8U15: Charles Dickens by

Ms Craven:

2016-10-03 12:34:01 UTC

The hoarse cry of the butcher tore through the thick, mucky air before being muffled by the flurry of hooves which staggered and stomped in the mire of dirt and grime; the cart sagged with crates, boxes and barrels which perched perilously upon it.

2016-10-03 15:38:11 UTC

H/W A Victorian Market Place By Elise Kalli 03/10/16

Suddenly, I get shaken awake gruffly. "We're 'ere," an agitated driver grunted. Startled, I politely slip him 20 shillings and hopped down from the cart, where I hear a horrifying squelch underfoot. The driver muttered under his breath once more, and hurtled haphazardly down the manure-ridden, cobbled streets. Groggily, I dared to look down at my feet, which are currently caked in mad and manure had been dodgily spattered up my trouser legs.
Carefully avoiding the puddles and the worst of the ankle-deep putrid mud, I strolled on. An awfully pungent whiff of something that had been dead a while, came over me as I passed the stall selling bony, aged, stale meat and rotting fish. Turning away, I held my nose until a few stalls down; unfortunately, I was just in time to collide face to face into a market seller. "Oh, so sorry! So sorry! But you look!" he cried in broken English, frantically jabbing in the vague direction of presumably his stall, selling a mysterious and suspicious looking liquid of some kind. I peered distractedly at the murky, swirling substance and firmly shook my head and sprinted off, awkwardly leaving him in my panic.
Thoughtfully, I abruptly came to a halt directly outside the bread and cheese gourmet shop. Outside, a man proudly held a plate of thick, freshly baked, floury bread, thickly slathered with butter and creamy cheese samples with a neat tooth pick through the middle. Absentmindedly, I plucked a sample off the tray and chewed on the flavoursome, satisfying, melt-on-the-tongue bread and cheese silently. "Thanks," I muttered, flicking the tooth pick into a largely expanding, unpleasant pile of steaming manure. As I stood, wondering whether or not I should purchase some of that luxuriously fluffy bread, a small, nimble boy slyly popped up and spied the samples. "Alright?" the dirty, grubby boy asked. Snootily, the man turned his nose up haughtily and raised his eyebrows disapprovingly. However, while this scene was taking place, another thin, scrawny boy appeared, and casually snatched up nearly all of the samples on display. "Bye," the first boy waved, grinning abnormally broadly and sauntered off to enjoy his feast. The man peered down at his much lighter tray, astonished and grumpily sulked into his shop.
After a long while of aimlessly wandering the smoke-filled, cobbled streets and alleyways full of an interesting, eclectic range of products, the din of children's hysterical screeching, frantic ringing if bells and screams of advertisements because too much and I instantly felt the urgent need to get home. I hastily and secretively take out my wallet, and protectively look inside, and to my absolute outraged astonishment, there is nothing but a mere bob. Gingerly, I made my first painstaking shuffles in a vague direction of what I hope is my house...
How am I ever to get back now?

H/W - By Sebastian C.

2016-10-05 16:57:18 UTC

All of a sudden, I was greeted by a rude awakening, listening to the pattern of butchers knives cascading down and hitting the chopping boards. My belly rumbled, and I was entitled to feeling a very ravenous matter. The market stalls were operated by those who were employed by richer people, and as they opened up, there were crooked tooth-missing smiles given off, in hope to brighten the spirits. It wasn’t the best of days, and we had to make do with what we had to protect ourselves from the rain. There were foul, nauseating puddles that coated the concrete in which the market stalls lay upon. I pinched my nose tight, as I passed the malodorous stench that hung around the air beside the stall selling rotten meat. There was a flurry of stomping and clattering as a horse dashed past, in a hurry not to stay too long, due to the very foul smell that coursed around the area. I sat and watched, as people passed and went, mindful of not stepping in a puddle. The streets were brimmed with all types of people; young, old, smart, scruffy, rich and poor. The range of purchasable products on show around the market was very poor and dismal, but as it was better than nothing, profits were quite high. I assisted someone in running a market, and we were responsible for selling the finest honey. It was quite rare and expensive to find. I lifted up the burdensome crates, and plopped them on the stacks, and emptied them and laid out the jars neatly on display. The odd unwilling passersby spat on me, and gave me a distorted look of disapproval. We closed soon after, and I wandered around the cobbled streets, filled with smoke, clutter, and an interesting product base. The advertisers finished chanting their slogans, and the stall owners closed up. The noise died down, but there was still the odd hoot and squeal.

