The Ghost of Père Lachaise by pupil Michael Harris

Over the last two weeks Year 6 have been learning about and writing their own play scripts. The first task the children concentrated on was an independent writing task in which they set the scene for a film which is currently in production called ‘The Ghosts of Père Lachaise’. They were asked to use figurative language such as similes, personification, metaphors and onomatopoeia in addition to the high level vocabulary and punctuation they use every lesson.

The piece of work below is by Michael Harris and is an example of the very high standard that is currently being set in Year 6.

Well done for setting the scene in such a beautifully descriptive and eloquent way Michael.

The Ghost of Père Lachaise

Act One

The lights of Paris engage in battle with the blinding light of the moon as to which of them will illuminate the infinite pitch black midnight sky which hangs over the city like a magician’s cape. Only the sound of late night taxi drivers ferrying tourists to their hotel can be heard; likewise, only the smell of their exhaust pipes pollutes the air, with the market scents of perfume and fresh bread no longer detectable.

One of these cars drives furiously past the Père Lachaise cemetery, yet it fails to interrupt the deathly silence that descends upon the cemetery every night. Darkness has almost prevailed on this frozen ballroom, but the soft illumination of buzzing fireflies keeps a metre of Père Lachaise alive. Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps interrupts the cemetery, setting the fireflies towards the footsteps’ direction. Once they have arrived at their intended destination, they irradiate it, showing the face of a young girl, hysterically sprinting through the gravestones. Finally, the girl arrives at a statue that appears to be her endpoint: her sprint comes to an abrupt end and her breathing slows as she looks up towards the pretentious, but dilapidated statue that imposes upon the graveyard.

The girl’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of mournful music, played by a pianist with years of experience and pain that flow into his fingers when he is engulfed by performing. She treads softly towards the source of the music – a clearing, floodlit again by the winged diamonds of the cemetery. Sitting at a grand, however derelict piano that would once have been worth a small fortune is a pale, ailing figure who plays with drooping fingers…


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