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The word wizards of Cuba – Gothic fairy tales being wound up!

This week the children have begun narrative writing based on a Philip Pullman classic, ‘Clockwork – Or Wound Up.

Check out the brilliant preface written by Jaime AND gothic introduction by Sharnelle!

Jaime’s Preface:

Most fairy tales begin with ‘once upon a time’. This one doesn’t. This is a tale that happened many, many years before you were born. When we had real clockwork, I mean pendulums and springs and cogwheels and  so on. When you would take it apart you would see how it worked, and how to put it back together again. Once you’ve wound this story up, there is no stopping it. Nothing can stop it. When we had clocks like these we didn’t have any batteries nor electricity. To your surprise we didn’t even have any phones. The parts of this story all piece together like a clock. This may seem like a fairy tale but this is definitely not!

Sharnelle’s Opening:

In a little town named Rothenburg, not so far away, there were roads and streets engulfed in silence. So quiet a snowflake could be heard and a whisper was no longer quiet.

Darkness rallied and shadows lurked, wondering the streets, no one but him could be seen, the streets were lonesome. Snowflakes flew in swirling tornadoes, then gradually they singly drifted down to the ground. This all happened many years before you were born. The despondent skies wept until they were sorry. The wind brushing past his face knocking him back lightly. The frost biting at his face, painfully nipping away. It took over as his hands went blue. As the solitary figure trudged down the road the smell of fresh beer lingered high, wondering the air leading him to the old tavern in the middle of the town.

Inside the warmth killed the snowflakes, they melted slowly away. Another tall man with a brown sewn jacket and black boots skipped past him with a smile painted on his face. Just behind this jolly soul stood a rather glum clock maker apprentice shall I say. The cheerful young man with the brown jacket was named Fritz. The solitary figure, the clock maker apprentice, was called Karl. They both shook their boots and walked straight in. Fritz strolled up to the bar ready to order.

Golden writing guys – I’m excited to see how your tale winds up.