The City of Plymouth by Josephine Hicks
If this city was committed to canvas,
Grey and green would make broad strokes
as its natural beauty meets human progress.
Gold would glimmer throughout, shining for the people.
If this city was committed to canvas,
The artist would never capture
The throb and pulse of life
As it moved in waves
Like the ocean at its edges.
If this city was captured on canvas,
The people would be forgotten,
Those who make the city great,
As landscapes take the stage,
But the people, they are the city
Thursday, 25 October 2012
Wednesday, 24 October 2012
Young City Laureate #Shortlist
Plymouth by Charlotte Spence
A city raised to the ground
A new identity waiting to be found
The pilgrims left
New faces come
But famous monuments
Remain standing resolute
And proud
Plymouth
A place of discovery
Bright blue seas
Familiar grey skies
Gulls wheel and cry
Commuters keep on passing by
This hum-drum town isn't all it seems
Its heart beats with a rhythm of old and new
With one eye on the past
And one on the future
Plymouth
A city of discovery
A city raised to the ground
A new identity waiting to be found
The pilgrims left
New faces come
But famous monuments
Remain standing resolute
And proud
Plymouth
A place of discovery
Bright blue seas
Familiar grey skies
Gulls wheel and cry
Commuters keep on passing by
This hum-drum town isn't all it seems
Its heart beats with a rhythm of old and new
With one eye on the past
And one on the future
Plymouth
A city of discovery
Monday, 22 October 2012
Young City Laureate #Shortlist
Moors by Mary Buckley
The rolling lands are steeped in mystery,
grey and cracked granite stands as tall proud tors,
hunched trees, bent by the weight of history,
Winds sing, their songs echo over the moors.
Brown ponies, untouched by the hand of man,
run wild, through sheep that graze on sweet heather,
foxes live on land where their fathers ran,
peregrines swoop, swift of sight and feather.
Fragrant yellow flowers blossom on gorse,
while a thin frost sweeps across the hard ground,
where a new foal lies by a tired out horse,
life lives no matter what fortunes are found.
Generations of animals pass by,
but this is how the land will always lie.
The rolling lands are steeped in mystery,
grey and cracked granite stands as tall proud tors,
hunched trees, bent by the weight of history,
Winds sing, their songs echo over the moors.
Brown ponies, untouched by the hand of man,
run wild, through sheep that graze on sweet heather,
foxes live on land where their fathers ran,
peregrines swoop, swift of sight and feather.
Fragrant yellow flowers blossom on gorse,
while a thin frost sweeps across the hard ground,
where a new foal lies by a tired out horse,
life lives no matter what fortunes are found.
Generations of animals pass by,
but this is how the land will always lie.
Friday, 19 October 2012
Young City Laureates #Shortlist
Today we begin posting the shortlisted entrant for the Plymouth Young City Laureates Scheme:
Stalag XXA by Amy McEvoy
CHARACTERS: JAMES, PLANE MECHANIC IN PRISONER OF WAR CAMP
DAISY, HIS WIFE
August 1st 1941...Plane was smacked…
August 3rd…was captured… that’s the end of my war…the war we thought would never happen…then when it did we said a few weeks and we would all be back home... I remember how heroic we thought we all were… signing up… like signing a death sentence… why didn’t I realise that sooner…
August 27th…boiling hot…marched up terrible hill to get to camp…1200 of us were put on train…travelled day and night…43 hours until we got to Torun…wrote to Daisy…
September 2nd Daisy…James says he misses Plymouth. He left Plymouth 8 long months ago. I haven’t seen his face and cheeky grin since the day he left and hearing happiness in his letters is a rare occurrence. I received a letter from him today. He sounded very fed up. He never tells me the details of what he has seen. I think recalling the horror of war upsets him too much and he probably does it for my sake too. He doesn’t want us to know the reality of what is going on. Unfortunately he must have written something he shouldn’t have because most of his letter has been censored.
