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20 Feb
Performing Arts Festival
Thursday 26th February 6.00pm in the Conference Room (next to the school library).
Three age categories. Simply read the designated poem (see below) and the judges will mark you for clarity and expression. All participants receive a medal. The winner of each category wins a trophy.
Year 2 and under: The Sound Collector
Year 3 and 4: Please Mrs Butler
Year 5 and 6: Sea Fever
If you want to enter send me a direct message or let me know at the gate by February 14th Valentines Day.
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Sound Collector by Roger McGough (Year 2 and under)
A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried it away
The whistling of the kettle
The turning of the lock
The purring of the kitten
The ticking of the clock
A stranger called this morning
He didn’t leave his name
Left us only silence
Life will never be the same
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Please Mrs Butler by Allan Ahlberg (Year 3 and 4)
Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps copying my work, Miss.
What shall I do?
Go and sit in the hall, dear.
Go and sit in the sink.
Take your books on the roof, my lamb.
Do whatever you think.
Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps taking my rubber, Miss.
What shall I do?
Keep it in your hand, dear.
Hide it up your vest.
Swallow it if you like, love.
Do what you think best.
Lock yourself in the cupboard, dear.
Run away to sea.
Do whatever you can, my flower.
But don't ask me!
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Sea Fever by John Masefield (Year 5 and 6)
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.