SET PIECES 2015

THE BETTY MASSIP DE TURVILLE VOUCHER – FIRST TIME EVER

6 years

CHOICE A IF YOU SHOULD MEET A CROCODILE . . . by Anon

If you should meet a crocodile,

Don’t take a stick and poke him;

Ignore the welcome in his smile,

Be careful not to stroke him.

For as he sleeps upon the Nile,

He thinner gets and thinner;

And whene’er you meet a crocodile

He’s ready for his dinner.

CHOICE B SNOWBALL by Shel Silverstein

I made myself a snowball

As perfect as could be.

I thought I’d keep it as a pet

And let it sleep with me.

I made it some pajamas

And a pillow for its head.

Then last night it ran away,

But first – it wet the bed.

Age

THE BETTY MASSIP DE TURVILLE VOUCHER - FIRST TIME EVER

Age 7 years

CHOICE A A DRAGON IN THE CLASSROOM by Charles Thomson

There’s a dragon in the classroom: its body is a box, its head’s a plastic waste-bin, its eyes are broken clocks, its legs are cardboard tubes, its claws are toilet rolls, its tongue’s my dad’s old tie

(that’s why it’s full of holes).

‘Oh, what a lovely dragon,’ our teacher smiled and said,

’You are a pretty dragon,’ she laughed and stroked its head.

‘Oh no, I’m not,’ he snorted,

SNAP! SNAP! he moved his jaw and chased our screaming teacher along the corridor.

CHOICE B UNDER THE STAIRS by Daphne Lister

I don’t like the cupboard

Under the stairs.

It reminds me of caves

And dragons’ lairs.

So I never look in

Once it is night,

In case I should get

A nasty fright.

I’m silly I know

‘Cos it’s only small

There wouldn’t be room

For a dragon, at all.

But even in daytime

It gives me the scares

To go past the cupboard

Under the stairs.

THE BETTY MASSIP DE TURVILLE VOUCHER - FIRST TIME EVER

CHOICE A CAT by Vernon Scannell

My cat has got no name,

We simply call him Cat;

He doesn’t seem to blame

Anyone for that.

For he is not like us

Who often I’m afraid,

Kick up quite a fuss

If our names are mislaid.

As if, without a name,

We’d be no longer there

But like a tiny flame

Vanish in bright air.

My pet, he doesn’t care

About such things as that:

Black buzz and golden stare

Require no name but Cat.

CHOICE B LOVE A DUCK by Roger McGough

I love a duck called Jack

He’s my very favourite pet

But last week he took poorly

So I took him to the vet.

The vet said: ‘Lad, the news is bad,

Your duck has lost its quack

And there’s nowt veterinary science

Can do to bring it back.’

A quackless duck? What thankless luck!

Struck dumb without a word

Rendered mute like a bunged-up flute

My splendid, tongue-tied bird.

All day now on the duvet

He sits and occasionally sighs

Dreaming up a miracle

A faraway look in his eyes.

Like an orphan for his mother

Like a maiden for her lover

Waiting silently is Jack

For the gab to come back

For the gift of tongues that goes …

Age 8

THE BETTY MASSIP DE TURVILLE VOUCHER - FIRST TIME EVER Age 9

CHOICE A MY SHADOW by Robert Louis Stevenson

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow –

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see;

I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

CHOICE B STRANGEWAYS by Roger McGough

Granny’s canary

Escaped form its cage

It’s up on the roof

In a terrible rage

Hurling abuse

And making demands

That granny fails

To understand

‘Lack of privacy’

‘Boring old food’

It holds up placards

Painted and rude

It’s not coming down

The canary warns

Till gran carries out

Major reforms

The message has spread

And now for days

Cage-birds have been acting

In very strange ways.

THE BETTY MASSIP DE TURVILLE VOUCHER - FIRST TIME EVER

Age 10 to 11

CHOICE A OH, PLEASE … by Rowena Sommerville

Oh, please – let me be in your team, let mine be the name that you pick, don’t leave me to mope at the edge of the field, resenting each jump and each kick;

I promise, I’ll run like the wind,

I’ll twist and I’ll turn and I’ll pass,

I’ll dazzle defenders with sparkle and speed, you won’t see my boots touch the grass;

Or maybe, I’ll play at the back, as solid and strong as a wall, frustrating all forwards who dare to attempt the slightest approach with the ball;

But – each time they play, it’s the same,

I’m left on the line, in the cold, they never allow me to join in the game, they always say,

‘Gran, you’re too old!’


Age 10 to 11

CHOICE B TURN OFF THE TV! by Bruce Lansky

My father gets quite mad at me; my mother gets upset –

When they catch me watching

Our new television set.

My father yells, “Turn that thing off!”

Mom says, “It’s time to study.”

I’d rather watch my favorite TV show with my best buddy.

I sneak down after homework and turn the set on low.

But when she sees me watching it, my mother yells out, “No!”

Dad says, “if you don’t turn it off,

I’ll hang it from a tree!”

I rather doubt he’ll do it,

‘cause he watches more than me.

He watches sports all weekend,

And weekday evenings too,

While munching chips and pretzels –

The room looks like a zoo.

So if he ever got the nerve

To hang it from a tree

He’d spend a lot of time up there –

Watching it with me.


Age 12 to 14

CHOICE A

THERE’S SOMEONE by Benjamin Zephaniah

It may not be the one you’re with

They may not have much love to give,

It may not be the girl next door

Or that nice boy on the first floor,

It may not be the friend you taught

Who helps you out when you’re distraught,

You may not know this one that well

But there’s someone who loves you.

It may not be the one you kissed

It may not be the one you’ve missed,

You may think someone is your friend

But then you find that they pretend,

When you are down and you are out

When you’re in tears, sad, and in doubt,

Life may feel like a living hell

But there’s someone who loves you.


Age 12 to 14

CHOICE B

WIND by Ted Hughes

This house has been far out at sea all night,

The woods crashing through the darkness, the booming hills,

Winds stampeding the fields under the window

Floundering black astride and blinding wet

Till day rose; then under an orange sky

The hills had new places, and wind wielded

Blade-light, luminous and emerald,

Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.

