UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010 1

UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010July 2010

Coco Avant Chanel

“The word Chanel immediately invokes a sense of understated beauty and opulence”. ‘Coco Avant Chanel’, with features such as its sim-mering, nostalgic score by Alexandre Desplat, expertly evokes this sense of grandeur and elegance. Directed by the guiding hands of Anne Fontaine, ‘Coco Avant Chanel’ beautifully portrays Gabrielle Chanel’s rise to fame. By adeptly bringing to life this fashion icon, Audrey Tautou’s insightful performance makes this biopic an enthralling tale of the highs and lows of Coco’s extraordinary life. With splendid costumes true to those Chanel would have designed and worn, and down-to-earth camera work, this period drama stands out from the rest.

Growing up with her sister in an orphanage, waiting for her father every Sunday, Chanel had a hard start to life. A cabaret performer for drunk soldiers, Coco had already begun to step out of the confines of her time by defying the trend to wear corsets. She developed a fascination for wearing men’s clothing, with straw hats instead feathers and, as she so rightly put it, the “meringues” that other women were wearing on their heads. Coco began to make her own way, bringing others along for the ride, eventually becoming the symbol of success, freedom and style we know her as today.

The music used in the movie is incredibly heartfelt and true to Chanel’s emotions. At the start of the film, when Gabrielle Chanel is in a cart with her sister being brought to the orphanage, the music expresses without words her resigna-tion at being taken into the confines of the building. The soft notes of the piano reflect Chanel’s honest, kind personality, blending with the mellow harmony of the cello and inducing a sense of longing for the familiar past. When the pizzicato violin and the triangle begin, they bring a sense of curiosity and wonder to the orchestration. At the moment when Chanel first sees the place where she is to live, a sad, subtle piano melody emerges, bringing depth to the audience’s understanding of Chanel’s emotions. The music grows with Chanel, becoming cheeky and adventurous along with her. When Coco decides to leave her work as a seamstress later in the film the score is sad, but curious, merging into the wonderful tinkling of a vibraphone. When the score finally breaks into a re-occurrence of the opening melody it is somehow richer, showing how Coco has developed from her childhood into a woman of prestige and status. All of these combine to make the soundtrack of the film both evocative and captivating.

Audrey Tautou brings an air of mystery and elegance to her role. She contrasts enormously with Benoit Poelvoorde’s Etienne Balsan, who is cocky and self-absorbed, while fusing seamlessly with the charming Englishman, Arthur (Boy) Capel, played by Alessandro Nivola. When Coco first meets Etienne, Tautou’s cold indifference and Poelvoorde’s confident, witty style makes for a scene with interesting contrasts. “When I’m bored I feel ancient” Tautou says, with little colour to her tone and a stoney look in her eyes. Etienne replies with “how old do you feel now?” The strong look on her face and clipped way she says “a thousand years old” show Coco’s distaste for Balsan. When she is with Boy, however, Tautou’s eyes light up and the pleased expression on her face takes years off her. When Boy pays an unexpected visit to Chanel in her studio, she rushes upstairs after him, Tautou’s eager

Stephen Kirton

2 UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010

body language and gleeful expression successfully showing the carefree demeanour Chanel adopts when with Boy.

Throughout the film Coco’s outfits distinguish her from the crowd. When she goes to the beach, every single woman is wearing a puffy white dress with a massive hat, every piece of jewelry they own slung around their necks. Coco, however, is wearing a simple grey dress with a straw hat. Not only do Chanel’s clothes differ-entiate her from the rest but they also reflect Chanel’s creative personality. Later she creates a new look for herself by sewing the cuffs and collar of Etienne’s shirt onto a dress she used to perform in, making a simple yet sophisticated outfit for formal occasions. The costumes become progressively more extravagant throughout the movie, mirroring Coco’s taste as it becomes more grand and she begins to design her own clothes. In the closing scene of the film, the costumes are incredibly beautiful, radiating opulence and signifying the blossom-ing stage at which Coco is at in her life.

The camera work used in the film gives it a very realistic mood, almost one of being there. This is often achieved by tracking, the camera performing the movements one’s eyes would normally make when casually watching something. When the film opens, a shaky camera technique is used to emphasise the movement of the cart as it rattles along the country lanes. A point of view shot, showing what Gabrielle would have seen when looking between the bars of the cart, gives a sense of her being imprisoned. In a contrast to this confinement, the final scene of the movie uses a steadicam which zooms towards Chanel through a runway created by her models. Climbing the curving staircase, it gives the illusion of walking up to her yourself - a most magical feeling. The camera comes to a halt in a medium close up of Tautou, the picture turning black and white, becoming a mirror image of a picture of Coco Chanel herself and cleverly recalling her famous reflected ‘c’ logo.

