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ST. GERARD’S LITERARY MAGAZINE THE BIG SUMMER ISSUE 2015

THIS SEASONS H OT T E S T L I T E R AT U R E

MUST READ

Teacher Inter views!

“ L ive in t he Moment ” - Ms C . Stapleton

Debates! Poems! And More!

Literary Magazine Team 2015

(in absentia Oisin O’Crowley)

St. Gerard’s Senior School

Introduction

In 2011 the Department of Education and Skills Published a report titled ‘Literacy and Numeracy for Learning and Life 2011-2020’. This report was researched and published in response to real concerns about the level of literacy and numeracy amongst young people in Ireland. One in ten children across Irish schools at all levels were found to have difficulty with reading and writing. In some disadvantaged areas this figure was as high as one in three. In 2009 the OECD’s Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) found literacy levels in Ireland to be ‘average’-17th out of 34 OECD countries. In addition (PISA) found that 17% of all Irish 15 year olds and 1 in 4 teenage boys lacked the literacy levels to function effectively in today’s society. The Minister for Education stated at the time that ‘literacy levels are crucial to a person’s ability to develop fully as an individual, to live a satisfying and rewarding life and to participate fully in our society. Ensuring that all young people acquire these skills is one of the greatest contributions that we can make to achieving social justice and equality’. Schools are now encouraged to goal set and monitor progress using realistic targets to improve literacy levels. This is a cross curricular plan and it is vital that parents play an active role in encouraging reading and writing in the home, helping their children with homework and working with schools to provide a ‘literacy environment.’

Literary Magazine 2015

Mr . Carr

Literacy can be defined as the capacity to read, understand and critically appreciate various forms of communication including the spoken language, printed texts, broadcast media and digital media. Improved literacy means improved social, economic and health benefits. Our students in St. Gerard’s are provided with wonderful opportunities with a state of the art fiction library, drama societies and performing arts and debate teams that continue to sweep all before them. Each year this magazine is a testament to the great talent in the school. The pieces included range across many genres and age groups and serve to illustrate the emphasis the school continues to place on literacy and the wider arts. I would like to thank our great team this year: Editor: Jennifer Courtney and her team: Aghogho Atiyota, Oisin O’Crowley, Lorcan Lalor, Keith Molloy, Katie Sreenan, Alex Dalton, and Jilly McGrath. A special mention goes to Aoife Clay for all her extra working editing and retyping pieces. As usual the cover takes on a life of its own and this year is no exception with the combined creativity of Kyle Jordan and Shane Kenneally producing a unique cover.

What Makes Me Happy?

On the 4th of July, 1776, a group of men came together in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to declare their independence from Britain. In that declaration they included the statement “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Ladies and Gentlemen, we all want to be happy. We all have an inherent right to pursue happiness. Sometimes it’s found in a perfect place, sometimes it’s found in an exciting activity. Sometimes we find happiness pursuing our talents and sometimes in the day to day challenges of life and sharing those challenges with those we love and those who love us. And if we look really hard, we may even find happiness in the midst of suffering and tragedy. What makes me happy? There is a place I have been to eight times in my life. A place that is carefree, a place where the sun shines on warm sandy beaches, a place where I take joy from even the simplest commodities. That place is Waveland, Mississippi. When I have visited there to spend time with my grandparents, I was happy every minute. I was happy when my brother and I were relishing our Barq’s Root Beer floats accompanied by those delicious Oreo Cookies, this, while relaxing in the homemade hammock, strung between

the Spanish Moss laden trees of the Bayhouse. This is my perfect place, this is Utopia, this is where I am happy. Having been there only eight times in my life however begs the question, can I be happy the rest of the time? Must I be relaxing in a hammock, devouring fresh juicy watermelon and spitting the seeds into the long grass to be happy? This brings me to Friday nights, I’m sure you have all also found happiness in excitement. While playing a particular sport that we love there is no greater feeling than executing a skill perfectly or learning new ones. Snowboarding gives me this rush. Every week I go up to the top of the road to the Ski Club of Ireland to do freestyle. I figure I’ve been to freestyle about a 100 times. And it has always been the light at the end of the tunnel to get me through the week. Each Friday night is unique. I love the sense of achievement when I finally land a new trick, or the weightless feeling when riding over the kicker. This is my favourite activity. I am happy while snowboarding.

That which is seldom is great and life is a seldom occurrence when we consider that it could end at anytime.

St. Gerard’s Senior School

Sam She par d

Snowboarding is only running on Friday so how can I possibly be happy all the other days of the week? Four classes a week there is a subject that I am never not happy to go to-Art. Roughly 400 classes later Art will always be my favourite subject. Art is one of a kind. I love the freedom it presents because there are never rules to what you can and cannot do. I will always savour every minute of the time I am in class. This is my talent. I am happy whilst doing art. Now before I go on to explain why I have told you all about how these things make me happy, I must go back to August 29th 2005. This was the day my Utopia was destroyed. The day Katrina hit. Hurricane Katrina has been categorized as one of the five worst hurricanes in American history. With winds up to 280 kilometres per hour and a hurricane category five. This was set to destroy anything and everything in its path . Suddenly my Bayhouse was a faded memory and the homemade hammock was no more. Visiting Waveland 18 months after the storm was like as if the hurricane had hit the golden beaches the day before. The destruction was still horrendous. Many people who had evacuated had come home to find nothing but empty stilts where home should have been.

littered the streets these people were going about their everyday lives and they would always do it with a smile. The people of the south were such a strong community and nothing that could be thrown at them was strong enough to break them. The community was rebuilt and my Bayhouse is brand new. And the memories of summers spent casting seeds aimlessly off the back porch were echoed in the appearance of luscious watermelons amongst the silt and the rubble that Katrina left behind. And so, almost as a symbol the populous still thrive despite what has passed. Hope still fills the lives of the people and happiness prevails. Because although everything they own has been destroyed, the people of Mississippi are simply thankful that they are here today. Thankful. Ladies and gentlemen I believe that this is the secret. I am happy in Waveland because I love being there. I am happy while I snowboard because I donâ€™t get to do it every day. I am happy in Art because I appreciate the time I have in that classroom. If we appreciate that we are here today, no matter what the circumstances, I think we can all begin to lead happier lives. That which is seldom is great and life is a seldom occurrence when we consider that it could end at anytime.

