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T H E E N G L I S H N A T I O N A L P R O G R A M M E
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T H E E N G L I S H N A T I O N A L P R O G R A M M E
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Much of the writing done in English at the beginning of 4ème is centred around the idea of autobiography. Students read texts such as 'Cider with Rosie' and (later in the year) 'I am the Cheese', and try to understand and use features of other writers' styles to help them find and develop their own personal style.
The following are recent examples of this type of work:
Here I am on the landing, waiting for an answer to my cries and demands. But as always , it is blank, empty, absent. My blood prickles inside me. I feel unlistened to. I am unlistened to. I reach for the remote control. I always finish by doing this. I can sense them already: those myriads of mumbling footsteps. I can’t hear the voices anymore. I try my question once more but - nothing.
I know the walls by heart. White that has lived, white with stains of grey. Old white. The ceiling: not flat but diagonal, preventing us from staying straight. I bet he wants to feel bigger and taller than us. We all know he isn’t.
Everyone’s speaking now:
‘Turn off the television, you’ve been there all morning !
And the computer switches on. Here is like the center of a spider’s web; feelings fly around the room, bouncing and hurting themselves. No one has any such time for our nonsense. That is. I repeat my demand
‘Where are the curtains for my room, can’t bear my shutters no more, much too dark !’
Finally, mother comes out and starts what she calls an answer, walking crookedly, dialling a number on the phone :
‘Near the red shel… ‘
She goes back in. The air is stirred with entrances, smacking us on the cheek when doors are angry. Now father comes back out:
‘Dad ! Where are the curtains..?’
‘Mummy just told you. Blimey, could you listen to her sometimes !’
It is raining now ; that we can see when we look across to the window. The torrent aggressively caresses it as the little but violent raindrops calm down and finish being a thick river, dripping on the grass outside. The framed opening is awakened now. It catches our eyes. It never has been an ordinary window. The diagonal wall of the room keeps it on his side but offers his light to the whole room.
The room is buzzing; the keyboard is attacked, the television getting louder every second, clothes dripping on the floor: Sebastien always ventures into the garden, even when it is wet. One enters, the other withdraws. It is dirty.
The hours summon us slowly, but without protesting, to respond to and away from it. Everything grows mad, and the room is left alone.
My spirit soars as I race up and down; the excitement of a chase surging through me, reaching every last blood cell of my energetic body. I run. I hide. I watch and spy. I twist my way through the never-ending walls of the cold, dry cement; darting in the shadows; and out. A glimpse of the pursuer catches my watching eye and I flee.
All the while the enormous two stories high sundial, flaming with sunlight, towers above us all, leaning its gigantic side into the scorching Indian sun. Its massive triangular body never moves; but its long dark shadow slides smoothly around the circular form of cement, which surrounds it like a wreath surrounding a burning candle. The sides of the cement circle are turned up to catch any sunlight that might try to escape.
Suddenly the touch of soft green grass engulfs my running feet. The figures of my mother and father are imprinted on my brain with the faces stretched mercilessly in to a wholesome smile. Their ringing laughter floats lightly on the warm afternoon air as I slowly and cautiously start my way down the slanted wall of the circular stone wreath.
As time wears on, my caution starts slipping away from me as a snake slips away from the hungry predator which seeks it; sliding quickly and stealthily in to the hidden underbrush as the hunter continues on its unrewarding way.
As I lie, hidden, carefully watching my own pursuer, my feet quickly kick in to action as he approaches. I run around the towering form above, back up the slanted side of the hardened wreath, making a sharp “U” turn in the soft grass, which extends beyond the top of the circular frame of the sundial, and start to backtrack. My run has reached full speed and I am headed straight toward the slanted ground, my momentum carrying me forward even faster.
The watchful eye of my brother, knowing only too well what is about to take place, can only stare. My feet start to slant downward; caution fiercely slaps me across the face. I try to slow down but my effort proves to be useless. One foot slips, then the other. My hands flash out as I start to fall face down. I come crashing to the ground, just barely keeping my head up from colliding with the cold cement. A cry of piercing pain shoots through my opened mouth. I reposition myself in to a sitting pose and look down through my newly sewn, and now newly torn pants. One knee reveals just a scrape and nothing more, but the other is sliced open, bleeding freely down my shaking leg. With some assistance, I half walk, half limp over to where my parents sit with faces quite the opposite of before.