Coco Chanel continued to work until the day of her death, on the 10th January 1971. It was a Sunday, the day of rest, the day she never liked. ‘Coco Avant Chanel’ pays tribute to the triumphs and blows of Chanel’s life. It is frank, but very glamorous, a beautiful depiction of an extraordinary woman. The film captures and reflects this beauty in its shimmering soundtrack, insightful acting, glamorous costume and well crafted cinematography. “I invented my life by taking for granted that everything I did not like would have an op-posite which I would like”, Coco Chanel said, and this film shows the transformation she undertook to live out this motto. Rachel Thomas

TWO GIRLS CLEANING THEIR ROOMSHarikoa Bronsdaughter-George

IOne bed, one desk.Bestrewn with book, magazines and eloquent memorabilia,Portraying the history of the room of a girl of thirteen.Move a foot, turn over a new leaf, awaken movement in a pile of dust,Polish the anxieties of a developing mind that have been left around,Growing mould in the carpets, sewing shadows in the sheets, tangled up in webby corners, waiting.Waiting for something sweet to spray away the past.Put up new curtains to attract the sunshine,And don’t make the room cold when they shut.Uncrumpled sheets with air enough to sleep in, without making it preferable to bitter wake-fulness,Wandering an eye around a musty roof.A new shelf for the books to enable free walking,Give space to centimetres that were formerly imaginary numbers,Add a touch of colour to the air,To envelop the walls in tenderness,To make the room in general jubilant, comfortable and carefree,As good a place to live in,As the room around the cornerBelonging to her eighteen-year-old sister.

UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010 3

IIHugging the star shaped cushion that lasted from her fifth birthday,The woman lies on her bed and thinks,As she surveys treasures collected in her youth,Hidden intimately among the school work of combined years,Though the past is pretty, it’s place is in the past.Out with the old books of knowledge learnt by heart.The song books and plays go together, the paint share a box with the pastels,and the time has come for things to go back.Shells to the ocean, sticks to their trees, the clothes to more loving wearers.Now devoid of unwanted trinkets, the jewels of a life-time are cleared awayin the mockery of chests that is a cupboard.The view of the door takes in that cupboard, table, drawer, bed and star pillow,of a thousand different places, a thousand different times.The room is now ready,to be filled with the trickle of new trinkets.Accumulated presents of the life, achievements and moments,of a girl beginning university.

THE PRECIPICE“Mercy is for the weak, the feeble-minded. You do not show mercy to the heretic, so that they might influence your mind towards the darkness they worship. And neither would you need to show mercy to the innocent, for those that stand in your way are nothing but the seeds of blasphemy for the enemies that you combat.” -- Brother Derick, Hereticus Exemplare.

Two men were at the precipice of a cliff, high above in the snowy caps of mountains few traveled, or bothered to think of. Only one wielded a blade, clad in hardy steel armor that, in another environment, may have shone like a beacon to the sun. His tabard, its outline a dark crimson red contrasting against the pure white of the rest, was well enough a replacement with it’s symbol of flame.Here, now, this was terror. The other man bled, knelt below the armored knight while clothed only in dark robes, ripped and torn and painted red with the blood of its wearer. He stood closer to the edge, his palms flat against the frost-bitten rock that had stood the test against time.The kneeling man, the robed man, spoke first. Tears stained a wisened face, and grief mixed with sorrow in his voice. The man in armor remained still, a towering and emotionless statue.“Does your heart still guide you?” was a question he asked. The wind may have swept it away, perhaps, for the silent knight did not show he had heard.“Do you still see the Light in the dark?” he asked, soon after. It came raspy, drained, coming from a man exhausted and tired and broken, struggling to hold on to the essence of his life. An arm buckled, leaving the robed man to crumple against his side. It was then that the knight showed his recognition, a boot raised up against his victim’s throat. “Will you still follow the Scarlet Crusade?”The knight maintained his silent position, his only reply a short, stern nod, before he brought the tip of his blade up against the robed man’s heart. The chest heaved upwards, desperate for breath. One of his last.As the bearded, snow-coated face concealed within the hood gazed up towards the knight one last time, tears streaming down his face faster than the cold could freeze them, he ut-tered three silent, mournful words.“I’m so sorry.”The blade plunged into the flesh, and red rivers ran to stain the snow around them, pool-ing around the cold steel boot of the knight.“What is necessary, be done,” echoed from within the armor, and the knight began his quiet journey away from the precipice. Away from the lifeless body that was now con-cealed in the building storm.Away from humanity.Connor Bachert