However to this day I will never forget the attitude of the people of Mississippi. Amongst the terror and chaos that still

Literary Magazine 2015

What Makes Me Happy? That feeling of the wind in your hair as you fly down a hill on a bike is truly amazing. It’s as if time slows down and it’s just you and your bike. It is an honestly magical moment as the cool soothing breeze runs softly through your hair. It almost feels like you have all the liberty in the world and you can accomplish anything if you try. Don’t you just love going on holidays and relaxing. Well I think that the best taste in the world is sipping a drink on the beach. The hot baked sand under your feet as you sip on the cold glistening drink as the sun shines. It’s one of my favourite things. As the refreshing liquid runs down your throat quenching your thirst immediately. I love going out as the bright orange sun sets in the distance. Its long shafts of light dropping over the tall, bulky mountains covering your face in an apricot hue. Golden beams of light blinding you in a beautiful marigold cascade of natural light. My favourite thing to do in the morning is to open my door letting in the inviting smells of the fresh air and pine trees. I love that sweet and natural smell as I take in a deep breath through my nose absorbing the gorgeous odour. It reminds me of the beauty in the world and how nature is truly magnificent. I adore the sounds of the birds in the morning. It’s like my own personal wakeup call from mother-nature itself. I am absolutely intrigued to hear the endless chitter chatter going back and forth between the majestic winged creatures. All of the marvellous things really do make my day and put and smile on my face.

Rya n G ly n n

Regret

It was late as I walked home. So late that I struggled to keep my droopy, bloodshot eyes open. I stumbled through the never ending forest, the autumn leaves crackling below me, my size nine feet shattering the colourful leaves. I cast my heavy eyes over the dark velvet sky. The dark sky looked like ink spilled from the bottle. The aroma of dampness filled my nostrils as I continued to stomp through the relentless forest until I could go no further. I had no idea where I was and it felt like the shadows were enclosing me. For the first time in my entire life I wasn’t in control. I felt claustrophobic, cornered and trapped. I was lost and it felt like I was going to be lost forever. I gasped trying to retrieve my shaky breath, pondering what to do next. My legs weakened as I dropped to the floor ripping my jeans. I lay there in the middle of the forest, I could feel sweat running down my cheek even though it was as

St. Gerard’s Senior School

Georgia Ferguson

cold as drifting snow. As I lay there I noticed my chilled, glacial breath escape my chapped lips. I tried to stop my teeth from chattering and my numb lips from quivering but it was no use. I could still feel his lukewarm blood on my rough hands as I thought back to what I had done. Even my friends had been in awe and in shock at what I had done. ‘He had it coming’ one narcissistic voice bellowed. Another voice, this time sickly sweet came and whispered ‘How could you have done that Eve? He could be dead by now!’ The other angry voice sprang back in disagreement and impatiently stated ‘Eve is the bully, she can do and hurt whatever and whoever she wants’. I shook my head coarsely, despairingly trying to eliminate the voices from my head. The lukewarm, dewy, crimson blood that had been on my hand started to dry up, crack and brown on my raw skin. It felt harsh and crusty

Literary Magazine 2015

as I hysterically tried to peel it off. Unexpectedly, I began to drift off into a fathomless sleep that would soon turn itself into a nightmare as bad as the reality I was trying to escape. In the nightmare I could see myself alongside my meaningless gang of so-called ‘friends’ surrounding a scrawny, twiggy boy with huge broken taped glasses. I stared at this skeletal boy shaking but as I stared I began to become aware of deep, harsh, broken voices chanting my name ‘Beat him up Eve!’ they roared. My mind whispered fiercely to my body ‘No, don’t do it.’ But my feet marched towards the bony boy. I heard more shrieks from the crowd as I stood over him. My entire body trembled as I tried to stop myself from throwing the first punch at the helpless boy. My hand twitched slightly, my body moved and then I threw the first punch. The familiar sense of numbness came over me as I took it in turn to either punch or kick the now breathless boy.

Suddenly, I felt myself being sharply shaken by someone. ‘What’s happening?’ I said to myself as I started to awake properly. As my eyes expanded I could feel a quick breeze shoot around me. I could smell the familiar scent of tarmac from the playground. I gazed around to see what was going on and almost instantly spotted the hunched boy surrounded by myself and the gang. A lanky goth-like girl yelled ‘Eve, are you going to beat this midget up or what?!’ I nodded slowly to the goth-girl and made my way over to the victim. He shakily looked up at me, desperation dancing in his eyes. ‘Please,’ he whimpered hoarsely. I leaned down to the little boy and muttered ‘Run’ into his pale ear. He gazed at me in astonishment but speedily obliged and scampered away from the circle of bullies. That day I realised that not only was that boy a victim but in fact I was too.

To Explore The Philosophical Ideas of Erin Brockovich The Philosophical idea that is highlighted in the film ‘Erin Brockovich’ directed by Steven Soderbergh; ‘We are directly aware of ideas, rather

than objects.’ Is an idea a true copy of the real thing that it constitutes? How can physical objects such chairs and tables, or even physiological processes in the brain, result in mental items such as ideas? If all the contents of awareness are ideas, how can we be sure that anything exists apart from ideas? These are just some of the questions that arise from the film “Erin Brockovich” directed by Steven Sodenbergh. The case alleged contamination of drinking water with hexavalent chromium, also known as chromium VI in the southern California town of Hinkley led Erin Brockovich on a philosophical adventure in which she explored ideas and evidence to support her arguments in order to shut down a gas company, Pacific Gas and Electric (PG&E) and to gain legal compensation for the families affected by this water pollution of chromium VI. The film clearly highlights the interesting philosophical views of Rene Descartes. Descartes questioned where ideas came from and what leads to a person’s concluding ideas. His views were further justified by Brockovich in that he believed that reason alone could yield substantial truths about reality. Brockovich examines

local water records and interviews residence, ill from exposure to poisonous chromium VI. Her hypothesis is proven to be true in the end when she finally discovers that her first suspicions were true, that the land purchased by PG&E is the same land on which chromium contaminations emanated from PG&E’s environmentally irresponsibly actions. Descartes is often regarded as the first philosopher to emphasize the use of reason to develop the natural sciences. Brockovich does not seem to have any scientific knowledge prior to her investigation but she discovers perhaps, a very valuable discovery in the world of science on a basic idea that she formed whilst looking at medical documents in a law firm where she worked. The film explores Descartes’ views in a way which links science to ideas. Brockovich proves his point in that she uses her gift of reasoning to develop science and save the families who were suffering because of the disastrous effects of chromium VI to their health. “By the science of Morals, I understand the highest and most perfect which, presupposing an entire knowledge of the other science is the last degree of wisdom.” (Descartes) Descartes also had a moral philosophy. He believed that reason is sufficient in the search for the goods that we should seek, and virtue consists in accurate reasoning that should guide our actions. However, the quality of this reasoning depends on knowledge, because a well- informed mind will be more capable of making

St. Gerard’s Senior School

Ciara Cullen

good decisions, and it also depends on mental condition. This is mirrored by the film. Brockovich gathers the information she acquires in order to successfully lay the groundwork for the payment of legal damages by PG&E to the affected families. In conclusion, Descartes’ philosophical ideas are mirrored in the film Erin Brockovich in many ways. Both Descartes and the film explores ideas, science, ethics and mortality. As Descartes once said:

“If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things.”