September 3rd…arrived at Stalag…had shower and de-louse…we have marched 165 Kilometres…no food…no water…nothing…I’ve never felt so alone…I’m surrounded by thousands of soldiers and yet I’ve never felt this shut off from the rest of the world…hard to say how I felt at hearing from home…it seems unreal…being here with everything I’ve known and loved for years thousands of miles away...of course I miss everyone…I’m doing this for them…to give them a better tomorrow and it’s so odd being surrounded by Jerrys…they’re the enemy and they’re stopping me from doing my bit for my country… after about a year of serving as a pilot I’ve been captured…even before the war my whole life evolved around planes…it meant freedom… being stuck here is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do… being trapped in Stalag XXA…hut 9…bottom bunk…my home for as long as Victory in England takes…they better hurry up…this place is no fun…the Jerry’s are barking mad if they think for one minute I’m sticking around ‘till the end of the war…it’s just not the life for me… I have to get out…
September 3rd Daisy…I wrote to James today. I have sent him a picture postcard of the Plymouth waterfront. Not sure if this was the best thing to do. It may just make him miss home more but I wanted to remind him of something worth fighting for. I am trying to keep him cheerful. It is important for him to know that there will be an end to this war.
September 5th Daisy…I had a letter today. James has been captured. At least he hasn’t been injured and as long as he behaves himself he should be out of harm’s way in the camp.
September 5th…met up with my old pal Roger today. He’s been in here 5 months. Spent many happy hours with him fishing in Oreston quay and getting up to mischief.
October 10th Daisy…A parade of tanks have been out and about trying to raise funds. We all try and give them what we can but this war is taking its toll on everyone’s finances. I caught sight of the waltzing Matilda. It is absolutely enormous. I would have thought with a tank like that the Germans haven’t got a hope of beating us. I haven’t heard from James for a long time. I hope I didn’t upset him with the postcard.
October 17th…must stop looking at the postcard from Daisy
November 4th…had spuds…
November 5th…went spudding…
November 6th… made spud cake…
November 7th…went spudding again…
November 8th…spudding again…
November 9th… made spud pastry…
November 10th... ate burnt spud skins...
November 11th…sick of spuds…want to shove them down Jerry’s throat…
November 12th…I wish hadn’t complained as I’m now eating green bread…food getting worse along with stomach…when I am back at home I will moan to the Prime Minister… food, if you can call it that, is bad enough to kill us all…no need for a war they can just kill us off with mouldy bread...can’t remember the last time I ate anything other than spuds or bread… what I would do for a good old English fry up or a steaming hot Sunday roast…I will stop thinking about food as there is no point getting emotional…I am stuck here and can do nothing about it…will wait until I have an idea for escape plan…
November 12th Daisy…I have saved up my sweet rations so I can send James some sherbet. I am not sure how well it will travel but he always used to tell us to get our rations in sherbet because you get more for your efforts that way.
November 13th…have to get out…found blind spot…going to cut through fence with Roger
November 14th Daisy…I have been helping with the clear up today. After the bombings earlier this year we are still trying to get a little normality back. We won’t be beaten. They can destroy our building and our homes but they will never destroy out fighting spirit. The bombings have only made us closer and stronger. It has been about 6 months since the attacks so we have been making good progress with clearing up the rubble. A few children from Oreston and Goosewell have been evacuated today. Hopefully they will be safer if they are further into the countryside.
November 16th…haven’t written for a few days as I was thrown in the cooler…got caught…will try again tomorrow…must have been because it was Friday thirteenth...
November 17th Daisy… We have been hit by more rationing. They have now rationed canned meat, canned fish and canned beans. Soon everything will be rationed. At least Mrs Edwards is pleased. Her husband is far too keen on beans but if he’s been eating beans Mrs Edwards is not so keen on him.
November 26th...was going to try and escape but no chance of getting out tonight…they’ve got guards everywhere thanks to Roger’s failed attempt…
November 27th …lads buried Roger today…I’ll miss him...he was like a brother to me...we were going to escape together...when we got home we were going to go fishing, like old times. I guess he couldn’t wait...poor chap …I think this was his last desperate break out for freedom…he’s been stuck in here for ages…Roger finally cracked after everything that’s happened to him...that’s the way all of us will go if they keep us here much longer... I feel so empty without Roger...I have to escape for him...