4 UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010

LONDON’S BURNINGBy Jennifer LoaderOn the corner of the crossing there sits an old man. He is playing the accordion. His eyes are shut against the sun, and yet his fingers still dance sightless over the keys. On Fridays, Satur-days, Sunday afternoons I walk past, taking the twins to ballet school. Listening to them as they moan about the other girls, who only ever talk about how much they ate for breakfast, or who can touch the ground with palms down while standing up. Bess feels silly there, and Tess fells sillier, because she never wanted to go in the first place. Bess saw a ballet once, and begged for lessons, and no-one thought that Tess should miss out. no-one thought that she might want to miss out. And of course, there’s nothing sweeter than identical dancing twins. Apart from identical happy twins, that is.Tess would much rather sit on a fold out chair on a dusty street corner and play music to the passers-by.I started taking the twins to school there three weeks ago. I’m their elder sister, see. The first time I walked by the corner, I ignored the old man, because I thought he was unworthy of my attention, mainly because he didn’t have a proper job.The second time Bess persuaded me to drop a silver penny in the accordion case, and the old man grinned and carried on playing, maybe a little more jauntily. That smile must have got to me, for after that I dropped a penny every time, for luck. Maybe buskers did have a place in the grand scheme of things. After all, he did put a spring in peoples’ steps, however much they tried to stop their feet from jiggling.Occaisionally there was something important happening at the school, and on those days I dropped two pennies, one for Bess and one for Tess. Today was one of those days, and the twins were cygnets in a small rendition of Swan Lake.But this time when I dropped two coins, the accordionist stopped playing, every other time he had started a new tune, one for happy journeys or good fortune.“I think you better drop a coin for yourself too”, he said.I hesitated.“Go on, everyone is staring now, no one talks to buskers. Think of it as a safety investment.”“Ok.” I dropped an extra penny and as we walked on the accordionist began to play. Bess and Tess sang along: “London’s burning, London’s burning!”None of us could remember all of the words, but the song followed us all the way to the ballet school. Maybe if I had been in a more attentive mood I would have been suspicious, but as it was a blistering day, I attributed to song to the weather, didn’t stop to think.

Someone was just leaving the ballet school when we arrived. He wove between the clusters of tiny ballerinas like someone afraid of making contact with the world. When I blinked he was gone.The house smelled rather strange when we went inside, as if someone had just given it a new coat of strong paint. The dusty walls gave away no clues.“Oh, yuck. Look at my shoes.” Bess says, holding up a bedraggled pair of ribboned slippers. They were sticky with some dark and oily substance. It almost looked as though they had been dipped in treacle.I sniffed at the shoe and remembered something.“Bess, this smells an awful lot like meths...”“What’s that? I think it smells like the petrol station.”“Petrol...” but before I had time to gather my thoughts the instructor came in.“Lucy, what are you doing here? You are meant to bring the girls here, you don’t have to help them get dressed. Go on, out. The girls are slow enough as it is without you hanging around.”“But Mrs Michael, what’s that strange smell?”“Smell?”“Yes, like petrol, or meths.”“Oh, that! That’s probably just the floor. It’s getting varnished tomorrow. And don’t worry about the stage, girls, there’s no varnishing to be done there till next week. Wouldn’t want you to slip in the performance. If you really want to know, it’s just primer or something. Someone came round this morning to do it.”“What was his name?”“Why do you want to know? Is he a relative of yours?”“No, it’s just that my father’s in the varnishing business himself and I was wondering.”“Please, Lucy Darkill, go and sit in the auditorium, the play will shortly be starting.”The door slammed in my face.

There was something I didn’t quite understand. I didn’t go and get a front seat, not only be-cause they were full of admiring parents, but because I wanted to catch Bess before she came on stage. She mustn’t go on stage with those shoes, they were almost certainly flammable. And with the smell of petrol, or varnishing primer or whatever it was, I couldn’t help thinking of fires.

UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010 5

I knew that Bess was entering from the left and I managed to creep past Mrs Michael, who was in earnest conversation with an anxious parent. Apparently his daughter had come down with a very bad headache as soon as she had entered the house.“...She said it was the smell...”I hurried past and nearly walked into Bess.“Take those shoes off, now. I don’t care if you walk on stage barefoot, just do it.”“But I...Oh, those shoes. I lent them to Demelza. She does the main role, and she said some-thing about needing shoes with extra grip.”There was the rasp of wood on sandpaper, the hiss of phosphorus, a glimmer of flame from the other side of the stage.London’s burning, I thought.The orchestra faded into the background, and I could hear the accordion again. Light reflected in the eyes of someone hidden in the shadows. Flame light.“No!”, I yelled.Mrs Michael turned, saw me, and gave a furious hiss.“I can’t believe you. Get out now!”“But...”A scream echoed from the wings, and both of us watched as Demelza danced the opening scene with no trepidation. Bright fire was leaping from one oily footprint to another. The curtains were in flames.“Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!”

DelayedSun shone through the golden archway of trees, casting dappled light upon the damp moss ridden ground. Horses’ hooves could be heard in the distance, softly pawing the ground as stable hands ‘saddled up’. A staunch man with thick dragon’s hide gloves and stiff black riding boots approached the horses with an air of confidence. He lifted his foot into the first stirrup, casting his remaining leg over the horse’s strong back with well practised ease. Fingers grasping the reins, he pulled his arms gently back to let the horse know he was there.