Literary Magazine 2015

Poppy’s Diary Sunday, October 21st 2012 My sister used to love pancakes. I haven’t had them in almost nine months now, my dad stopped making them, and sitting at breakfast this morning I wondered if any restaurant could compare to how my dad used to make them. These were mass produced and dry, and made me miss home even more. Michael rang me crying at around ten. A long call ensued about how he was going to be forever alone, how he could never find someone. I wouldn’t say he blamed me, but he told me I was meant to be his wing woman. How could he find anyone without me by his side, How could he be happy? I reassured him, I told him it would be okay, that he’s only young, that he’s being stupid, but of course none of it worked. It never does with him. I wanted to tell him I hated it here, But he wouldn’t listen.I spent most of the day trying to write an essay on Boewulf, analysing the development of English literature and the effects it’s had on language, but it was awful. A bunch of utter rubbish. Words together on a page without any real meaning. I thought I’d love it here. I mean who doesn’t want to get into Oxford. Once I graduated from here, supposedly I’m set for life. But I don’t think I can take any more of it. My desk stares at a blank white wall, dull and lifeless. I had a photo of Anna up there at the start but I couldn’t bear looking at it. My room overlooks a small garden, where afternoon tea is held every second day. The grass is a perfect shade of green, even

throughout, all together it’s a picture of beauty. But it isn’t Ireland. Now that I’m in supposedly the greatest university of all time, I should be happy right? I spent a lot of today being philosophical. I tried to work out exactly what it meant to be happy, how one could tell if it was placebo or real. I found a “positive meditation” online, only to realise that I was wasting my time. Happiness is a state of euphoria. A place where we can truly appreciate life, and understand what is means to be ourselves. Oscar Wilde once said “Some cause happiness wherever they go, others cause happiness whenever they go.” I found that on Brainy Quote this morning. It made me smile, but it didn’t make me happy. Part of me wondered if I was that person, who cause happiness when I leave. If I travelled back in time and met Oscar, would I inspire that quote, for all the wrong reasons. I know this all sounds very depressing, I think it’s possible I’m the only in the mood to write my diary when I’m upset. Sleep will do me good. Although I do need to say this, I just got a text off Michael, apologising for how he was this morning, saying he missed me, and saying he hoped I’m enjoying myself. I told him I was. Telling him the truth won’t achieve anything.

Wednesday, November 14th 2012 It’s weird being back, everyone’s treating me like I’m an outsider. The one that escaped.

St. Gerard’s Senior School

Fer dy Emm et

Which is weird. Do they think I believe myself better than them? I wonder if I do. My mom was pleased to see me. She had tears on her face at the airport, she ran up and hugged me, making me really feel safe, and at home. It was the first time I’d been genuinely happy in almost two months. My dad stood there and smiled. The last year changed him. The smile wasn’t genuine. I’d always been second best to him. It’s weird the things you forget, the smell of your car, the bit of flaking paint on the front door, all special and personal, all making us unique. Officially I shouldn’t be taking a week out. I’m meant to be studying hard, but I have two whole months of life to catch up on. I suppose not having a life in Oxford makes me feel that I’ve just been away. Dublin is where my life really is. On Sunday me and Michael got take away and sat in Monkstown, by the sea, the sun slowly setting. I told him I was considering dropping the course, and he didn’t say anything, letting the lapping waves make up for the silence. He gave me a hug, the last thing I was expecting, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I know it seems a stupid idea, after all the work I put in last year. I guess that’s the major fault: my fickleness. It was Michael who told me to go for it, “Poppy”, he said, “Poppy you can do whatever you want. You might as well try for Oxford, who cares if you don’t get it!” This was after I’d gotten my Junior Cert results, it was a weird day. I think it must have been unheard of to get 10 A’s and a C in CSPE, but posters were never my thing, I think Michael was more excited than I was. I think that’s always the case,

Literary Magazine 2015

he’s like family, therefore my life is basically his. Part of me hates that. That element of a friendship so deep that nothing is your own anymore. But I still think there’s things that Michael keeps from me. He managed an hour without mentioning his love life. I slightly zoned out when it started, as I do. It all seems so over dramatic and unnecessary. Although I suppose that sums Michael up. I’ve known him all my life, I know him better than anyone else, but I think I’ve barely scratched the surface. We walked back to his and I stayed over. His mum gave me some make up, and said we should go shopping at some point. It’s the last thing I want, so I smiled as I always did, and confirmed nothing. She was Anna’s godmother, but you’d think she was her actual mother by the way she acted. Again I was second best, but at least she tried more than my dad. At breakfast something weird happened. Michael was off in school, and I’d slept in. His mum just stared at me. It was one of those “into space” stares: the lights were on, but no one was home. We’d been talking about Oxford or something, small talk, and I mentioned missing Michael a lot. And she just zoned out. They don’t know he’s gay, God knows how they’ve missed it, and part of me always wonders if she thinks we’re a thing. She came back into it a few minutes later and got up, clearing the plates, without saying anything. That night I went out, my first night clubbing in Town. Mondays at Dicey’s, hell on earth. I went with the girls from school, but you could tell that friendship was dead. With