At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as

The coal-house door. I dared once to look up –

Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes

The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,

The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,

At any second to bang and vanish with a flap:

The wind flung a magpie away and a black-

Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house

Rang like some fine green goblet in the note

That any second would shatter it. Now deep

In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip

Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,

Or each other. We watch the fire blazing,

And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,

Seeing the window tremble to come in,

Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.

THE SABEY TROPHY - Verse Speaking for Girls Age 6 to 7

CHOICE A GOOD MORNING, MR CROCO-DOCO-DILE by Charles Causley

Good Morning, Mr Croco-doco-dile,

And how are you today?

I like to see your croco-smoco-smile,

In your croco-woco-way.

From the tip of your beautiful croco-toco-tail,

To your croco-hoco-head,

You seem to me so croco-stoco-still,

As if you are croco-doco-dead.

Perhaps if I touch your croco-cloco-claw,

Or your croco-snoco-snout,

Or get up to your croco-joco-jaw,

I shall very soon find out,

But suddenly I croco-soco-see,

In your croco-oco-eye,

A curious kind of croco-gloco-gleam,

So I just don’t think I’ll try.

Forgive me, Mr Croco-doco-dile,

But it’s time I was away,

Let’s talk a little croco-woco-while,

Another croco-doco-day.

CHOICE B

THE WITCH by Percy H Ilott

I saw her plucking cowslips,

And marked her where she stood:

She never knew I watched her

While hiding in the wood.

Her skirt was brightest crimson,

And black her steeple hat,

Her broomstick lay beside her –

I’m positive of that.

Her chin was sharp and pointed,

Her eyes were – I don’t know –

For, when she turned towards me –

I thought it best – to go!

THE SABEY TROPHY - Verse Speaking for Girls Age 8 to 9

CHOICE A MAD WEATHER WE’RE HAVING by Kaye Umansky

It’s raining cats and dogs again,

It said so on the news.

Last Sunday it rained penguins.

On Monday, kangaroos.

On Tuesday, it was froggy,

On Wednesday, cold as mice,

On Thursday, it snowed polar bears

(Which wasn’t very nice).

Friday was a fowl day,

Saturday was bats,

And now we’re back to Sunday

With a load more dogs and cats.

I’d like to stay here talking

But I’m soaked right to the skin.

Now it’s blowing up a buffalo!

I think I’m going in.

CHOICE B MARMALADE by Peter Dixon

He’s buried in the bushes, with dockleaves round his grave,

A crimecat desperado and his name was Marmalade.

He’s the cat that caught the pigeon, that stole the neighbour’s meat . . . and tore the velvet curtains and stained the satin seat.

He’s the cat that spoilt the laundry, he’s the cat that spilt the stew, and chased the lady’s poodle and scratched her daughter too.

But –

No more we’ll hear his cat flap, or scratches at the door, or see him at the window, or hear his catnap snore,

So –

Ring his grave with pebbles, erect a noble sign –

For here lies Marmalade and Marmalade was MINE.

THE TREVOR MATTHEWS’ CUP - Verse Speaking for Girls Age 10 to 11

CHOICE A TESTING by Bob Sparrow

“Flies taste with their feet.”

They said on T.V.

I thought I’d give it a try

And walked barefoot

On the early morning lawn.

I was surprised to find

That I could make distinctions

Even with my eyes shut.

Green blades on young grass

Were juicy like coarse chopped spinach

And thistle points were hot pin-pricks

Of grains of pepper.

Buttercups were a disappointment

So many shiny sweet wrappings,

All colour and no flavour,

And daisies kept their heads down

Not giving much away

But I really enjoyed the moss.

Full of nice chewy but gentle scrunchiness.

Dad said my brain needed testing,

So I stood on my head.

But that didn’t work.


CHOICE B WATCH YOUR FRENCH by Kit Wright

When my mum tipped a panful of red-hot fat

Over her foot, she did quite a little chat,

And I won’t tell you what she said

But it wasn’t:

‘Fancy that!

I must try in future to be far more careful

With this red-hot scalding fat!’

When my dad fell over and landed – splat! –

With a trayful of drinks (he’d tripped over the cat)

I won’t tell you what he said

But it wasn’t:

‘Fancy that!

I must try in the future to be far more careful

To step round our splendid cat!’

When Uncle Joe brought me a cowboy hat

Back from the States, the dog stomped it flat,

And I won’t tell you what I said

But Mum and Dad yelled:

‘STOP THAT!

Where did you learn that appalling language?

Come on. Where?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ I said,

‘No idea.’


CHOICE C THE ALCHEMIST by Gareth Owen

There’s a mysterious light

Burns all through the night

In that house where some people say

The alchemist dwells

With books full of spells

And a cat who scares children away.

Some say that he lives

In that house all alone

Some say he has claws and a beak

Some say he keeps rats

And vampire bats

And a raven he’s taught how to speak.

And the children play dare:

‘I dare you to spy

Through the dust on his window pane.’

They say those who dare

To enter his lair

Have never been seen again.

They say that his furnace

Turns iron and bronze

Into ingots of glistening gold.

They say if you take

The powder he makes

You’ll never fall sick or grow old.

Some say he’s a wizard

Some say he’s a saint

Some say he eats toads for his tea

So I don’t think I’ll pay

Him a visit today

For fear he should want to eat me.


CHOICE A I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back

Of the wind and floats downstream

Till the current ends and dips his wing

In the orange suns rays

And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage

Can seldom see through his bars of rage

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill

Of things unknown but longed for still

And his tune is heard on the distant hill for

The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

And the trade winds soft through

The sighing trees

And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright

Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams

His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with

A fearful trill of things unknown

But longed for still and his

Tune is heard on the distant hill

For the caged bird sings of freedom.


CHOICE B LOOK AFTER YOUR TEETH by Gez Walsh

I had to go to the dentist today,

Mum says that I eat too many sweets,

Which has caused me to have tooth decay.

When I was sat in the dentist’s waiting for them to call my name,

I was shaking with fear

And my tooth was in pain.

The reception lady said,

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

But then she would say that, wouldn’t she

Because he’s not going to drill her teeth,

He’s going to drill mine.

Then I heard the words

Which filled me with fear,

“He’s ready for you now,

Can you just come through here.”

As I walked into the dentist’s lair,

My legs started shaking as I caught sight of the chair.

The dentist he said, “Climb into the chair

And open your mouth wide.

I won’t be a second, then I’ll have a look inside.”

So the dentist leaned over and looked in my mouth.