Unfortunately for him, just as he was doing so, the well articulated voice of journey companion and servant Charles gave him such an almighty fright when he uttered the word, “sir”. So much so, that the rider pulled back on the reins far too hard, the horse reared with an ear splitting neigh and the poor estate owner slid right off it’s back into a pile of manure that the horse had deposited just five minutes prior. Gracious as it was, the horse which by the way was called Poppy, then continued eating the glistening green grass in front of her.

Covered in horse poo and looking slightly flustered, Giles, the well re-spected business man and owner of Gilderoy Estate, who had been about to make a journey across the countryside to visit his sister, got to his feet with a slight wobble. Recovering his composure, he fixed Charles with a penetrating stare that was nothing less than murderous.

“ How dare you Charles, how absolutely dare you! This is a bloody out-rage I tell you. If you had just come and mounted the horses at the same time as me, I would not be standing here covered in horse manure, our luggage would not be stewing in a pile of it and to top it all off we would NOT BE DELAYED!” He finished, breathing heavily with outrage. “Now, I shall go inside and have a nice relaxing bath to calm down. While YOU, on the other hand, shall clean up this mess, repack our bags and inform my sister of this sticky little predicament you’ve got us into. Ooh I’d like to see her when she gets her hands on you! She’ll be livid.”

“Oh and Charles, make sure to tell my brother Niles that he’ll be joining us on the journey tomorrow, I want him to be there for my sister’s reac-tion. Hopefully we will be delayed no further.” And with that he strode off towards his steaming hot bath that awaited. By Jessica Hofacher

DarknessThe cold wind blows fiercelyin the outside worldwhile I am inside, warmand safe from thedangers that lurkin the shadows.

Oh how I long tobe able to go outsideand frolic amongstthe wild rabbits, tolay in the warmgrass and look upat the clouds andjust daydream forhours on end.

But those days arelong gone. As arethe wild rabbits, thegrass, and even theclouds are gone too.

They all got eatenby the darkness, itlurks around everycorner, hides underevery rock, and waitstill your alone, tillyou’ve let you’re guarddown. Then it strikes. Itgrabs you and consumesyou, mind and soul, leavingbehind nothing but darkness,and your empty shell of a body.Josh Dempsey

Green Felt Monster Vita CochranAdult Helper

Intensive Workshop

Dark Blue Felt MonsterBena Jackson

Intensives Workshop

6 UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010

The Siege LinePart 1The siege line was holding. The Space Marines were working well, slowly crushing the wall the heretics had built. He could see all the details with ease. As a Space Marine Captain, he was trained to see them. He let the huge, two-handed Thunder Hammer in his hand rest over his worn, yellow shoulder pad, the paper purity seals near it’s head fluttering in the light dusk wind. He walked the front line trenches passing many of his warriors, mostly boltgun equiped Tactical Space Marines, all of which bore the same worn yellow colours of their Captain. There was an Assault Squad present here also - stripped of their distinctively large jump packs, each armed with a bolt pistol and a chainsword - ready to engage the enemy in hand-to-hand. The bulk of his company’s warriors were - naturally - in this front line.The second line was filled with the Devastator Squads of 3rd Company, the heavy weapons soldiers of the Cap-tain’s Company. The noise they were making back there was astounding, with all the heavy weapons of the com-pany firing salvo after salvo of las-shots, missiles and plasma rounds at the huge wall. Sitting above his trench, the Captain could see the three dull yellow Whirlwind tanks, adding their missiles to the immense fusillade of noise, making an impressive smoke trail with each launch. Beside these sat two Vindicators bearing the same livery, throwing large calibre shells towards the base of the wall, each impact forcing cracks with a huge explosion.Suddenly a section of the wall broke apart and collapsed, creating a low hill of rubble and a huge cloud of smoke. Bolter fire rang out of the smoke and the Captain saw at least two of his warriors get hit hard before they collapsed on the ground. The “Return fire!” command instinc-tively left his lips and travelled to every warrior under his command through the vox-link.Without drawing his bolt pistol weapon, the Captain watched as the gloaming trench was lit by the muzzle flashes of at least fifty of his Space Marine’s boltguns. Though he could see enemy warriors falling, many pushed forward to reveal their identity. The Captain saw a Chaos Space Marine break cover, his armour a dull metal and black with worn golden trim. His left leg and boltgun bore angled yellow and black stripes, like those used on dangerous equipment.The Captain kissed his armoured fingertips before placing them on the body of the huge, red aquilla on his chest and offering a short prayer to the God-Emperor with a bowed head. Then he lifted his head and leapt out of the trench and yelled, “Primarch, for your glory and the the glory of Him on Earth!”He was proud to hear his warriors chorus the battlecry back to him as they too exited the trench, his Assault Squad hot on his heels. The Captain ran, charging towards the nearest Iron Warrior.Tim Taylor

