Day: October 8, 2015

Sun shines down on Autumn Games

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More than four hundred and fifty P7s from eleven local schools took part in the Active Schools Autumn Games at Broughton High School today. The children took the opportunity to try out six different sports and there were prizes at the end for top school teams too.

Active Schools coordinator Robert Ure, who organised the event, explained: “The eleven primary schools who took part were Pirniehall and St Davids from the Craigroyston Cluster; Granton, Ferryhill, Flora Stevenson and Stockbridge from the Broughton Cluster; Trinity, Wardie and Victoria from the Trinity Cluster and Abbeyhill and Broughton from the Drummond Cluster.

“They are all P7 classes and I’d estimate we had between 450 – 500 pupils in attendance. The pupils competed in six different competitions – girl’s rugby, boy’s rugby, lacrosse (new this year), football, Tae Kwon Do and fencing – and the winners were presented with a shield to keep for a year.”

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Robert thanked the coaches and volunteers for their essential support in making the event such a success – and there was also a huge thank-you to the school children who took part: while the competition was spirited and enthusiastic, the young athletes were impeccably behaved and a credit to their schools throughout.

And the winners on the day?

Tae Kwon Do – Trinity

Boys Rugby – Wardie

Girls Rugby – Flora Stevenson

Fencing – St David’s

Football – Granton 

Lacrosse – Victoria

Congratulations to all the winners, but as we all know it’s not just about winning, it’s the taking part – so well done to all 450 young sports stars who helped to make the Autumn Games so special!

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A poem for National Poetry Day

A poem to celebrate National Poetry Day

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LUCOZADE

by JACKIE KAY

My mum is on a high bed next to sad chrysanthemums.
‘Don’t bring flowers, they only wilt and die.’
I am scared my mum is going to die
on the bed next to the sad chrysanthemums.

She nods off and her eyes go back in her head.
Next to her bed is a bottle of Lucozade.
‘Orange nostalgia, that’s what that is,’ she says.
‘Don’t bring Lucozade either,’ then fades.

‘The whole day was a blur, a swarm of eyes.
Those doctors with their white lies.
Did you think you could cheer me up with a Woman’s Own?
Don’t bring magazines, too much about size.’

My mum wakes up, groggy and low.
‘What I want to know,’ she says,’ is this:
where’s the big brandy,the generous gin, the Bloody Mary,the biscuit tin, the chocolate gingers, the dirty big    meringue?’

I am sixteen; I’ve never tasted a Bloody Mary.
‘Tell your father to bring a luxury,’ says she.
‘Grapes have no imagination, they’re just green.
Tell him: stop the neighbours coming.’

I clear her cupboard in Ward 10B, Stobhill Hospital.
I leave, bags full, Lucozade, grapes, oranges,
sad chrysanthemums under my arms,
weighted down. I turn round, wave with her flowers.

My mother, on her high hospital bed, waves back.
Her face is light and radiant, dandelion hours.
Her sheets billow and whirl. She is beautiful. 
Next to her the empty table is divine.

I carry the orange nostalgia home singing an old song.