Royal Grammar School


Winning Words

Winning Words

On Wednesday, Year 9 student Matthew Hudson travelled down to London with his family to receive a highly commended award for the John Betjeman poetry competition. His winning poem was was inspired by wet, cold winter days in Seahouses and is reproduced below. Congratulations Matthew!  



Seahouses feigns Winter sleep, deep in assumed hibernationSummer entertainment long over, car park filled only with puddlesCocooned in my padded womb of a jacket I await the dreek dawnFingers gripping a harbour wall, an amphitheatre of gritty cement

Dad and I watch alone, no fair weather day trippers interestedFishermen bustle around us, ruddy and rugged, reeking of toughnessWe exist in our own little bubble, noticing that which goes un-noticedHolding ring side seats to Mother Nature's unheralded display

Beyond, the mighty North Sea fidgets under a duvet of darknessStretching forwards, its salty licks season the landMurky rockpools restocked with today's mystery menuFlotsam and jetsam delivered to the beachcomber's sandy store

Stage left, today's show begins cued by the Sun's timed entrancePulling itself up by its fingertips over a distant curving wallPeeking one-eyed, its fiery red gaze seeps blood over a slumbering SeaA soup of life gently warming, it's stomach content and settled

Unscripted, the mood changes, seagulls and shadows scurry across the waterThe air swirls, mutters, takes ragged form and throws out a voice in challengeThe North Sea stirs, support acts of life and death play out belowAs sleek, silver creatures dart to take up their roles in the food chain

Above the surface, the vexatious, villainous Wind rolls up its sleevesSlapping and bullying the placid waters into a foaming frothPassion builds, muscles are flexed as the darkening seasAre piqued by the provoking jab of the agitating Wind

Waves rise like a hooded python, spitting, menacing, toweringAn aquatic avalanche ready to fall and crush its antagonistYet the water roars and pounds the innocent rocks in frustrationAs the fleet footed Wind escapes to the safe heights of the sky

The Sea stands and glowers searching for witnesses to its humiliationRaking waters claw at the harbour wall, seeking to climb over the topTo blanket and silence those beyond with its icy hubrisWarning heeded, we exit along a finger of pier, majestically entertained

To the unseeing, a grey, claggy day in a Northumbrian sea-side villageLet them think so. Why share our front row seats with the blind?This cauldron of dark energy, no two days or tides the sameThe drama and scenery of Seahouses Harbour reserved only for me