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Independent writing of the week!

Really hard to choose this week, so I’m going to post these three by Jemima, Kieron and Sophie, but implore you to check out the rest of Year Six’s work on their pages!


I stare at the ceiling, remembering the cruel days of 1941, under the petrifying World War II skies.
The clouds of thick, choking dust fill my throat; it leaves a layer of everlasting grime. Bombs go off in the distance, deafening my ears. Screams of pure terror burn my brain, igniting my own flame of anxiety. In the middle of No-man’s-land, miles behind the front line, I drag my feet through the sticky, squelchy mud.
Shrapnel flies around everywhere as I sprint to the only place with temporary cover. The stench of rotting flesh threatens to take over my nose. Our olive-green suits camouflage in the disgusting bog that we, half-heartedly, call home. Will I ever go back to my real home? I meet my friend- Arthur, who is also cowering behind the jeopardized wall- and prepare to attack. It calms me to know I’m not alone. ‘On three,’ he says,’1, 2, 3!’ He launches himself out in front of the brick wall, readying himself to shoot. Only someone else got there first. Arthur bounces back from the wall, letting go of his gun. I run forward. Kneeling down, he’s holding my hand so tightly like there’s no tomorrow. There is no tomorrow for him. He stares into my eyes as he inhales his last breath. His body stops moving. He’s gone. Under the horrific World War II skies, that look like a three-year-old has scribbled on a once white canvas, I’m left alone with my best friend lying helplessly at my knees.


A flashback. I look up and see a gloomy sky as I notice my head has my old medic hat on it. The screams of pain and agony fill my ears. Somebody shouts out “over here!” thick chalky gunpowder fills the air making my voice come out weak “I’m coming.”
As I sprint over to the person I think a load of questions like: what am I doing here? What am I doing in the present? Although they were good questions I decide to keep concentrated on the task at hand. Thick fog consumes the barren landscape making it impossible to see a thing. Deafening screeches of aeroplanes almost burst my ears. I collapse onto the floor. A man drags me and leans me against a hard rocky wall. I quickly recover and stand up. A horrifying whistling noise followed by screams of people, forces my instincts to work as I go to ground.
Explosions hit the stone-cold ground as I look over to my comrade and check my medical supplies. As I am checking I say “who are you?”
“My names John I have a wife and kids at home -I can’t wait till I get back.”
“Sound lovely” I say as I nod to him saying that I have all my supplies. Gunfire equals the sound of bullets, meaning death. I look over to my comrade but I find him on the floor bleeding out. Adrenaline fills my veins as I take the soldier’s gun. i shoot and kill three German soldiers. I drag the body to cover, like the thousands of soldiers in the German trenches. I take a moment to think what have I done? But I then realized what I did, I avenged a good man.


Once again vivid memories come flooding into view; I’m a young boy of five. Kneeling on the polished oak floor, arms wide open in expectancy, my father presents me with a long shimmering silver box. The gift is held securely in by a sapphire coloured ribbon- my most favourite colour. An air of delightful mystery envelopes it. Gasping in surprise, I wait in almost painful anticipation. My parents whispering, I gently lay the gift on the floor. “What could possibly by inside it?” I quietly murmur to myself. Exited and full of impatient wonder I begin prizing the lid off.

Gazing in wonder at my new hobby horse I carefully study every inch of its gleaming body, golden curls cascade down its ebony frame. “Could this be the best toy?” I ask myself. Lifting it up towards me, I hug it tightly. As I delicately trace my finger along it, the horse sits in my hands.

Thanking my father I prepare to ride my new toy; my eyes widen with long awaited joy. Like a horse I run around the room neighing and rearing. We will never be parted.


Dropping my beloved old hobby horse, my grandson jumps onto the stool with me. The music still plays while I watch him with loving eyes; he plays the final note.

Owls Homework 22.4.16

Your task this week is to watch this part of the video and add words, phrases and sentences in the present tense to the padlet below.


Owls Homework 15.4.16

Your assignment is to watch this video clip and write a 1st person, present tense description of it, focussing on describing the scene as if to someone who hasn’t seen it. Focus on the character’s thoughts and feelings as well as his surroundings.

Success criteria:

  1. I can maintain a consistent (present) tense
  2. I can include description using quality vocabulary
  3. I can use a variety of sentence types
  4. I can use hyphens
  5. I can use possessive apostrophes

Post your work ON YOUR OWN BLOG PAGE! Good luck!

Owls Homework!

OwlhwkHere is Owls’ homework for the holiday! Work your way across the board-but don’t forget to get it signed off!

Writing of the Week

This week’s top piece of writing, which includes speech rules, a plethora of sentence types and forms of punctuation, is from Martha.

Inside a most ugly sight lay before me; grime-covered doors stood patiently waiting to be opened once more. AA worn-out persian carpet lay dejected, forgotten on the hard, paneled floor, threadbare in places from thousands of steps trod onto it. An aged bookcase sat in the corner of the room; some of the books, bound with leather, were unmarked.

“Let’s explore!” Jemima said, wiping her feet on the doormat.

“No!” I groaned cautiously.

An antiquated lamp lay on its side ontop of the fragmented bookcase; vast cobwebs hung from ceiling, decorating the bare wooden slats, stretching to the floor.

“Hello, anyone home?” I called, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

“No one’s going to answer even if they could hear you, silly!” Jemima joked with some-what of a desperate plea in her voice.

I ignored her- she dragged me into this and now she was making fun of me, what kind of a friend was she? A battered hatstand was sprawledacross the floor. A menicing creak ecoed around the room. Jemima clutched my arm. Suddenly a door flew open with a bang! I screamed.

A dark out line of a figure blocked most of the light from the hallway.

“Well, well I think you have some explaining to do, don’t you?” said a voice.

A new year for Tydd St Mary Primary!

Here you can find the best pieces of writing from Owls Class! Stay tuned!


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