Kieran Smith

2016-10-05 18:20:04 UTC

The market was packed full of Victorian shoppers, people from behind pushing and shoving the people in front, causing shoppers to be pushed into the foot, deep mud. Not only was their smelly mud smothered over the floor, an even worse smell was travelling around the market, it seemed to be that their was horse poo mixed in with the mud. Looking around and trying to listen above the racket which was being made in the market, horses were walking around the markets streets. Their hooves were flicking the mud and their waste all over nearby walkers.
The people behind the stalls were whistling trying to get peoples attention, so they could try and make some money. It seemed that nobody was buying anything from these stools, so it seemed necessary to walk on further down the street where it seemed to look more pleasant.
After walking over to the other side of the market, it seemed so much different. The smell was nowhere near as unpleasant as the other side. The stalls stood out, with the smell of the foods smelling fresh. The colors of the food were bright, unlike the foods at the other end of the market; the bread, the vegetables and the red, roar meat, the foods which were standing out. The floors were clean and their was space to move around in.
The stall holders were calling out "Six oranges for the price of 20 shillings." It looked like that the people who were running the stalls were selling a lot more objects and groceries than the other stalls.
Their were noises coming from somewhere in the market. It seemed to be coming from animals. Looking around the market, it seemed to be coming from one corner of the market. Their was dogs barking, the bellowing and bleating of sheep's and the grunting and squeaking of pigs. Their was then the roaring of voices telling the animals to be quiet and the ringing of bells attracting people to buy the animals, so they could feast on them.
After looking around the market, there was nothing else to look for, so turning around was the alternative option. The only way to get out of the market was to walk back through the smelly bit of the market. If only there was another way out.

H/W Ye Olde Victorian Market Place 05.10.16 By Joshua Carpenter

2016-10-05 19:40:17 UTC

As always when I walk out of the the tumblers lane, I go to the market to earn some gold. With its loud unobservant sellers and overfrightened animals the noise is so loud that the plants don't notice if they lose a couple of pocketbooks or hankies and its not like they don't have any: already I can see a prime plant which is using one pocketbook while keeping the other in his pocket. It won't be there for long...

I have to be careful now because there are plenty of peelers to catch you and when the traps do catch you your most likely transported. A friend of mine, or should I say worker of mine got caught and believe me the Judge had absolutely no sympathy at all in the sentence. Anyway I've got to him now and oh rattle me the squelching sludge slips me away again and seeps into my boot and trouserleg. The times I could tell you but wait, what's this? The convey is giving me the hand up? Asking what the row is?
Well best make the best of it; I quickly and smoothly slide my hands into his holes and extract a timekeeper, a pocketbook and 3 silk hankies. I explore the contents of the pocketbook and the total comes to 2 shillings and 7pence 1 halfpence plus 11d extra with the hankies and probably a shilling for the watch.Its a good haul: it will pay the rent and buy me the best food at the bar today and tomorrow. However my work is not done yet....

I'm wandering round the haggling,bustling,smog-filled portable farm when it hits me: the crankers are here and have spied me extracting the oil. It's now 20 minutes later and 3 no wait 4 persons have been unlucky. How the bobbers have spotted me I don't know but I'm not sticking around to------"what do we have here",says a bulky pleeceman who catches my coat but he's only got my coat which I soon wriggle out of. I run off and turn only to land myself in the middle of a flower display. I run this way and that but they must getting better as I'm only just dodging the batons blows and then suddenly the almost endless cacophony and storm of the marketplace is replaced with a quiet far more chilling, suspenseful calm which feel like at any moment will break. The bar is open so I go into go through to my room. The doors ajar-never a good sign. I go in though because otherwise I won't know the truth. I go in. A man jumps and I nearly start to fight until I realise its Mad George.He's bleeding and it looks bad.He grunts then explains:"Bomwat talked to the peelers. Meet at Barnet with Fagin and Sikes. We're goin' to London."I go to help him but "Leave me." he cries I'm not makin' it an' not worth it". Immediately I leave; Barnet is 35 miles so I'll need to get a carriage there.I still feel regret.