He said “Ah, it’s the back tooth that’s the problem,

I’m afraid it will have to come out.”

The dentist moved in closer,

I could smell his bad breath.

He picked up a needle

Which scared me to death.

He said, “Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.”

I wondered if he would say that,

If I was sticking it in him.

As the needle went into my gums,

I felt a sharp prick,

A lump came to my throat,

I started to feel sick.

Then I had to wait a few minutes

For my mouth to go numb.

Then my teeth started to itch

And I couldn’t feel my tongue.

The dentist put a clamp on my tooth,

And gave it a pull.

I grabbed hold of the chair

And took a big gulp.

Then the dentist smiled and said

“That’s it, all done.

Now rinse out your mouth to clean up your gums.”

So I rinsed out my mouth,

Into the sink,

With a funny tasting liquid,

Which was a deep shade of pink.

So that was it,

Everything all done.

I walked out with spit on my chin

And my face all numb.

So let this be a warning to all you kids out there,

Don’t eat too much chocolate,

And of your teeth take care!


CHOICE C DREAMING THE UNICORN by Tony Mitton

I dreamed I saw the Unicorn last night.

It rippled through the forest, pearly white, breathing a moonlit silence,

Its single horn stood shining like a lance.

I saw it toss its head and snort and prance and paw the midnight air.

Its mane was like a mass of silver hair.

My mind was wild, unclear.

I could not think or speak.

Above my head, I heard the branches creak and then, from where I stood,

I watched it flicker off into the wood,

Into the velvet space between the trees.

A sudden rush of rapid midnight breeze, that felt both chill and deep, awoke me from my sleep, and there upon the pillow by my head

I found a strand of shining silver thread.

I kept that strand of mane,

I kept it, still,

Inside a box upon my window sill.

And when the world hangs heavy on my brain,

It helps me dream the Unicorn again.


CHOICE A CLOUDS by Elizabeth Jennings

Have you watched the clouds this year?

Have you noticed the many changes, the diverse colours, the drift

And dance and jump and falling away? Have you seen

The gallant scarlet, the gentle pink, the sky

Black and purple and almost green and always

Turning inside out,

Turning and twisting and writhing and seldom still?

But when it is a glory, a feast galore,

It is like the rolling over of foam on the shore,

It is like a mountain-range, the Alps, maybe,

It is what you want to see.

And what you never imagined could be, it is

A glamour, a glory of air, such bold sunsets,

Such rising up in the East. A folding of clouds

Is kind to the eyes, is a painted lullaby.

And there are few words to say why

Colours and ruffs and bubbles and bold balloons

Take our hearts, lift our spirits and glow

In our faster-beating hearts, in our minds also.

We need new words for the sky.


CHOICE B MY SISTER BETTY by Gareth Owen

My sister Betty said,

‘I’m going to be a famous actress,’

Last year she was going to be a missionary.

‘Famous actresses always look unhappy but beautiful,’

She said, pulling her mouth sideways

And making her eyes turn upwards

So they were mostly white.

‘Do I look unhappy but beautiful?’

‘I want to go to bed and read,’ I said.

‘Famous actresses suffer and have hysterics,’ she said.

‘I’ve been practicing my hysterics.’

She began going very red and screaming

So that it hurt my ears.

She hit herself on the head with her fists

And rolled off my bed onto the lino.

I stood by the wardrobe where it was safer.

She got up saying, ‘Thank you, thank you,’

And bowed to the four corners of my bedroom.

‘Would you like an encore of hysterics?’ she said,

‘No,’ I said from inside the wardrobe.

There was fluff all over her vest.

‘If you don’t clap enthusiastically,’ she said,

‘I’ll put your light out when you’re reading.’

While I clapped a bit

She bowed and shouted, ‘More, more!’

Auntie Gwladys shouted upstairs,

‘Go to bed and stop teasing Betty.’

‘The best thing about being a famous actress’ Betty said,

‘Is that you get to die a lot.’

She fell to the floor with a crash

And lay there for an hour and a half

With her eyes staring at the ceiling.

She only went away when I said,

‘You really look like a famous actress

Who’s unhappy but beautiful.’

When I got into bed and started reading,

She came and switched off my light.

It’s not much fun

Having a famous actress for a sister.


CHOICE C GUNPOWDER PLOT by Vernon Scannell

For days these curious cardboard buds have lain

In brightly coloured boxes. Soon the night

Will come. We pray there’ll be no sullen rain

To make these magic orchids flame less bright.

Now in the garden’s darkness they begin

To flower : the frenzied whizz of Catherine-wheel

Puts forth its fiery petals and the thin

Rocket soars to burst upon the steel

Bulwark of a cloud. And then the guy,

Absurdly human phoenix, is again

Gulped by greedy flames : the harvest sky

Is flecked with threshed and glittering golden grain.

‘Uncle! A cannon! Watch me as I light it!’

The women helter-skelter, squealing high,

Retreat ; the paper fuse is quickly lit,

A cat-like hiss, and spit of fire, a sly

Falter, then the air is shocked with blast.

The cannon bangs and in my nostrils drifts

A bitter scent that brings the lurking past

Lurching to my side. The present shifts,

Allows a ten-year memory to walk

Unhindered now ; and so I’m forced to hear

The banshee howl of mortar and the talk

Of men who died, am forced to taste my fear.

I listen for a moment to the guns,

The torn earth’s grunts, recalling how I prayed.

The past retreats. I hear a corpse’s sons –

‘Who’s scared of bangers!’ ‘Uncle! John’s afraid!’

THE PARSLOW TROPHY - Verse Speaking for Boys Age 6 to 7

CHOICE A YOU CAN’T MAKE ME EAT THAT by Jack Prelutsky

You can’t make me eat that, it’s slimy and gooey and icky and yucky and greasy and gluey.

It looks like you made it from maggots and mud, some chopped hippopotamus, bugs heads and blood.

I hate it, I hate it,

I hate it to bits!

Just thinking about it is giving me fits.

One taste and I’m certain

I’ll instantly die . . .

You can’t make me eat that,

So don’t even try.

CHOICE B

THE MAN WHO INVENTED FOOTBALL by Kit Wright

The man who invented football,

He must have been dead clever,

He hadn’t even a football shirt

Or any clothes whatever.

