Beren Fahey was in the Year 9 ‘Grab Your Passport’ English class this year. Along with Matthew Leitch and Raff O’Malley, Beren attended a writing masterclass in Rangiora through the Write On for schools programme. The boys used virtual reality technology to help inspire their writing around Antarctica. This topic flowed on beautifully from some of the reading and writing work we had covered in class where we ‘visited’ (metaphorically speaking), many different countries.

All the young writers who attended this course submitted work and Beren’s, titled Fragile, was selected for publication, with a reading and presentation of a copy of the publication to be made to him at Tūranga on 5 December.

Beren’s work will be available for us all to see once the presentation takes place but, in the meantime, here are some pieces from Matthew and Raff’s final work for the year.

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

By Raff O’Malley

When I was young, the world was slow. Slow and long. I had time to do my own thing. I could play in the fields, kick a ball, do things with my friends. I was oblivious to what was sneaking up behind me. This beast was always behind me, always trying to get to me…

Why is life taking me away? Why is life so fast? I haven’t finished what I need to do. I ran the race but didn’t reap the rewards. As he pulls me away by the scruff of the neck, I see buildings grow from where I defeated dragons, like weeds in an unmanicured garden. Roads are slithering out like snakes trying to chase me away and take over. I am helpless, and life took advantage. Life is the kidnapper of itself.

It is fifty years since life started his voyage with me, but his speed is not slowing. His intentions; not changing. I have left, and won’t stop until we are back where we started…

As life is pulling me along, I see my boys playing. Life hasn’t got them yet. They still have time. I want to shout, but the speed silences my cries. They won’t know. I didn’t know. I wish that I did know. I had so much left to do, so much to conquer. As I look back on what I could do, a tear drops onto my shirt. Ploop! A tear of memories. It is not just a drop, not a river, not even a lake; it’s an ocean filled with what I had. What I wish I had back…

I wish I was back in the long summer days when we were not pulled away from the sun. The long days of broken legs, scraped elbows, ouchies, and boo-boos. The days of foraging for that summer treat, where the succulent juices flowed into our mouths like they are freshwater streams bursting their banks. The days of walking the town with one thought in mind: the butcher on the corner, housing the meaty prize for our small, ecstatic bodies to digest.

I wish I was back in the circular battleground, where the warriors fought over the magic ball. The ball that brought byes, wickets, sixes and fours. The ball that was thrown, hit, and caught. The ball that won games, and proved dominance over the invading enemy.I wish I was back on my two-wheeled menace, racing my friends to our favorite tree. This monstrous beast protected us, like a bodyguard of our childhood. I wish it would follow me. I wish it never left…

The long winter followed the summer, finishing one battle while starting another. Armies lined up in fifteens, trying to break through the enemy lines. We endured brawls and thumps, bruises and lumps, but we need to win. We need to win like it is our life! Only it is our life. It was our life. But no longer. Rugby is no longer an option…

Even in the frost of winter’s frozen breath, the heat brings us back to the warmth of before. Fireplaces flame, like compassionate friends trying to keep us safe. Casseroles were prepared hours before, only to be devoured by our hungry bodies at the end of light. The warm hugs from our mother collect the heat and share it among us, and our fathers help us be who we are. They are the heat of the cold. Why is there no more heat in the cold?

The tear has dried up. The tear of memories. No more do I have to think about what I used to have. I look back to what I did have, and see my boys. They fly behind me… life got them. The tear returns, and I am back in my happy days once again, in a never ending loop that I don’t want to leave…

Stockholm From a Tourist’s Perspective

By Matt Leitch

The shroud of mist opens, unveiling the dark city below. Fingers of marmalade sunlight appear over the horizon, slowly searching the clouds in sweeping arcs. The northerly wind is yet to arise from its autumn slumber. Everything is diffused and peaceful. The silent city holds its breath, ready to burst with life. The day is soon to begin.

I step tentatively onto a red cobbled street in the centre of historic Stortorget Square. Small birch trees clothed in autumn rust frame the edge of the courtyard like soldiers guarding a castle. My stomach grumbles impatiently as I detect the mingling smells of freshly hung meat and steaming soup wafting out from a neighbouring butchery and restaurant. Sitting in the sunny window, I enjoy a hearty serving of a popular Swedish dish, gravlax and meatballs, washed down with a frothing glass of locally brewed peat and juniper whisky. To me, quite an unusual brunch dish, but utterly delectable all the same.

Nourished, I start my exploration at the historic Stockholm City Hall.

It stands sentinel over all else - silent yet majestic - a king on his throne. Its grand stairs beckon me in, compelling me towards its opulent interior. My shoes click against the cool granite floor. Strong golden arches hold the weary ceiling upon their broad backs. Elaborate paintings adorn everything adjacent to me, illuminated by candlelight glistening off the limestone walls. I wander through the innards of the hall, my eyes fixated on the architectural beauty around me.

To sum it all up, I ascend to the best vantage point Stockholm has to offer - City Hall’s 106m tall tower. The undisrupted panorama stuns me. It's hard to take it all in, but gazing out into the vastness of Sweden’s capital city, Stockholm, I can’t help but realise how magnificent it is. I feast my eyes upon rippling turquoise inlets framed by jagged mountains, crimson-painted woodlands, striking cathedral spires, and stunning metal bridges. Its rugged nature drizzled in man-made civilization and mixed into one giant pudding; a delicious recipe for generations to enjoy.

The sun has reached the tipping point and begins its slow descent across the sky. Shielding my eyes against its fiery glow, I recommence my travels at the Stockholm seaside pier. Waves reach out like arms, grasping desperately for the sea wall; yacht sails billow under the wind's powerful breath. Eye-catching signs advertise scenic ferry cruises available this very afternoon. I’m immediately drawn to one displaying a resort situated in a backwater of Stockholm Harbour. Snatching up the opportunity I stride inside and make a booking.

An hour later… thud! The ramp bridges the divide and I step cautiously aboard the ‘Sea Horse’ or in simpler terms; the ferry. The engine grumbles with effort. I sit down nervously. Blue sea meets blue sky as I stare out the window, my portal to the outside world. Lug, lug, lug, the ferry lurches into motion. Translucent water streams beneath my window in rivulets of froth as we motor out towards the harbour centre. Vasterborn Bridge looms menacingly over me. We pass unscathed through its territory! The boat rocks and sways precariously with the ebb of the tide. My face displays the feeling in one beaming grin as butterflies swirl around my chest. Maybe boat rides aren’t so bad?

Numerous islands lie scattered around me. They are splotches of paint dashed across a living canvas. Skaw! skaw! seagulls cry overhead. We’re sailing into a cove, protected by tree-clad slopes on one side and a sandy spit on the other. Clunk. The boat berths alongside the jetty. I grin in the anticipation of a calming dip in warm mineral waters.

A luxury Nordic spa resort sits nestled into the hillside. I gaze at curtains of mist floating up from its warm cleansing waters before dissipating amongst needles of surrounding fir trees. I’m looking forward to unwinding and reflecting as I spend the remainder of my holiday in this idyllic setting. I may even start dreaming of what I could do next…