Page 1



Happy National Poetry Day!


Dear Parents, For the first few years of my secondary school life, Latin was one of those things that I did because that is what the School did. Taking my lead from my form tutor, I took Latin at GCSE and that was the moment that they finally let us all have a go at real Latin. With hindsight this was a turning point for me but at the time we met the announcement that we would be doing poetry in Latin with groans. The first poem was an edited version of Catullus 39 about Egnatius, an inhabitant of Rome, whose pride in his shining white teeth meant that he would smile all the time, even at the most inappropriate moments. Two lines had been excised and the teacher let us into the part that the Cambridge Latin Course felt was not for our young ears; it was at that moment that I realised that poetry did not always have to be something abstract and elusive to be puzzled over and analysed but could be of the moment, direct and, over time, I learnt that it could be a powerful way of revealing larger truths. The English department’s work to support National Poetry Day reminded me of a poem by Walt Whitman. An Old Man’s Thought of School was read

by the poet at the opening of a school in New Jersey in the latter half of the 19th Century. It closes with a reminder that short-term thinking has no place in education as a pupil’s time at school continues to have an impact after they have left. An old man’s thought of school, An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms that youth itself cannot. Now only do I know you! O fair auroral skies! O morning dew upon the grass! And these I see—these sparkling eyes, These stores of mystic meaning—these young lives, Building, equipping like a fleet of ships—immortal ships! Soon to sail out over the measureless seas, On the Soul’s voyage. Only a lot of boys and girls? Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes? Only a public school? Ah! more—infinitely more; (As George Fox rais’d his warning cry, “Is it this pile of brick and mortar—these dead floors, windows, rails— you call the church? Why this is not the church at all—the church is living, ever living souls.”)

And you, America, Cast you the real reckoning for your present? The lights and shadows of your future—good or evil? This Union multiform, with all its dazzling hopes and terrible fears? Look deeper, nearer, earlier far—provide ahead—counsel in time; Not to your verdicts of election days—not to your voters look, To girlhood, boyhood look— the teacher and the school. I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that the School’s Open Day is on Saturday 7th October. The boys are the best advertisement for the School and the positive impact they can have was brought home to me this week when a new parent recognised (and remembered by name) a boy who had shown her around on a previous Open Day. I would be very grateful if you could encourage your son to support the School by guiding prospective families and sharing their experience of Wetherby with them. Boys who are available to help should let their tutor or Mr Warner know. Enjoy the weekend,



Football U12 WSS A/B vs Kingston Grammar School for Boys (H) 2:30pm


03.10.17 Rugby WSS U14 C vs St. Paul’s School (A) 2:30pm Year 7 Parent’s Evening 5:30pm



Rugby U15/16 A/B WSS vs UCS (H) 2:30pm Year 10 & 11 Samir Ceric Talk, Drama Studio 6:00pm



Football U13 (A) vs the Falcons (H) 3.30pm KO return to school for 5.30pm Field Day WSS Prep School Heads’ Dinner 7:00pm



Football U15A vs The Sele School (A) 2.30pm HM Assembly at Hinde Street Methodist Church 3:00pm



Open Day 11:00am - 2.00pm




To all boys: Christmas Cabaret Auditions are coming up! Year 8 and 9 Auditions: Lunchtime on Wednesday 4th October. Year 7, 10, & 11 Auditions: Lunchtime on Friday 6th October.

OPEN DAY VOLUNTEERS NEEDED! Saturday 7th October is Open Day and volunteers are needed to show new parents around the school and describe what it is like to be a Wetherby pupil. Volunteers must meet at school at 10:45 and will be free by 14:00. This is a great opportunity to show leadership and a great opportunity to earn some gold notes!