The man who invented soccer,

He hadn’t even a ball

Or boots, but only his horny feet

And a bison’s skull, that’s all.

The man who invented football,

To whom our hats we doff,

Had only the sun for a yellow card

And death to send him off

The cave-mouth was the goal-mouth,

The wind was the referee,

When the man who did it did it

In 30,000 BC!

THE PARSLOW TROPHY - Verse Speaking for Boys Age 8 to 9

CHOICE A FOUR O’CLOCK FRIDAY by John Foster

Four o’clock Friday, I’m home at last.

Time to forget the week that’s past.

On Monday, in break they stole my ball

And threw it over the playground wall.

On Tuesday afternoon, in games,

They threw mud at me and called me names.

On Wednesday, they trampled my books on the floor,

So Miss kept me in because I swore.

On Thursday, they laughed after the test

‘Cause my marks were lower that the rest.

Four o’clock Friday, at last I’m free,

For two whole days they can’t get at me.

CHOICE B I DON’T WANT TO SHRINK by Robin Mellor

I don’t want to get smaller,

I don’t want to shrink, if I wash too much I’ll be washed down the sink.

Mum keeps on saying

“Go and have a good wash.” but if I’m clean all the time

I’ll look shiny and posh.

Have you seen what happens to soap in the bath? it gets smaller and smaller, no . . . don’t laugh, it isn’t funny to be washed away, to get withered and wrinkled, to disappear down the sink.

I don’t want to get smaller,

Dirt does me no harm,

I don’t want to shrink. Anyway,

Dirt keeps me warm.

THE ENID LE FEUVRE CUP - Verse Speaking for Boys Age 10 to 11

CHOICE A SKIMPILY RED by Celia Gentles

I’ve never seen Miss Nixon so flustered or so vexed as when I saw her picking up a pair of pants in Next.

Miss Nixon’s rather strict and prim.

She teaches us R.E.

The knickers she was purchasing were silk and r-e-d.

I grinned at her. She put them back, looked guilty as a thief.

I couldn’t help but notice

They were very, very brief.

Her eyes met mine. She gave me such a long hard icy stare,

And said ‘Will Johnson! Why are you

In Ladies Underwear?’

As scarlet as those skimpy pants

I felt my face grow red.

Then Mum looked up, peered round

the stand.

‘My son’s with me,’ she said.


CHOICE B TIGER by Leslie Norris

He stalks in his vivid stripes

The few steps of his cage,

On pads of velvet quiet,

In his quiet rage.

He should be lurking in shadow

Sliding through long grass,

Near the water hole

Where plump deer pass.

He should be snarling around houses

At the jungle’s edge,

Baring his white fangs, his claws,

Terrorizing the village!

But he’s locked in a concrete cell,

His strength behind bars,

Stalking the length of his cage,

Ignoring visitors.

He hears the last voice at night,

The patrolling cars,

And stares with his brilliant eyes

At the brilliant stars.

CHOICE C A TEENAGE HIPPOPOTAMUS by Jack Prelutsky

A teenage hippopotamus is living overhead.

I hear him every morning when he bumbles out of bed.

He crashes through his living room

And makes my ceiling shake.

A teenage hippopotamus

Is very hard to take.

That teenage hippopotamus

Is louder than a train.

He loves to blast his radio,

It’s driving me insane.

He keeps it on around the clock,

It blares and blares and blares –

I’m moving to the place next door,

Where lions live upstairs.

THE ENID LE FEUVRE CUP - Verse Speaking for Boys Age 12 to 14

CHOICE A INVICTUS by W.E. Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods maybe

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced or cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.


CHOICE B BAD DAY AT THE ARK by Roger McGough

On the eleventh morning

Japheth burst into the cabin;

‘Dreadful news, everybody, the tigers have eaten the bambanolas!’

‘Oh, not the bambanolas,’ cried Mrs Noah.

‘But they were my favourites, all cuddly and furry and such beautiful brown eyes.’

Noah took her hand in his,

‘Momma, not only were they cute but they could sing and dance and speak seven languages.’

‘And when baked, their dung was delicious.’ added Shem wistfully.

Everybody agreed that the earth

Would be a poorer place without the bambanolas.

Noah determined to look on the bright side.

‘At least we still have the quinquasaurapods.’

‘Oh yes, the darling creatures,’ said his wife.

‘How would be manage without them?’

On deck, one quinquasaurapod was steering, cooking, fishing, doing a crossword and finding a cure for cancer.

The other was being stalked by a tiger.


CHOICE C IF by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired of waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;

If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!


CHOICE A RECRUITING by E.A. Mackintosh

‘Lads, you’re wanted, go and help,’

On the railway carriage wall

Stuck the poster, and I thought

Of the hands that penned the call.

Fat civilians wishing they

‘Could go and fight the Hun.’

Can’t you see them thanking God

That they’re over forty-one?

Girls with feathers, vulgar songs –

Washy verse on England’s need –

God – and don’t we damned well know

How the message ought to read.

‘Lads, you’re wanted! Over there,’

Shiver in the morning dew,

More poor devils like yourselves

Waiting to be killed by you.

Go and help to swell the names

In the casualty lists.

Helps to make the column’s stuff

For the blasted journalists,

Help to keep them nice and safe

From the wicked German foe.

Don’t let him come over here!

‘Lads, you’re wanted – out you go.!

There’s a better word than that,

Lads, and can’t you hear it come

From a million men that call

You to share their martyrdom?

Leave the harlots still to sing

Comic songs about the Hun,

Leave the fat old men to say

Now we’ve got them on the run.

Better twenty honest years

Than their dull three score and ten,

Lads, you’re wanted. Come and learn

To live and die with honest men.

You shall learn what men can do

If you will but pay the price,

Learn the gaiety and strength

In the gallant sacrifice.

Take your risk of life and death

Underneath the open sky.

Live clean – or go out quick

Lads, you’re wanted. Come and die.


CHOICE B ‘I AM’ by John Clare

I am – yet what I am, none cares or knows;

My friends forsake me like a memory lost:-

I am the self-consumer of my woes; -

They rise and vanish in oblivion’s host,

Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes:-

And yet I am, and live – like vapours tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, -

Into the living sea of waking dreams,

Where there is neither sense of life or joys,

But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;

Even the dearest, that I love the best

Are strange – nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes, where man hath never trod

A place where woman never smiled or wept

There to abide with my Creator, God;

And sleep as I in childhood, sweetly slept,

Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,

The grass below – above, the vaulted sky.

