Celebrating the fifth anniversary of our Ripples Schools Program, our writing competition theme was centred around wood, the traditional five year anniversary gift.
‘Into the Woods’ represents stepping into the unknown, perhaps the dangerous or the exciting – and the entries were filled with all these things!
The entries were blind judged and scored on the following criteria:
- Includes 5 words: Five, olive, minute, thump, wood.
- Interpretation of Into the Woods
- motivations, flaws, inner conflict, skill set and arc- do they grow as a character?
- Structure beginning , middle, end
- Plot Rising, Climax, resolution
- Originality scenario/ idea/concept
- Language
- Enjoyment
From 108 entries, the top ten entries from each category were passed to judge Fran Carson to choose our top 3 winners in each grade. Entries came from:
- 14 Primary Schools
- 5 Primary Homeschools / via parents
- 5 Secondary Schools
Winner: The Ripples Ripper Award
A New Beginning by Sophie Stuart, Green Point Christian College
Bang!
I sat bolt upright. My mind whirling as the familiar environment around me slowly came into focus. It felt like I was in a daze. Then it all came flooding back, the war, the bombs, the fighting. It had been going on for months now. Every minute was ripping my city apart, tearing me away from my loved ones. But today felt different somehow.
I gently got up trying not to disturb the other panicked families sleeping beside me. They were sprawled out on torn towels and sheets that had once been covered with ornate gold patterns were now strewn across our flimsy tent, the only remaining source of shelter. A delicate bowl held the miniscule ration of water we were able to drink, I took a tiny sip, savouring every droplet, knowing that it would be all I got. Shivering as icy wind enveloped my body I crept down to my makeshift bed, wrapping the lacy curtain around me as if it were a warm hug. Then I heard it, the worst noise ever imaginable.
Thump!
The ground began to shudder and shake, fear pierced through my veins, the people surrounding me began to race off the ground where they had peacefully been sleeping. Five huge machines emerged from the damp dark forest engulfing our last piece of hope. The olive-green uniforms tumbled out from behind me, but I knew they were no match for the mighty tanks that loomed above us.
Terror leapt into my chest, weighing down what was left of my hopeful heart. Suddenly it hit me.
I’d never explored the mysterious woods that sheltered our colony. I didn’t know if they contained enemy bases, were overflowing with deadly creatures or if I’d even make it out the other side, but there in that moment I knew deep down it was my only choice. I gathered my courage and held it tight inside me.
Without turning back I took off into the thick bush, crushing rough sticks and sending shiny grey stones flying into the distance. Fresh wood and burning ash flew around me, flowing into my nose as I slowly ventured deeper into the moss and vines. It was quiet and calm, I finally felt free. Innocent beetles and majestic butterflies scurried along the mud floor.
I might not know where I’m going or what comes next, but I know I made the right choice, the woods are my new home, my haven. I know they will protect me and I’ll do the same.
Sophie’s school received an illustrator visit from award-winning illustrator Sarah Davis as part of her prize package.
Runner-Up: A Whale of a Tale Award
Sky Fox by Caragh Smith, Wyong Christian Community School
Darkness. Loneliness. Cold. Mother should be here by now. A young fox mother padded around a dark meadow beneath a moonless sky. After pacing for a minute, the young pup gazed up at the stars longingly. Growling interrupted her gazing. She slowly turned. Then, she ran into the trees.
It had been five days since that terrible night.
She ran through the darkness. She could only hear her pounding heart and the thump of her paws on the cold, leaf-littered ground. The trees had rushed past her while she scrambled to escape. Early the next morning, a low growl interrupted her memories. The fox turned around, afraid, before realising the pain in her stomach. Oh right, she thought, I need food. As she prowled through the forest, a wave of loneliness and fear overcame her, and despite the warm sunlight she shuddered in fear. He’s coming.
After sniffing around a wooded area for quite some time, the only food she managed to locate was an olive bush. Eww, she grimaced, until a grumble came from her starving tummy. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit into the olive. Instantly, a tingling spread throughout her body. At least her tummy seemed better. Suddenly darkness overtook her, and she tottered on her feet before collapsing to the ground. Now I know I’m allergic to olives, she thought before the world turned black. While she lay there, a dark figure settled near her body and flashed his teeth.
She was flying. Her paws danced on empty air as she rode the wind up to the golden gates that awaited her. Then she was falling. She was in a clearing with an olive bush to the side and an unmoving body of a russet, young fox that look just like her. Then, a familiar but horrifying figure settled down nearby. Wolf will never stop. Then, she was in the meadow where she saw him. But this time her mother was here. As they touched nose her mother whispered in her ear, “Never give up, my little Star.”
Hours went by, as her mother taught her how to use her powers as a Sky Fox. Surprisingly, the olive that nearly sent her to her death had given her powers. After years of intense training, she was ready. She faced him. The wolf. Her belly swayed under the weight of her unborn children. But she did not waver. Then, she flew. Up, above the trees before barrelling back down into the wolf. They fought for hours. The animals of the wood had come to watch, cheering on their fox saviour and booing the menace that had terrorised them for months.
