THE PEPPERS

The peppers live in a pepper pot,
In a pepper pot they live.
The pepper pot is a sieve.

Now the peppers one day
Went out to play,
In a meat and potato pie,
They slipped on the gravy
And joined the Navy,
And now in the sick bay they lie.

Then one day to their dismay,
Their house began to shake,
Into the oven went the pie,
And they were on the steak.

DAVID BLOOR (4A). 

SNOWFLAKES
The North Wind sighs
And in a trice
What was water
Now is ice

What sweet water
Rippling was
Now bewitched is
Into Glass.

PHILIP EDDLESTON (2T).

MY WISHES
I wish I didn't have to wait,
Till winter turned to spring,
To watch the crocuses come late,
And the birds return to sing.

I wish I didn't have to wait,
For sunny days to come,
I hate to see the birds migrate,
When summer-time is done.

I wish I didn't have to wait,
For windy days to go,
Alas I must, 'tis human fate,
But winter tires one so.

MARGARET ROWSON (2T). 

There was a composer called Bong,

Who thought of the words for a song

It wasn't a hit

The words didn'tfit

And the music kept dragging along.

LYNDA SPOONER ( I A).

There was a young lady from Crewe,

Who just couldn't button her shoe,

She tried and she tried

Then she sat down and cried:

That silly young lady from Crewe.

CHRISTINE BLAKELEY (1A). 

I looked at the atmosphere around me.
His army was handbrushed.
I listened intently at the sight which half scared me out of my wits.
At the Primary School, my friends were very friendly, because they could not hit anyone, or else they would get the cane and that hurt. 

Jellignite; cheeze; white overhauls; rembered; they feel in love; weeding anniversary; occation; manuscripes; muntiy; halph; barrols of bear; stubun; I bungled him in a taxi; mortor bike; queeries; cokernuts. 

My friend is a robin. He is a rather ugly-looking bird, for his tail is ragged and he has only one bright eye. His other eye is dull and misty. He is brown and red, with darker markings on his wings. I call him "Chips"-not a very suitable name for a robin, you might say, but it suits him well.

I first met my feathered friend on a freezing December evening as I was walking home from a party. He was Iying in between two stones, his little body spread along the ground, and he was cheeping plaintively. Towering over him was a playful, black, mongrel dog. The dog was yapping in delight at the prospect of a little fun.

I stood for a minute, wondering if this dog's nature was what it appeared to be. After all, it was rather large. Finally I decided what to do. Putting on a fearless face, or so I imagined it to be, I walked up to the dog, trying hard to keep from running.

"Steady now. It's all right. You're a fine dog. Steady boy!" I kept on saying, meanwhile edging nearer.

The dog cocked his head on one side and pricked his tulip-shaped ears forward. Then, all at once, he bounded towards me, barking and snuffling. I picked up the cowering robin, put him into the warm pocket of my coat and began to make my way home, the dog still with me.

Before I realized it, Chips flopped out of my pocket and tried to fly away, but he was too weak from cold and hunger. The dog ran over to him, and put his heavy paw on Chips' tail. Chips, in a useless attempt for freedom, tugged hard. That was how he lost part of his tail. Quickly I caught him and back into my pocket he went.

I turned into Rack Street and went through the gate, leaving the dog snapping at three of chips' tail feathers.

The next day, after a warm night and a meal of chopped worms from my brother's fishing bait, he soon recovered and could fly quite well. I opened the kitchen window and away he flew and perched on the gate-post. After singing a beautiful flute-like song, he flew off.

He has been back several times each winter and sung for me. It is a lovely way of repaying me for a night's lodging.

LINDA DENNY (3H). 

Suddenly two gleaming, red fire engines broke the stillness as they roared down the narrow lane. People looked at each other in alarm, as others ran to follow them down the lane.

A pungent smell could be smelt on turning the corner towards the Wadding Factory. Glowing flames and puffs of dirty, black smoke poured from all windows. Crowds of excited, chattering people gathered on the opposite pavement as four more fire-engines turned the corner. Out of each fire-engine jumped eight men, quickly attending to their own jobs. Some fire-men attached a hosepipe to a fire-hydrant on the pavement whilst others dashed up long ladders with hosepipes. Policemen kept back the crowds whilst ambulances took injured factory workers to hospital. The flames made much heat and some fire-men were overcome by the fumes. Fire-men were standing on long ladders with hose pipes in their hands trying to keep down the glowing flames, only causing a great deal of smoke. The crowds on the pavement coughed and choked in the dense smoke as policemen asked them to move on so that fire-engines could move through easily. Children screamed as chunks of burning debris fell on to the pavement below with large crashes. The sirens of the fire-engines screamed, and blue lights flashed as the acrid smoke could be seen for miles around.

The flames seemed to die down after about an hour and just smoke like a thick fog could be seen around. Two hours later the nasty smoke had disappeared and just the bricks of a large factory remained. The fire-engines left silently and the crowds dispersed and the traffic began to flow down the lane as if nothing had ever happened.

KAY WILKINSON (2A). 

My Aunt has green eyes, and beautiful blonde, wavy hair, which I have always envied. She is rather small, and is plump, but not very. She is always made up nicely and dresses smartly.

Before she was married she made all my clothes, for she is very clever with a needle but now, af course, she makes clothes for her family. She has two iittle girls named Christine and Carol. Christine is the elder of the two.

Most people who know her and myself, say that I walk like her, and that I have the same smile. Since she is such an attractive person (I think), I wish there were more likenesses between her and me.

She has a very friendly personality and is kind to everyone. She is always getting very flustered and worried about things, though.