CHOICE C OZYMANDIAS by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal these words appear:

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.’

THE AHIER FAMILY TROPHY - Prose Speaking for Girls Age 9

I BELIEVE IN UNICORNS by Michael Morpurgo

“It wasn’t Noah’s fault, nor his children’s, nor his grandchildren’s. They were all busy down below feeding the animals in the ark. They didn’t see, they didn’t know that high on a nearby mountain top watching the ark drift right past them, stood the last two unicorns left alive on this earth. How they neighed and whinnied. How they reared up and pawed the air with their hooves. They tossed their heads and shook their manes, but it was no use. All too soon the ark had disappeared over the horizon. So the unicorns were left there stranded on the mountain top in the wind and rain, with nothing all around them but the heaving sea. Lightning forked and flashed through the clouds. Thunder rolled and rumbled around the world. Twisting tornadoes whipped the sea into a frenzy of fury. The great flood was spreading out over all the Earth and drowning it.

“As for the poor, stranded unicorns, the waters rose and rose around them until first their hooves were covered, then their backs, so that in the end, like it or not, they simply had to swim. They swam and they swam for hours, for days, for weeks. Then at last, at long last, the rain stopped, and the skies cleared above them. But still there was no land in sight. The unicorns swam on and on, hoping always to find land. But they never did.

THE AHIER FAMILY TROPHY - Prose Speaking for Girls Age 10 to 11

THE TALKING PARCEL by Gerald Durrell

‘What have you found?’ asked Simon, stretching himself.

‘A parcel,’ said Penelope. ‘A large parcel.’

‘Good heavens,’ groaned Peter. ‘Is that all you’ve woken us up for?’

‘What’s so unusual about a parcel?’ asked Simon

‘Have you ever found a parcel that talks?’ asked Penelope, sarcastically. ‘It’s not the sort of thing that’s happened to me very often.’

‘Talks?’ spluttered Peter, wide awake now. ‘Talks? You must be imagining things.

You’ve got sunstroke.’

‘A talking parcel?’ said Simon. ‘You must be joking.’

‘I’m not joking, neither have I got sunstroke,’ said Penelope angrily. ‘And what’s more it talks in two voices.’

The boys stared at her. She was obviously not joking, and equally obviously she had not got sunstroke. ‘I say, Penny,’ said Simon uneasily, ‘are you sure you are not imagining things?’

Penelope stamped with vexation. ‘Of course I’m not,’ she whispered vehemently.

‘You’re both so stupid. It’s a parcel with two voices and it’s talking to itself. If you don’t believe me, come and see.’

THE BELFORD CUP - Prose Speaking for Girls Age 12 to 14

THE BUTTERFLY LION by Michael Morpurgo

As we walked the lion down the village street, Bertie leaning on the lion, me pushing Monsieur Merlot in the wheelchair, the crowd parted in front of us and backed away. Then they began to follow us, at a discreet distance, of course, up the road towards Bertie’s hospital. Someone must have gone on ahead to warn them, because we could now see a huddle of doctors and nurses gathered on the front steps and there were people peering out of every window.

As we came up to the hospital, an officer stepped forward, a colonel it was.

Bertie saluted. “Sir,” he began, “Monsieur Merlot here is a very old friend of mine. He will need a bed in the hospital. He’s in need of rest, sir, and a lot of good food. The same goes for the lion. So I wondered, sir, if you’d mind if we used the walled garden behind the hospital. There’s a shed in there where the lion could sleep. He’d be quite safe, and so would we. I know him. He doesn’t eat people. Monsieur Merlot here has said that if I can feed the lion and take care of him, then I can take him back to England with me.”

“The brass cheek of it!” the colonel spluttered as he came down the steps.

“Who the devil do you think you are anyway?” he said. And that was when he recognized Bertie. “You’re the fellow that won the VC, aren’t you?” he said, suddenly a lot more polite. “Andrew, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, and I want to take the lion back to England when I go. We’ve got somewhere in mind for him to live,” and he turned to me. “Haven’t we?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

It wasn’t at all easy persuading the colonel to agree. He began to soften only when we told him that if we didn’t look after the white lion, no one else would, and then he would have to be taken away and shot. A lion, the symbol of

Britain, shot! Not at all good for morale, Bertie argued. And the colonel listened.

THE BELFORD CUP - Prose Speaking for Girls Age 15 to 17

TRAVELS WITH MY AUNT by Graham Greene

‘I can say now to both of you how relieved I am that everything went without a hitch. I once attended a very important funeral – the wife of a famous man of letters who had not been the most faithful of husbands. It was soon after the first great war had ended, I was living in Brighton, and I was very interested at that time in the Fabians. I had learnt about them from your father when I was a girl. I arrived early as a spectator and I was leaning over the Communion rail

– if you can call it that in a crematorium chapel – trying to make out the names on the wreaths. I was the first there, all alone with the flowers and the coffin.

Wordsworth must forgive me for telling this story at such length – he has heard it before. Let me refresh your glass.’

‘No, no, Aunt Augusta; I have more than enough,;

‘Well, I suppose I was fumbling about a little too much I must have accidentally touched a button. The coffin began to slide away, the doors opened,

I could feel the hot air of the oven and hear the flap of the flames, the coffin went in and the doors closed, and at that very moment in walked the whole grand party, Mr and Mrs Bernard Shaw, Mr H G Wells, Miss E Nesbit (to use her maiden name), Doctor Havelock Ellis, Mr Ramsay MacDonald, and the widower, while the clergyman (non-denominational of course) came through a door on the other side of the rail. Somebody began to play a humanist hymn by Edward

Carpenter, “Cosmos, O Cosmos, Cosmos shall we call Thee?” But there was no coffin.’

‘Whatever did you do, Aunt Augusta?’

‘I buried my face in my handkerchief and simulated grief, but you know I don’t think anyone (except, I suppose, the clergyman and he kept dumb about it) noticed that the coffin wasn’t there. The widower certainly didn’t, but then he hadn’t noticed his wife for some years. Doctor Havelock Ellis made a very moving address (or so it seemed to me then: I hadn’t finally plumped for

Catholicism, though I was on the brink) about the dignity of a funeral service conducted without illusions or rhetoric. He could truthfully have said without a corpse too. Everybody was quite satisfied. You can understand why I was very careful this morning not to fumble.’