Eve in America, I felt like I was tagged on rather than a genuine friend. She’d been my best friend, and they were her friends really. They all made their UCD jokes, and I smiled and attempted to be part of it, but I knew I couldn’t. At around three, Sarah came up to me in the bathrooms, shy as usual, trying so hard. I never liked that part of her, working so intensely just to fit in. but from the look on her face, I guessed she realised that these girls weren’t the goddesses she believed them to be. “Why did you leave?” She asked through drunken stutters. “Why did you leave me behind? Why did you and Eve have to leave me alone with them?” She just looked at me, shook her head and ran back into the club. I still don’t know how to interpret it. It’s been swirling around in my head, fogging everything up. She was never one for deep thoughts. Do I feel guilt? I mean, she’s jealous of my freedom, and I hate it. I guess I never thought of that about her. I texted Eve about it, but never got a response. We’d barely spoken since she left. Back in school the two of us had be inseparable, but now as she gallivants around America, she doesn’t even have time to reply to me. I’d been so happy in her presence. She made me happy, and now I just feel worthless to her. Today I went on a family trip to the cinema. The three of us, our first one alone. The fourth seat was laid at the restaurant, almost mocking us. None of us commented. We saw Argo, my mum loves Ben Affleck, so it suited her down to the ground. I sat in the back of the car on the way home, as they talked about random things, like Susan’s new boyfriend, and Harry’s mental health, and I wondered where I fitted into their new lives. No longer parents, now a married couple again, with a daughter over in England who doesn’t need them anymore. Some parents, in books and things, seem

incapable of living without their children, but Mum and Dad see it as a new lease of life, and it kills me inside.

Sunday, December 16th 2012 I meet my first guy last night. His name was Jack, and he was glorious. Maybe my hatred of Oxford was some overt lonely anger. He smelled of musk and aftershave, his hair was well kept but free, and his blue eyes made my soul weep. I still want to leave, last night didn’t change much on that front, but it’s made me see things in a new light. My stereotypical view on Oxford boys has been crushed, this idea of pompous toffs striding around the place. The two boys in my tutorial are like that, public school toffs who care about nothing other than themselves. And somehow Jack was the opposite. I met him at a bar, the clichéd way. It was called Angels, and I loved it because tequila shots were only a pound. “Alcohol brings you to heaven” the door read, and my Irish blood agreed. He saw me across the room, and did the clichéd smile and head shake. I ignored him, sat with the girl from Canada who’s the closest thing I can call a friend over here. He boldly came over and offered us a drink, but we both knew his eyes were on me. He’s studying History, and managed to make a subject so boring to me sound unbelievably interesting. He was soft spoken, polite and utterly gorgeous. I told him about my thoughts on leaving, taking up a cooking course or getting a job in Dublin. He smiled and said the one thing I’ve been waiting for someone to say. “Why not?” Jack told me to go for it, if it made me feel happier than I have in a year. Michael’s coming over on Tuesday. To celebrate the one year mark. I know celebrate isn’t the right word. Celebrate

St. Gerard’s Senior School

her life rather than mourn her death is what my dad always said, but I know that’s not how it’s going to go. No one celebrates by crying. A small bit of me wanted Michael to stay at home. Look after his mum, she’d be more upset than me. But he said he wanted to be with me, she had his dad and I had no one. I don’t think it’s really sunk in still. I distracted myself with study, and the Leaving Cert and here, but I don’t think I ever thought about it. I found that photo of her this evening, the one that had been on my wall and put it back up. She’s standing in a mountain of orange and brown and yellow leaves, her pink jacket wrapped around her slim figure. Her hair was up in a ponytail, bobbing about, I can see it moving now, how happy she was in the leaves. Twenty one and the smile of a five year old, still Daddy’s little girl. Her blue gloves were the last Christmas present I gave her, a shocking one at that. She studied up in Trinity, so she never moved away, and always eager to help out, be the star child, never drinking too much or bringing home boys. Mum and Dad always knew where she was, she was always honest and she was the girl I could never be I’m sorry I can’t.

Friday 4th January 2013 It’s weird how life throws stuff at you. Challenges you with things you never expect. Sometimes things are obvious, Michael coming out, or Sarah breaking up with her boyfriend because the girls didn’t like him. But other times you can wake up one day and have your life turned upside down. That’s what Anna’s death did to us. It was Monday morning, town was cold and busy. Anna had always complained to us about her 9am lecture. The history of printing in Spain it was, “who will I ever talk to about that?” she always used to ask. But

Literary Magazine 2015

every Monday she got up and went in. I’ve often wondered since what one needs to know about Spanish printing. I think by this point I don’t want to know. Because the subject’s true irrelevance could make the whole thing that much more unnecessary. The guards said she got off the dart and was crossing the road outside Pearse Street, clutching her notes, when she slipped on the ice. She banged her head. The car slammed on the brakes, but “sure what are brakes to a slippery road.” That’s what they said: the guards, to cheer us up. It didn’t work. I’ve moved back now. To my old bedroom, back to the way things were. I won’t be an Oxford graduate, it was a life I wasn’t destined for. Michael told me I could do an intensive course in Spanish Printing History. I didn’t laugh. They cleared out her room last month, finally, all her stuff gathering dust wasn’t healthy. I saw Eve for coffee over Christmas. She went on about how happy she was in America, and how she couldn’t wait to be back. That’s when I realised how different we really were. Friends of circumstance, with nothing to really connect us. To me, happiness meant home. Dad smiled at me from across the table this morning. A true genuine smile. Anna once told me “Poppy, you’ll never be happy if you spend all your time moping around over guys. The point is, life is about seizing the moment, and the person who won’t text you back isn’t in that moment. Heartbreak should come before family.” She winked at me when she said it. “Who looks back on life and remember the days spent crying?” I looked at Dad and smiled back “Pancakes?” I asked. He stopped smiling. Then he stood up. Took out a frying pan. “Pancakes,” he replied.

AN INTERVIEW WITH

Mr Dungan Funniest memory in sT. Gerard’s:

What books influenced you most when you were young/in recent years? When I was young: “The Famous Five” by Enid Blyton Now: “It’s all about the Bike” (It is about the pursuit of happiness. You have to believe you can do anything, it’s all about your mindset.)

If you were to impress Mr Reidy, how would you do it? If you were to write an autobiography, what would be the title? “Just Do It.”

If you could have any superpower what would it be? I would love super speed because I’d be faster on my bike.

What is your life motto philosophy? “Love the life you live and live the life you love” A.Dungan 2015.

Who do you think is the most influential writer of all time? W.B Yeats. He capsulated what was happening in Ireland during the 1900s so well and we still study his work today.

The Ice Bucket Challenge last year at the School Bazaar.

Re-write the Bible.

When you were a child, what book comforted you the most? ‘Treasure Island.’ It gave you a chance to escape everyday life and be a part of something else.

