On Monday 13 December, twenty girls from Year Nine had an overnight stay at the Kings’ High School cabin in Warrington, The Hatherley Lodge.

The purpose of our stay was to be inspired by our environment, apply this to our writing and to further extend our writing abilities. We walked along Warrington beach, pondering our best haiku ideas, and held a competition for the best one, using the sand as our paper.

As well as an English quiz at the conclusion of our night, we held several workshops and examined pieces of writing by famous New Zealand authors, including Katherine Mansfield and Owen Marshall. We took aspects of these texts to inspire our own creative writing.

The best part of our trip was most definitely the beach walk. There is nothing more relaxing than strolling along a beach with our friends by our sides.

A huge thank you for Ms Nielson and Mrs Seward for organising and hosting this retreat.

And a piece of writing from Sophia Niblock, Year 9

At The Bay

I feel peaceful
I feel calm
In the morning
When I wake

Excitement fills me
Bubbling, boiling, frothing
Pouring out,
Liquid out of a jug

A view of the bay appears
Framed by the diminishing windows

A powerful wave emerges
Running, chasing, consuming prey
Rolling up, a scroll

Molded sand dunes
Tower above hidden creatures
Escaping the clutches of lurking predators

Rocks, jagged and sharp
Threaten passer-byers
They show no mercy

This place is ever changing
Mysterious
As the darkening sky
Silent, cold
Yet beautiful
Sprinkled with glitter
Obscuring the hanging moon
Surrounds me
At the bay

And one from Elizabeth Purvis, Year 9

Grey
I am the sky on a cloud-coated day, the wool on your favourite jersey.
I am the product of black and white, the colour of the undiscovered.
I am the echo of the rain pounding atop a tin roof, the lingering scent of faded perfume, the appearance of early-morning mist as the sun's rays break through.
I am the colour of wise eyes framed with dark eyelashes, the taste of salted caramel, bittersweet.
I am the warmth of a crackling fire on a winter's day, the kindness, softness of a mother's heart, fragile as a butterfly.
I am the way you feel when there is no feeling, the gentle numb we describe as ‘fine’.
I am the thickness of the air as delicate slivers of snow settle, the blanket you use when you are ill.
I am happy, sad, and everything in-between.
I am grey

And one from Emily Knoesen

Oreo
I'm grateful for Oreo. Oreo might have been obstreperous and disruptive, but in the end, Oreo came to good use.
Most people when describing their best meal might say that it was a succulent, tender, perfectly grown, fall off the bone meat. My best meal would be better described as a chewy, hardy, dry lamb chop that would have been better going to the dogs. This wasn't important at the time though. What was important was giving thanks to the juvenile ram that was cooked in a red wine and tomato gravy, about to go in my mouth. The other thing I wondered was whether our over the fence neighbours were enjoying their meal as much as I.
You see, when Oreo, the sheep, came of age, we forgot to "chop his bits," as Mum says. This lead to surging testosterone, and impregnation of our neighbour's sheep. By way of apology we sent over part of him wrapped in newspaper, and my sister to explain why they were getting such a morbidly sinister, but yummy, justification.