St. George's School

This poem recently won the prestigious Keats Shelley Poetry competition.

Ode to a Land in Which I Should Belong

I was never born in the land of my father
where the black-haired and black-eyed
pale full-moon faced, my mirrors, live.
I’ve often wished, in fact, to hear
the topaz autumn talking; the same autumn my mother
fell in love with. Or witness those famous white winters,
when my grandpa’s garden becomes a single
swirling snowflake.

I breathe car exhaust in the middle of a blind crowd.
summers as a stranger stuck alone
in the awakened part of this sleepy land. Not
a single spring spent counting the petals
of the blooming pink.
people, my similars, too busy
to notice I’m different. And I long
for the land of my father to smile at me and welcome me
with her autumn chatter and winter embrace. Until then
I’ll keep being the usual foreigner, lodging at the nearest hotel.

by B L (Age 16) Overall Winner

Terre Lontane

Terre lontane qua,
terre lontane là,
terre lontane ovunque.

Da qui sei una formica,
ma sei grande come una balena
e nessuno può dire che piccolo sei.

Terre lontane,
terre lontane,
sei l’amica di tutte le terre.

by M X (Age 10) Winner of the 2nd Prize (Juniors)

Untouchable

A door opening to present a child,
A boy of four
His face not showing the pleasantness of youth
Its scars go deep into the core
Of his body,
His soul
Hazel eyes squinting at his new surroundings
Not a place to be called home
The expression upon his face
Is tightly screwed up,
His chapped lips slightly puckered
From the cold
From the discomfort he has felt in his short life.
Fingers squeezing into his palm’s flesh
He does not want to let go of his
Secrets
They’re so strongly pressed into his memory
To forget
He puts up this invisibility boundary between anything and anyone who tries
To reach him
Untouchable
You can’t see it
But you can feel it,
The greatest resistance ever known to you.
Raising a hand and placing it on his pink cheek.
He twitches, about to pull away.
He has been slapped many times.
‘Shh…,’ a whisper.
‘It’s time to let go.’
A pearl of moisture forms in the corner of one of those hazel eyes.
It’s a start.

by A K (age 14) Winner of the Second Prize (Seniors)

 

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Pastoral Issues

We think that St. George's is at the perfect size for a school. It is a compromise between the amount of individual attention a pupil can get and being large enough to run abmitious music, drama and sport events.

When I arrrived at St. George's as Deputy Head,from a much larger school I was struck by the way that everyone knows everyone. If I am looking for Patrick, for example, I can speak to the first pupil I see in any year group and ask. They will know Patrick and probably have seen him recently!

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Year 9 recently had an outdoor poetry workshop with their teacher, Mrs Gutelan-Bastide. Read more

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