THE FLORENCE, LADY TRENT CUP - Prose Speaking for Boys Age 9

FANTASTIC MR FOX by Roald Dahl

While they were talking, the Smallest Fox had sneaked a jar off the shelf and had taken a gulp. “Wow!” he gasped. “Wow-ee!”

You must understand this was not the ordinary weak fizzy cider one buys in a store. It was the real stuff, a home-brewed fiery liquor that burned in your throat and boiled in your stomach.

“Ah-h-h-h-h-h!” gasped the Smallest Fox. “This is some cider!”

“That’s quite enough of that,” said Mr Fox, grabbing the jar and putting it to his own lips. He took a tremendous gulp. “It’s miraculous!” he whispered, fighting for breath. “It’s fabulous! It’s beautiful!”

“It’s my turn,” said Badger, taking the jar and tilting his head well back. The cider gurgled and bubbled down his throat. “It’s . . . it’s like melted gold!” he gasped “Oh, Foxy it’s . . . like drinking sunbeams and rainbows!”

“You’re poaching!” shrieked Rat. “Put that down at once! There’ll be none left for me!” Rat was perched upon the highest shelf in the cellar, peering out from behind a huge jar. There was a small rubber tube inserted in the neck of the jar, and Rat was using this tube to suck out the cider.

“You’re drunk!” said Mr Fox.

THE FLORENCE, LADY TRENT CUP - Prose Speaking for Boys Age 10 to 11

FACE by Benjamin Zephaniah

He controlled his eyelids, opening them just enough to let his eyes get used to the idea of light. His eyelids flickered. For a moment he stared at his own eyelashes and as he continued his slow opening, he heard a scream.

”Aaarrrgh, Clive, he’s waking up, I saw his eyes. Move, Clive, he’s waking up.”

“OK, Wendy. It’s all right,” Martin’s father said in a whisper.

Martin opened his eyes fully. At first he looked straight ahead. He could see clearly but he could not see much, only the hospital ceiling. He closed his eyes once more; now he started a body check. He moved his toes, and tensed his calf muscles and his thigh muscles. He moved his whole left leg no more than a quarter of an inch and then his right leg. It was the smallest of movements but all he wanted to know was that he was in control. By now there was more movement in his fingers, and again, a very small movement of his arms satisfied him. He breathed in deeply and his chest rose. Now Martin opened his eyes again, trying as he did so to raise his eyebrows but there was absolutely no feeling there. He tried to smile but he could feel only a hard skin which he seemed unable to control. He tried to move his jaw from side to side but the skin seemed inflexible and his jaw wouldn’t move.

At this point Martin knew that something terrible had happened to his face.

THE FLORENCE, LADY TRENT CUP Prose Speaking for Boys Age 12 to 14

THE STOWAWAYS by Roger McGough

So we were patient. Very patient. Until after what seemed like hours and hours we decided to eat our rations, which I divided up equally. I gave Midge all the rum and I had all the biscuits. Looking back on it now, that probably wasn’t a good idea, especially for Midge.

What with the rolling of the ship and not having had any breakfast, and the excitement, and a couple of swigs of rum – well you can guess what happened – woooorrppp! All over the place. We pulled back the sheet and decided to give ourselves up. We were too far away at sea now for the captain to turn back.

The worst he could do was to clap us in irons or shiver our timbers.

We climbed down on to the deck and as Midge staggered to the nearest rail to feed the fishes, I looked out to sea hoping to catch sight of a whale, a shoal of dolphins, perhaps see the coast of America coming in to view. And what did I see? The Liver Buildings.

Anyone can make a mistake can’t they I mean, we weren’t to know we’d stowed away on a ferryboat.

One that goes from Liverpool to Birkenhead and back again, toing and froing across the Mersey. We’d done four trips hidden in the lifeboat and ended up back in Liverpool. And we’d only been away about an hour and a half. ‘Ah well, so much for running away to sea,’ we thought as we disembarked (although disembowelled might be a better word as far as Midge was concerned). Rum?

Yuck.

We got the bus home. My mum and dad were having their breakfast. “Aye, aye,; said my dad, ‘’here comes the early bird. And what have you been up to then?’

‘I ran away to sea,’ I said.

‘Mm, that’s nice,’ said my mum, shaking out the cornflakes. ‘That’s nice.’

THE FLORENCE, LADY TRENT CUP - Prose Speaking for Boys Age 15 to 17

From THE KITE RUNNER by Khaled Hosseini

That evening, I climbed the stairs and walked into Baba’s smoking room, in my hands the two sheets of paper on which I had scribbled the story. Baba and

Rahim Khan were smoking pipes and sipping brandy when I came in.

“What is it, Amir?” Baba said, reclining on the sofa and lacing his hands behind his head. Blue smoke swirled around his face. His glare made my throat feel dry. I cleared it and told him I’d written a story.

Baba nodded and gave a thin smile that conveyed little more than feigned interest. “Well, that’s very good, isn’t it?” he said. Then nothing more. He just looked at me through the cloud of smoke.

I probably stood there for under a minute, but, to this day, it was one of the longest minutes of my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the next by an eternity. Air grew heavy, damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks.

Baba went on staring me down, and didn’t offer to read.

As always, it was Rahim Khan who rescued me. He held out his hand and favored me with a smile that had nothing feigned about it. “May I have it, Amir jan? I would very much like to read it.” Baba hardly ever used the term of endearment jan when he addressed me.

Baba shrugged and stood up. He looked relieved, as if he too had been rescued by Rahim Khan. “Yes, give it to Kaka Rahim. I’m going upstairs to get ready.”

And with that, he left the room. Most days I worshiped Baba with an intensity approaching the religious. But right then, I wished I could open my veins and drain his cursed blood from my body.

An hour later, as the evening sky dimmed, the two of them drove off in my father’s car to attend a party. On his way out, Rahim Khan hunkered before me and handed me my story and another folded piece of paper. He flashed a smile and winked. “For you. Read it later.” Then he paused and added a single word that did more to encourage me to pursue writing than any compliment any editor has ever paid me. The word was Bravo.

When they left, I sat on my bed and wished Rahim Khan had been by father.