The Siege LinePart 2The siege line was breaking. The Warsmith was killing the yellow Space Marines with a hate he hadn’t felt in almost a decade. The huge Servo-arm on his back acted as giant claw, easily able to throw the warriors of the False Emperor out of his way as he searched way to push the loyalists back. His age old boltgun fired heartily into nearby Space Marines.Like the Imperial’s Space Marine Captain, the Iron Warrior Warsmith was a commander of around one hundred Chaos Space Marines, all of which were just as, if not more, superhuman than the loyal Space Marines.The wall had collapsed sometime over an hour ago and, being a Traitor Legion known for it’s ability to both attack and defend fortress, he had taken the opportunity to launch a counter-attack with his anxiously bristling Iron Warriors. Sadly, they had been met with an almost exacting fury to their own, with the Imperials making more ground than the Iron Warriors had.The Warsmith had got to the breach with his personal Terminators - five hugely armoured Chaos Space Ma-rines, armed with twin boltgun and massive energy filled fists - just in time to repel the loyalists from the rubble strewn hole, but just as they had pushed them off the wall, the assault tanks had started grumbling.Painted with the same dull yellow as the other Space Marine tanks and armed with Autocannons and Heavy Bolters, they brought with them another infantry advance as they swept through the thinning Iron Warrior ranks.The defense had stood well. Of the four tanks that advanced, three had been destroyed. The Warsmith himself had taken delight in removing one of turrets with his huge Servo-arm, before the hole had been filled with grenades thrown by nearby Iron Warriors. His Terminators had ruined a tank as well, smashing it’s sides in with their massive fists and cutting down the escaping crew with their twin boltguns. The Warsmith had seen many of his Iron Warriors and one of his Terminators felled by the Space Marine Captain and his huge Thunder Ham-mer, the black and white fist symbol on his left shoulder pad portraying his chapter.The other yellow tank had been removed with the Iron Warrior’s own heavy weapon crews. The rest of the advance was put into flight, back to the safety of their trenches.The Warsmith had called for his Chaos Space Marines to hold their ground, knowing that the Space Marines of the False Emperor would attack in again. Despite this, most of the Iron Warriors, including the Warsmith’s Terminators, pursued the loyalists towards the trenches. With-out support and outnumbered they were dooming themselves.The only thing that could come of this, thought the Warsmith, is a loss. And the Warsmith hated losing a battle. He hated losing to the False Emperor’s Space Ma- rines more. But the one thing he hated above all was losing to the yellow liveried Space Marine Chapter of the Imperial Fists.Tim Taylor

The ClockBig white clock.Small black hands moveover golden numbers.

Time keeps passing,never stopping.Until Now.Josh Dempsey

UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010 7

Ferren + ZagI am Ferren, Ferren JonesI Am Sixteen Years OldI live on Caspian Lane, LondonThere Is A Boy Living in My Closet

There Is a boy living in my closet. I have called him Zag. I don’t know for sure but I am pretty sure he’s my age. He has always been there. I met him when we moved here. I have lived on Caspian Lane for 12 months now. Ever since my father got his new job.

‘Dinner’s Ready’, called mother from downstairs. I turned off my iPod and peered into the closet. ‘Zag, you wanna come to dinner tonight?’‘But your mother does not like me’ he croaked from the darkness.‘My mother doesn’t know you’ I assured him.Hand in hand we walked downstairs. My mother stared at us, ‘See, mum’s smiled at you’, I told Zag.‘Who are you talking to Ferriana?’ mother called, using my full name.‘Zag, you know Zag’ I replied.‘Who?’‘Zag!’My mother gave father a confused look.‘Her invisible friend!’, father asserted.‘Oh right, um Ferren, there’s somebody I’d like for you to meet tomorrow’.‘Who’s that mother?’‘You’ll find out tomorrow, now eat your dinner’

After dinner Zag and I went back upstairs to my bedroom. Zag downloaded some interesting music; we listened to it together till late. Then we fell asleep. Together.My mother woke me up in the morning. She told me to get up and get dressed because we were going out. I got out of bed. I got dressed. Before I hugged Zag and told him I’d be back soon. I got into the car and switched my iPod on. ‘If It Means A Lot To You by: A Day To Remember’ was playing and always reminds me of Zag. I stared at the dashboard. Eventually we arrived at the London Medical Center. I got out of the car, I stared at the massive building. It was grey, you know the boring grey colour most boring buildings are. I looked at the windows. Most had curtains blocking my view but the ones that didn’t mostly had cards and flowers on the window sill. A man was looking out one windows. He looked sad. I could see the pain in his eyes. We walked through the main doors. I could immediately smell that familiar hospital smell. Kinda like latex gloves, blood and soap. It makes me feel sick. I wanted to leave. We walked to the receptionist’s desk. She was a pretty young woman, looked about 24. ‘Hello there, how may I help you’‘I have an appointment for Ferriana Jones,’The woman tapped away at her computer, then she got up and led us down a hallway,‘Right this way’.Then she stopped at the door and knocked. ‘Michael… here is your 1 o’clock’.‘Thank you, Natalie’, the doctor said, giving her a warm smile. Natalie left, closing the door behind her. The room wasn’t much, pale blue walls, an anatomy model of a human an examination table and a shelf full of gloves, dressings and a wash basin.‘Take a seat’, The doctor said, gesturing toward the two seat in front of us. Mother and I sat down.‘Hello, I am Doctor Michael Evergreen, you must be Ferren’. The doctor introduced himself, then he spoke to my mother and I.‘So, you have a friend, Ferren?’ he asked me, as if he was talking to a 5 year old.‘Yeah, I have a friend’, I replied,‘What’s his name?’‘Zag’.‘How long have you known Zag for, Ferren?’‘ A while.’‘Where did he come form?’Well, I don’t really know, he has been living in our house for all of his life, when we moved in he was pleased to have a friend’.‘where does he sleep Ferren?’‘My closet’.‘Does he leave your closet?’‘Yes, some nights he goes out’.‘Where does he go?’‘I don’t know, I’m always fast asleep when he leaves’.