Although she lives in Moss Side, which is a rather dirty and smoky district, she keeps her house very clean and smart. Only last summer she had the house painted red on the outside so that it would not look so dull.

Now we have moved away from the district where she lives, I do not get to see her as often as I would wish. Sometimes I go to her house at weekend to visit her, but it is usually at family parties where we meet.

IRENE FORD (2A). 

Mr. Simpson was an avid football fan. He supported his team with an enthusiasm equal to that of the players. Every Saturday in his woollen scarf with his rattle he sat on the "kop" and discussed with his pals the chances of the team.

That Saturday Mr. Simpson left home earlier than usual and caught his bus. It was empty because he was early and for once he could sit down and think about the players and the team's past performances. They had not done so well, their best player had left for a high fee and the captain had been injured second time out. The youngsters were good, but inexperienced and they had been bothered by the hardy veterans of the other teams of the league. Mr. Simpson sighed; nothing seemed to work, no combinations succeeded, no plan lasted after the first five minutes.

The stands were dry and few people were there when Mr. Simpson arrived. He sat down and stared at the field and suddenly the thought crossed his mind that if Beverley, the captain of the opposite team was injured, then his own team would have a better chance. He thought and thought and never noticed the growing numbers of people filling up the stadium until the first blast of the brass-band brought him back to consciousness of his surroundings.

The game started amid the huge roar from the crowd as the ref. blew his whistle. Beverley kicked off and suddenly fell down clutching his leg, obviously in great pain. The crowd stood up, surprised at the swift blow to the opposition's chances. Mr. Simpson was the only man sitting. He was rooted, horror stricken at the outcome of his thoughts. He asked himself "was it my fault?" The trouble was that he knew the answer. Beverley was alone as he kicked the ball, nothing had touched him, nobody was near him; he fell, struck down by thought!

Every game after that Mr. Simpson followed the same pattern as that fateful Saturday. He arrived early and concentrated upon the one factor in the opposition's team that would give his own team victory, and every time something happened. Mr. Simpson grew more and more confident in his powers, but he found that they only worked when he applied them to football. Try as hard as he could, he could influence nothing but the outcome of his own team's game.

The end of season came in a burst of glory, his team was top of the league and Cup Winners and everybody commented upon the extraordinary "luck" of the team. Mr. Simpson however knew better. He merely smiled when his pals went wild with joy. He found all excitement had left the game because he knew the result in advance. He was tired of his powers. He wanted to go back to being just a spectator.

The first game of the following season Mr. Simpson did not go early, he arrived in his place just in time to see the kick-off and after a quick smile at his two friends he watched the match. He carefully avoided thinking about any player on the field and at half-time the score was 1-1. The second-half was exciting. The players fought hard and the scores see-sawed until five minutes before "time" when Mr. Simpson's team scored and brought the score to 6-5 for them. Mr. Simpson was in despair. He could not lose his powers. He would never go to another match, the joy had gone from the game, suspense was not there any more. But as he watched, the rival players mustered their strength and a final goal-mouth struggle resulted in a draw, 6-6. Mr. Simpson waited breathlessly almost in an attitude of supplication. The game re-started and as he watched the rival centre-forward made a beautiful opening and a player sprang forward and scored the winning goal. The crowd's cheer drowned the noise of the referee's whistling for "time". Although his friends were crestfallen Mr. Simpson was jubilant. At last he was just an ordinary spectator again. He had lost his fateful powers!

For years after that season when Mr. Simpson's team had won every match the incredible series of "chances" in the team's favour was discussed and argued over. Were they coincidences or were they brought about? Eventually everyone came to the same conclusion all the mishaps were obviously just coincidences: they could not have been engineered. Mr. Simpson, however, listened and smiled and said nothing. At any rate, he was happy!

Every year the school has a play and many people are involved. The decoration started when Mr. Donnan asked the members of the Art Club if they would help the following week. He told us that this would mean staying until 8 p.m. and bringing our tea.

The following Monday evening we all met in the art room and Mr. Donnan showed us his model of the stage and all its furniture. We then carried all the flats upstairs and began laying newspaper on the floor so as not to make too much mess.

We placed each flat separately on the top of the art room desks. We then filled bowls with warm water, collected our rags and scrubbing brushes and began to clean the last year's dirty flats.

This was a long and messy process but we also had fun. If any dirty water was splashed on the floor the one responsible had to clean it up and to make up for it had to go round doing this for five minutes. After a long while we began to get hungry, and so we all went down to the men's staffroom and ate our tea. After we had joked and had a rest and had eaten our tea we went back to work.

This went on for three weeks until in the end we had to start painting. Very near the end of the painting process the stage arrived in many pieces. It took four days for the men to put it up. Shortly after the costumes arrived and were put carefully away.

When the flats were altogether finished, which included scrubbing, painting and fireproofing, we took them downstairs and carried them on to the stage. At this time the actors were still rehearsing so naturally we were distracted from our work and kept watching the actors.

The backcloth still needed fireproofing and we were given the job. We collected our equipment and took it to the back of the stage. We were just about to begin when Marilyn screamed. 1 asked her what was the matter and she replied "The picture on the wall startled me: I thought it was a face". When she had recovered from her shock we carried on working.

The scenery was practically finished now. There was just some touching up to be done. When we were setting up act three we discovered that we had not painted in a fireplace. This had to be done, and quickly.

Finally the play began properly and practically everyone had nerves. All went well except that on one of the scenes there was a broken chair needed so one of the stage crew had to rush round to the other side and bring it back. Fortunately she was just in time.

The remaining nights all went well and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.