businesses during the covid pandemic, with a 33.1 gdp growth, gaining back ⅔ of what it lost throughout the diﬃcult period of time. Operation Warp speed managed a vaccine in 8 months, which contributes to halting the spread, that was backed up by him.
He has had his unpardonable moments, and his actions have been questioned on a daily basis, but yet he has produced results in a single year, that previous presidents did not produce in a term. The fact is that many people judge unpopular topics before fully encountering someone, automatically disregarding an acquaintance if they disagree with them. But it was his liability, responsible for a nation that has been condoned with fraud, that led to the deterioration of his reputation. It was his choice to enter a popularity contest, battling generations that pick the knitting, politicians who prick till they draw blood. One wrong word you're thrown to the dogs, there is no Tippex for your mistakes. He played the game his way, a runner up to the lottery, the 2nd BINGO. And the consequences? Removal of his beliefs and ignorant actions from a not so wise career choice, where in the distance sits a large white palladian house, painted in dejected failure. A world renowned ﬁgure who was undermined right in front of us. Vivian Tuite Form III
Zoﬁa Cannon-Brookes Form IV
Form 1 Metaphor Poems
The stars are an ocean of glitter A blanket of light in the night sky They are like a purse of pennies That have been dropped and scattered across the sky Like thousands of boats Sailing across the sea. Vanessa McEvoy The clouds are like smoke coming from a chimney Its splodges of paint on a blue background Its moving god that stops for no one The clouds are a sign of rain They are happy and light They are dark and angry The clouds move as fast as a horse can gallop They ﬂoat as if there was no gravity They glide as if santa was pulling them Lou Sacolax
The stars at night look are white ﬂaming balls That have just been shot out of a volcano They are scattered across the jet black sky like marbles out of a bag Ryan Ovenden
The oldest item I own The oldest item I own is a seventy-year-old miner’s oil lamp. It’s a silver cylinder with a glass compartment in the middle that encases the white wick. The bottom part of the lamp unscrews which allows you to ﬁll the hollow compartment with oil to keep the lamp burning. The top of the lamp is sealed with a lid that curves around the metal and is held in place with 5 nails. The handle is a thin, curved metal hook that is looped through a hole in the lid. There is an oval riveted plaque that holds the faded numbers of the colliery and serial identiﬁcation of the miner. Its silver colour is now speckled with the bronze tint of rust and coated in dust from sitting on the top of the book shelf. The lamp, also known as a Davy lamp, was invented to reduce the danger of explosions in coal mines. Around the rim of the glass are 5 small holes which allow oxygen to keep the ﬂame burning while stopping the ﬂame from getting out of control. If ﬂammable gas mixtures were present in the mines, the ﬂame would burn higher with a blue tint which would warn the miners to be careful with open ﬂames and sparks. If air was oxygen-poor in the mine, the ﬂame would go out which gave the miners an early warning to get out before they died of asphyxiation. The Davy lamp is thought to have saved as many as 500,000 lives by warning miners of ﬂammable gases or low oxygen levels. The lamp belongs to my mother’s grandfather. He worked at Bates Colliery in Blyth, Northumberland. He followed in his fathers footsteps and worked as a miner for most of his adult life. In Blyth, most of the jobs available to the working class with little education were mining jobs. These jobs were physically demanding and dangerous, with many workers dying in explosions or from asphyxiation. The oil lamp was bought by my great grandfather, not the mining company he worked for. The colliery was unwilling to spend the money on the lamps so he bought one himself. This purchase not only protected himself, but other workers around him. Elys Walker Form IV
Isabel Warnock Form IV