November 28th…went sick... stuck in bed…marched 5 miles to see German Doctor…bored...want to go spudding…received a letter from Daisy…I guess I’m not allowed sherbet. Those Jerry’s must have taken it…wrote to Daisy...
December 2nd Daisy…It has been announced that the age limit for compulsory military service has been raised to 50. I have already seen more men joining up. This shouldn’t be happening. The war should be over by now. I haven’t heard from James in a while. I am hoping he hasn’t been getting himself into trouble. Unfortunately he’s not the type to sit around doing nothing. Without the freedom of flying his plane he may do something foolish. I trust he has enough sense about him to know that no good will come of messing with the Germans.
December 3rd…have recovered…am now building railway track… weather is bitterly cold…even colder than back home… we are snowed into the hut…have started using the windows as doors…
December 6th…no work because of blizzards…received Red Cross parcel…got pullover…very grateful...I am freezing...
December 7th Daisy…I have been helping with the Red Cross parcels that are being sent out to our boys. We have been knitting endless amounts of scarfs and jumpers as they will not be used to such harsh winters. We have been gathering things in the church hall to send out to the boys.
December 8th …wet on the trenches…first news from outside of the camp…it’s a bit disappointing because we don’t even know whose in the war…
December 11th Daisy…This war may go on longer than we anticipated. Japan has joined the war. We will just have to fight harder. We will not be beaten. I am missing James more than words can describe. This time last year we were probably cuddled up next to the fire. With any luck we can cuddle up next year instead. There is nothing I can do to bring him home but I am desperate for this war to end.
December 11th… Japan is in the war...not good news...their friends of Jerry...
December 15th...missing Daisy terribly...haven’t heard from her...I need to get out...might be hard because of my many failed attempts...
December 25th... Merry Christmas Daisy...I wish you could give me some clue as to what’s going on outside this place...still…I’ll be out soon…
December 25th Daisy…Merry Christmas James. I am starting to wonder whether you have received my most recent letter. Perhaps I should write you another one just in case it has got lost.
December 28th… I can’t take it anymore...help me…Daisy help me…the darkness…it waits for me…they put me in there and…and I’m surrounded by darkness…no windows…none at all…Roger take me with you…far away from this place…I want to be free…free from here…please…I need freedom...
December 29th Daisy…If James hadn’t been captured he would have been starting his leave in a week’s time. I would have been able to spend a whole week with him. At least in the camp his safe from German bullets...safer from German bullets. Please don’t do anything to annoy them.
December 31st... this is my last chance of escaping...my plan is very risky...but I can’t put up with this place any more... no one has survived going over the fence yet...
January 1st Daisy…Wish I could see in the New Year with James…he will be home soon. This war can’t last much longer
James Scott...Shot dead...January 1st 1942
Stalag XXA by Amy McEvoy
CHARACTERS: JAMES, PLANE MECHANIC IN PRISONER OF WAR CAMP
DAISY, HIS WIFE
August 1st 1941...Plane was smacked…
August 3rd…was captured… that’s the end of my war…the war we thought would never happen…then when it did we said a few weeks and we would all be back home... I remember how heroic we thought we all were… signing up… like signing a death sentence… why didn’t I realise that sooner…
August 27th…boiling hot…marched up terrible hill to get to camp…1200 of us were put on train…travelled day and night…43 hours until we got to Torun…wrote to Daisy…
September 2nd Daisy…James says he misses Plymouth. He left Plymouth 8 long months ago. I haven’t seen his face and cheeky grin since the day he left and hearing happiness in his letters is a rare occurrence. I received a letter from him today. He sounded very fed up. He never tells me the details of what he has seen. I think recalling the horror of war upsets him too much and he probably does it for my sake too. He doesn’t want us to know the reality of what is going on. Unfortunately he must have written something he shouldn’t have because most of his letter has been censored.