I've just got my ride out of here. But even as I ride out the market smell doesn't goes away: the vegetables, pies, meats,spices and manure all blend into the smell of filth that added to the burning sun is the great stench.The market is horrible but its really sorry thing to leave when there's money left everywhere. However there is no choice and that is cold, bare truth.

A Victorian Market Place by Josephine Kalwij

2016-10-08 20:08:31 UTC

As my feet reach the end of the grubby, cracked steps my feet sink into what I can only assume is a revolting mixture of horse poo, mire and gunk. My feet recoil in disgust as the mixture sludges around my ankles. I look up, and a foul, reeking smell reaches my nostrils.A pungency of rotting meat, fish and horse poo. But above that I can smell the aroma of freshly baked bread, the sweetness of fruit and an amazing mix of spice. As I make my way through the ankle deep mire towards a fruit stall I catch site of Countrymen, children with clean faces and children with grubby, unwashed faces running around, policemen, thieves and beggars. Aswell as that I see an assortment of animals- cattle and sheep and many more animals. Suddenly I slip, trying to grab onto the wall next to me, but I am too late, as although my fingers brush against the rough wall I am not close enough to get a handhold.

I feel my body hit the disgusting, slimy floor and I am momentarily grateful for all the mud on the floor to cushion my landing. As I said, it was only momentarily. As the stuff sludges around my face I can suddenly picture the stuff in this slimy mixture a whole lot more vividly than when it was only around my ankles. Animal poo. Mud. Animal poo. As I claw around, trying to get a grip on something to get me out of this stinking stuff I sense a crowd around me. Or rather hear. Jeers and laughs. I get up as quickly as possible and give the crowd the most evil and monstorous glare I can. I think this, combined with the fact that there is a policeman hurrying over causes the crowd to disperse pretty quickly. Now that the laughing has stopped I can hear other sounds. Whistles and shouted, bellows and wagon wheels, animal sounds and a constant stream of cries like '2 for a pound!' or ' bargain, 15 shillings!' As I walk around a bit more I get the sharp, bittersweet taste of woodsmoke coming from some houses. I stop by some samples of fruit and have a blackberry. As the delicious berry erupts in my mouth sweetness fills my mouth. Mmmmm. I pick up another, then buy some. As I leave the market I turn around and have a last look at the amazingness of it.

H/W My description of a Victorian market place 09/10/16 By Rebekah Roughead

2016-10-09 08:24:03 UTC

"Hurry up Tom! You're gonna make us miss the street performers." Alfie yelled as I failed to catch my breath. We hurriedly bustled past the crowd of rowdy men, who reeked of gin and body odour. "Alfie wai- SPLAT". I trip over an old, stale piece of fish and end up sprawled across the floor, face first in a steaming pile of horse manure. I pick myself up and try as I might, the horse manure has left a stench on my body that won't pass quickly. I look up to find that Alfie is no where to be seen, so I decide to take a stroll down the cobbly, parasite filled streets. A pair of rich men look me up and down and tut as I walk past them, making me feel like an idiot.
I continue to saunter down the littered street until I come across the food stalls. They display rows of fresh, succulent meats and juicy, mouth-watering fruits and vegetables. I wait till no-one is watching, and slip a few of the delicacies up my shirt and jumper to save them for later.
"Oi! Get back here with my stuff!" The stall keeper shouts at me.
I hurriedly picked up another piece of fruit and started running as fast as I could away from the stall. luckily, I was too fast for him and he gave up in looking for me. In the distance, I could see Alfie with the rest of the boys from the orphanage. "Hey Alfie!" I shouted.
"Alright Tom! Where did you get to? We've been looking for you for ages."
" Sorry Alfie. But look, I got us some food!"
All of the boys mouths started watering as soon as I pulled out the treats I had got us all. We sat down on a stairwell and started to dig in with the sounds of the church bells, the horses and the constant quarrelling in the background. It was lovely to have a good meal for once , thank goodness we all escaped from the evil Mr. Wilkins and that putrid smelling orphanage.
I just hope he doesn't find us all because who knows what he will do to us if he does...

HW A Victorian Marketplace

2016-10-09 09:36:12 UTC

By Isadora Affejee
My heart was banging in my chest as our journey came to a close. We were finally here. As I stepped out of my carriage, I was thrown off guard with the putrid stench. I reeled back in shock at the filth and mire, now clinging onto my silken shoes. The marketplace was brimming with people, hawkers bellowing to promote their wares, skeletal pickpockets nimbly weaving in and out of malevolent, plump men topped with bowler hats and sinister smiles.

