Breadcrumb Trail
Young writers not lost for words
Over 300 Trafford young people submitted entries to the 2008 creative writing competition to win the John Watters Cup.
And winners heard words of encouragement from popular author for teenagers and adults Paul Magrs, who praised the quality of the entries, at the prize-giving at Altrincham Library.
The annual competition is organised by library staff to note the contribution of John Watters, former borough librarian, who worked in public libraries for 38 years and who also attended the ceremony.
Winner 12-year-old Bethany Drum, from Loreto Grammar School, received a £75 book token. Runners-up each received a £15 book token. The theme this year was ‘Lost’.
Runners Up
- Kieran Bown, age 16, Sale High School
- Georgina Glover, age 12, Loreto Grammar School
- Rosie Halsall, age 13, Loreto Grammar School
- Celia Ward, age 13, Loreto Grammar School
Highly commended
- Frazer Darby, age 12, Ashton upon Mersey School
- Rebecca Lunn, age 16, Sale High School
- Tiffany Massey, age 13, Loreto Grammar School
- Madeleine Norman, age 13, Loreto Grammar School
- Elizabeth Ormston, age 13, Loreto Grammar School
The winning story
Grandpa Joe is lost
By bethany Drum
The whiskery old man scratched his chin in a thoughtful way. His dandelion fluff-like hair, which was the colour of ancient dust, had bits of fish and toast in it, and it wafted about his skinny, little head like a big, grey mass of dirty cotton wool.
He was skeletally thin, and his veins showed through his papery skin like little blue snakes. His skin was sickly pale, and his bony chin was speckled with grey stubble.
He had saggy eyelids that covered half his eyeballs, but you could still catch a glimpse of piercing blue if you looked really closely. His eyelashes were stubby and pale, his eyebrows bushy and overgrown. His ears were too big for his head, and they stuck out like large, flabby beacons, and they were red around the edges with cold.
He was hunched over, and he was fumbling with arthritis, his fingers twisted into bird-like talons. He was so wrinkled; you couldn't possibly imagine him with smooth skin. His fingernails were short and sharp, and he left a red mark on his cheek after he scratched it.
He was wearing a very large brown overcoat which seemed to be made out of pockets. His shoes were so old, they were falling to pieces, and they were so scuffed and sloppy, it would not be silly to suggest that they had come out of the ark.
He smelled like soap, plants and curry, and he was clutching a knobbly, black walking stick that he was using to hit people on the shins.
He was obviously very grumpy, old and crotchety.
I stood there, and I watched him walk up the street. What happened? What happened to that man to make him into the person he is now? I thought, and I strained my imagination. Maybe he had lost somebody he loved, maybe they had just left him without a trace, and he was still cut up about it.
I decided to follow him, to find out why he was so grumpy.
He made his way through the town, stopping in the florists to buy a small bunch of marigolds.
He caught the 747 bus, and I watched over his shoulder as he fumbled with his bus pass. Joe Natty. That was his name. Joe Natty.
I decided to nickname him Grandpa Joe. He sat down on the bus, and he wouldn't move his stick so a young woman with fair hair could sit down. He just clutched his marigolds and frowned at everybody.
After 10 minutes he stood up to get off the bus, and the young woman sat down, sighing.
I followed Grandpa Joe across two roads before I realised where he was going. The Silver Lining old peoples home, on Croswell Avenue.
I followed him inside and I sat down on a squashy chair in the reception area, just thinking. Then two old ladies came in, nattering away, and they gave me the answers I needed. They didn't notice me at all.
"Oh, that was old Joe who just came in, wasn't it? That man, he is a terror."
"I know! Joe Natty! More like Joe Batty!"
I frowned.
"He shouldn't be allowed out on his own, he's a danger to himself, poor fella."
"He goes out every day for the same reason, Brenda. To buy himself a bunch of marigolds."
"Oh, it was a shame when she passed away, just when they were about to marry. Still, it was a painless death, I suppose. Poor Joe was devastated though, never been the same since."
"I'll say. Lost inside his memories that man. That's the best place for him to be though, I suppose. Hanging on to what ever memory he's got left, when Marigold was alive and well, when they were happy. He's happy inside his memories, we should just leave him be, really."
"Yes, you should." I said as I walked out.
And I meant it.
Two days later, Joe received an extravagant bunch of marigolds. I wonder who they where from, hey??
Page content ends