They I thought of Baba and his great big chest and how good it felt when he held me against it, how he smelled of Brut in the morning, and how his beard tickled my face. I was overcome with such sudden guilt that I bolted to the bathroom and vomited in the sink.

Later that night, curled up in bed, I read Rahim Khan’s note over and over. It read like this:

Amir jan,

I enjoyed your story very much. Mashallah, God has granted you a special talent. It is now your duty to hone that talent, because a person who wastes his

God-given talents is a donkey. You have written your story with sound grammar and interesting style. But the most impressive thing about your story is that it has irony. You may not even know what that word means. But you will someday. It is something that some writers reach for their entire careers and never attain. You have achieved it with your first story.

My door is and always will be open to you, Amir jan. I shall hear any story you have to tell. Bravo.

Your friend

Rahim

THE MAJRORIE MAINE CUP - Choral Speaking 12 years and Under

CHOICE A DISOBEDIENCE by A A Milne

James James

Morrison Morrison

Weatherby George Dupree

Took great

Care of his mother

Though he was only three.

James James

Said to his mother,

“Mother,” he said, said he;

“You must never go down to the end of the town, if you don’t go down with me.”

James James

Morrison’s mother

Put on a golden gown,

James James

Morrison’s Mother

Drove to the end of the town.

James James

Morrison’s Mother

Said to herself, said she:

“I can get right down to the end of the town and be back in time for tea.”

King John

Put up a notice,

“LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!

JAMES JAMES

MORRISON’S MOTHER

SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.

LAST SEEN

WANDERING VAGUELY

QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,

SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN TO THE END OF

THE TOWN – FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!

James James

Morrison Morrison

(Commonly known as Jim)

Told his

Other relations

Not to go blaming him.

James James

Said to his mother

“Mother,” he said, said he,

“You must never go down to the end of the town without consulting me.”

James James

Morrison’s Mother

Hasn’t been heard of since.

King John

Said he was sorry,

So did the Queen and Prince.

King John

(Somebody told me)

Said to a man he knew:

“If people go down to the end of the town, well, what can anyone do?”

(Now then, very softly)

J. J.

M. M.

W. G. du P.

Took great

C/o of his M*****

Though he was only 3.

J/ J.

Said to his M*****

“M*****,” he said, said he:

“You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-if- you-don’t-go-down-with ME!”

THE MAJRORIE MAINE CUP - Choral Speaking Groups 12 years and Under

CHOICE B THERE ARE ZEBRAS ON THE CEILING by Jack Prelutsky

There are zebras on the ceiling dancing upside-down ballet.

A giraffe is in the foyer, and it will not go away.

There’s a chicken in the kitchen playing checkers with a quail,

And a turtle’s running races with a very speedy snail.

My father’s growing feathers, and my mother’s ten feet tall.

A weasel and a wallaby are whistling on the wall.

The cheese has turned to butter, and the butter’s turned to bread.

The tub is full of buzzards, and a bear is in my bed.

The furniture is shrinking, and the den has disappeared.

My sister’s sprouting antlers, and the puppy has a beard.

A marmoset is marching with a mallard and a mouse.

It’s another normal Monday –

I just love it at our house!

THE JERSEY YOUTH SERVICE SALVER - Choral Speaking Age 13 to 17

CHOICE A MACAVITY, THE MYSTERY CAT by TS Eliot

Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw –

For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.

He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:

For when they reach the scene of crime – Macavity’s not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,

He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.

His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

And when you reach the scene of crime – Macavity’s not there!

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air –

But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!

Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;

You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;

His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

He sways his head from side to side with movements like a snake;

And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.


For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square –

But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!

He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)

And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s

And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,

Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair

Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macvity’s not there!

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,

Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,

There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair –

But it’s useless to investigate – Macavity’s not there!

And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:

It must have been Macavity!’ – but he’s a mile away.

You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumb;

Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.


There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.

He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:

At whatever time the deed took place – MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known

(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)

Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

THE JERSEY YOUTH SERVICE SALVER - Choral Speaking Age 13 to 17

CHOICE B ‘THE VISITOR’ by Ian Serraillier

A crumbling churchyard, the sea and the moon;

The waves had gouged out grave and bone;

A man was walking, late and alone . . .

He saw a skeleton on the ground;

A ring on a bony finger he found.

He ran home to his wife and gave her the ring.

“Oh, where did you get it?” He said not a thing.

“It’s the loveliest ring in the world,” she said,

As it glowed on her finger. They slipped off to bed.

At midnight whey woke. In the dark outside,

“Give me my ring!”, a chill voice cried.

“What was that, William? What did it say?”

“Don’t worry, my dear. It’ll soon go away.”

“I’m coming?” a skeleton opened the door.

“Give me my ring!” it was crossing the floor.

“What was that William? What did it say?”

“Don’t worry, my dear. It’ll soon go away.”

“I’m reaching you now! I’m climbing the bed.”

The wife pulled the sheet right over her head.

It was torn from her grasp and tossed in the air:

“I’ll drag you out of bed by the hair!”

“What was that, William? What did it say?”

“Throw the ring through the window! THROW IT AWAY!”

She threw it. The skeleton leapt from the sill,

Scooped up the ring and clattered downhill,

Fainter. . . and fainter. . . Then all was still.

THE JERSEY YOUTH SERVICE SALVER – Group Speaking 12 Years and

Under

CHOICE A The Ghost Teacher by Allan Ahlberg

The school is closed, the children gone,

But the ghost of the teacher lingers on.

As daylight fades, as the daytime ends,

As the night draws in and the dark descends,

She stands in the classroom, as clear as glass.

And calls the names of her absent class.

The school is shut, the children grown,

But the ghost of the teacher, all alone,

Puts the date on the board and moves about

(As the night draws on and the stars come out)

Between the desks – a glow in the gloom –

And calls for quiet in the silent room.

The school is a ruin, the children fled,

But the ghost of the teacher, long-time dead,

As the moon comes up and the first owls glide,

Puts on her coat and steps outside.

In the moonlit playground, shadow-free,

She stands on duty with a cup of tea.

The school is forgotten – children forget –

But the ghost of the teacher lingers yet.

As the night creeps up to the edge of the day,

She tidies the Plasticine away;

Counts the scissors – a shimmer of glass –

And says, ‘Off you go!’ to her absent class.

