The students at Marling School were tasked to do a piece of creative writing based around a penknife held in the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust collections.
The penknife, dating from c. 1590-1610, was excavated from the Thames near Shakespeare's Globe in Southwark, London. Using their imagination, the students wrote their own version of the penknife’s history.
A huge thank you to Marling School for sharing the top entries written by their very talented year 7s.
Winner - Reuben Landon
The Glovemaker’s Penknife
It was a warm summer evening, the mist shrouding the Thames like a translucent cloak, one last customer was buying a pair of fine leather gloves. He was an old man, hunched over his gnarled walking stick. He had a shock of white hair and was wearing long robes and a grey and green cloak.
“These gloves cost two shillings and ten pennies sir.” William informed the man knowledgeably, he had always been well spoken, perhaps it was his love for writing. The customer put his hand to a fold in his billowing cloak, a money bag emerged. He held his hand out to drop the money into William’s when his croak of a voice rang out again.
“Soon you will be given a choice that will decide the course of your life, I see a great future in you. Choose to follow your dreams.” He then dropped the money into William’s hand. Will looked up enquiringly, but the many had disappeared.
***
William pushed the door to the living room open, the screaming hinges declaring his presence to the man sitting with his back to him.
“Sit down Will,” his father ordered, “I have something to discuss with you.”
“What do you want to discuss Father?” Will inquired as he lowered himself into an armchair.
“Now that you are ready, I think it’s time you make a choice.” Will’s father stated with some confidence.
“A choice?” Will asked, feeling the two shillings and ten pennies in his pocket.
“I have a gift for you,” Will’s father said, holding out a gleaming, metal-handled pen knife.
“Why?” Will asked.
“I am going to retire, and now I need someone as capable as you to run the shop.” The old glovemaker told his son.
“Me? But - “ Will argued.
“There are no buts, Will, you will be a glovemaker.” His father told him, suddenly stern. Will stood up sharply.
“Father, I have no love for gloves, my passion lies in writing.”
“Then you are no son of mine,” The words exploded out of the father’s reddening face.
Will fled from the room, to the bank of the mist-covered Thames, and threw the penknife into it, as hard as he could. “I choose you,” he whispered, feeling the two shillings and ten pennies, watching the ripples emerging from the point where the knife had penetrated the surface.
Runner-up – Wilf Gapp
Is this the dagger I don’t see before me
I awoke to the smell of freshly baked loaves of bread. Mother was making a special breakfast today as it was the day of the play: Macbeth! I hurriedly put my best clothes on and swiftly scrambled downstairs. I clasped a piece of bread as I reached the kitchen. With a half-eaten loaf in hand, I had to leave as I wished not to miss my first ever play.
The bustling crowd outside the Globe was raucous. As we shuffled our way through, a large man fell backward, knocking me. I raised my head, mother was nowhere to be seen. I crawled through, being trampled and cursed at. Finally, I broke from the crowd, covered in dirt. I realised the time, past midday! I was missing the play! I walked hurriedly in panic, finding an entrance to the jaw-dropping structure. The sheer size of it made me freeze in awe. I snapped out of it, though, as quickly as you can say Shakespeare.
I burst through the entrance, not thinking clearly, then I realised, I was in the props department! A man, seeming wealthy due to his clothing, wearing a waistcoat, bellowed worriedly, “We haven’t a knife! A Knife! My kingdom for a knife!” His eyes locked on to me like a dog after a bone. He gruffly shrieked, “You boy, fetch me a knife, NOW!” He handed me money as it if I were his servant. “If you are quick enough I shall skin you alive!” By then, my heart was in my throat. He was very serious. I (shaking now) took the money and pelted out the door.
The rain cut at my skin like a cat-o-nine tails. I heard nothing but my own breath and my pounding heart. I didn’t dare to look back as the thought of being skinned alive haunted me. I was shivering, unsure whether in fear or cold. My worn leather shoes pounded on the cobblestone, the patter of rain continued.
The bustling crowd outside the Globe was raucous. As we shuffled our way through, a large man fell backward, knocking me. I raised my head, mother was nowhere to be seen. I crawled through, being trampled and cursed at. Finally, I broke from the crowd, covered in dirt. I realised the time, past midday! I was missing the play! I walked hurriedly in panic, finding an entrance to the jaw-dropping structure. The sheer size of it made me freeze in awe. I snapped out of it, though, as quickly as you can say Shakespeare.
I reached the weapons shop numb, cold, drenched, scared. I wanted to go home. The man in the waistcoat came to mind. I bought a “dagger” from the cold-faced shop owner. I decided to take a shortcut to the banks of the Thames. I struggled to breathe but my body froze as I lost my footing. The knife tore from my grip, my eyes were heavy. The last thing I heard was a ripple of water, then darkness.
Runner-up – Freddie Samuel
Shakespeare Story
Hi, I’m Clarence Watson, and I am now 13 yet dead. You may be wondering how I am dead? Well this is my story.
One day Shakespeare-My idol-was doing a masterclass on how to write with a quill, at the time I didn’t know how to write but thanks to Will I do now even though it is not much use. After his speech I saw Shakespeare drop his penknife, I picked it up as any inquisitive young 12-year-old would in 1597, and my first reaction was to examine it. I considered stealing but then realised I wouldn’t get into heaven if I had done so. I was going to give it back but by the time I had looked up he was gone, gone to do another speech.
From then on I made it my mission to find him and give it back. After his speech in my area of Croydon, I knew for a fact his next was in the Globe Theatre in Southwark. How I knew this? My best friend Barnabas lived there.
So as quick as I could I raced towards Southwark, but first I checked in home so my parents knew where I was. I got my quill, some water and some bread and headed on my way. I ran from Croydon to Southwark in about an hour, thankfully Shakespeare’s next speech was in two hours. But as I was going along a bunch of muggers came up to me and tried to ambush me. But thankfully I slipped through their legs and alerted a guard of their presence. Running through the markets and hamlets was tough work but I eventually made it to Southwark. Everyone was coming out of the Globe. I caught a glimpse of Shakespeare’s carriage but there was a mob of people around it, he was giving autographs out, I would never ever in a million years get within five metres of him.
I told a guard outside the theatre of what I had and even showed him, however he said to me it was a fake and I was a worthless brat, he was a guard for Shakespeare, I should have some respect!
I ran all the way to the Thames, I was just so overwhelmed. Heart beating, legs quivering, lungs failing. I was confused and angry. Stuff the stupid penknife, I thought, I threw it into the river. I watched the circles on the surface. Getting his knife back was just not meant to be.
What do you think happened to Shakespeare’s penknife? Have a go at writing your own story.