The Frank Toner Creative Writing Award

Frank Toner taught English and French here at Sacred Heart for many years. Sadly, he passed away in 1993. In recognition of his love of literature “The Frank Toner Award for Creative Writing” is presented annually to a Fourth Year student.

Below are some of the entries students have submitted for this year’s Award. We hope you take time to read and enjoy.

Pain of a Woman - Jizzel Pichay

“Hello again,” I smile as he peeks at me through the bookcase, hiding because he’s shy.

“Hello Madame,” He responds as I move away a book called ‘Little Woman’ to see his face a little more clearly.

“I saw your letter in my mailbox today and I just wanted to say that—” I try to explain but he cuts me off a little too early.

“It was stupid of me, I’m just a houseboy and I should not be doing this,” He explains and I sigh at his sort of unkindly gesture.

“Andrew,” I clear my throat as he hides his face once again like he always does.

“Yes Madam,” He responds but I “tut” annoyed because of his formality with me, a formality which didn’t tickle my fancy.

“My name is Annie,” I cough as I fold my arms waiting for his response because he needs to get that clear.

“I got in trouble last time I called you that,” He tells me with honesty and I move to the edge of the bookcase so that I can talk to him clearly.

“Yes you did and I got in trouble with my mother for calling you Andrew instead of houseboy but I don’t care,” I say and he tries to hide his face as I stand before him.

“How about Miss then?” He asks and I shake my head, moving closer to him as he quickly takes a book to cover his complexion.

“No just Annie,” I speak up, moving the book down slightly to see his face properly.

“I’m sorry but I can’t, my job will be taken from me,” He admits, his cheeks going red as I’m a few inches away from him.

“I—” I try to say but my unruly mother calls my name from the pantry and I’m unable to conclude my sentence fully.

“Annie!” She yells again and I knew it was because of the little dinner event happening this evening because I’m being married off.

“I must go but take this,” I hinder as I slide an envelope into his overalls which is ironed to perfection.

I rush to the pantry as I look at the face of my mother, all my features relaxed and poised.

“You called Mother,” I smoothen my tone as she takes my face in hers looking at my complexion with disgust.

“This won’t do at all! Get ready at once Annie,” She yells, pulling on my braids. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologise, face still stiff with no emotion because it was a sin to cry in my household, to show vulnerability.

“I don’t want your bloody sorry and I don’t care for it. I just want you to be obedient and obey your mother, you stupid bastard of a child,” She gives out and I hold in my anger, eyes focused on one spot.

I bow and retrace my steps up the stairs, the ends of my gown  in my hands whereas the position of my body is that of a lady of high class.

I enter my room, locking the door behind me as the walls that hold me up collapse. Tears spilling left and right.

“How does she have no sensitivity? I’m no runt of the family...but I do wish I were dead,” I weep into my handkerchief.

- - - - -

“Andrew,” I called through the corridor because I needed my corset to be tightened for this evening.

A few seconds later, he comes rushing into the corridor, covering my mouth because he knew that I would get in trouble again because of the name I called him by.

“Yes Miss,” He closes the door behind us and I smile at him because he has that effect on me.

“My corset needs to be tightened,” I turn around showing him with my fingers.

“I see,” His voice shakes as he takes the lace strings in his small hands, wrapping it around his hands as he pulls it slowly.

I form little whimpers as he pulls on it tightly but he was used to it, since my mother always wanted it super tight.

Once he’s done, I turn around to look at him.

“Sorry Miss, I hope I didn’t go too tight today,” He excuses himself but I tell him instantly that it’s  fine.

“I shall take my leave then Miss,” He shows himself out but I grab onto his wrist softly and pull him back towards me.

“Miss?” He questions avoiding my eyes like he always does but it clearly didn’t bother me.

“Um, did you see my soon to be husband downstairs?” I ask him and he nods.

“Is he handsome?” I ask and he nods in agreement once again.

“How silly of me, let me rephrase that. Well, is he as handsome as you?” I ask and he starts coughing hysterically, not expecting that sort of question from me.

“Well is he?” I grab him a glass of water from my bedside table, handing him the cold glass.

“You shouldn’t say those things Miss. I will be taking me leave now,” He rushes out the door, scared but I refuse to stop, so I call his name.

But suddenly I find myself stopping mid-sentence as my mother walks into my bedroom, slapping my face, sending me backwards onto my bed.

I gasp laying there as she pulls me up into a standing position, pushing me forcefully onto the wooden poles of the bed as she grabs a hold of the lace strings that have already been tightened.

She pulls on them extremely hard, way harder and tighter than she told Andrewto. 

“Ow,” I groan as she mumbles back to me, disappointed like always.

“That stupid houseboy didn’t even tighten them enough,” She curses at him and I grunt.

“He’s not stupid and he did his best,” I talk back, regretting it as soon as the words leave my mouth.

“Is that why you were calling him by his name and not the role he was assigned to?” She asks me, tightening the lace further.

“No,” I say croaking, my voice suddenly hitches.

“You liar,” She pulls on the strings even harder, forcing me to feel my whole body grow weak as a tear leaves my eye, while I fall face forward onto the bed sheets.

“Don’t call him by his name again and put on your damn dress before I disown you,” She torments me, leaving.

I gasp for air, crying as my hands fiddle with the laces, trying to untie them slightly.

As time goes on I’m finding it impossible but as I am about to quit, I feel a pair of hands on mine, helping me with the laces.

I look back to find Andrew standing behind me.

Once he has loosened them, I stand up speedily, grabbing my dress as I quickly put it on. Wiping my tears in the process.

“M—” Andrew tries to say but I tell him to leave because I’m not able to speak right now because of the situation that has just occurred.

“Okay Miss,” He bows, leaving, forcing me to heave out a heavy sigh, sitting on my bed. 

I burst out into tears once my bedroom door shuts, smudging every ounce of makeup on my face. Knowing that I will clearly have to put it back on again, which is even more of a hassle.

Aurora 

Dasha Davydova

A northern land, A distant dream, 

The nights are long, and though it seems 

there is no life. But that's a lie.

Although the forests’ buried deep

The ominous beauty is not asleep

I hear the whispers of the wind,

The evergreen sways side to side.

A little mouse lets out a peep.

Then She appears in all her glory.

The sky lights up. The neon light.

Pink-green Aurora is so bright.

I gaze at Her and lost in thought

I walk alone back to the hut. 

Some time goes by 

And still I walk, but she's still there, 

My friendly guide, without her here

I'd break my stride.

Aurora walks me to the door.

I say goodbye, but know for sure 

She’ll come again and i'll see her

Next time she knocks right at my door.

“My Most Beautiful Possessions” - Aisling O’Reilly

It is often said that today's world is too materialistic. People strive to own high cost items such as houses and cars. If this makes a person happy, who is anybody to judge? I am too young to own the high cost items mentioned above. In reflecting upon what I consider to be my most beautiful possessions, I asked myself, what do I possess that gives me the most joy and what would I miss most, if it was gone?

They say a picture paints a thousand words. I derive great enjoyment from looking at family photographs. They represent a moment in time. Some of these I can remember, some I don’t. For those I don’t remember, I enjoy asking my parents questions about the people in the picture or the occasion. It can be like a history lesson, looking at the way houses, cars and fashion have greatly changed. One of my favourite photographs is of my Grandmother's communion day. Although time has passed, some traditions have stayed the same. While most possessions can be replaced, my family photographs cannot be.

Another example of my most beautiful possessions is my Claddagh ring. It was the first piece of jewellery I had received. I had always wished for one, and my mother bought me one for my fourteenth birthday. Even though the ring is relatively inexpensive, it has enormous sentimental value. 

I also have an interest in make-up. I love experimenting with tests in the shop and the process of buying it. I enjoy being with my friends when we are shopping. I love makeup because there are many options available, and finally deciding what to buy is difficult. Most importantly, wearing it is my favourite part. Wearing makeup allows me to express myself in a very unique way and gives me a boost of confidence.

This essay is about my most beautiful possessions. For me, beautiful means what I enjoy most and what I could not bear to lose. So in a way beautiful means precious. I outlined how family photographs, my Claddagh ring and my makeup are beautiful to me. It’s not what they are, it’s what they represent. The photographs are a link to the past, my Claddagh ring is a gift from my mother. On a more frivolous note, I love my makeup. I mentioned the word “materialistic” in the introduction. Maybe if I had a car, I would consider it to be one of my most beautiful possessions. Similar to my current beautiful possessions; the beauty would come from what it represents - freedom and independence

The following are extracts from past reports issued by the judges of this Award

Report by Matthew Geden….Poet

“I was delighted to be asked to judge this year’s Frank Toner Creative Writing Competition. Throughout the year I have been working with transition year students in Cork so I thought I had a fair idea of what to expect. I was wrong, however. The standard of writing from Sacred Heart Secondary School was higher than I dared to hope. It has been a joy to read the work of young writers at a time when we are told that they are disengaged from the world and only interested in social media. Clearly this is not true and I was very impressed with the range of subjects and concerns covered in the submissions. There were stories on loss, health, happiness, the future and other general social and political problems.”

“This is my second year judging the Frank Toner Creative Writing Competition. Once again I have been very impressed with the high standard of work and the broad range of subjects covered. In the last year I have taught creative writing to many different age groups and abilities. Some are writing because they have a specific project in mind, some because they hope to forge a career and some simply for their own enjoyment.”

“Sometimes reading can be difficult or hard work but that was never the case with the work submitted to me. I quickly noticed that the themes and concerns expressed by the students were really not very different from those which my adult classes were writing about. Each piece was dazzlingly unique and they moved from love to loss to murder mystery to homelessness to a fear of failure and even to the merits of different types of ketchup. I learned a lot!”

Afric McGlinchey

( book editor,reviewer,freelance journalist,poetry tutor and workshop facilitator.)

“I was delighted to be asked to judge this year’s Frank Toner Creative Writing Competition. Throughout the year I have been working with transition year students in Cork so I thought I had a fair idea of what to expect. I was wrong, however. The standard of writing from Sacred Heart Secondary School was higher than I dared to hope. It has been a joy to read the work of young writers at a time when we are told that they are disengaged from the world and only interested in social media. Clearly this is not true and I was very impressed with the range of subjects and concerns covered in the submissions. There were stories on loss, health, happiness, the future and other general social and political problems.”

“I was honoured to be invited to judge this competition again. It’s inspiring to see the range of subject matter, the open-mindedness and the ideas that are being encouraged at school.  In making my selections, what I was looking for in particular was an authentic voice, one that I believed in. But I am only one subjective reader, of course. On another day, I might have chosen differently. "

“I spent several enjoyable days reading and re-reading these stories and poems. Much of the writing is confident and in many cases these narrators are adults dealing with daily difficulties”

More submissions will be posted over the next few days.

Thanks to all students for submissions received.