Our Competition Winners!

What a fabulous response we had to the Stories From our Streets writing competition! Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to write and send us your entries. It has been wonderful to see BCP and its residents celebrated in such a variety of ways, and we really enjoyed each and every one.

Of course, as with every competition, it has been incredibly hard to narrow the entries down to a shortlist and then to choose just one winner. Eventually, however, we managed to do so and we are very happy announce that the winning entry is Brownsea Castle by Mac Wylie. Hearty congratulations go to Mac from all of the ArtfulScribe team.

The judges admired the way in which Mac deftly transformed the historical records of the Castle into an engaging piece of creative non-fiction, bringing its stories to life and highlighting its different guises over the years. We also liked how they incorporated themselves as characters in its history - adding a more personal element to the depiction of such a famous BCP landmark.

Mac wins £50 of book vouchers, a family ticket to Highcliffe Castle, and also a family ticket to the Russell-Cotes Museum.

In the light of the number of strong contenders, we also want to applaud the work submitted by four further writers, and so have created four Runner Up awards to the following:

Living My Best Life by Teresa Barton

At The Pond by Ben

Hengistbury Head by Carol Breuer

The Escape/Return by Anon

These have won a £10 book voucher, an ArtfulScribe tote bag and some other little ArtfulScribe goodies.

Congratulations to all.

Many thanks again to BCP and especially its library staff for the support they have given the competition and to Highcliffe Castle and the Russell-Cotes for their generosity in donating the cultural prizes.

Thanks are also due to Arts Council England for its funding of Stories From Our Streets in every aspect.

In our next blog post, coming soon, we will publish all the runner up entries but, first, we are delighted to share the winning entry with you below.

Brownsea Castle

By Mac Wylie

1545

The first stones are laid in wet ground. Perhaps the men placing the stones pause to ponder how long they will stand, what people will wear smooth grooves into the rough surfaces, if fires will raze the walls to dust. Perhaps they do not. Time passes.

1547

A man lies lifeless, washed ashore near the stout walls of a small island fort. Rumours swirl that his boat sank as he sought to be with his forbidden love, the first woman in England to publish a book under her true name. How wonderful it would be, to do such a thing before anyone else. More than anything, though, I am glad I do not have to.

Time passes.

1726

Fortified years of soldiers and ammunition buckle and give way under the weighty silk and finery of a wealthy man’s private castle. The newest resident spends time nurturing and preserving rare flora, just as the island becomes a home to him. He is deaf to any outraged cries from across the water. Time passes.

1896

The castle has seen too much. Hand upon hand has torn down and built up and torn down and built up rooms and walls and intentions and hopes, expanding and contracting as though drawing breath, wearing the patience of the castle thinner and thinner until it vanishes. Smoke on the breeze.

Only the walls remain. Time passes.

1901

More life than ever fills the lavish, endless rooms, dancing and singing mingling with the food and drink in the technicolour air. Time passes.

1929

Just as laughter and love once burst from the windows, now vines and trees crack the glass and cover the stone. Just as children and chatter once travelled the halls, so now does birdsong echo freely off the walls. The wonders and weeds of the island run amok through the castle, content to fall back to its roots. A solitary soul loves the island from a small cottage. Time passes.

1940

A refuge not only to nature, the castle shelters terrified travellers, different each day, on their way to safe haven on the mainland. Perhaps the castle wishes to once more shelter people who love the island, no matter the reason. Time passes.

1963

On a sultry but brilliant summer's day, the castle – whole once more – opens at last to those able to visit by choice. Time passes.

2004

I walk the island paths, hand in hand with my grandparents, near the birthplace of my mother. There is awe and joy in my small face, and I pretend to be an explorer in a faraway jungle. I am seeing these birds and squirrels and flowers for the first time, but it is not the last. Time passes.

2023

My feet tread the halls of the castle, bringing food and drink to tired, sun-kissed holidaymakers. The walls and floors are new, holding history between them rather than within them, but the foundations stand. I imagine the men who laid those first stones remain, knowing what they have done for the people who walk their halls.

Our blogs

Regular news and insight from our many poets, writers, educators and facilitators

Our Competition Winners!