She utters the words that no one hears,

Picks up her bag…

and

disappears.

THE JERSEY YOUTH SERVICE SALVER – Group Speaking 12 Years and

Under

CHOICE B THE BONEYARD RAP BY Wes Magee

This is the rhythm of the boneyard rap, knuckle bones click and hand bones clap, finger bones flick and thigh bones slap when you’re doing the rhythm of the boneyard rap.

Woooooooooooo!

It’s the boneyard rap and it’s a scare

Give your bones a shake-up if you dare.

Rattle your teeth and waggle your jaw and let’s do the boneyard rap once more …

This is the rhythm of the boneyard rap, elbow bones clink and backbones snap, shoulder bones chink and toe bones tap when you’re doing the rhythm of the boneyard rap.

Woooooooooooo!

It’s the boneyard rap and it’s a scare

Give your bones a shake-up if you dare.

Rattle your teeth and waggle your jaw and let’s do the boneyard rap

Once more …

This is the rhythm of the boneyard rap, ankle bones sock and arm bones flap, pelvic bones knock and knee bones zap when you’re doing the rhythm of the boneyard rap.

Woooooooooooo!

THE JOHN GRIMSHAW TROPHY FOR DRAMA - Group Speaking Age 13 to 17

CHOICE A PICNIC TIME ON THE M25 by Paul Cookson

Picnic time go for a ride

Set your sights on the countryside

Pack the car and start to drive

Stop by the side stop by the side

Stop by the side of the M25

Deckchairs on the grass verge

Watch the traffic pass NEEOWN!

Try and pour your flask

Ooh ah ooh ooh eeh

Boiling coffee on your knee






Salmon spread wholemeal bread

Try to eat as you move your head

Left to right try to bite


Salmon spread on your knee






Picnic time on the M25

Toxic gases will collide

Car-bon di-oxide

Breathe in SNIFF

Breath in SNIFF!

Petrol fumes and lead oxide

Cough sputter cough choke

Poisoned lungs are no joke


Plan your picnic carefully

Seaside or countryside

But don’t go down to the M25

Don’t go down to the M25

Don’t – pic – nic – on – the

M-Twenty-Five!

THE JOHN GRIMSHAW TROPHY FOR DRAMA - Group Speaking Age 13 to 17

CHOICE B ADVENTURES OF ISABEL by Ogden Nash

Isabel met an enormous bear,

Isabel, Isabel, didn’t care;

The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,

The bear’s big mouth was cruel and cavernous.

The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,

How do, Isabel, now I’ll eat you!

Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry.

Isabel didn’t scream or scurry.

She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,

Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.

Once in a night as black as pitch

Isabel met a wicked old witch.

The witch’s face was cross and wrinkled,

The witch’s gums with teeth were sprinkled.

Ho, ho Isabel! The old witch crowed,

I’ll turn you into an ugly toad!

Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry,

Isabel didn’t scream or scurry,

She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,

But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.

Isabel met a hideous giant,

Isabel continued self-reliant.

The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,

He had one eye in the middle of his forehead.

Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,

I’ll grind your bones to make my bread.



She nibbled the zwieback that she always fed off,

And when it was gone, she cut the giant’s head off.

Isabel met a troublesome doctor,

He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.

The doctor’s talk was of coughs and chills

And the doctor’s satchel bulged with pills.

The doctor said unto Isabel,

Swallow this, it will make you well.



She took those pills from the pill concocter.

And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.

THE MARJORIE MAINE MEMORIAL SHIELD

Bible Reading: 12 years and under.

CHOICE A ST MATTHEW Chapter 14: Verses 14-21

And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and he healed their sick.

And when it was evening, his disciples came to him, saying, this is a desert place, and the time is now past; send the multitude away, that they may go into the villages, and buy themselves victuals.

But Jesus said unto them, They need not depart; give ye them to eat.

And they say unto him, we have here but five loaves, and two fishes.

He said, Bring them hither to me.

And he commanded the multitude to sit down on the grass, and took the five loaves, and the two fishes and looked up to heaven, he blessed, and brake, and gave the loaves to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude.

And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the fragments that remained twelve baskets full.

And they that had eaten were about five thousand men, beside women and children.

THE MARJORIE MAINE MEMORIAL SHIELD

Bible Reading: 12 years and under.

CHOICE B GENESIS Chapter 7: Verses 1 to 7

And the Lord said unto Noah, Come thou and all thy house into the ark; for thee have I seen righteous before me in this generation.

Of every clean beast thou shalt take to thee by sevens, the male and his female; and of beasts that are not clean by two, the male and his female.

Of fowls also of the air by sevens, the male and the female; to keep seed alive upon the face of all the earth.

For yet seven days, and I will cause it to rain upon the earth forty days and forty nights; and every living substance that I have made will I destroy from off the face of the earth. And Noah did according unto all that the Lord commanded him

And Noah was six hundred years old when the flood waters was upon the earth.

And Noah went in, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons’ wives with him, into the ark, because of the waters of the flood,

THE MAX LE FEUVRE MEMORIAL BIBLE PRIZE

Bible Reading Age 13 – 17 years.

CHOICE A PSALM 46

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst

of the sea;

Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Se-lah

There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.

God is in the midst of her; she

shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early

The heathen raged, the kingdoms

were moved: he uttered his voice, the earth melted.

The Lord of hosts is with us; the

God of Jacob is our refuge Se-lah.

Come, behold the works of the

Lord, what desolations he hath made

in the earth.

He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth.; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he

burneth the chariot in the fire.

Be still, and know that I am God;

I will be exalted among the heathen, I

Will be exalted in the earth.

The Lord of hosts is with us; the

God of Jacob is our refuge. Se-lah.

THE MAX LE FEUVRE MEMORIAL BIBLE PRIZE

CHOICE B ST JOHN Chapter 15 Verses 1-13

I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.

Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may being forth more fruit.

Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you.

Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.

I am the vine, ye are the branches; he that abideth in me, and I in him for same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.

If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch and is withered, and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.

If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will and it shall be done unto you.

Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples.

As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love.

If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my

Father’s commandments, and abide in his love.

These things have I spoken unto you that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.

This is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

SET PIECES 2015

Related documents

Products

Support

SET PIECES 2015

Related documents

Add this document to collection(s)

Add this document to saved

Suggest us how to improve StudyLib