MONDAY Soup: Leek & Potato Main: Lemon & Asparagus Risotto Meat Free: Baked Potatoes Served With: Baked Beans or Tuna & Sweetcorn or Bacon & Sour Cream or Mixed Grated Cheese To Go With: Sugar Snap Peas, Warm Chickpea, Tomato & Onion Cassoulet, Dessert: Apple & Forest Berry Crumble


TUESDAY Soup: Cream of Broccoli Main: Bacon, Tomato & Basil Gnocchi

To Go With: Vegetable Kebabs, Roasted Vine Cherry Tomatoes, Vegetable Rice Dessert: Mango & Passion Fruit Yogurt Pots

Main: Beef Stir Fry Meat Free: Mixed Vegetable Stir Fry

Dessert: Black Cherry Fool

Main: Pepperoni & Bacon Pitta Bread Pizza Meat Free: Tomato, Mozzarella & Basil Pitta Bread Pizza

To Go With: Sautéed Potatoes With Thyme & Cumin, Roasted Carrots & Parsnip Sticks, Steamed Peas

Freshly Made Bread To Go With: Vegetable Frittata, Chips, Grilled Courgettes Dessert: Apple Pie

Homemade Salads Vegetable Crudités With Hummus Sandwich & Wrap Selection Meat & Cheese Platters Fresh Fruit Yogurt Pots


Soup: Roasted Pepper & Tomato

Meat Free: Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms

Dessert: Chocolate and Raspberry Roulade To Go With: Egg Fried Rice, Grilled Bok Choi, Steamed Bean Sprouts, Spiced Savoy Cabbage


Soup: Roasted Cauliflower Main: Chicken & Leek Pie

Meat Free: Pesto, Rocket & Goat’s Cheese Gnocchi

THURSDAY Soup: Roasted Butternut Squash



W H Auden, one of Britain’s leading 20th century poets, once wrote that “poetry makes nothing happen”. Well, that certainly wasn’t true at Wetherby this week; to celebrate National Poetry Day, both staff and boys put pen to paper and composed thousands of lines of verse between them – a selection of which are printed in this week’s Barometer. National Poetry Day also provided an opportunity for the Wetherby community as a whole to read poems and reflect upon the role of this versatile, sometimes misunderstood and too frequently overlooked form of literature. Boys from all year groups responded in typically creative and thoughtful fashion, coming up with ingenious and insightful readings as well as producing their own poems.

Miss Webb writes… For National Poetry Day, Year 7 transformed the themes and characters from their novel The Outsiders into a series of acrostic poems. The boys focused on themes of rivalry and fear within the book, whilst also managing to draw out the importance of friendship and camaraderie between the characters.  Outside they roam, all alone Under the security of the greasers To fight them would be silly Socs are too strong It is scary when they jump you Danger fills the air Every day you have to be cautious Rival gangs will kill So beware. Charif A

Greasing my hair gives me an identity, Rivals gangs see and fight me. Ear for eye, finger for finger, A lot of rivalry, Shows the hate. Everyone on the run, Running scared, clueless of what will happen. Edward H Jumping out of my own shadow Old boy Two-Bit Matthews protects me Helps me through hard times Never on my own Never left in the darkness Yet I’m not sure when there’s going to be another attack Nima K-A

ENGLISH DEPARTMENT: NATIONAL POETRY DAY Mr Morris writes... In 8a we started with some brainstorming of words and phrases in response to different images of freedom, before producing an acrostic poem on this year’s theme, ‘Freedom’. We then used drawings of our hands to generate ideas about the idea of ‘Today and Tomorrow’ from the point of view of a prisoner, trying to explore the contrast in actions and emotions a prisoner might reflect upon. These ideas were then used as the basis for a poem.

‘Freedom ‘ by Arthur C Slap, slap, hands hit the cold, hard floor, Elbows bend, chin touches ground, My push count is poor, Elbows bend chin touches floor, I must still do more. Going back ten minutes, My hands shield my face, His arms like pistons In the rhythm of a heartbeat Pounding me till my arms flop, My body goes numb And the blood in my mouth Is salty as the sea.

‘Today and Tomorrow’ by Gabriel T Today I was angry. I punched a man. Kicked the table, Banged on the metal bars And cracked my knuckles. Today I was angry. Today I was impatient. I kicked the cell walls, Yelled at my friends, Told lies And wrote a diary. Today I was impatient. But I knew tomorrow was coming, Faster and faster, I felt relieved, I sang a song, Drew my family, Stroked the wall And made my friends laugh. Then tomorrow came….