September 3rd…arrived at Stalag…had shower and de-louse…we have marched 165 Kilometres…no food…no water…nothing…I’ve never felt so alone…I’m surrounded by thousands of soldiers and yet I’ve never felt this shut off from the rest of the world…hard to say how I felt at hearing from home…it seems unreal…being here with everything I’ve known and loved for years thousands of miles away...of course I miss everyone…I’m doing this for them…to give them a better tomorrow and it’s so odd being surrounded by Jerrys…they’re the enemy and they’re stopping me from doing my bit for my country… after about a year of serving as a pilot I’ve been captured…even before the war my whole life evolved around planes…it meant freedom… being stuck here is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do… being trapped in Stalag XXA…hut 9…bottom bunk…my home for as long as Victory in England takes…they better hurry up…this place is no fun…the Jerry’s are barking mad if they think for one minute I’m sticking around ‘till the end of the war…it’s just not the life for me… I have to get out…
September 3rd Daisy…I wrote to James today. I have sent him a picture postcard of the Plymouth waterfront. Not sure if this was the best thing to do. It may just make him miss home more but I wanted to remind him of something worth fighting for. I am trying to keep him cheerful. It is important for him to know that there will be an end to this war.
September 5th Daisy…I had a letter today. James has been captured. At least he hasn’t been injured and as long as he behaves himself he should be out of harm’s way in the camp.
September 5th…met up with my old pal Roger today. He’s been in here 5 months. Spent many happy hours with him fishing in Oreston quay and getting up to mischief.
October 10th Daisy…A parade of tanks have been out and about trying to raise funds. We all try and give them what we can but this war is taking its toll on everyone’s finances. I caught sight of the waltzing Matilda. It is absolutely enormous. I would have thought with a tank like that the Germans haven’t got a hope of beating us. I haven’t heard from James for a long time. I hope I didn’t upset him with the postcard.
October 17th…must stop looking at the postcard from Daisy
November 4th…had spuds…
November 5th…went spudding…
November 6th… made spud cake…
November 7th…went spudding again…
November 8th…spudding again…
November 9th… made spud pastry…
November 10th... ate burnt spud skins...
November 11th…sick of spuds…want to shove them down Jerry’s throat…
November 12th…I wish hadn’t complained as I’m now eating green bread…food getting worse along with stomach…when I am back at home I will moan to the Prime Minister… food, if you can call it that, is bad enough to kill us all…no need for a war they can just kill us off with mouldy bread...can’t remember the last time I ate anything other than spuds or bread… what I would do for a good old English fry up or a steaming hot Sunday roast…I will stop thinking about food as there is no point getting emotional…I am stuck here and can do nothing about it…will wait until I have an idea for escape plan…
November 12th Daisy…I have saved up my sweet rations so I can send James some sherbet. I am not sure how well it will travel but he always used to tell us to get our rations in sherbet because you get more for your efforts that way.
November 13th…have to get out…found blind spot…going to cut through fence with Roger
November 14th Daisy…I have been helping with the clear up today. After the bombings earlier this year we are still trying to get a little normality back. We won’t be beaten. They can destroy our building and our homes but they will never destroy out fighting spirit. The bombings have only made us closer and stronger. It has been about 6 months since the attacks so we have been making good progress with clearing up the rubble. A few children from Oreston and Goosewell have been evacuated today. Hopefully they will be safer if they are further into the countryside.
November 16th…haven’t written for a few days as I was thrown in the cooler…got caught…will try again tomorrow…must have been because it was Friday thirteenth...
November 17th Daisy… We have been hit by more rationing. They have now rationed canned meat, canned fish and canned beans. Soon everything will be rationed. At least Mrs Edwards is pleased. Her husband is far too keen on beans but if he’s been eating beans Mrs Edwards is not so keen on him.
November 26th...was going to try and escape but no chance of getting out tonight…they’ve got guards everywhere thanks to Roger’s failed attempt…
November 27th …lads buried Roger today…I’ll miss him...he was like a brother to me...we were going to escape together...when we got home we were going to go fishing, like old times. I guess he couldn’t wait...poor chap …I think this was his last desperate break out for freedom…he’s been stuck in here for ages…Roger finally cracked after everything that’s happened to him...that’s the way all of us will go if they keep us here much longer... I feel so empty without Roger...I have to escape for him...
