ENGLISH
MANAGER’S REPORT
Over the holidays, why not hone your writing skills by submitting an entry to Writer Of The Month or even the My Brother Jack Literary Awards? McKinnon has a proud history of staff and students having their pieces featured and rewarded in the My Brother Jack competition.
The My Brother Jack Awards recognise the outstanding literary achievements of people who live, work or study in Glen Eira. Prizes are awarded for short stories and poetry in the categories of Primary; Junior Secondary; Senior Secondary; and Open. Find out more information and submit your piece here:
Entries open Thursday 1 July and close 5pm, Monday 6 September 2021.
The English faculty would like to wish all students and families a safe and relaxing break - you’ve earned a rest. We look forward to seeing you again in Term 3.
Sam Florence
English KLA Manager
CONGRATULATIONS to McKinnon’s TOP WRITERS for June!
Well done to the many talented students who entered Writer of the Month in May.
HUGE congratulations to: Daina Harris (Year 11),Phu An Ta (Year 11),Yee Xuan (Chantelle) Ho (Year 10),Azam Chelakkadan (Year 9),Isabelle Groom (Year 9),Advaith Patil (Year 9),Ilya Zyuzin (Year 9), Khushi Agarwal (Year 7),Ruben Chapman (Year 7),Maleesha Dharmadasa (Year 7) and Bella Duong (Year 7).
These students have won a $50 (Senior School) and $30 (Junior School) voucher from Benn’s Books and gained 50 points for their house. You can read their outstanding pieces on the ‘WOTM’ Google site HERE
Entries for the July competition need to be shared with your English or Literature teacher no later than 3:30pm, Wednesday 21 July.
Keep up the fantastic writing, McKinnon students!
Liz Pentland
Writer of the Month Coordinator
MASHUPS/PASTICHES - CREATIVE RESPONSES TO CLASSICS IN 9 LITERATURE
This pastiche focuses on a scene that is not shown in the original Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Celebrating the style and setting of Brontë’s novel, we chose to write from the perspective of Mr Rochester. The scene occurs while Jane is with her cousins, whereby Mr Rochester, returning home after a long absence searching for Jane, finds Thornfield Hall in flames…
Heavy clouds hung in the sky - heavy as my own heart, reader - their cinereous blackness brushing the tops of the orchard’s trees as I strode along a sheltered pathway; my orchard, once an Eden; once real, now but a bare confine - meaningless to me without my Janet. The evening breeze flew by, carrying with her the sweet scent of jasmine, briar, southernwood and roses. She circled around me, her arms opened full and wide with an embrace, and for a moment a wave of gentleness washed over me; the delicate fragrance of the flowers drawing out the only fragment of peace left inside me and I could almost grasp once again that feeling of satisfaction, of content, that had once been mine but it was only a cruel mockery, she vanished as fast as she came.
Deeper and deeper did I pass through the thick maze of ivy, my mind darting back and forth; my thoughts, as they so often were, hesitant, dwelling on my Jane - oh, how little is that which I would not willingly give, but to have her stumble hither - my poor Janet! On travel-weary limb - my elven maid; if she were only here. The endless tangled paths eventually straightened and merged into a wide walkway, leading to the heart of the orchard, where the once strong and powerful chestnut tree stood. For a moment a memory brought a smile to my lips: it had not been long since I had sat here with Jane; her small, pale face shining in the moonlight - no, it had not been long. This chestnut - formerly a place where one could sit and contemplate for hours, shielded by the mighty giant - was now nothing—nothing but a twisted stump.
I had lifted my hand to the single leaf remaining on the brittle branches - the last of its brethren - and was brushing my fingertips across its surface, when, without warning, it burst into a small fiery wisp. And then the sound reached me.
Had I not caught the snapping sound, on the now-still air; had this not occasioned me to look back, I would not have known about the blazing fury before me then. Tongues of flames licked at the outer walls of Thornfield as the entire Hall was engulfed by a fiery tornado; smoldering debris spat savagely left and right like showers of shooting stars as the flames spread fast and wide, fashioning the entire place into a bright blaze amidst the churning blackness that was the sky.
For a moment, I was stupefied by the smoke; it crept into my throat and stung at my eyes even as I shielded my face from the malevolent cloud. It was only but a moment, though, ere the full impression of the spectacle was realized in my mind - then I tore toward the conflagration, Pilot bounding at my side. My arrival heralded shrieks from the people clustered without - half the town, it appeared. Grace Poole was clutched by dozens of hands as she moaned.
“What the deuce have you done, woman?” I roared at her over the heads of the crowd; barely did she have time to open her mouth ere I cut her off: “Is everybody out?!”
In response, eyes widened, she looked to the roof - and I followed her gaze to view, standing upon the slate, a demonic figure; a spectre hideously shrouded by smoke and flame - Bertha!
Katy Do and Rowen Hull
Year 9 Literature Students
Subject Teacher: Dr Natalie Day
To read the piece in its entirety, visit the McKinnon Literature site: