Over to you - extra
AQUILA readers are brilliant at sending us letters, poems, stories and pictures. If we are unable to cram them all into the printed magazine, we try to put them here. Your book reviews and recommendations are on the Read it - extra page
Dear Aquila
I’ve been reading your magazine for a year and a month now, and I haven’t put any of them in the bin! In response to Darcy Keenan-Smith (February issue), I play the recorder and love to do it! I have five pets, my dog Buster, my kitten Patch, my hamster Pickle and my two cats Toby and Tiny. Does anyone have the same amount or more?
From Becky Hoard, age 10
Dear Aquila
I have been getting your magazine for just over a year now, when my aunt subscribed to it for me. I moved to Charlton when my mum was having a baby; her name was Jana, like Hana and Hawa, mine and my sister’s names. I used to live in Walthamstow. Now I live in my aunt’s house with my mum, dad, sisters and brother. I really wish you could do a piece on endangered animals because my mum got me a jaguar top from WWF. Here is a poem I wrote:
Magic Box
In my box I will put a single
Hair of a magical unicorn,
The cry of a dying baby
A four-leaf clover.
I will put in my magic box the
Shoe of a galloping horse,
The white rabbit used by a magician
The ticking of a grandfather clock.
From Hana Salim, age 9¼
PS You rock AQUILA
Dear Aquila
I have been getting your magazine now for a year and three months and I can’t stop reading it. I love the quizzes, Over to you, the stories and of course Ian the cat. Here’s a poem I wrote about the Victorian workhouse:
Poor As Can Be
I can see children whimpering
Hear the whistle of a cane
People begging on the streets
The cold wind blowing around me,
Shivering on the spot
Kids striving for survival
The walls closing in on me,
My heart pounding
I dream of freedom
From Molly Arnesen, age 9
Dear Aquila
I have just started AQUILA and I read your magazine and cannot put it down. I love writing poetry and stories; here is one of my poems:
Leaf and Sun
Here I am again hidden away in the clouds all grey.
The leaves want to stay.
I’m not going grey, that colour is going
Red instead.
I’m dead.
I’m dancing while falling, I’m calling the
Sun to come out again, otherwise
I must make a den.
If the Sun doesn’t come out I go golden brown,
Waiting to be found.
From Jessica, age 9
PS Thank you Nanny and Grandpa.
Dear Aquila
My friend gets your magazine and soon I will get it too!! I love history and puzzles and music, so I am really looking forward to getting your magazine.
From Lizzie Archer, age 9
Dear Aquila
I love your magazine! My little brother currently gets it and one of my three big brothers got it before he did. My favourite pages are Brainfeeders, Over to you, Jokes, and, of course, Ian. Philip and Phoebe’s arguments are interesting too.
I live in Auckland, New Zealand. It’s meant to be summer, but it’s very wet at the moment! My four brothers and I are all home-schooled by our mother. My sister is at university. We have a pet frog called Lazarus because some nurses found him and thought he was dead, but when they came back he was alive and hopping! The nurses then gave him to us. My sister used to have a rabbit called Dougie, short for Douglas, but he died about three years ago. I love ballet and dance five days out of seven. Perhaps, sometime you could do an issue on Dance.
Here’s a poem I wrote:
Jill’s Computer
Jill had some colourful computers
Her latest one was a lime-green colour
It even had a bright pink hooter
The last computer was a little duller!
Even in school she used it under
Her small bright purple desktop lid
Until the teacher saw it and turned to thunder
So in her red bag it was hid!
One day Jill was completely aghast
When her horrid computer broke (at last!)
The dog had found, seen and bitten
The gadget until it was totally smitten.
From Isabel Bloomfield, age 11
Dear Aquila
I have had your magazine since last Christmas! I love it. My favourite page is Polly Chrome. When I grow up I want to be just like her. I wrote a poem for you:
Brothers are annoying
Robots too
Octopus as well
Tiki too
Hippo follows
Elephants crash
Running away
Says Snakey Bash
From Georgia Somerville
PS Tell Lily Hadfeld it’s my 5th time reading Harry Potter.
Dear Aquila
AQUILA you own the beeeeeeeeeest magazine on the planet! So far I have written: one musical, three sci-fi stories, one 15-page fantasy. I am currently writing the diary of a girl on the Titanic. When I grow up I’m going to be a writer. I have one question to ask everyone – where do you publish a book but still keep it your own work? Many thanks for an awesome magazine.
Tick Tock
“Stop it!” I yelled, my little brother (the pain) was always touching my stuff. “I’m on the verge of a scientific breakthrough! Now get out!”
I’m a scientist by heart, but pupil by profession.
“But it’s pretty,” my brother whined, tampering with a doomsday device.
“Get away from that!” I screeched angrily, avoiding the utter annihilation of the world. “Mum! Ovid’s in my room again!” I shouted upstairs to mum (the hippie).
“Okay, little dude, mama’s here, leave your big sis alone, she’s busy,” said the hippie at the top of the stairs.
The pain left. Then the boss (dad) entered the room.
“So, how far have we got?” he asked.
“I think we’re ready, just need your go-ahead and it’s done,” I replied excitedly.
“Let’s test it then: try and shrink me,” said the boss seriously.
I pressed the button. There was a loud whirring sound and a flash of blue light, then . . . we, the boss and I, had shrunk.
“Oh no! I forgot the copper gear! It shrunk both of us!” I shrieked hysterically. “And the button to regrow is at the top!”
The boss wasn’t listening. “Wow, this is amazing! We are the first ever to view the world at this angle!”
“And the last if we don’t reach that button!” I shouted moodily at him.
He considered our conundrum professionally, as he thought it over. We went over the ginormous gadgets, tables and chairs.
Suddenly the pain walked in and picked up the doomsday device and pressed the button.
“Doomsday in minus 10 . . .” the device said.
“Boss, do something!” I yelled, shaking him. “. . .9. . .” said doomsday. Ovid cried. “. . .8. . .” the machine continued.
The hippie appeared, picked up the pain and left.
“. . .7. . .6. . .” doomsday thundered.
I tried to get the device, but tumbled and started to fall to my demise. Dad tries to grab me, but misses.
“ . . .5. . .4. . .3. . .”
Suddenly Superman crashes through the roof and . . . Hold on Superman!
Then I woke up!
“Ursula! Your tea’s ready!” the hippie calls to me. You know, the boss is going to want to know more of my dream . . .
From Tara McBride, age 11