I break a single bar from off the door And decide to beat up the floor. ‘Today and Tomorrow’ by Khan D Today my hands touch the cold wall. Today I eat the food of criminals. Today, I stare at the gate Hoping for tomorrow to come. Tomorrow my hands will touch the grass. Tomorrow I will eat the food of a free man. Tomorrow I will stare at the door Waiting for my wife.

Kick, kick, my son’s on my back, My legs start to walk, He complains I’m too slow So I ramp up the speed But the complaints keep coming. Going back ten minutes My hand stops his punch, His arms like sticks, I push him away And stop what could have been a fight. I break a single bar from the chocolate And decide to stick it in my mouth.

Freedom Isn’t Free by Max G

Trumpets Blaring by Max K

Mr Chidell writes... The theme of National Poetry Day this year is ‘Freedom’ and my year 10 set wrote poems on this subject. Here are two of them, both of which meditate on the fact that freedom is not, in fact, always free:

With trumpets blaring loud and clear, And cheer filling the road, The ruined town now rid of fear, And hearts filling with hope. Times of struggle lie in the past, In the fallen buildings, And though there may be peace at last, There are men no longer living. Down the road with frowns not smiles, Soldiers marched like heroes, They’d walked a bloody thousand miles, The blood of friends and foes. The cost of freedom is quite dear, Strength, sacrifice and many tears.

Freedom isn’t free It’s a right we must preserve Bestowed upon the worthy Removed from those who don’t deserve Freedom is a blessing The right to have your rights Its cost can be exceeding In lives and time and fights Freedom should pair wisdom To distinguish right and wrong For if we can’t discern them We might not be free for long Freedom is a journey History’s arc is running long And though the path is curvy It bends to making right the wrong We’re free to take for granted, the freedoms we’ve enjoyed And should that irony happen, freedom may be destroyed.

ENGLISH DEPARTMENT: NATIONAL POETRY DAY Miss Ridley writes... Studying “The Woman in Black”, 9A have become accustomed this half of term to ominous, unsettling images. I thought it only right that we explore a poem of a similar vein. Thus, last week 9A explored Robert Browning’s Dramatic Monologue, Porphyria’s Lover, and were tasked with producing their own poem in the same style based on an equally disturbing theme. Below are some examples of their menacing and dismally tragic creations.

A Mother’s Love by Max P

The Woman in White by Lukas S The rain fell, thick out of the night Like hopeless tears Trivial in the dark. I trudged the same path I always did, Until I reached my mark. Even the stone, that set her place Is transient, yet here she lies Invisible to all but me. And so I lay down at her side Like it used to be. But as I lay there, in the mud My body swamped My soul soaked through I saw a light glowing in the gloom A glimmer I hoped true. A specter floated above where I lay My guardian angel She gazed into my eyes. And there we stayed until the night was done And the sun began to rise.

Rain dropped on the glass, window pane as the howling of dogs whispered in the storm, And the cries of fighting men fade, around them: the enemy swarm I received the letter this Monday morning of my brave spouse’s death, and, found a great forewarning; that seemed to steal my breath. That when the enemy line should cross this part of town, they would take the beautiful children of mine no doubt; to leave them some place to drown So, I went to their rooms at dawn before they had heard of their father’s flight. I smothered them all with a pillow I’d drawn no sound or squirm; I gave them no fright. Now the enemy would come to linger! to lay this beautiful town to waste, but on my children they could not lay a finger,

By Manu D

By Max H The tenebrous cloud Stalked the depressed Hospital,the hallowed halls Lay without a crowd

By Nico S Demented, Fragmented and Tormented, My heart has turned darker than coal Which has been fatally indented With the presence of a griefstricken soul. Solace is what I seek, However, there is no solace, no succour to be found In the remoteness of this foreign land, desolate and bleak Where my soul has been drowned. On this estranged land, is where my rotting corpse will reside, As the fate of my tenebrous life is long gone, And there is nothing left of me on my decaying inside Where nothing has ever shone. The fate of my apathetic life is long gone, For I have done wrong for a time too long.