Finally, it was over. The wolf lay defeated on the bloodstained ground. The fox now known as Star, stepped forward. She stood over the wolf’s body, panting from the previous battle. She howled victoriously into the night and over the forest. They were out of the woods, into a safer world. Delivered by the Sky fox.
Highly Commended: Simply Swell Award
This year the judges awarded a tie so we had two winners:
Memories by Evie Lattimore, Erina Heights Public School
The unmistakable sounds of children laughing and playing in the distant playground reverberated around the forest as I stumbled through the underbrush. The morning air was crisp, biting at my exposed hands and face, wrapping me in a freezing embrace. Serrated branches groped towards each other with long, clutching fingers, forming a rickety roof of wood. The perforated ceiling of olive green leaves cast patches of dappled light across the ground, illuminating the roots of gnarled trees. Their broad trunks were disfigured by harsh fissures and grim wounds, remnants of some forgotten war. They stood like watchful guardians, weathered from age, constant reminders of the years that had passed. I slammed my eyes shut, fighting the overwhelming rush of memories, struggling to stay afloat in a tempest of them.
A dull thump broke into my subdued thoughts. Startled, I forced my eyes open.
I relinquished a strangled gasp and my heart leaped with mingled fear and something, less discernible. As a group of five giggling children materialised before me, I realised that it was joy.
I watched, mesmerised, as they darted over the threshold of a lopsided tent of sticks. A spark of recognition jolted through my veins as a dark-haired girl sprinted past, a gleeful expression on her freckled face. My face. She rushed into the teepee with an armful of wooden rods. An excited murmur drifted out the entryway and I edged forward, desperate to hear more. As I neared the stick-house a single word crashed onto my ears and I came to an abrupt halt.
“Evie…”
A wave of ice cascaded down my spine as the word reverberated around my brain. Evie. Evie. Evie. I staggered backwards.
After a moment, the children came hurtling back out again, each clutching what looked like a miniature sword in their hands. A throbbing pain seared through my chest as the girl with ebony hair, Evie, my brain prompted, hastened forward and joined the ferocious battle blossoming before me. Her curtains of black hair, my hair, bounced and swung around her as her stick flashed and swiped through the air. An exhilarated laugh rang through the clearing. My laugh.
Minutes passed into what might as well have been years and I continued to stand there. The resounding strikes of wooden swords and timber hammers echoed through the clearing, intertwined with laughs and shouts. The ghost of a smile flickered across my face as I watched them play.
I glanced at Evie, a warmth enfolding me in protective arms, thrusting away the cold and dejected memories. She looked at me. My eyes locked onto hers. We stared into each other’s eyes, grey into blue. Past into present. A duo of soft words escaped my parted lips.
“I’m sorry.”
It was all I could say. All I could do. Unable to watch a moment longer I turned and strode away from the playing children, from the life I had lost. A sudden silence swept over the forest. I whirled around.
They were gone.
Dung Beetle by Anneke Halls, Home School
When animal droppings, garbage and spoiled straw are piled up on a great heap, the rotting gives forth heat. Usually no one gets close enough to notice because of the stench. A girl noticed however, and on that frosty night she burrowed deep into the warm rotting muck, not caring about the stench where she lay. How old she was, was hard to say. She was small and pale, but her scrawny underfed body did give off a hint of woman so perhaps she was twelve or thirteen. Noone knew for sure, least of all the girl herself. She had no home and no mother and no name but Brat. Sadly, as long as she could remember she was on her own. Tonight, she settled into the warm rotting dung heap where she dreamed of nothing because she hoped for nothing and expected nothing. It was as cold and dark inside her as out in the frosty night. Morning brought rain to ease the cold, but the hunger remained. Brat hated the hunger the most. Or was it the cold? She only knew that the hunger and cold cursed her life and kept her walking and working for no other reason than to stop the pain.
Thump! A sharp pain shoots through her head as a clod of dirt finds its target. “Dung beetle! Dung beetle! Smelly old dung beetle sleeping in dung!”
There were boys in every village teasing, taunting, pinching, and kicking. Today there were five of them. They always found and tormented the ugliest, the dirtiest, and the stupidest and there were none uglier or dirtier than her, so she was teased relentlessly.
Brat burrowed deeper, trying to block out the noise. The boys were loud however and out of the corner of her eye she saw a woman picking olives, stop and watch. She looked neither old nor young and neither fat nor thin. She approached Brat and asked:
“What are you doing out here in the middle of a dung heap… where’s your mama?” She told the woman she didn’t have one of those nor a father.
The woman gazed sadly at Brat for a minute.
“I have nothing but a cottage in the forest,” she sighed “My husband died two years ago, and it’s been hard ever since. I don’t have dung, but I do have wood and a stove.”
Brat slowly rose, shook off the dung, and followed the woman into the woods.
About the Judge
Fran Carson: Fran was a teacher in both government and Catholic schools, for many years. She has been the Secretary and active committee member of the Children’s Book Council Central Coast, NSW Sub-Branch for over 25 years, and a facilitator for the Shadow Judging initiative in 2022 and 2024. She has a Master of Applied Science (Teacher Librarianship) from CSU.