Ingrid hopped out of the carriage after me.
" Are you alright, Winifred?" she enquired, " you look rather pale.''
I breathed deeply, then gagged at the new, unfamiliar smell of rotting meat and fish.
" I'm fine" I managed, eventually. I heard the a clock chime nine o'clock. I heard the sound of coughs and illness, the lonely cries of children, the clicking of horseshoes against the cobbled streets, the bleating of helpless animals. I felt the intoxicating smoke closing in on me; filth tarnished on my hands. I almost tasted my disapointment and disgust at this squalid area of England.

H/W A Victorian Market By Theo Hutchings 09/10/16

2016-10-09 11:21:20 UTC

Hundreds of us were shuffled into a massive marketplace, filled to the brim with market stalls. The grubby, rough cobble paths were only just wide enough to let three people down at a time. I was constantly bumping and brushing into people. As soon as i gathered myself and took in my surroundings, I was struck by an awful stench coming from the stall next to me. There was an old man trying to grab me and he kept asking for my money. I quickly glanced over my shoulder as i stumbled away and saw that he was selling dirty, rotten fruit and raw meat covered in flies and maggots. These two smells combined to create such a stench that i almost fainted. There was the distant cry of a young boy "Plates! Come get your plates! Bowls too! We sell all kinds of crockery!" I could only just about hear it before it was muffled by the sound of the horse and carriage which strolled up next to me, covering my legs with the mud and manure that was thickly layered on the ground as it came past.
The reason I had decided to come to the market was to get some fresh fruits for my family. However, I had no idea where i could get some! It was so difficult to hear anything over the other stall holders yelling, the stray dogs barking and the livestock making noise. I had 15 shillings in my pocket. This whole time i had kept one of my hands in this pocket. Every two minutes, I would pass a young, dirty and scrawny looking boy, shyly putting their head down as I stared at them. Then, as I looked away and strolled onwards, they would get up off the mud and start following me. As they realised that my hand was in my pocket, they would stop and just lie back down on the mud again. I couldn't help but feel sorry for these boys. Well. That was until i saw two boys stealing from a pastry stall. The first boy was politely talking to the owner, blabbering on about how he is incredibly starving and needs some food. At this time, the second boy was snatching everything he could get his grubby hands on. After about three minutes, the first boy simply said "Bye!" and ran off. The stall owner suspiciously turned around and was astonished to see half his food was gone. He slowly spun around again, showing a disgusted frown. Everyone could tell what his face meant, and we all absentmindedly walked away.
Just as I was about to give up, I finally heard the hoarse cry "Fresh fruit! come get your fresh fruit! Only 5 shillings for 3 of any fruit I sell!" I sprinted over to the stall as fast as i could. I wanted to get this over with so i could escape this hell hole. I quickly asked him "Three apples, Three oranges and Three pairs please!" He quickly shoved them into a ripped plastic bag and i slipped him my 15 shillings. He muttered "thanks" and i walked off.
Now was the real test. Could I remember how to get back? I stumbled and pushed my way through the crowds in the direction i thought was home. Eventually i made it back to the horses and carriages but then i realised something. I had spent all my money on the fruit. How was I supposed to pay the driver?

A Victorian Market-Dorothy Ward

2016-10-09 12:32:14 UTC

It was market day, the streets were already bustling with people making, selling, buying and shouting. I could see women carrying baskets of washing, young children appearing from the tops of chimneys, covered in soot, men and women stringing up raw meat that gave off a horrible stench, police on watch for thieves, horses and carts pulling up everywhere and worst of all I could see all the disgusting mud and horse dung that was squelching underneath my feet. Every time I took a step, I could feel the crunch and squelch of straw and horse dung on the ground. I couldn't get anywhere without someone pushing me out of the way, almost knocking me over and drenching the bottom of my skirt in mud. I could constantly hear people yelling, the sounds of humongous knives slamming through meat onto wooden blocks and the ongoing sound of horse shoes clapping and clicking along but most of all, the sound of disease, people coughing and sneezing all around. I could smell the muddy, dirty smell of livestock, the flat, horrid stench of rotting fish, the rather horrid exsistance of pollution hanging in the air but worst all,the rench of dead animals that are slowly rotting. All I could taste was the filth that hung low in the air and the sullen fumes of rotting food.