The room lay cold. On the bed she lay Near the fire of wood and coal And her teeth were starting to decay. Watching her icy throat dry I watched the light drain from her eye The cloudy stream of blue and grey die All color left  like a flood. As her pale lips oozed and trickled with blood Of crimson  red on the pale canvas Of my dead bride to be; Why oh why are you leaving me? Her lips shivered and shook As she gave me one last look . Death,the grim reaper beckons Knocking on our chamber door Rat tat tat went his scythe on the floor As he wrapped his icy hand round her neck And there goes my bride to be… When will you come back to me?

In the remotest village in the darkest of lands, An abandoned child conjures up villainous plans, For he has fled from his parents’ abuse, And now he schemes in a life of recluse, But, what he thinks he’s doing is fine, Whereas in reality, what he will do next will cross the line, So he has been forced into a new life, Where he lives, dies and kills by the knife. Back to his, parents house he sneaks, To where he was regularly beaten to sleep, Into their daunting shack he creeps, He thinks, “Tomorrow, they won’t hear a peep.” Daring to enter, he skulks into their room, He mutters, “This is for the time you beat me with a broom. And hit me with spoons and pierced me with pins, You shall repay for your ghastly sins.” The stolen knife is inches from their heads, He had, until now, had wished they were dead, He strikes, blood gushing onto the floor, He cackles “Now you will breathe no more.”

ENGLISH DEPARTMENT: NATIONAL POETRY DAY Mr Chidell writes... Both my Year 9 classes looked at W B Yeats’ poem “The Second Coming” and discussed its apocalyptic imagery and the extent to which it fitted in with our study of Gothic literature. Although the poem is not technically part of the Gothic genre, it was a good springboard for the boys to write their own dark and dramatic verses. Here is a small selection:

by Haotong X I crept through the burial ground. Wind wailed a ghostly sound. In the deepest gloom stood the stones; skeletons in tombs rustled their bones. The biting chill broke through the sombre sight, An open grave lay waiting in the murky night. The funeral bells rang through the mist, The feeling dread I cannot resist.

Gloomy Night by Faisal B H

Gothic Sonnet by Leo M The craning walls had blocked the setting sun Which soaked the Highlands like a pool of blood. In wild terrain, the shining rivers run With gore, and nature’s dying in the flood. And in this landscape stands a castle tall, Oppressing all the living things around, And hatching horror like a raven’s call. It slumbers like a titan on its mound, A vast and bulging fort of granite forged. Its spires rise out like sharp, serrated fangs Which on the joy of peasants lately gorged And in the air a cloak of terror hangs. If only you could know what dwells inside; But that is something I cannot confide.

It was a gloomy night; the wind was howling. Snow lit the sky, as all you could see was white, darkness was crawling over the forest. Trees towering over, snow filling the forest floor and nothing. Sighting a bird between the trees as it flew over us. Suddenly the bird came closer, it swooped over the trees. Paralysed by fear, running to the remote mountains. The bird shrieking as it dived  over the footsteps.  Coming closer and closer, terrorising my mind.  The feathered foe dived once more  catching the darkness by its wings. Sprinting my heart out, managing to escape. The wind swirling causing the trees to creak. Will there be another day of light for me?

The Cry by Taddeo B A cry came floating on the wind Through the coal black, heavy night. The trees shook as if in fear And the sky longed for the morning light. What caused the cry no man can tell But it told a tale of grief and woe – It didn’t come from human lips But from the earth, long ago.   It was the cry of a thousand years, The lament of all for what we lose. We hear it in the city streets Regardless of the paths we choose.   And now the cry grows softer, though It still could wrench your heart in two. So sad and mournful it covers the land And lingers like the morning dew.   The cry sounds hauntingly familiar It is the cry of you and me And all who know the pain of loss Will hear this cry for eternity.