I sit, staring down the slanted wall from which I had fallen, across the flattened radius of the circle which encircled the sundial its self, and up the steps which lead up the slanted spine of the rusty-colored cement triangle to the sheer drop off just beyond. Behind the sundial stretches a maze of curving cement walls with a few straight, flat walkways a little higher, all made of the same material.
Heavy tears run down my cheeks as the blood is mopped off. Five figures surround me, each with a different look of concern on his or her face. I hear, then see, my mother digging through her purse. She holds up a rather old looking tootsie roll pop and started tearing off the wrapper.
“I’ve been saving this,” she says as she manages to pull the bulk of the wrapper off. Unfortunately, there is still a thin a coating of paper stuck to the sucker. During a short pause, everyone stares at the object that she holds in her hand, with a grimace on his or her face. Then, laughter rang out from all the on looking faces; and even I could not help but joining in.all the on looking faces; and even I could not help but joining in.
My hand reaches out for the stiff doorknob and, with a little difficulty, turns it. The large door opens, and I tentatively put my foot on the first of the steps. As I walk cautiously down the creaking, unlit, uncared-for staircase, trusting that I will not fall, a smell of moulding wood, of melting snow, of fallen blossom or of decaying leaves floats up to my face and drifts gently into my lungs. Drugged by the fumes, I trip and fall to the bottom of the old wooden staircase onto a bed of dust which gently sucks me down.
The floor I am lying on is bumpy and uneven, having been worn by people walking in the same footsteps. It feels as if I am lying on miniature countryside with a cloud of dust above me, making the uneven, cobweb-covered ceiling look mysterious. I roll over and crawl to the centre of the room, marked by a thick pillar. I help myself up and press on the pillar’s light switch. Darkness. I sigh and call knowing no one will hear me through the thick floorboards:
“Mum! We need a new light bulb!”
I stumble blindly to the far corner of the room, hands stretched out in
front of me so that I don’t slam into the wall, until I feel cold rock.
I feel around the wall, my scraped fingers hooking into every crack that
comes in their path, the once solid rock crumbling under them. I find
the other light switch. Light! A very feeble light, which only
illuminates the small patch of floor below it.
I look for the object I came down for, although I am aware that I will never find it in all the mess. Mess! Old memories nobody wants, dumped and left where the years can eat them and the dust cover them with its soft presence. Skis stacked in a corner, awaiting the time when people will curse at them again, old smelly shoes too small or ugly for anyone to wear, stuffed in a cardboard box never to be taken out again, dead light bulbs in a pile, a book taken down and left by my little brother, wood all over the floor, rusty tools all over the shelves, all the objects I was looking for previously but don’t need anymore, dust and my cat’s footprints all over everything.
Speaking of my cat,
she is always there, somewhere, enjoying, as I do, the silence. Silence;
not a dark, deep, empty silence, but a cosy, comforting, warm silence.
Only broken now and then by the distant twitter of busy birds, the
regular clip-clop of horses’ hooves, the screeching skid of cars on the
icy road or the crackling of leaves under the feet of passers-by. My cat
and I are the only ones who come down for silence, to hear the
unhearable. I come down and see her sitting amongst the mess, dust
sticking to her fur, as if she too were part of the abandoned objects.
The sound is not strictly kept out, though; it is filtered as it comes
through the many cracks in walls and ceiling.
Although this room looks old and unstable, I feel safe in it, for the
rain may splash and fall, the wind may whistle and roar, the thunder may
clash and bang and yet, the cellar will stay warm and reassuring,
forgotten objects will remain forgotten, the dust will not twirl in the
air, the footprints will stay and the walls will still stand tall and
proud as they used to be.
With a grunt and a sharp tug my comfortable darkness was ripped away from me forever. In the first blink of an eye I would ever experience, my trance-like silence I had been soaking in for the last few months was replaced by beeps, bloops, bings, loud exclamations of obvious joy, and incomprehensible mutters, each voice getting louder and louder, each trying to be heard over all the others. My familiar blackness was invaded by blinding light, thrown against me, catching me off guard like a brick through a store display window, followed up by the captivating sight of people: blushing strangers, booming smiles, big men wearing warm eyes and white coats anxiously hurrying back and forth, back and forth as if they’d lost something of value somewhere in the room.
All of a sudden I was swooped off my back, warms hands gripped my helpless little body in a caressing manner, gripping me tightly but in a pillow-esque sort of way, like how you would hold a priceless vase. I was pulled in and was suddenly staring into the face of a lovely woman, her eyes were tired and her hair was ruffled but her smile, pulled joyfully across her face, illuminated her visage with a powerful feeling of love. As I stared by into the eyes of this special woman I knew she was the one who would watch over me for the rest of my life.