HW/ A Victorian Market Place By Megan Brown 09.10.16

2016-10-09 13:46:18 UTC

It was the third morning of the month; market morning. The steam blackened air was rising callously from the necks of the chimneys and resting just above the rickety tops before dreadfully spreading throughout the market. With one deep breath I could taste the putrid, foul, claustrophobic air enter my lungs. As I peered in, through the darkened fog, I could see that this trip would not be simple. The stools were flooded with people; haggard and frail elderly crowding around the knitting wools, brooding teens following in the footsteps of their higher class guardians’ whilst bitterly groaning, skeletal and lustreless pick-pockets striking their magic before bustling through the ferocious crowds, faint maids clothed in tarnished pinafores, honoured church attenders dressed in luxurious robes, attentive police force members with whistles prepped between their lips, jubilant plump sellers, counting their money as it was chucked in their direction. Here it goes…

Entering the market was regretful. The almost deafening chatter was matched with sparse sniffs and passionate coughs that were gradually spreading throughout the market due to the constant touch of contaminated flesh and grimy skin. I was enclosed ankle deep in abhorrent mire whist the boisterous flicks of footsteps threw fetid filth in my way causing an unavoidable squelch with every step and multiple pungent whiffs. I desperately needed to purchase some delectable roast beef before it was all gone, so I therefore began on my way.

As I was about to arrive at the butchers, I heard the warning of malevolent horse shoes. I crossed the rode in a desperate hurry in attempt to not have to dispose of my shoes when I got home… The dreaded and lonesome horse came galloping by, tugging an impossible kart full with baskets of appetizing fruits in it. In its footsteps, it left behind piles of revolting manure. I spun round on my thankfully poo-clean shoe and headed up the dirt slathered streets. When I finally stood in the butcher’s space, the rancid scents of rotting fish and over due meat crept up my nostrils. I heard the melancholy cries of revengeful lambs enclosed opposite the wide selection of butchers tools.

After I had chosen the roast meat, the church bell rang through the market. I emerged from the gathering of Christians attending this particular session and glanced at the iconic church clock showing the hour hand had just reached eleven; I needed to get home for lunch in an hour. Before returning my eyes to the ground, I saw a variety of frantic and anxious chimney sweeps stuck at the head of the openings, yelping and waving their arms, panic-stricken, hoping to catch somebody who would actually help’s attention. Travelling back in my haste, I was surrounded by smells of baking, my hands brushed against at least one product in nearly every stool I passed, from fruit and vegetables to cloth for clothes and cushions. With one last taunting splash of a puddle, I left the market, back onto the damp cobbled streets into the semi-clean, purer atmosphere. Though slightly agitated, I quickly sauntered home knowing the way too well by now.

A whole month of market free Saturdays until next time; that should be long enough!

A Victorian Market, Katy Saunders

2016-10-09 14:33:36 UTC

It was market morning. At promptly six o'clock I heaved myself out of bed and padded across to the window.

Already a vast variety of stalls and their eccentric stall holders were strewn shabbily across the high street. Despite knowing the market so very well, there was always the familiar anticipation that rose in my stomach every Sunday morning.

By eight o' clock, I was dressed and out, the street was packed full with people of every kind. Women in garish pink dresses with blonde ringlets and piercing blue eyes; men dressed in jackets, pondering in every corner and skinny boys with only rags for clothes and soot smeared across their faces.

I began to walk more confidently then I felt down the cobbled road. Various different aromas wafted up my nose- freshly baked bread, the stench of horse manure, the distinctive fragrance of herbs and the smoke from tobacco pipes. Mixed together, it created the distinctive smell of the market I knew and loved.

I wandered over to the bakery store and fished around in my purse. " One loaf of bread please." I piped to the stall holder as I passed over the required twenty shillings. He smiled and passed me the still-warm loaf. My eyes trailed guiltily over to a custard tart, a creeping temptation washed over me.

I bit into the haven of custard and pastry, an explosion of flavours filling my mouth. Joy like no other lingered pleasantly inside me- that was until I reached the end of the street.

A thick fog of smoke and dirt replaced the bright colours of the market. A cold sense of fear slid effortlessly down my spine. The horrible squelch of mud underneath my feet was suddenly all to noticeable and the stench of horse manure and hay provoked a feeling I never want to feel again.