Orange Felt Monster Tara Hayward

Intensive Workshop

Felt Marker Drawing by Tamra November

8 UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010

‘Right, thanks for this Ferren, maybe you could wait outside while I speak to your mother, yeah?’ he said, ges-turing towards the door.I left, sat on the seat in the corridor. I pressed my ear to the wall and listened to the doctor and my mother talking.‘…so, you’ve never seen such a boy in your life Mrs Jones?’‘Nope, I have never seen him, she is making it all up.’‘Hmmmm, it is very rare for a girl her age to have an invisible friend’.‘Yes, yes, I know. she is crazy’.‘Ma’am, has your daughter ever been exposed to or taken any illicit substances such as RCD* and or opium?’‘No no of course not, she knows better than that.’‘Have you ever heard Ferren taking to… him,?‘Yes, all the time, every night I hear her chatting away to him, Its driving me mad!, what is wrong with her?’Hmmmmm, it seems your daughter is showing signs of… Schizophrenia’.‘What is that doc?’‘Basically it is a mental disease that causes hallucinations and delusions.’‘So she is seeing and hearing things that aren’t really there?’‘Exactly!’ the doctor exclaimed’.‘What can we do about it?’‘Well, just to make sure that what we are dealing with is, in fact schizophrenia, I will have to get you to run a little experiment. Basically, what I want you to do is to avoid all conversation of Zag. When he comes down to dinner, don’t put him out a plate or chair and whenever Ferren talks to him, ignore her. I know this may seem a little harsh but it’s the only way.’‘Ok, thanks doctor’.‘I’d like to see you back here with Ferren at the end of the week. ‘Sure, doc’.

Mother walked out the the door, I got up and we walked back out to the car. We drove home in silence.When we got home I immediately bolted up the stairs, Zag was up and he was sitting on my bed reading. He greeted me with a smile, I sat down beside him. I asked him what his book was like, he said it was pretty average, a generic story about a murder case, he likes those kinds of books. I checked my cell, it was getting late. Zag and I walked down the stairs together for dinner. ‘Mother, where is Zag’s place at the table?’ She ignored me. I ran into the kitchen and took out a plate, knife and a fork, slamming the cupboard behind me! We ate our dinner. I kept giggling because Zags was pulling faces at mother. After tea we went back up to my bedroom and watched ‘Interview with a Vampire’ on my laptop. I fell asleep in Zags’ arms.I love him.He’s my best friend.He’s my only friend.I hope he never leaves me.Nothing that stupid doctor can do will take him away from me.Nothing.

About a week passed, I found myself being driven back to the clinic. Mother and I walked to the doctor’s office once again. We knocked on the door.‘Come in’, he murmured, ‘Good afternoon, Ferren, Mrs Jones’.‘Hello doc’.‘Ferren, how’s Zag’?‘Zag is good, he is getting cold sleeping in the closet, some nights he sleeps with me’, I said. The doctor glanced at mother.‘Hhhmmmm, we may have to try something else. I am going to write you out a prescription for 2 different medications; Gamutrol and Closap-ine. These drugs have never been used in conjunction with themselves before but I think this occasion calls for it. Just be careful you don’t take more than the recommended dosage. I am hoping this will work but if it doesn’t the psychiatric ward is the only option. You need to take two of each pill, each day, for seven days. After that, I will give you a call and we will go from there.’‘Thank Doc’ , my mother said.

I wasn’t really bothered by it, I am convinced that there is nothing they can do to take Zag away from me. He will never leave me. We got into the car and drove off. Mother turned on the radio. After mother came back from the pharmacy, we drove home. Zag and I went out for pizza. When we got back mother made me take my pills. Urggghhh. horrible taste. I could feel them burning in my stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick. Nauseously, I made my way upstairs to my bedroom. I collapsed on my bed, I could feel Zag stroke my arm. I immediately felt better. Zag has that way of making you feel good again when your sure your about to die.