Just as I was feeling secure, pulled against the warm chest of this special woman, I was once again pulled away by gloved hands, large and cold with plastic pulling against my skin. As I was turned around I realized it was one of the anxious men in white coats.
He put me down on a small table and starting turning me around, roughly examining me and running his hand around my smooth naked body. In desperation for some help against this man I let out the loudest scream I could muster from my little lungs. As I was turned around again I caught a glimpse of the many people in the room; they sat there oblivious to what was happening, smiling at one another, as if I, and what was going on, were of no concern. Why wouldn’t they do anything!? Even the special woman lay there, eyes closed with that same smile still plastered on her face, stomach periodically moving up and down, as she calmly breathed, finally relaxed, but wouldn’t she help me?! Wouldn’t she care?! Wasn’t she the one who should watch over me?!
As I realized I was all alone against the man who continued to turn me around in his large hands I knew I had to stand up for myself. With a breath of reassurance I relaxed my body and summoned up all the stress from my bladder and let it go. In slow motion I watched as a steady stream of steaming fluids flew from my body in an arch of proud triumph onto the spotless white jacket of the man that held me. As his face turned from emotionless to a look of violated surprise he put me quickly down on the table and rushed out. I looked up at all the people in the room who had failed to help me, they were all smirking, some snickering quietly to themselves and I gurgled happily to myself, proud of my quick thinking.
Not too long after that, I was carried off, resting against the soft shoulder of the special woman, eyelids getting heavier as I tumbled into a half sleep. On our way out I was awakened by the sight of the man I had defeated passing us; as he looked back I smiled a mocking grin and gurgled again, knowing he would never bother me again.
The
wheels spun wildly, frantically trying to grip the icy road. But
failing. Dad was trying to wrench the steering-wheel away from its
automatic blockage system; in vain. The dark trees shot by like arrows,
and the car darted through them clumsily. Underneath us the ice was
thickening; around us the mist swirled and foamed madly, and the trees
tightened. Black ice. All I could see were the rapid snowflakes racing
around us, twirling, spinning. I watched them enviously. How I wished I
could be a snowflake, I thought desperately. I wouldn’t be in this
uncontrollable monster leading me faster and faster to hell. I would be
dancing, leaping; gliding through the sky and drifting down to the soft,
feathery bed. So innocent were these frozen teardrops.
The
car skidded and screeched loudly and I was violently thrown against the
door, snapping me sharply out of my reverie. I could feel the door
handle digging into my ribs, and I grabbed the seat next to me, tugging
hard to get back into a comfortable position. I could smell the metallic
stench of blood, and I recognized the hot, burning trickle down my
forehead. My own blood.
Outside, the mist curled even tighter around us, like white
knots closing in. I glanced out of the window. Nothing could be seen,
but I squinted hard. Then I glimpsed – a rock! I looked closer; yes, a
tuft of grass, a lump of snow and then…nothing. “Impossible,” I
thought. I peered closer, trying to fix my eye-sight on anything out
there, resisting the white glare. But no, I was right. I was staring at
a void. A cliff. A sheer drop. We were heading for death.
Suddenly my world, shattering to pieces before my eyes, became
blurry, shapeless, and everything became an incomprehensible haze. This
was crazy. I was dreaming. Definitely. Well, no, I was having a
nightmare. But soon I would wake up and turn over onto my pillows again.
This just couldn’t be real. This never happened to people like me. It
just happened to…others. Not me.
A
drop of warm liquid tickled my lip. I licked it and immediately realized
that it was blood. <something told me that maybe I was awake. I could
already imagine the headlines for the next day: “Alpine car-crash –
9 year old child died as car dropped off cliffside in Les Diablerets.”
I swallowed hard, forcing away the looming thought of death, of the
moment when the car would go silent as it nosedived off the cliff. The
moment when the world would turn black.
I
gasped and grabbed my brother’s arm, pointing at our destination. His
face crumpled with horror, and I could see his eyes cloud over with the
realization of what we were doing. Where the car was headed.
“Mum!”
he yelled hoarsely. Mum didn’t turn around. She knew. We all knew.
“I’m
going to jump out of the car!” bellowed Rob. I didn’t want to
believe him, and, coward as he was, it seemed unlikely. But he looked
ready. I grabbed my teddy’s ear and dug my face into its silky belly.