If you could be

any character in a book who would you be? The Hobbit (Bilbo Baggins), because of the amazing adventures he had. My son influenced my love of fantasy novels.

What is your Favourite film? “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”, or “Wallace and Gromit”.

St. Gerard’s Senior School

AN INTERVIEW WITH

Ali

What is your opinion on e-books? There is merit in their idea, however I find that we have become overly dependent on technology. They can create antisocial behaviour.

Who, in your opinion do you think is the most influential writer/singer you have come across?

What is your funniest memory in St.Gerard’s? One day I found several students in one of the grey trolleys in the canteen racing around the room in it. I spent 10/15 minutes chasing them around the place trying to catch them, it was very funny.

Hozier definitely.

What is your life motto/ philosophy? “Treat people as you would like to be treated yourself”, “It’s Nice to be Nice” & “Manners Cost Nothing”.

Literary Magazine 2015

If you had to describe yourself as a character in a book/film/TV show who would it be?

If you were to write an autobiography, what would be the title? “Ali’s Journey Through Gerard’s,”

What is your favourite genre/type of book? Romance novels that are actually true stories. It makes everything so much more relatable and realistic.

Mrs. Doyle from Father Ted.

AN INTERVIEW WITH

Ms.Stapleton

What is your favourite genre?

If you were to write an autobiography what would it be called?

Anything at all

If you were to impress Mr Reidy, how would you do it?

What is the most influential book you have read? “Little House on the Prairie.”

Learn my Physics definitions.

‘To Be Precise...’

Who is the most influential writer/singer to you personally? Hozier

What is your opinion on e-books? I’m not a big fan, I prefer paperbacks.

What is your funniest memory in St Gerard’s? When a mouse appeared in my classroom during a class with the sixth years. I was jumping and screaming while they just looked on!

When you were a teenager, what book comforted you the most? My Personal Diary

If you could be

What is your life motto / philosophy? ‘Live in the moment’.

any character in a book who would you be? Hermione Granger because she’s a know it all.

St. Gerard’s Senior School

AN INTERVIEW WITH

Ms. Ni Mhairtin

Where did your passion for reading originate? I have loved reading ever since I was young. It is a great escape from everyday life and an excellent method of relaxation.

If you were to write an autobiography, what would be the title?

What is your favourite movie adaption of a book?? I don’t really like film adaptations; I usually much prefer the book.

If you could be any

character in a book who would you be?

What is your favourite genre?

Any one of the (fairy tale) princesses that lived happily ever after.

Fiction, it takes you to a different world.

“What a Mess”.

What would you say to someone who finds it difficult to get into reading? Definitely try lots of different methods of exposure to books, even if it’s listening to the story. Also paired reading is very good for young kids and their parents.

What is your Favourite film? As a teenager, what was your favourite book? Why? ‘Beloved’ by Toni Morrison, because it was a shocking, powerful and influential story.

What is your opinion on e-books?

What is your life motto / philosophy? “Live and Let Live.”

‘The Shawshank Redemption’ or ‘Shrek’.

If you could have any superpower what would it be? If I were invisible I could listen into any conversations I wanted or go anywhere I wanted. I would also love to be able to fly, that would be an amazing experience.

I don’t like them, I’m traditional and prefer being able to hold a book and turn the pages.

Literary Magazine 2015

AN INTERVIEW WITH

Ms Fox If you were to have an autobiography what would you call it?

What is your favourite movie adaptation of a book? Why? I really like the adaptation of ‘Sense & Sensibility’. I like it because it is faithful to the story itself and even after seeing it a million times there is a part that still makes me cry.

If you were to impress Mr Reidy how would you do it?

As an anxiety filled teen what book comforted you the most?

I would try to win the Nobel Prize for Physics.

What is your favourite classic TV show?

I read books over and over again, that is really what comforts me but I have always loved the Sherlock Holmes and the Anne of Green Gables collections.

What superpower would you like to have?

Where did your passion for reading originate? I can’t remember a time I wasn’t reading a book. I became so absorbed in the characters and I didn’t want the world of the books to end.

If you could be

What is your life motto philosophy? “You Do the Best You” and “When You Know Better You Do Better.”

I love ‘Fawlty Towers.’ It’s a classic that still makes me laugh. I also like ‘The Good Life.’

The power to affect people’s emotions.

Favourite movie?

any character in a book who would you be? I would like to be Mr Hyde from Dr Jackal and Mr Hyde.

‘Buy Something Else My Life Is Not That Interesting.’

Favourite genre of book?

I love all of the Hitchcock films, like ‘Vertigo’, or ‘North by Northwest’.

Thrillers and Fantasy.

What do you think about e-books? I think that they are great for holidays, but I prefer the feel of a real book. I even like the smell of a new book.

St. Gerard’s Senior School

AN INTERVIEW WITH

Ms Carrigy What would you say to people finding it hard to read?

If you were to have an autobiography what would you call it? I would like to thank Oisin O’Crowley for this one: ‘Keeping up with the Carrigy.’

Favourite genre of book?

I would to encourage them to read books with a similar genre to the movies that they like and even if they read a page at night it is something.

Rom-com, definitely!

What do you think about e-books? Handy to travel with but I don’t use them.

If you were to impress Mr Reidy how would you do it? I would take him to Scrumdiddlys and get him a pie flavoured ice-cream and I would recite his favourite writer Joyce then we would head over to the National History Museum to get a selfie with Charles Darwin’s statue.

What is the most inspirational book you have ever read? That would have to be ‘Roll of Thunder Hear my Cry’ By Mildred D. Taylor.

What is your life motto philosophy? “We are not here for a long time we are here for a good time.”

Literary Magazine 2015

If you could be any character in a book who would you be? I have always wanted to be Matilda because she has magic powers and I have always wanted magic powers.

If you could be any super hero who would you be? Spider-man because he is not your everyday super hero

Funniest memory in St Gerard’s When I was dressed up as The Stig.

What is your favorite movie adaptation of a book? I have a soft spot for ‘Bridget Jones’ and I also enjoyed the ‘Count of Monte Cristo.’

AN INTERVIEW WITH

Mr Reidy

If you were to write an autobiography, what would be the title?

Funniest memory in sT. Gerard’s: Finding a car in the Atrium covered in toilet paper

‘Just Get on With It’

What do think of Harry Potter? If a teacher was to impress you how wouldthey go about it?

