Photo Catch Up: 

There is always something cool and interesting happening here. Last week I shared a couple of photos of our ANZAC commemorative display at the front of our school.

After looking at it, one child asked me why so many people had died here over the holidays. Another asked why we had lots of letter Ts and no other letters.

Pink Shirt Day is coming up soon - Friday 19 May - and a few of us got into the spirit of the day early last week.

Our senior school children are proud of their cultural heritage(s) and proud to see the awesome new posters of each of our ethnic groups on display in our ILE (Innovative Learning Environment).

ANZAC Day has been a study focus across our school. Here are some photos of senior students' artwork and writing.

Below are two samples of writing from Io and Donald.

Another day in this miserable life in the trenches. It's 12 o'clock, and we've just finished what they call lunch. As I move down the trenches, I can hear guns going off. 

Men are dying as I walk to my bag. I can smell rotting flesh.

My noble beast, Rose Quartz, is my dog - I call her Rose for short. Right now, I'm thinking about my four children and my pregnant wife back home, and I say, please, Lord, let this horrible war end.

I glanced surprisedly at a massive troop of soldiers from a distance. I glimpsed a large, disgusting rat, carefully sniffing through my torn bag. Running towards me, I can faintly hear footsteps and the wild barking of my guard dog. While calmly writing in my ripped diary, I heard threatening guns being rapidly loaded; shot dangerously. 

Hugging my cute dog, I smelt the usual food I have to force down my poor throat every single day. At the same time, I also smelt gunpowder from my teammate's terrifying gun. 

Uncomfortably, I felt the rough clothes/ the heavy gun unpleasantly pressing against my weak shoulder. Simultaneously, I felt my fluffy war dog happily cuddling me. Nervously, I took a taste of the hard cracker we officially call a "meal", wondering if the dry crackers were expired. Anxiously, I also tasted the beef my strict commander had left with me for days, wondering if the meat was rotten. 

Curiously, I thought to myself: are we going to win this war? Almost every day, I have to strenuously dig mud to make room for my sick comrades. I felt hopeless, "will I even matter? I am just one helpless soldier who can even do the training properly? Bravely, I whispered to myself, "we will win this war, we have to."

Room 23 Triangle Art

Olive and Amelia love their new Cats Netball hoodies.

May the 4th at Western Heights