“You’re
doing nothing of the sort!” fired back mum. “If we’re going off
the cliff, we’re going together.” I sighed at this cheery
conversation. Then I drew back from my teddy and glanced at Rob. I knew
I could delay him.
“What
do you call a woman who can balance a pint of beer on her head?” I
cried. Rob smiled faintly, and replied, “Beatrix.”
And then he said, “What do you get if you throw a grand piano
down a coal-mine?” I grinned and answered, “A flat minor.” Rob
smiled distantly; a last smile of brother-sister love, and then after a
hesitant look, his hand flew to the door. But mum’s hand beat him to
it, and she blocked his fingers.
“I
love you Robert Marsh,” she murmured, “and you’re not going
anywhere.” Rob nodded and looked down, slightly guilty.
Then
the spinning machine blast out of the forest, soaring down the narrow
lane, heading in a new direction. Worry and incertitude settled down in
the car like a thick layer of dust. Where were we headed now? A building
could be seen through the fat flakes, falling fast, and gasps erupted.
Ahead of the car, directly ahead, lay a farm.
There
was a strong jerk, and everyone was thrown forward. For hours there was
silence, darkness. But the silence reigned over everything. Nothing
stirred. No one moved. Then, the complaining, grumpy moo of a cow rose
impatiently. “Life!” I thought.
Orange, pink, blue and green. Those garish colours tug at my attention from the corner of my eye. I turn my gaze to the four bright sweets sitting on the table. Waiting for me. My sticky small hand reaches on impulse; I hesitate and turn to the small blonde girl next to me, the bright tubes of sweet clutched tightly in her podgy hand. She pours out another handful and stuffs them into her mouth, gooey sticky colours smeared all over her face and hands. I turn back to the four small gems resting on the desk. My mind starts to wander…
‘No-one can see, no-one will know…But they’re Lily’s. Not mine. There’ll be trouble…’
So I turn my back to my game. My special treat for being good in class… but the sweets are still there, almost waving at me. Then suddenly in a delicious rainbow burst, they’re in my mouth.
My sugar stained hand reaches out for more, and the other girl, still chewing empties the tube like the horn of plenty over my trembling hand.
Bright, delicious and extravagant, the taste was paradise.
Bad, deliberate and evil. I begin to shake and sweat with guilt as I realise what I have done.
Lily’s sweets, Lily’s birthday treat. All gone.
Well of course it was all the other girls fault, she opened them, she almost made me eat them, putting them next to me like that. But I’d still eaten them myself. I’ll be in big trouble now - the teacher’ll shout. Maybe she’ll even do the cheek-wobbly, spitting shout she did when Richard Jackson tried to run away last week. Maybe if I owned-up she wouldn’t get too cross. But maybe if I said nothing she’d not notice until home-time.
I paced the room, in turmoil over my dilemma, while the other girl licked the sweet-juice from her fingers.
I paced and moaned like a man on death row, until guilt won me over.
I turned towards the door, and prepared for my cheek-wobbly, spitty fate.
“We’ll
be 15 minutes late when we pick you up this afternoon, “ rang my
mother’s voice around and around my head.
Lifting
my face to the sky, I noticed a gap in the clouds. Just a small opening.
In that opening there was a small opening there was a small star,
smiling at me, telling me to keep going. I looked at the spot of hope
and in that moment I knew that my best friend was looking up to a blue
sky, to the same star and thinking of me, we were miles apart,
continents and oceans were between us, but it would take more than that
to break us up.
It
had only been a few weeks ago when we had been laughing together:
sitting on the swings at school. We had sworn to be inseparable, always
the best of friends and so we were.
But
I was alone. With no one to share my memories with.
How
sad she had been when I’d told her I was leaving. Her face had
crumpled, the light had gone out of hr eyes, like a cloud blocking out
the
Deserted
and alone. That was how I felt. I had no best friend here that I could
trust. No one. Alone. Deserted.
My
fairytale life had gone wrong. I was the damsel in distress but no one
was going to come and save me. No one.
For here I would always be alone.
I
turned back to the star. It twinkled, encouraging me. Always watching
and smiling, like a mother encouraging her baby to go on the swings for
the very first time.
I
was distracted from my beacon of hope by seeing a leaf in the tree fall
to the ground: it was still green. I tiptoed over to it. It had fallen
into a blue pool of water, staring up at me from its resting place. From
where it lay, I saw a particular shape. The leaf was my beloved
Ripples
ran, like little fairies, across the pool; sinking the leaf.
Just
then the first drop of rain fell from the night sky.