November 28th…went sick... stuck in bed…marched 5 miles to see German Doctor…bored...want to go spudding…received a letter from Daisy…I guess I’m not allowed sherbet. Those Jerry’s must have taken it…wrote to Daisy...
December 2nd Daisy…It has been announced that the age limit for compulsory military service has been raised to 50. I have already seen more men joining up. This shouldn’t be happening. The war should be over by now. I haven’t heard from James in a while. I am hoping he hasn’t been getting himself into trouble. Unfortunately he’s not the type to sit around doing nothing. Without the freedom of flying his plane he may do something foolish. I trust he has enough sense about him to know that no good will come of messing with the Germans.
December 3rd…have recovered…am now building railway track… weather is bitterly cold…even colder than back home… we are snowed into the hut…have started using the windows as doors…
December 6th…no work because of blizzards…received Red Cross parcel…got pullover…very grateful...I am freezing...
December 7th Daisy…I have been helping with the Red Cross parcels that are being sent out to our boys. We have been knitting endless amounts of scarfs and jumpers as they will not be used to such harsh winters. We have been gathering things in the church hall to send out to the boys.
December 8th …wet on the trenches…first news from outside of the camp…it’s a bit disappointing because we don’t even know whose in the war…
December 11th Daisy…This war may go on longer than we anticipated. Japan has joined the war. We will just have to fight harder. We will not be beaten. I am missing James more than words can describe. This time last year we were probably cuddled up next to the fire. With any luck we can cuddle up next year instead. There is nothing I can do to bring him home but I am desperate for this war to end.
December 11th… Japan is in the war...not good news...their friends of Jerry...
December 15th...missing Daisy terribly...haven’t heard from her...I need to get out...might be hard because of my many failed attempts...
December 25th... Merry Christmas Daisy...I wish you could give me some clue as to what’s going on outside this place...still…I’ll be out soon…
December 25th Daisy…Merry Christmas James. I am starting to wonder whether you have received my most recent letter. Perhaps I should write you another one just in case it has got lost.
December 28th… I can’t take it anymore...help me…Daisy help me…the darkness…it waits for me…they put me in there and…and I’m surrounded by darkness…no windows…none at all…Roger take me with you…far away from this place…I want to be free…free from here…please…I need freedom...
December 29th Daisy…If James hadn’t been captured he would have been starting his leave in a week’s time. I would have been able to spend a whole week with him. At least in the camp his safe from German bullets...safer from German bullets. Please don’t do anything to annoy them.
December 31st... this is my last chance of escaping...my plan is very risky...but I can’t put up with this place any more... no one has survived going over the fence yet...
January 1st Daisy…Wish I could see in the New Year with James…he will be home soon. This war can’t last much longer
James Scott...Shot dead...January 1st 1942
Thursday, 18 October 2012
Young City Laureates #Commended Entries
Plymouth by Harry Samuels
“Do you see her? The woman on the bench below,
wrapped in the flowers printed on her frock,
her handbag encamped next to her
as she puffs on her death stick?
She looks out over the sea
with her ancient ocean-green eyes,
those wrinkles furrowed like feet as she
remembers.
Such beauty there was here, the stench of
opportunity, of upandcoming
and those handsome sailors. The city stood
proud and tall like the ships it held.
All was good here:
business was booming
until
Boom bang spit crackle hiss whizz et cetera
The bombs begin
to fall and
all is
bro-
k
e
n
.
She remembers the fires so tall and fierce
and all of her Plymouth seemed
To turn itself from the core and dissolve
in flame.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Years pass.
And who’d have thought it?
Like a phoenix out of the pitied cinders,
All rises again, to try to catch
What splendour had that place
Of old; to take the smouldering wrecks of
Broken dreams and replant the
Acorn of hope.
She stands and she struggles again,
The uneasy sea before her waving
Goodbye to its old friend – come again soon!
