James Beattie's poem, 'Pevensey Beach', won the Year 9 Leonardo 2013 prize.
As waves broke against
the bow of the boat,
As I stared into the
sea’s mists,
The wooden planks groaned
and the oars splashed
Only fuelling my
anticipation.
My heart raced as I drew
my sword
Admiring the finely-honed
blade.
I knew the mist would
soon turn red
As we approached the
shores of Pevensey Beach.
The beach soon slipped
into the surly white curls
As the dunes of sand
slowly revealed themselves.
The tranquil waves lapped
against the sides of the boats
Disturbed only by our
oars as we slid onto the sand.
And at that moment the
sounds of thousands of boots
Upon sand flooded the air
around me
And we left the safety of
our boats
As our eyes scanned the
dunes of Pevensey Beach.
The crash of the waves
and of our metal armour plates
Was the only sound that
greeted us then.
No cry of the Saxons to
start a blood fuelled rampage
On this tranquil yet
hostile land.
Then a tidal wave of our
men charged up the dunes
But were met with no
reply
For there were none of
Great Harold’s army
To defend the conquered
Pevensey Beach.
And slowly the wispy
curls disappeared
Along with the boats and
soldiers.
No noise apart from the
waves bombarded my ears.
Nor the colliding of
armoured steel plates.
My mind’s imagination
switched off the fantasy
Of being a Norman foot
soldier invading Britain
As I sat on the sand of
Pevensey Beach.
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