Parklands Primary, Leeds ~ Day 1

| January 13, 2016 | 2 Comments 

Parklands Primary

Fantastic indeed, to be at Parklands Primary in Leeds joined by staff from Grimes Dyke Primary and from Manston Primary, for a 2 day visit. Our first day spent with the Y5, Y6 and Y2 pupils and their teachers, followed by a twilight with all the staff and colleagues from the visiting school.

A massive THANK YOU to Head Teacher Chris Dyson:

Chris DysonParklands Primary School (Seacroft Leeds) were all set to ‘Boldly’ go on a writing adventure to inspire the love of writing. The scene was set; a cold, grey winters morning at Parklands Primary School, Leeds. …. the lights were dimmed at 915 am as 64 excited, nervous, apprehensive Y5 Y6 pupils, their teachers and teaching assistants walked into the magical, mystery world that was known as Tomanha. The eerie music made the hairs on the children’s necks stand to attention like needles on a cactus plant. Something strange was to occur, something mystical, something suspicious perhaps…..

The children sat in awe and wonder as a strange image rose from the front of the stage and greeted the pupils. The image shuffled to the front of the stage, his hairless head reflected the light from a strange light source as his face, his eyes and his smile told of a hidden secret that he seemed desperate to share with the children. If anyone could put this man’s pain to ease, it was the children of Parklands Primary School. The strange man was desperate to share what he had seen, what he had experienced and what he had found out from his old friend Atrus. He needed someone he could trust, he needed someone who would not let him down, he needed some razor sharp writers who would help him with his quest and to be entrusted with his prized and sacred journal……… After his travels around the world, to places such as Hong Kong; Vietnam; Arizona; Sweden; Dubai and Ireland, the man known simply as Tim Rylands had arrived at Parklands Primary School, hoping and pleading that these children would have the answers to the questions that he had been seeking for so long all over the world!

Parklands Primary School is proud to welcome the one, the only, the King of Inspirational Writing – Tim Rylands. For every Lone Ranger, there is a Tonto. For every Ant, there is a Dec. For every Dean, there is a Torville….. For Tim, he has the brilliant Sarah….

Parklands Primary school is a larger than average, 1.5 form-entry maintained school, located in Seacroft, an urban area in the east of Leeds. Our brilliant, beautiful children need opportunities to shine. They need experiences to inspire and challenge……. They need Tim Rylands……

Let us baldly go into a world full of suspense and intrigue …….. Let the writing begin!

Thoughts from James Haddock – Year 5 Teacher – Parklands Primary School, ably assisted (and worth a mention in despatches) by my three Lieutenants: Riley, Reece & Lauwureance; by Charli from down the way and Olivia the Sylph of synonyms.

SurvivedStanding here, the four walls of the classroom were closing in on us. Claustrophobia took a tight grip on our hearts; ignoring this the roll call was taken and relief flooded through us as we saw how many of us had survived the night. Some of us stole furtive glances up into the void of the ceiling, ears straining to hear the tip tap of footfalls as the mysterious animals crept and frolicked within our space. Fear was replaced by a sense of anticipation that spread like spring blossoms through our serried ranks. We were to meet someone…someone that could finally give us the key we needed to unlock our hidden talents. Help us to escape to the meaninglessness of life without simile, metaphor and the solid foundation of a well-constructed sentence.

PrisonWe departed our prison, moving like panthers down the straight, partially lit corridor. None of us knew what to expect. Eyes bright with anticipation the young ones looked towards their leader. Their looks implored him to tell them more, but his shrug, nonchalant yet stern like a modern day Chevalier quietened their questioning looks. A raised eye brow and the crease of a smile, playing like fairy dust, around his visage showed admittance that he knew as much as them. What was to await them? Would they receive the answers that had eluded them for so long? For the time being, as they dispersed throughout the cavernous room, that was to be home for the next two hours, these questions would remain unanswered, skulking like Victorian urchins in the shadowy corners of the room.
CharactersThe man positioned himself at the head of one of the provided tables. He was surrounded by three of his most treasured Lieutenants. He felt confidence flow through him, these fine boys would not let him down, come Hell or High Water. A girl joined them, from one of their neighbouring clans admittedly, but a doughty literary warrior nonetheless. She was welcomed amongst them. But what was this? A pale figure strode towards the table. Confident. Pride in her abilities showed through her every facet. A conjuror of words, a sylph of synonyms; the high priestess of homophones. She had selected our table. We were honoured indeed. Nervous glances were exchanged.

