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Carshalton High School for Girls

Carshalton High School for Girls

Carshalton High School for Girls is a highly successful school, judged by Ofsted in November 2017 as ‘Good’ in all categories.

Poetry for WW1

At the end of their unit on Poetry from WW1 9RKH had a 30 minute challenge to create a poem that addressed a theme typical to WW1 poetry and to include a variety of poetic techniques in it too.

Here are some examples of the outstanding work our students produced:

Men were scattered

along the endless tunnels.

A paint-staking silence

which was filled with a cruel sense of anxiety


Just a number.


Hail clawed the faces of soldiers

chafing skin and knifing morals.

Men cowed to the unforgiving weather,

like a prisoner succumbing to arrest:

Just a number.


Gas! Gas! Men rapidly reach for their masks

whilst gas crawled through the air,

leaving lungs irritated, uncaged and spoiled.

One lone soldier gasped for air- 

dropping as if he were paralysed:

Just a number.

Hollie and Demi

I sit alone in sadness

missing the one I love

my baby boy has left me 

and now I have no one.

The creaks in the floorboards are now louder.

My world is empty.


Like a ragdoll I sit.

Silent. Solitary.

All my emotions have run from me.

I wait for this nightmare to end.

My world is empty.


A loud silence lingers in the house,

torturing me, eating at me.

The fact my son has died 

makes my heart ache.

My world is empty.


The weather is bitterly cold

as are some people in this world.

Although my son has passed

he is not gone.

My world is not so empty.

Ruby I, Millie H, Pippa Y

The wind whistled in a rage

as a shadow cast over us.

men squirmed like ants,

a soldier's life shattered by a bomb

and another grave is dug.


He woke before the birdsong,

and slept after the clock struck 12.

As he suffered in silence,

no one spoke of him again

and another grave is dug.


Clouds ran over us,

gas like a blanket,

we run to fit our gas masks.

Blood comes gargling, he is drowning

and another grave is dug.


Frozen winds stab us,

frost clings to our limbs.

Our eyes are ice.

He falls cold as the temperature drops

and another grave is dug.


Hidden away,

rubble fell from above:

"It's going to cave-"

As the roof fell in we weren't all lucky

and my grave is dug.

By Katie C and Tiare R