The streets of the city aren’t like they were:
That miserable uniform grey.
She spectates upon this city of hers,
That sprawling sister, always welcoming
But maybe more wary of late.
The mood is nervy and the people less happy.
Bloody governments, she thinks.
Red government, blue government,
We’re watching what you do government,
But what does it do?
For the little people, the demos in the democracy?
She ponders and wonders as she totters along.
This city is as broken as it was, they say;
Glued together by taboo.
“Have you got a lighter?”
shrieks one child
to another.
Shattered hopes, discarded ambitions,
They lay everywhere around.
This city is the anti-Midas to aspiration,
Taking the dreams of childhood glimmering golden
And painting them a grey shade of impossible.
Success is bemoaned
Intelligence is detested
By this generation of coulds and maybes
And shoulds and perhapses
But ultimately never weres; never wills.
So speaks the media with their livid voice.
Always angry at something.
Children, adults, the disaffected, politicians, rich, poor, lazy,
Politically correct, politically incorrect, foreign, local
Et cetera.
But there is hope. There is joy.
The desire for something more, the pursuit of
Happiness (thank you Ben Franklin).
Little people interspersed in a bigger city
And a greater community.
We are teeming with life, we are bustling with
Energy; we are Plymouth!
Aright me lover? You goin’ Argyle?
Love it, breathe it, say it, speak it: we are
Alive!
We are that phoenix still rising,
And our ascent is not yet done.
For even through all this glum and grey,
This place hasn’t yet seen its dying day.”
squawked the seagull soaring overhead
“Do you see her? The woman on the bench below,
wrapped in the flowers printed on her frock,
her handbag encamped next to her
as she puffs on her death stick?
She looks out over the sea
with her ancient ocean-green eyes,
those wrinkles furrowed like feet as she
remembers.
Such beauty there was here, the stench of
opportunity, of upandcoming
and those handsome sailors. The city stood
proud and tall like the ships it held.
All was good here:
business was booming
until
Boom bang spit crackle hiss whizz et cetera
The bombs begin
to fall and
all is
bro-
k
e
n
.
She remembers the fires so tall and fierce
and all of her Plymouth seemed
To turn itself from the core and dissolve
in flame.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Years pass.
And who’d have thought it?
Like a phoenix out of the pitied cinders,
All rises again, to try to catch
What splendour had that place
Of old; to take the smouldering wrecks of
Broken dreams and replant the
Acorn of hope.
She stands and she struggles again,
The uneasy sea before her waving
Goodbye to its old friend – come again soon!
The streets of the city aren’t like they were:
That miserable uniform grey.
She spectates upon this city of hers,
That sprawling sister, always welcoming
But maybe more wary of late.
The mood is nervy and the people less happy.
Bloody governments, she thinks.
Red government, blue government,
We’re watching what you do government,
But what does it do?
For the little people, the demos in the democracy?
She ponders and wonders as she totters along.
This city is as broken as it was, they say;
Glued together by taboo.
“Have you got a lighter?”
shrieks one child
to another.
Shattered hopes, discarded ambitions,
They lay everywhere around.
This city is the anti-Midas to aspiration,
Taking the dreams of childhood glimmering golden
And painting them a grey shade of impossible.
Success is bemoaned
Intelligence is detested
By this generation of coulds and maybes
And shoulds and perhapses
But ultimately never weres; never wills.
So speaks the media with their livid voice.
Always angry at something.
Children, adults, the disaffected, politicians, rich, poor, lazy,
Politically correct, politically incorrect, foreign, local
Et cetera.
But there is hope. There is joy.
The desire for something more, the pursuit of
Happiness (thank you Ben Franklin).
Little people interspersed in a bigger city
And a greater community.
We are teeming with life, we are bustling with
Energy; we are Plymouth!
Aright me lover? You goin’ Argyle?
Love it, breathe it, say it, speak it: we are
Alive!
We are that phoenix still rising,
And our ascent is not yet done.
For even through all this glum and grey,
This place hasn’t yet seen its dying day.”
squawked the seagull soaring overhead
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