"What a fine lil' lass we have here today." A man whispered, down my ear. "It would be such a shame to let go of you, just like that." I shivered, hastily I pulled myself free from the mans grip.

"Leave me alone!" I shouted and sprinted back into the safety of the crowd...

Yasmin

2016-10-09 15:24:38 UTC

"Meat! Come and get your raw, chicken, lamb, what ever takes your fancy! Fresh meat!" I hear a deep, manly voice bellow across the market.
It was a cloudy Sunday, and I was at the local market to buy lamb to cook for the family at home. As usual, it was a hectic day at the market, men yelling from all directions, promoting their fresh stock, mostly which were fruit, vegetables and raw meat. The meat stock reeked to high heaven, and whilst walking past, some folk even coughed and put their hands to their noses.
There were a variety of people at the market. Many women dressed in dramatic, bold frocks with elegant head pieces, dragging their scrawny children by hand to each stall for inspection. There were some pests throwing tantrums, their howling fading in to the sounds of the bustling market.
Some young, homeless thieves who were pick pocketing off stalls. They snatched coins off the filthy floor, and apples from the end of carts, to eat. They often got yelled at by the stall owners, and a lot of the time were caught by bobby's strolling aimlessly across the market.
It almost always wasn't a pleasant experience walking through the market. Not only did the putrid smells of the stock and grubby horses make you feel sick, but the cobbled stone, hard ground made you feel uneasy. There were small puddles of water inbetween the rocks, and there was piles of horse dung on the floor, which you had a difficult task of avoiding as the market was cramped.
The atmosphere was heavily polluted with the thick smoke of the factories nearby, you could almost taste how awful the air was. It felt as if you were breathing in unhealthy smoke, which you were because of the many smokers hanging about, which made you cough up even more.
It wasn't pleasant being in the market.

H/W Description of a Victorian marketplace by Edward Hill 10/9/16

2016-10-09 16:34:12 UTC

I put my eyes towards the jumble of people gathered in the marketplace, everyone from beggars to businessmen all trying to make money in a cramped area. Traders had set up tents in the crowd of people to sell from the prettiest of jewellery to the stalest of bread. For me being a small child the marketplace did not seem like a place of people but a dense forest but the trees were people legs, the roots were the shoes and laces and the leaves were hair and hats some trees had vines which looked like stains of blood or strawberry jam. People from rags to riches were coming in the queue for the bakery
which sold fresh or stale bread depending on the money. Horses towed people for a price but some of the workers only got a small amount.

I hear a thousand voices all in a contained between children, traders, couples, and buyers. horses neigh on the road after the crack of a whip can be heard. I queued for my bread and at the front, I heard the crackling of bread which made another noise which came from my stomach. This wasn't the only tent which had noises coming from it
the jewellery shop made jingle noises and women talking about how pretty their rings' were. The animal shop had a variety of noises such as cows mooing and sheep making a baa noise with their mouth.

Horrible smells came from the man in front of me who you could tell hadn't cleaned himself in a few months by how he treated the flies who were whizzing around his armpits like pets by calling, it is cheaper than any other pet,(the fly's names
were Timothy, Zuko, Levi, James, Steve, Steve jr, and harry because it sounds like hairy, I found this out because he liked to talk to himself.) After the man had bought his crumb which was the only thing he could afford with a cm of common string I bought myself a large stale loaf to bring home to my family

In my hands, the bread felt hard and tough to break like the bed I have to sleep on every night but it was the only thing I could afford. When I got home my mother, father, brother, sister and grandma all got to the table to eat what I had gone to the market to get, I took I a piece of bread and placed onto my tongue, it tasted disgusting but the thought of not being hungry was fantastic.

Victorian market by Milan Kane

2016-10-09 17:50:37 UTC

The market is packed with all kinds of people rich and poor. The sound of horses pulling carriages along the wet cobbled streets trembling through my ears. The stall owners loudly calling out with shouts of "roses for sale, sweet smelling roses" or "come and try our delicious apples" trying to grab the attention of the rich and persuade to give up their money for belongings. Children running and screaming as if they were in a play ground their laughter ringing through the air. The pungent scent of horse droppings filling the noses of the citizens, making them screw their faces up in distaste. The shops crowded with people, mostly the rich, with women searching for the finest dresses and shoes that money can buy. Carts being filled ready for the days deliveries. Baker's stocking up with fresh bread, the delicious smell drifting out onto the street, so strong you can almost taste it. The begging of the poor "please sir can you spare a small loaf or a few roles for my children to eat today" can be heard with the bakers angry response of "no i can't now get out of here and don't ask me again!" Black smog from the work houses and chimneys, polluting the air.