When I woke up Zag wasn’t beside me. I looked around franticly, in the closet, downstairs. I couldn’t see him.

UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010 9

He probably went out, I thought to myself, very odd though, he never goes out during the day. I went downstairs and had a bit of breakfast. I had to take my pills again, which was again not a very pleasant experience at all. After that I had a lie down. There he was, Zag was in my bed. I gave him a hug and asked him where he went. He said that he didn’t know, he just left. After that I went to the park with Zag, we lay underneath the large oak tree on the grass. We held each other’s hands and stared at the blue sky. The clouds swayed to and fro. It was a lovely feeling. I lent over to kiss Zag, but he was gone. Vanished. The sun started to cloud over, I decided to leave and I slowly walked home. I took my pills and had dinner. Then I went to sleep, feeling alone and depressed. I didn’t sleep well that night. I tossed and turned. I got up and went to the kitchen. I had a glass of water and a sedative. When I got back up to my bedroom Zag was there. He smiled at me. I could see the sadness on his face. Then I went to sleep.A few days passed and Zag was becoming more and more distant. I only really see him briefly at night, before he vanishes. Its sad. On Friday I didn’t see Zag at all. He didn’t come for dinner. He didn’t say goodnight. On Friday night I cried all night and all morning. I cried until I had no tears left. I knew Zag wasn’t coming back.On Saturday mother phoned the doctor. She told him Zag was gone. Mother thanked him and hung up.

I couldn’t bear it.Zag.Zag was gone.Never coming back.Gone.

There were 16 pills left. I counted them, twice. I lay them out in a row on the carpet. I poured out a glass of water.And through my tears I swallowed each one, one by one.My body was burning up now, head to stomach.I collapsed on the kitchen floor.

I was Ferren JonesI was 16 years old.I lived on Caspian laneA boy lived in my closet.

THE ENDTamra November

VanishedLionel Thompson woke up, on what he thought to be the best day of his life, it was his thirteenth birthday and even better it was in the holidays. His Mother, Lizzie, called Lionel down to breakfast. They had pancakes, as was the family tradition. A couple of hours later Lionel got his presents. The first was a brand new cell phone, second was a game for his Xbox 720 (Splinter Cell Conviction 2) and the final present was a giant box of Lego filled with 25,000 pieces as the box said. He thanked his family and started towards his room to play until his birth-day party later in the afternoon.

Thirteen year old Conrad Washington awoke at his best friend’s house at about eleven o’clock in the morning and his best friend, Mark Graham, was just waking up as well. The two had been up late and had finally gone to sleep at two in the morning after their late night party. The other boys the two had invited had left at midnight but Mark and Conrad were still up talking and watching movies till two in the morning. Mark’s mother had walked into the room in her night-gown and told them that they had to go to sleep. Mark and Conrad went down to the kitchen after they had gotten dressed, inhaled their breakfast and hurried to their friend, Lionel’s birthday party. On the way, Mark and Conrad discussed what their strategy would be at Splatter-blast ( a game similar to paintball as well as laser-strike), the team colours they would choose and if Lionel would like his birthday presents.

Lionel had already won the first two levels on his Xbox game and decided to turn it off and get ready for his party at Splatter-blast. Half an hour later the doorbell rang and Lionel’s Mum called for him to answer the door and greet his friends. On their way to Splatter-blast Conrad and Mark gave Lionel their presents. Mark’s was a remote control 4WD with helicopter blades on the roof so it could fly. Conrad’s was a six pack of walkie talkies that had a range of 5,000 kilometers and each one came with a small earpiece so it would not have to be held. Once the three got to Splatter-blast the rest of Lionel’s friends were already there and they gave Lionel his presents. They all went into the dark battleground where each player was given their assault rifle and two clips of the small glow in the dark paint bullets. After the fun at Splatter-blast everyone was exhausted so they headed back to Lionel’s house for cake and food.

On the way back to Lionel’s place one of the cars transporting three of the kids ran off the road, so the rest of the cars stopped and everyone ran to the wreck. One kid was still there but the other two and the driver had disappeared. The kid that was left in the wrecked car was hurt and was bleeding from his head. Lionel looked in the other cars and saw that at least six of the others had van-ished as well. Everyone soon found that the clothes of the vanished people were still on the seats they were sitting in, so were their glasses, earrings, rings, hats and everything that they had on them. Lionel’s mother was then hit by another car whose driver had vanished and was smashed into a brick wall. Lionel screamed.To be continued . . .Stephen Kirton

The Trenches

Agony, seeping up through my veins,Blood, swirling round me because of the rain,Faecies, crusted to the walls,Here, the vile swamped trenches rise as I fall.

Aching, crying where’s my ma?Searching for the horizon, but it’s too far,Sergeant scampers to the bunker,They’re just cowards hiding in woolen armour.

