Young Writers' Club

Young Writers' Club


The start of this year has had its trials and tribulations and throughout this lockdown we have needed hope to maintain resilience and perseverance. We asked our Young Writers Club to create a piece for the topic of ‘hope’ and the responses were astounding. So many of our students went above and beyond to create inspirational pieces and I would like to congratulate them all.


Below are the works of two students that I am sure you will enjoy. The responses from Towers School staff has been wholly positive, including:

‘Patrick's writing is amazing! His expression and thoughts I think captures hope.. No words........just brilliant!’

‘These are so lovely’

‘Wow! That one from Suhana gave me goosebumps!’


Remember that the Young Writers Club is open to all students who have an interest in writing creatively. If you would like to join in please email Miss Hickman: c.hickman@towers.school, Mr Ferguson: r.ferguson@towers.school or your English teacher today.


We can’t wait to see what you can do!



Patrick Y11


Hope connects all of humanity in one way or another. Small and large, little and brittle, huge and beaming. Many band together in hope to reach a goal, overcome a challenge or simply wait for a day to come. Other’s discuss their lack of hope, how to find hope and if they can reach it. Some lose their hope and give up, life turns cold… lonely. A final goodbye to the silence is the only fatality. Yet for as long as they’re breathing hope can always find its way back it just needs an opportunity to do so, a leap of faith. Some people find hope in themselves, many find hope in others and some create hope. And just about everyone has never reached the slightest clue as to express it. People first turned to our senses. We used food to taste the cooks' hope and peace of mind, their work, their expression. Then humanity turned to hearing our hopes and dreams. Music brushed through the scene, a band collecting and combining rhythm, a unity of hope sparking through the desires of their mind. Others looked to smell this hope and searched for the wildest spices and flowers to fill their homes with an array of hope. Many wanted to see this hope spreading colours on a palette, paper and walls their mark of hope on this world a rife of colours from another. Yet still no one could agree as to what hope was. Arguments, discussion and speeches. All put the people's ideas clashing against one another and somehow it still brings us all closer together. Thus humanity continues charging on letting art and expression roam free against those who dare oppress it through past present and future humanity will hope to live on and prosper together whilst hoping that those that remain defiant will one day join.



Suhana Y11

Hope comes in lines.

Playground buzz whirled around me as my best friend held my hand tightly. She needed to get it right so she inspected every inch. Fallen leaves crowded around her feet. Her hair bow, painted with obnoxious stripes, was slanted to the left as she got closer; it looked as curious as she was.

‘Right here, you see it?’ she traced a line on the middle of my palm. ‘I’ve never seen anyone with a line as long as yours. It means you have a big, big future ahead of you!’

I traced the lines on my palms after that for the whole day; hypnotised by the drawings that I’ve been carrying with me this whole time. A tapestry made of flesh and blood. How could I not be amazed? The more I stared at my palm, the more familiar it looked. The lines I traced looked like the lines on the fallen leaves around my best friend’s feet. It resembled the veins of those autumn leaves; the lines that hold everything together. They are the only sturdy, strong and substantial part of the delicate leaf. But they’re always different to each other. Some have long lines and hold bright futures but some curve and write divine calligraphy all over the leaf. But when you crumple the crisp leaf, all that’ll be left are those strong lines.

How can I be born with something so beautiful? And it’s carved onto the body part that dances side to side when I meet a new person, write out words that sit on my mind and grip my best friend’s hand so I can amateurly read her future. So, the lines that’ll age on my skin, lines I have written on this page, lines that were painted on my best friend’s bow and the lines on my palm. Like an autumn leaf, if you crumple me these lines will remain.