Night time by Aiden U

Bottle Green Trees by Sebastian L Bottle Green trees slumped over a hazy lake. The wind slaloms through thorn bushes And around tree’s leaves. A lone house stood depleting, Stripped of colour; infected by darkness.   A melting graveyard stood festooned in weeds; Names forgotten in the years. A fence slinked around the estate; Encasing pure evil.   The window glared at the formidable forest; The stairs reached out to the rocky ground And the door left ajar for anyone to enter.

As the silence settled, a discourteous crow screeched out, As if a warning about the eerie silence, Creeping upon you like a panther about to pounce. The shining oil black sky accentuated the ochre gold stars, Twinkling like fairy lights. The many trees swayed like a flag in a roaring hurricane, As their protuberant arms stretched out like knives hungry for blood, Slicing the wind in half as if the wild wind was running from the black figure of Death in the mysterious night. The deep, dark green grass swayed in the howling wind, Crawling up a modest and dilapidated gravestone, Like an evil snake coiling round to strangle its raw, innocent, live victim.

ENGLISH DEPARTMENT: NATIONAL POETRY DAY Miss Kirk writes… As part of their GCSE course, Year 11 have been exploring an anthology of challenging poems- from Bronte’s ‘Cold in the Earth’, to Larkin’s ‘The Trees’, to Dickinson’s ‘Because I Could Not Stop for Death’. This week, the boys have been discussing what poetry means to them and what makes it a unique medium of communication. Here are just some of their thoughts… Joshua G-O: ‘Poetry is the deepest indicator of human helplessness- we don’t really know anything. Nothing IS.’

Oli L: ‘Poetry to me is a journey up a flight of neverending stairs. Each step is a new discovery of emotion and meaning, leading an individual to perhaps learn something about himself.’

Will B: ‘Poetry lets you embark on unseen ideas and will make you wonder about its artistry in a way which becomes a game and personal challenge.’

Armansd S: ‘Poetry is the art of being immersed in the world of another as they try to find themselves.’

Vadim M: ‘A literary form of art, a poem is a piece of abstract art: it takes a long time to fully comprehend, but once you do, you then view the world from a completely different perspective.’

Giacomo D: ‘Poetry is about facing the challenges that a poem presents head on and throwing yourself in the deep end until you come up with your own personal interpretation, which may well only mean something to you.’

Thomas T: ‘Poetry is about exploring a deceptive puzzle, thinking outside of the box, and finding connections which seem obvious to some eyes but more challenging to others, depending on personal experiences.’

Feeling inspired by some of the poems which we’ve studied in class, the boys then produced their own poems either in the style of those explored, or by using a line from the text as a basis for their own exploration of themes and ideas. After this creative activity, the boys wrote critical appreciations of one another’s poems, drawing links between their work and those of the literary greats we’ve studied in class, whilst also exploring each other’s work as an ‘unseen’ text, which all boys will be faced with in their GCSE exam.

All boys produced extremely impressive work but I’ve selected Oli L’s poem as the winner. ‘Different’ echoes the themes of rebellion and individualism explored in ‘For Heidi With Blue Hair’, yet through writing from a first person perspective, the poem takes on a far more personal tone. ‘Different’ is a moving and cleverly constructed piece of work; Oli has succeeded in capturing the essence of a challenging GCSE poem, whilst also demonstrating strong creative writing skills. Well done also to Pip Evans who wrote an insightful and convincing critical appreciation on Oli’s poem.

Different by Oli L A piercing hugging my ear A start of war“What have you done, dear?” My mother, torn. Next was the hair A fluster of cheap sapphire and rose. I told my mum “It was just a dare!” My crimson dyed face buried in my clothes. Rings wrapping around every claw Each one an OUTCRY. The school didn’t like what they saw, No matter how hard I’d try. Everyone gave up on me, telling me to be normal. They call me “DIFFERENT”. That’s all. Well thenI guess I’m just “DIFFERENT” But That’s Not All.

All year groups explored a range of poems on National Poetry Day itself, from ‘A Magic Box’ by Kit Wright, to ‘Mirror’ by Sylvia Plath to Wilfred Owen’s ‘Dulce et Decorum Est’. I have been incredibly impressed by the boys’ ability to arrive at original and sophisticated inferences about these challenging texts and have thoroughly enjoyed their own attempts at producing poems too. On exploring our ‘favourite things’ to put into their ‘magic boxes’, Year 7 were very eager to demonstrate their love of dabbing; I’m pleased to have captured this on camera!