Drifting, floating in muddy bile,Awaiting a rescuer who’s walked treacherous miles,They haul me up to the stretcher,Finally, I’ll be away from this wretcher!Jennifer Hofacher

10 UPT GAZETTE TERM 2 2010

Being There

The birds sing their morning chorus, creating eerie echoes which drown out the scuttling of the ants crawling alongside the path. The sunflowers raise their chins to the sun, casting long shadow beams onto the cobbles. An aged man watches a donkey flick a moth-eaten ear at a fly as it passes. Above, a layer of mist coats the surface of the valley, obscuring the body of an ancient tree. The crisp, fresh air pounces on droplets of mist, hugging the grass, evaporating them. Flowers spring from the bushes in florets, soon to be magnets to bees and butterflies. If you listen carefully you can hear the breath of the wind as it whooshes down the valley, gently shaking life awake as it passes through.

Now the sun is at its highest, overlooking the scene in its warm embrace. The sunflowers stand proudly with their noses turned to the sun. An old man in a tweed hat with a cane stands in the cool green shade of a magnificent tree. It is broad and stately and has stood silent wit-ness to the happenings of life for many hundreds of years. The man stares up at the cascade of green hands, fluttering slightly in the cool breeze, while cicadas croak in their cavities in the brittle bark. As he moves his hand, a flash of silver sparkles from beneath those ancient, knowing fingers, startling a bird from its cave on a branch. He watches, slightly bemused, as it takes flight, the only shadow in the enticing sky, and flies into the embracing orb of the sun. Life is abundant, a bubble in champagne, forever traveling and, when reaching the top, ceases, only to be replaced by plentiful new life.

Now the sun bakes the crusty, well-trodden earth. A bedraggled bird searches unrequitedly for food in the barren scape. As the bird touches the dirt, the thin crisp top layer crackles. A trail of claw shaped imprints betrays the creature’s trail. Sunflowers shrivel, lying slumped on piles of dead matter. A single tree stands in the centre of the drought, the leaves turned prematurely brown, the lack of water having sucked the life out of almost every living thing. Amongst tufts of once thriving, now disheveled, brown grass at the base of the ancient, sombre tree, lies a cane. Its sterling silver handle now lies caked and forgotten in the powdery dirt. As the wind races down the hillside, all but one of the thin, papery leaves depart their clinging homes and come to rest on the hard, dry ground. Death pierces the air, scorching the remains of the russet scape. Life is ceasing, the water in a desert seemingly non-existent, with precious little to find.Rachel Thomas

The Death of BatmanJosh DempseyA personal experience

December 13th 2008It was the morning after my birthday party. My friend Rachel had stayed the night and we were in bed watching movies when Dad rung me.He said that when he was heading out in the morning he found Batman laying hurt in the driveway and that he had taken him to the vet.He said that he might not make it...I told Mum what Dad had said and we jumped in the car and rushed to the vet to see him.I felt really bad about leaving Rachel all of a sudden, but I needed to go to Batman.

When we got there I went inside and found Dad while Mum went and dropped Rachel off.When I got to see Batman he was pretty messed up...There was blood through his fur and his tail was broken and you could see the flesh in parts of it.I sat there comforting him while Dad was in the other room talking to the vet about what they could do for him and if he would make it.About an hour or so later Dad and the vet came back into the room and said that his internal organs were failing or something and that there was nothing they could do for him except put him down to put him out of his misery...

Pretty much everything after that was a blur, apart from the one thing that I do remember, which I wish I didn’t, was holding Batman while they put the needle in him to put him to sleep.I held him in my arms as he slowly started closing his eyes.. then his body went limp..I was crying and pleading to god in my head that he would wake up, that he would just open his eyes again and he’d be alright and everything would go back to normal and be ok... But he didn’t, and it wasn’t.

R.I.P Batman MrBubbles-Thomas Dempsey27/12/98 - 13/12/08

EDITORIALGreetings - Unlimited Students, Staff and Parents:I hope you’ve enjoyed reading the Term 2 Issue of the UPT Gazette. Like every other time it’s been a process collecting everything needed and putting it all together. Finding students who enjoy writng and would like to have their work published is a process of search and discovery. Pleasant surprises too!Every term I have some doubt that there will be enough..... and amazingly - it comes together!We can be proud of the writers in this school! Among all the other creative activities we already know about - there’s the writers who have this quiet, remarkable and internal gift.I’m impressed at how well some can already use language to paint story pictures in our minds with words.This term, as well as printed copies going to each homebase and each contributor, each student will reach an email with a pdf copy of the Gazette and the Gazette will be posted on the UPT Website. Thank you, the two girls who have asked me more than once to do something like this! Thank you to all the writers who were brave enough or ready and able to give me things. Thank you, Holly, for pointing out artwork to me and to those students whose artwork I’ve published. I’m very grateful for all the work that is in here and another issue to share with all the UPT Community!!Heather Chapman,UPT Gazette, Editor