I have never read Harry Potter and have only watched bits and pieces of the movies. It’s not my personal cup of tea.

Who do you think is the most influential singer or writer ever?

By being a kind person.

Do you prefer books to movies? No, they are different art forms. There are times in my life I want to watch a movie and there are times in my life when I want to read a book.

That is an impossible question to answer. I could give you ten writers and singers because you can’t make a comparison between them. Writers: Franz Kafka, James Joyce, George Orwell Singers: Van Morrison, Bob Dylan,

What is your favourite Genre? Natural History.

As an anxiety filled teen what book comforted you the most? I don’t look to books for comfort, I look to books for an understanding of the world.

What do you think Of eBooks? I collect antiquarian books.

St. Gerard’s Senior School

I Watch Therefore I Am:

Jack Fre ene y

(A movie that teaches us a philosophical idea)

‘Star Trek’ movies in general have a tendency almost innately to bring philosophical questions into the mix from the original series to the two new movies created J.J Abrams which if anything go to further lengths to highlight such elements. With its futuristic setting and interaction with a multitude of various species one can understand how philosophical questions become embroiled. The first of the two movies opens with the main protagonist’s father (conveniently also a Captain Kirk) faced with a desperate situation and limited time resource. The captain is faced with a timeline altering (irrelevant to the point) Romulan ship far superior in technology, weaponry and most every conceivable fashion but more importantly a choice. Faced with these immovable odds the captain orders the crew including his wife who is giving birth, to abandon the vessel whilst he himself sacrifices his own life buying some precious time for his crew to escape. Whilst on the surface a moral it has its philosophical roots in Kant’s idea of an imperative, an action taken due to a rational train of thought that determines sit to right, a sort of action taken towards a perfectionist state. Such process eliminates what Kant called empirical factors of inbuilt morals and experience, protecting against that inbuilt bias for self-preservation or promotion of the self. The captain takes his action in the full knowledge that his own death is inevitably tied to his own action and that his soon to be son shall never know him, to take such a bold and heroic stop especially with no

Literary Magazine 2015

foreseeable reward is not only laudable it also conforms to that of Kant’s idea that an act should be taken not due to some precedent or law but an inbuilt developed respect for the law, a subtle and yet once revealed stark difference. For example the captain could have followed protocol for its own sake for a similar outcome and yet it was not this but an inner conviction in a sort of universal law based rationally that distinguishes this act in a philosophical sense. His unborn/soon to be born son shall develop this self-same rationalism in his own extremely distorted way. Initially his character however lacking his own influencing figure (due to the timeline realignment) develops a recklessness and backlashes against authority and so command in this world is given to his would be first lieutenant Spock who symbolizes such rational detachment revered in Kant’s own view. Spock upon being proved to allow empirical factors cloud his judgment after the death of his mother is replaced by Kirk who ultimately embraces the rational in his own human way seizing the imperative in a way Spock couldn’t. The movie itself addresses duty in the face of adversity time and time again and yet it is in the opening sequence we are told what this movie’s true philosophical meaning is. That as he rams his inferior ship into the enemy’s hull facing a certain death the captain says goodbye to his family and gives his life for an idea, a concept of the perfect moral action which is amplified by this emotionally charged scene for sacrifice is the ultimate imperative.

An Extract From ... ‘Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow.’ He’s picking up his daughter’s’ toys in the living room when he sees the flashing red and blue lights through the bay window and the world just stops. If he were being at all honest with himself right now, as dread and pain intermingle in his chest and make it hard to breathe, he’d be thinking that he’d known something was wrong before this moment; that he’d felt it earlier in the day, that gut feeling that something had happened. She hadn’t been answering her phone. She always answered her phone, but maybe she didn’t have service, he told himself. Maybe it ran out of battery life. Maybe she just didn’t hear it. He knows that feeling, that gut sense that something is wrong, has felt it far too many times in his life than any person should have to, but he ignored it. He told himself that he was just being paranoid, like she always said he was. But he isn’t being honest with himself right now because he knows his wife is dead and just forcing himself to keep breathing is requiring a good bit of lying at the moment. A knock jars him from his stupor where he’s been standing and staring at the still flashing lights and suddenly the entire world rushes back in. His heart feels like it’s trying to escape from his chest and his hands are cold. The doll he’s holding is sticky from something Lydia spilled on it. Apple juice? It might be apple juice. He thinks she had apple juice this morning. They ran out of orange a few days ago. There’s two grim faced police officers at the front door when he opens it, stoic and yet sympathetic. Do they train them to do that? They always look like that when they come to tell him someone he loves has

died. The wet laundry in the machine needs to be put in the dryer. She forgot to wash out her mug before she left this morning; it’s still sitting on the counter. She always forgets to do that and it drives him nuts. “I’ll be back later.” It’s her favourite one with the joke about anatomy that she still giggles at every time she reads it and she’s dead. His wife is dead. His wife is dead. “Sir, is this the home of Roxanne Sheffield?” Nick thinks he nods. He isn’t sure. The lights are still flashing. “There’s been an accident.”

There’s no time to call a babysitter or anyone else so he has to take the girls with him to the hospital. Not that he’d know what to say to anyone right now. Lydia’s at that age where she has questions about everything but she’s quiet in the car, wide eyes never leaving him as he drives. He doesn’t know which would be worse, her asking questions about what’s happening or this silence that seems so much louder that it should be able to be. Elisa doesn’t seem to notice it though, since she’s still softly snoring in her car seat next to Lydia, her tiny hands gripping her blanket. She’s been a blessing of a baby when it comes to sleeping in comparison to Lydia, who had seemed determined to wake the entire town at varying hours of the night and early morning any time they tried to put her down for bed. “She gets it from you,” Roxy whispers as she gently puts her back into her crib after finally getting her back to sleep. She’s hooked up to so many machines when he sees her that he isn’t entirely sure