With poetry very much in the air this week, members of staff have been reflecting on their own favourite poems and the reasons why they are special to them. Boys, why not read one of the following and then discuss your own personal responses with one of your teachers? Give yourself plenty of time if you choose to discuss ‘Kubla Khan’ with Mr Morris though; he’s quite the fan…

Miss Kirk: William Shakespeare’s ‘Sonnet 116’- ‘I am yet to discover such an apt and vivid expression of what it feels like to truly love another person. The poet speaker exudes confidence, as he asserts that his love could endure ‘alterations’, a ‘tempest’ and could even survive to the ‘edge of doom’. Whereas many poets would fall short of achieving a relatable declaration of love through such a use of hyperbole, the understated nature of Shakespeare’s final rhyming couplet only serves to consolidate the certainty of his eternal love in a convincing and moving way: a perfect sonnet to melt a heart.’

Mr Chidell: W H Auden’s ‘In Memory of W B Yeats’- ‘There are so many reasons it’s great. For one, I love its technical brilliance; the shifting rhythms and beautiful, evocative images (like illness and death imagined in terms of an urban uprising.) It’s also just fun on a really geeky and slightly ‘meta’ literary level: one master of poetry lamenting the death of another. But more than that it’s the way Auden has these intensely personal and deeply moving insights into the power of poetry (which completely undermine the line, from the middle section of the poem, saying that ‘poetry makes nothing happen’!) It makes lots happen and this poem proves it!’

Mr Morris: Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s ‘Kubla Khan’‘The poem meanders like the magical river of its first part through a fantastical universe of beauty and terror and into a meditation about imagination and poetic inspiration. It is as close to perfection as a poem can be, and the final image of the poet who “on honey-dew has fed/ and drunk the milk of paradise” is one which still takes my breath away.’

Miss Ridley: Rupert Brooke’s “Sonnet Reversed”- ‘It’s fun to read a poem which provokingly inverts traditions; here, the romantic idea of love – most routinely expressed in sonnet form – is replaced with a mundane view of what love becomes once the “delirious weeks” of the honeymoon are no more! Witty and lighthearted, Brooke manipulates form and structure to suit his non-stereotypical portrayal of love.’ Mr Warner: Also, Coleridge’s Kubla Kahn: ‘It is a fantastic outpouring of excited, opium inspired wonder at the exotic mysteries of the Orient; it really embodies the audacious, and romantic spirit that, hand-in-hand with greed and entrepreneurial hunger, drove eighteenth century Britons to seek out opportunity and riches across the globe.’

Miss Twomey: Simon Armitage’s ‘Out of the Blue’‘This poems describes such a dramatic event in history with such strong imagery. It’s a very powerful tool to put yourself in the situations of others.’


Mrs Skinner: Jenny Joseph’s ‘When I am an Old Woman, I Shall Wear Purple’- ‘It reminds me of my nan, who was a bit bonkers – she once went out wearing lipstick on her eyelids and eye shadow on her mouth…. We read this poem at her funeral a few years ago.’

Mrs Atkinson: Seamus Heaney’s ‘Mid-Term Break’‘This poem is so beautifully simple and yet still effectively communicates the full weight of the tragedy it describes. Makes me cry every time!’

Mrs Deedat: Seamus Heaney’s ‘Follower’- ‘As a teacher, I can really relate to the way in which the character in this poem changes from the first verse to the last. It is always so interesting to see how the students who we teach grow up from year to year and this poem captures some of that transition.’

Mr Dawson: Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘Christmas at Sea’‘The language used paints such a vivid image of the hardships of winter at sea. Having spent a few Christmases abroad I can relate to the way the sailor thinks about home at a time like this and the slightly rose tinted image that your mind conjures of the day you’re missing. The poem also goes on to describes some of the guilt you may feel for missing such an important family day, something which I imagine most people sent away at a time like that would feel.’