The VillageWe looked into the distance surveying the vista that stretched towards the towering volcano that glowered like an angry giant on the horizon. A hush descended like dusk in winter, covering the room with a blanket of silence. The object of our morning come into view, his voice soft and lilting as he recommended us to listen to the wind (was it wind?) smell the smoke (was it smoke?) that snaked lazily up from a distant chimney and look downwards towards a glistening and glimmering pool of water (was it water?) that moved like silk beneath our feet.

Simile“Those leaves look like they’re struggling to break free from those trees.” he whispered towards us, his voice undulating and flowing like oil into our ears. “Are they…are they really struggling to break free?” The gathered troop looked at each, all unsure, what did he want us to say? We shook our heads nervously and looked around for guidance. There was none. His eyebrows raised, almost concurring, at our shaking heads and a grin almost cracked his face in two. “But it doesn’t stop us from saying does it!?” No we thought, it doesn’t. The spell was cast the blanket was lifted and the room erupted into life. We magiced similes and metaphors out of thin air and sent them spiralling giddily around the room. We listened and responded with shouts of “Aaar….Simile Timbers!” and “Rark….Metaphor” while contorting our faces into almost Woosteresque naivety. The talk…the words flowed like fine wine. All of us to a man (or woman) contributed and not one of us felt the fear. The fear of talk, the shadow that had haunted us for so long. Our guest from down the corridor raised her voice, silence…the floor was hers She delivered her lines like a Shakespearean. Loud and confident. A smile on her face as she realised she’d done it. The man, at the head of the table, could not have been prouder.
WritingWe talked longer and longer delving around the Kingdom that we found ourselves in. Casting thoughts and feelings about with reckless entusiasm we relished in the sounds of our own voices, not wanting to let go. But stop it did. The time for talk was over. It was truly time for those individuals to prove their mettle. They all reached out and grasped their pens and pencils, feverishly ripping open their books (some of them did not even write a date or learning objective!!) and they started. To. Write. All of them. Grownups. Young ones and all those in-between and above. The quiet fell like the frontage of a house onto Buster Keaton.

There was no sound, but if you listened carefully a scratching faint at first, but raising…the sound of pen connecting with paper…There were no complaints – no one exclaimed they couldn’t do it, no one asked for help, they just wrote. When it was time to hear these musings, what things they had written. Carefully crafted similes mixed with the sights and sounds (and smells) of this unfamiliar land we had entered. Nuggets of the finest descriptomite dripped from every page, oozed from every line, exuded from every pen-tip. However, what hung onto every mouth were not similes, but smiles! Smiles as broad as they were long and long as they were broad. Smiles that lit up the room, showing off not only the whites of teeth but the joy of just writing.
CelebratingSo it had ended, the troop had returned to their natural environment. Prowling back up the corridor confidently, like Lions, voices soaring like swallows they swarmed home. The trick, the man thought to himself, is to keep this going…
…and that I think is the point. To keep it going. To allow children to be excited about writing and the process of writing. To talk about what they will write and give them purpose and reason in their creations. To allow their characters to come to life and for them to give birth to settings that are as real and as integral to their stories as possible.

To slow them down and describe every fairies wing beat and pixies breath, every detectives’ decision and every villains motive, every pirates promise and every cabin boys heroics…to allow them to forget (for that writing moment) what a fronted adverbial is, but to use them with wild abandon in their writing. Writing is a beautiful art, one that if we are taught well stays with us for a lifetime. It can sometimes be forgotten, but thank you Tim and Sarah for allowing me to remember…

A massive THANK YOU to James and his team for these reflections.


Category: 1) Events and Training days

Comments (2)

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  1. Rp says:

    Very informative and enlightning, a lot to take on board and think about.

  2. Chris Dyson HT of the best Primary School in Leeds - Parklands says:

    Just look at the smiles; just feel the learning; what ever price you pay for these x2 days is the best INSET training you can ever have…… Every child at Parklands will have been taught by this unbelievable team. Tim Rylands and Sarah…….. the quality of writing and the self confidence shown by the children make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck…. Sir Tim is right up there with the most inspirational people I have ever ever met. Love the pair and everything they do, say and inspire in.
    Chris Dyson HT Parklands

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