St. Gerard’s Senior School

Robyn Jon es

where they end and she actually begins. There are bandages all over, on her arms especially, and a large white one around her head. He’s sure there are more under her sterile blue hospital gown, but he’s incredibly grateful to not have to see them. A machine evenly pumps her breath for her, chest rising and falling in a mechanical rhythm. There’s a machine for her heart, too, that keeps it pumping and its beat beeps on one of the screens that surround her. He’s grateful that the social worker on call is looking after his children so they don’t have to see their mother like this. One of the doctors tries to explain what happened, something about her stopping to help someone who had car trouble and a semi-truck coming around a blind turn too fast to stop, but Nick doesn’t catch most of it. All he can hear are the beeps of her heart that really isn’t beating. He does catch enough, though, that he understands the situation fully. He left the room she’s in. His beautiful, wonderful, expressive wife has been reduced to a body and it might actually kill him to sit in the room where she’s not there, but the part of her that used to smile and frown and pout and grimace, but no longer can, is. Instead, he’s sitting in the hallway with Lydia, who’s asleep with her head pillowed on his thigh, her own exhaustion finally winning out. The soft brown curls, the ones that she gets from her mother, are slipping through his fingers with ease as he cards them through her hair. He can still hear the methodical beeping coming from Roxy’s room and he hates it, hates that it’s probably the last sound he’s going to hear from her. Elisa’s in her buggy nearby, still snoring

Literary Magazine 2015

away, completely unaware of the horror show that’s going on around her. He’s glad she’s sleeping through this and hopes to God she doesn’t remember anything from this night, that neither of his daughters do. God, they’re so young. Lydia just turned four and her mom is going to be gone. Will she even remember Roxy? How much her mother loved her? How she would hum under her breath while she held her? How they used to dance around the kitchen singing along to Roxy’s old CD collection? How she always, always fell asleep with her fingers tangled in her mother’s curls? And Elisa… she’s barely one. She won’t remember anything of her mother, nothing, and it’s cruel. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that they don’t get to grow up with their mother, their wonderful, amazing mother, who loved them more than anything else in the world. They aren’t going to get to do all the things that little girls should get to do with their mothers and it’s wrong. It isn’t fair that Roxy won’t get to see them grow up. She won’t get to see them on their first day of school. See them learn to swim. See them take dance lessons or karate or gymnastics or anything else. She won’t see their first dance. She won’t be there for when they have their first loves and first heartbreaks. She won’t be there on the day they graduate school and college. She won’t be there the day they get married, if they do. She won’t get any of the things mothers are meant to get when they have children. She’s never even heard Elisa say her first words yet and it’s not fair…

Residence

J illy M c G r ath

I carved my mark upon a tree. Its branches now too familiar. I sat with ease as the capricious wind attempted to sway my branch and yet, felt no urgency to leave this paradise. I carved my mark upon a tree. My knife buried deep. Shaking the delicate web of the spider with no response. The crafted lace hung untouched, but like musical strings I plucked each strand. I carved my mark upon a tree. Its disruption had not gone unnoticed. The tusk had awoken a hidden beast eight legged with brandished fangs. It hungered for revenge, for this tree belonged to the mother and not I, we were both simply guests. I carved my mark upon a tree. My absence went unmentioned; with time my presence will be forgotten and yet, I will still sit upon that branch For both I and the spider shall pass but my mark shall forever remain.

St. Gerardâ€™s Senior School

Trapped

With every footstep came a crunch of dead leaves, and with every breath a puff of white air. Ellie looked up and noticed the maze walls climbed exceedingly tall, and she had never felt more trapped in her entire life. Dead end after dead end, the girl was grateful it was morning, the night darkness would have heightened her anxiety. The sky was cloudy, but bright, illuminating the fern green hedges of the labyrinth and the earthen floor. Her arms were folded from the icy breeze and she was inhaling the fresh crisp air continuously. She had no knowledge of where she was, or why she was there. A flash of white caught Ellie’s sharp eye. A spontaneous rose grew suavely out of the leaves. There the branches were thin, and she detected a hint of brown hiding behind the hedge. Ellie let out a laugh, and frantically began to pull and push the leaves away. A pseudo- medieval door was embedded in the hedge. A door, an escape route! Ellie thought. She quickly pushed into the room, though she did not wish to. It was as if a force dragged her in, her shivering feet reluctantly moved forward. The door slammed behind her, and because that slam was the first really sound Ellie heard in the maze, she squealed and rubbed her ears. The squeal startled the person in front of her. The person had an auburn ponytail and a slender neck, and wore a black jacket, black trousers and black runners, she was exactly like Ellie. The person gradually turned around, right foot first, then left, and she stood opposite Ellie with her head hanging. There was a brief moment of

Literary Magazine 2015

Jan e Lou ghm an .

utter silence, until Ellie tiptoed up closer to the person. Before Ellie could say “hello”, the head tilted up. Ellie saw her own face, dotted with freckles, and the lips were pale, the nose petite, but the eyes were each an endless dark hole. Ellie screamed. She tripped backwards from the shock and thumped her head into the door. Simultaneously, the ‘thing’ faltered, and also thumped its head. When Ellie’s hand shot up to stroke the back of her head, so did the ‘thing’, the creature’s hand. It was her mirror image, Ellie then realised. For a slight instant the two stared at each other, then out of discomfort Ellie jumped up. The creature jumped up. Ellie’s head rang from the bang on the door as she once again paced slowly towards the creature. The creature imitated her movement precisely. Ellie tried to lock a gaze with her strange image, but Ellie’s eyes flickered down when she saw the gloomy black eyes. She looked up again, a word written in black marker, suddenly appeared on the creature’s forehead. The word was ‘FEAR’. “FEAR,” Ellie whispered. Ellie had lifted her right foot when it hit some sort of invisible shield. She pushed it, and kicked it, and punched it with all her strength. Now, the creature did not copy her. Ellie huffed and gritted her teeth. The barrier circled her tightly, she could not advance in any direction. Ellie felt more trapped than she felt in the maze. Ellie yelled until her voice grew hoarse, and pounded at the invisible cage until her fists grew red. Once she stopped, she looked at the still creature once again. Now the forehead read ‘Anger’ “ANGER,” Ellie