Mr Hasthorpe: John Clare’s ‘I am!’- ‘I’ve loved this poem ever since studying it at school. I think that it is all about lost hope and desperation and loneliness, contrasted with the peace and dreamlike quality of the third verse.’

Mr Underwood: Nancy Tillman’s ‘On The Night You Were Born’- ‘This is Harry’s favourite book at the moment and it reminds me of him as a new-born. In a nutshell, to me it sums up the feelings of a new parent.’

Miss Eaves: John Keats’ ‘Ode to Autumn’- ‘I LOVE AUTUMN. Well, I would if the UK could do seasons properly. I love the sounds, colours and smells of it. I like that it’s slightly melancholy somehow and yet part of a regenerating cycle.’

Mr Avroutine: Hamlet’s monologue “To be or not to be”- ‘This monologue comes to mind every time decisions are made, or not made, in fact.’

Mr Martin: W.H. Auden’s ‘Stop All the Clocks’- ‘I think it’s beautiful and very moving. It gives me goosebumps when I read it.’

Miss Webb: John Clare’s ‘First Love’- ‘The last line perfectly shows how you’re never the same after you’ve loved someone.’

ENGLISH DEPARTMENT: HAIKU COMPETITION After the success of last year’s staff limerick competition, the English Department were eager to observe a sea of budding poets across all departments rise to the challenge of producing a haiku about this year’s National Poetry theme: freedom. Philosophers, mathematicians, scientists, historians and linguists alike all rallied and produced impressive pieces, all keen to receive the honour of Barometer publication (and wine). However, with much difficulty, the English Department have selected the following winners.

Joint winners!

Runners up:

Mrs Atkinson: A competition For short poems, up a ladder, Would have a high queue

Miss Twomey: A Haiku for Kirk, She keeps us busy with work, (We like it really)

Unas sílabas It just means some syllables But it’s in Spanish Mr Atkinson: Ah, Friday at last. What sweet victory this is. A pint and crisps please!

Miss Webb: Slip out Number 10 Forgetting Post-Brexit woes In my field of wheat. Mr Warner Coffee? Check. Cake? Check. The café is so quiet, Guess I’ll keep reading. Miss Nash: Someone stole my desk. I don’t know who, don’t know why. What’s this!? Desk is back. Mr Bray: Doing what you want Or not doing anything It is up to you. Miss Hoskins: The red doors open Boys flee towards McDonald’s Like a swarm of bees Mrs Diamond: Blue Smells of Provence No Silence in the burnt fields Grass creatures singing






Jazz Club

Brass Academy Choir

String Ensemble






Senior Brass

Junior Brass



Grade V Theory Class 1:45-2:15pm




WEDNESDAY Chamber Orchestra Mr Martin

THURSDAY Choir Mr Martin

Rock School Year 8-9 Rock School Year 7 Mr Mckean Mr Mckean Guitar Ensemble Mr Q


Tuesday 26th September was European Day of Languages. Wetherby Senior celebrated in a number of ways, including a quiz based around European languages and cultures, and a passport design competition for Year 7. The highlight of the day was the delicious lunch menu, which celebrated cuisine from France, Germany and Spain.

MATCH REPORT Football Boys U12 A v Radnor House 0-7 Man of the Match: Nico F U13 A v Radnor House 3-3 Man of the Match: Oscar C U12 A v Hall School, Wimbledon 4-2 Man of the Match: Zac M U12 B v Hall School, Wimbledon 4-3 Man of the Match: Isaac E U13 A v The Falcons School for Boys 0-4 Man of the Match: Jude B

Rugby U14 A v St Benedict’s School 5-42 Man of the Match: Marcel B

Please visit the school sports website to see goal scorers: http://www.wetherbyseniorsport.co.uk/

To Autumn by John Keats Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.


Profile for Wetherby Senior School

The Barometer Week 4  

This week's issue celebrates National Poetry Day! Look out for important notices, other departmental news and the music clubs timetable.

The Barometer Week 4  

This week's issue celebrates National Poetry Day! Look out for important notices, other departmental news and the music clubs timetable.