H/W Harvey Phelan

2016-10-09 18:33:55 UTC

Firstly, I was walking down the the street until I heard a piercing voices coming from a smaal space at they end of a road, as I walked through the road I felt like voices started to get louder and louder and the smell became rank and ground became filthy.
As I got to they end of the road I saw people shouting and horses clattering the hooves against the ground and people cramped on the path trying to get to one place to another, I asked a young boy who was suprisingly coverd in ash and dirt, so I asked the boy in a confused tone 'Where and what is this place' and he replyed with 'it's a market place where everyone comes to buy or sell things. I froze and looked around with shock and to see how messy it was trying to take a deep breath I inhaled and started chocking on the fumes and polution in they air from the factories and was wondering on how it could of got so poluted. After that I started to make my way around the market until I found a man shouting at the top of his voice trying to tell everyone to buy his new things, so I walked up to him and asked what he was selling and he said he was selling news papers.
I asked on what the cost must be so he said it was 3 shilling so I brought it and carried on walking around the market, I sat down on some stairs and started reading the news paper, as the top heading it said 'Boy's dying at workshops and factorys'
I gasped with astonishment on how cruel the boy's where treated and then I started to write a letter to a lord to say how angry I am on on the kids working at the factories.
When my letter was wrote and sent I decided to leave the disgusting road of the market place and called out a drive and gave him 10 shillings to get to my home quickly after seeing the filthy and horrid streets in this market.

What would happen if the lord responds?

A Victorian Market Place By Tallulah Boundy

2016-10-09 19:04:06 UTC

Eagerly, my eyes darted from side to side taking in each and everything i saw, i had been to a market place many many times before, but each time it felt as though the stall owners had something new to offer. When we got to the end of the street my aunty dropped me off out of her milk wagon so she could continue her milk round of the nearby streets, the wagon was a cream colour that had the words 'MILK, 15 shillings per gallon'. A ghastly, pungent smell rose from the ground. Fearful of what i might see, i reluctantly looked down and saw faeces from humans and cattle, lots and lots of mud and a few things that looked like the caucuses of rats or small animals. As i trudged across to get to the market, my aunt called out " DON'T FORGET TO BUY TWO MEAT PIES, A LOF OF BREAD AND THREE APPLES, THAT I GAVE YOU THE 20 SHILLINGS FOR" I mumbled something back and set off to find what i came to get.

In one hand i held a basket to carry the food back, the other her holding the money tightly in my pocket, as if it would fly away if i didn't hold it tight enough. As i squeezed through tight gaps between people, i made my way to the bakery that was beside the market place. While walking through i heard people things like yell " 10 STRAWBERRIES FOR A TUPPENCE", " A LOAF OF BREAD FOR 6 SHILLINGS " and " TWO MEAT PIES FOR 10 SHILLINGS". There was a man outside the bakery holding a sign saying the same thing he was yelling ' two meat pies for 10 shillings ' i went inside the small shop and collected the two pies and placed them in my basket, the warm, meaty and delicious smell of the pies seemed to fill the air making my stomach rumble.

Next i had to collect a loaf of bread, as i walked i heard children screaming from up high, ' they must be working in the chimneys ' i thought to myself. when i got to the stall, i was in complete agony i was so hungry, so i decided to steal a loaf, or two, then i would be able to satisfy my hunger and id also have one to give to my aunt. slyly i grabbed two and started to fast-walk off, except one of the workers must've noticed me because after that i heard running and things like ''OI COME BACK 'ERE" and " WAIT" . Scared, of what might happen if they caught me, i darted through dozens of people. I hid behind an apple crate and waited till they left. The woman who owned the apple stall had thick black hair and bright blue eyes, she was telly to potential customers '' 5 APPPLES FOR 10 SHILLINGS" but i only needed three. After such an eventful da, i looked up at the tower clock and realised it was time to wait for my aunt. Cautiously, I made my way back to where my aunts milk wagon once was, having to yet again trudge through the perilous looking mud.