exhaled, breathless from her rage. She glanced behind her to observe the door she went through initially, but it was gone. Ellie slumped as much as she could slump in the confined space. A tear flowed down one cheek. Once more, she raised her eyes to view the motionless, expressionless, extraordinary creature. ‘SADNESS’ was written on the forehead. The black-eyed creature gawked at Ellie. At long last, she moved. She moved her arms up, pulled up the sleeves of the jacket to reveal more words written on them in marker, ‘anxiety’, ‘hopelessness’, ‘worthlessness’, ‘anger’, ‘fear’, ‘loneliness’. Ellie burst the bundle of questions that was packed in her brain. “What are you? “ The creature remained silent. “Where am I?” Silence. “What do you want with me? Why am I here? Why am I trapped? What are the words for?” her croaky voice sped up, single tears turned into a sea of tears crashed down her cheeks, “say something! Anything…” Her voice died down, and Ellie buried her face in her hands. The following quietness was deafening to Ellie. “Be happy.” “What?!” Ellie snapped as her head jerked back up. “Be happy.” The creature’s eyes were ethyl and she was frowning as she pointed at the words on her arms, “These feelings hurt you. To not feel anxiety, sadness and loneliness, you must eliminate them, and be happy…” Her voice was monotonous, exasperating to Ellie. Why wasn’t the creature answering Ellie’s questions? “Stop! I’m really confused right now, and I don’t know how on earth I could be happy, or how I could ‘eliminate’ my sadness…” Rain began to drizzle down, droplets formed on the clear wall around Ellie. She sobbed. “Fine, let’s simplify it for you. Calm down,

first,” the creature whispered as she stepped closer to Ellie, “Breathe in and out until your pulse slows down and close your eyes.” Her tone was less droning now, in fact the voice sounded, to some extent like Ellie’s mother. Ellie believed the creature was crazy from its behaviour, but did what she said. “Now, think happy thoughts.” “You have got to be kidding me…” Ellie mumbled to herself, or so she thought “No, I am not kidding you.” The creature’s face was still lacking expression. “That is the vaguest instruction I have ever heard,” Ellie said as she rolled her eyes to heaven. “Being rude won’t help,” the creature remarked swiftly, “I am trying to help you escape,” Ellie’s eyes darted up to the creature, “think about the last time you laughed.” This is ridiculous, Ellie thought, fed up. However, she made an attempt. She stood up straight, and dreamed. She dreamed of the moment she slipped in the mud during P.E. in school, and laughed with her friends about it. My friends. Ellie dreamed of the time herself and her family watched and laughed at ‘The Simpsons’ together one evening. My family… “You’re not alone Ellie,” the creature said, interrupting Ellie’s thoughts. but what did she mean? Ellie was obviously alone right now, the only company she had was a black eyed clone of herself. Although, now, her eyes were brightening up, as if they were windows being cleaned from the inside “You’re not alone Ellie. You have yourself too.” The creature paused, “You can escape from this. When you feel sad, you must teach your mind to remind yourself of the life you have, a life that should you cherish , and of how brilliant a person you are.” The creature’s voice was now laden with emotion and she gave a knowing smirk, “when you feel trapped and have nowhere

St. Gerard’s Senior School

to turn to, all you need is…” At that moment the clear wall vanished, the raindrops splattered Ellie’s face, and abruptly she felt arms wrap around her, warmness from another body. Ellie smiled. The creature had hugged her. The pair let go, and Ellie saw no words written on the creature’s arms or forehead, and the dark eyes ceased to exist. The eyes were as they were supposed to be, a greyish blue. It was no longer a creature, just Ellie’s reflection. “... Reassurance,” Ellie’s image completes her sentence

softly, “everything’s okay. You will be okay. Ultimately, what makes you happy is reassurance. Not reassurance from others, but from yourself.” The reflection began to fade. Shortly, the only thing that stood in front of Ellie was the other door. She did not rush to open the door, but took a deep breath and slowly, and steadily walked up and turned the knob.

What Makes Us Human?

Lew is K e lly

What makes us human? If anger was human would they be strong? If happiness was human would they be rich? If sadness was human would they be ugly? If confusion was human could they walk? If loneliness was human could they speak? If love was human would they be male or female? I ask these questions because in our minds we all picture something that relates to the feeling. It doesn’t have to be a person or item, It could be a phrase or poem we once read. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we can feel and we can relate to things This, I think, is what makes us human

Literary Magazine 2015

A Letter To Hope

N i co la a s Walle

It is because of you that I fear not the darkness, for it is even on the darkest of nights, your light shines only brighter, spreads out it’s warmth and silently befriends the night. It wins trust of the darkness once so sceptical and makes it calm, at ease, yet sets it all aglow so gently with a pleasant kind of light, like energy at rest. There builds a great anticipation, and then the sky becomes your playground, the stars the soft flicker of the candles by which you work, the soft silhouette of your wonder dancing figures across the stage. Painting pathways from the darkness through the light. You pave a window there, so that always will there be a way to hope, and hope to find a way to.

St. Gerard’s Senior School

MAGIC

Danny Millar

If I had a magic boxI would put in it The first of January, a new leaf. The coruscating secrets of lies. A live wasp, to remind me of my fear. A medieval crossbow, for Mr. Mulholland! An obstreperous cinema ident, BOOM! A view of the underwater islands. A game shop, for all of my things. This poem can go forever, but I have to go.

Literary Magazine 2015

The Last Stork We Saw

D o n na Lo oby

We would go there, every May, June or July We would go there, All together and each of us smiling Departing from Dublin, our hopes were high Leaving behind the dreary drizzle and mundane days The place was special, to us anyway There, the sun always shone Under which, the cracked cream paint gleamed The airy atelier, which was once a workshop for woodwork Became our base On the roof was a birdâ€™s nest Where the great white storks would go to rest Only we understood why they represented newborns Because they were with us at the birth of each new morning. The locals used to nod as they passed Down the road were cornfields, in endless endless rows We would hear the hum of tractors in the distance, In the afternoon when we watered the plants Like Jean and Julie who wrote their names back when the cement was wet We would close the gates of the big house in Geudertheim For the very last time

St. Gerardâ€™s Senior School

COMPETITION WINNERS Winners of the FIRST Year ‘Write A Story’ Competition Sally-Ann Noonan and Jennifer Corson

THIRD YEar Creative Writing Prizewinnners Brian Doyle and Caitlin Keogh

Literary Magazine 2015

TOUR

COMPETITION WINNERS Winner Of the 1st Year Shakespeare Project Jessica McDonald

FIRST Year Prize Winners of the Shakespeare Project Michael Moore, Tadhg O’Connell AND Jennifer Corson

St. Gerard’s Senior School

‘What Makes Me Happy.’ Creative Writing Competition, Prize Winners Jane Loughman AND Sam Shepard with Mr Kenneally

‘What Makes Me Happy.’ Creative Writing Competition, Prize Winners with Mr Kenneally.

Jane Loughman, Sam Shepard, Aisling O’Mara , Eva Moroney, Paris Collins, Donna Looby.) In absentia Ferdy Emmet, William Drane, Ryan Glynn.