loiscox99 — 2016-10-09 21:09:21 UTC

Lois Cox

Oct 9, 2016 10:01pm

FLAG

A Victorian Marketplace by Lois Cox

As my eyes slowly awaken, I can hear the voices of people trying to sell their goods. The driver stares at me and says ‘ere we are’, I hand him 30 shillings and jump out the waggon. The driver hurried of down the cobble stone streets. Graciously, my nose fills with the smell of fresh bread, I rush straight to the bread gourmet shop. Furthermore, the freaky-looking guy outside was holding a rather large plate, containing samples of fresh bread coated in butter. With no stopping, my hand reached out to grab a sample. As I started to eat it, my mouth felt like it was in heaven. Sneakily, when the guy wasn’t looking I took 3 more delicious slices. I thought the samples outside were heaven, however when I got into the shop I was speechless. Kindly, a worker came over to me and asked if I need anything. I replied with; "could you grab me a loaf of your finest, fluffiest, freshest bread please". She scurried of through a door and return with the most delicious looking bread I have ever seen. Trying not to drop the bread, I rustle in my pocket to find 7 shillings and give them to the woman.

Filled with delightfulness, I stroll back to the main market area and take a seat to enjoy my bread. I look around and stare at all the people buying food for their families, dogs barking their heads off, peoples horrified faces when they step in steaming manure. I carefully place the rest of my bread into my bag and stand up to see which shop I should go to next. My eyes lock onto a man selling what looked like the shiniest apples, so I decided to make my way over. Suddenly, I abruptly changed direction as I saw the pinkest, freshest, succulent bacon. After I had bought a couple stripes, I get into a waggon to take me back home.

When I return home, I get out my bacon and bread, only to find the read wasn’t in there! I check the floor to see if it had fell out but I couldn’t find it. I must have left it in the waggon, So I chased after the driver, who had just set of, to check if I left my bread in his waggon. When i catch up to him, I look inside his waggon only to find my heart melt as I see nothing is in there. After I had checked everywhere, it was no were to be seen. I try to picture when I last had it, and it was when I sat down to eat it. I must have probably forgot to pick it up. "Darn it" I grunted. "that was the best bread I’ve ever bought and now I can’t even enjoy it.”

2016-10-17 10:46:13 UTC

hw A Victorian Market. By Isabelle Hariyanto

My worn boots were cemented to the swampy mud, I was fixated on getting my feet out of the ground when foul smelling man imprudently tapped on my shoulder. His face was grimy and when he sheepishly smiled, his few teeth resembled little sweet corn. He promptly held his hands, his finger nails clogged with filth. A wave of nausea ran through me. ''Anything ma'am?'' he said in a croaky tone. I checked my trouser pocket, it was filled with emptiness. I apologized and walked away hearing the squelch of my shoes against the mud, guilt filled my mind.

As I passed butchers hacking off pigs legs, the smell of noxious pigs brains clasped my throat and refused to let go. The roaring voices of butchers filled my hears. The taste of carcasses trickled down my throat making my stomach quiver. I apprehensively stepped into the butchers keeping my head down. I stared down at the selection of meats kept behind a glass screen. The blood soaked crimson meat was submerged in asparagus. My mouth salivated as I gaped at the tender slabs of meat. I swiftly exited back to the busy market, masses of people bulldozed pass me, hundreds of muffled rowdy voices ringed through my ears.

''Oi you! I have fresh pastries and cakes for a reasonable price.'' A scrawny woman squawked at me, she shouted at me like I was
the dunce of the class. I edged toward her stall and examined her cupcakes iced to the last detail, and pastries that had hundreds upon hundreds of crispy layers of syrup drenched puff pastry. The aroma of sugar was overwhelming, and I gave in. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out 20 shillings. The crippled woman handed me an iced bun, it's glossy sugar coated icing reflected the bleak sun.

Taking that first bite doused my whole in sugar. I aimlessly wandered the paths of the market until the sky darkened. Little bulbs strung across from lamp post to lamp post glowed longingly into the darkness. The once busy and wild market was still and calm with only a few Horses straying the market. I stared into the empty space and breathed in the cold crisp air (with an essence of manure.) My ears filled with the silence...

2016-10-17 17:25:42 UTC