Welcome to Year 6
Mr Spencer is the teacher in Oak class. Mr Dalgleish is in Beech and Miss Lowe is in Holly. Click on the leaves to find out more about the individual classes.
‘Let It Grow’
We thank you God for our food today
Harvest festival is here
It’s time for celebration
Send the message loud and clear
We are so lucky we have so much food to share
But take the time to think, is it really fair?
It’s time to see what we can do
To feed the poor and hungry too
Enough for you, enough for me
You’ll see
Let it grow, let it grow
Then harvest every year
Let it grow, let it grow
It is the time of year!
Here we stand,
and here we say,
Thank you for our food
The fields were too overgrown anyway!
We have to be so grateful
There’s enough food in the world
But we have to share it fairly
For every boy and girl
Enough to eat for you and me
potatoes, peas and broccoli
We’ll have our Brussel sprouts for tea, all three !
Let it grow, let it grow
Then harvest every year
Let it grow, let it grow
It is the time of year!
Here we stand,
and here we say,
Thank you for our food
The rain is falling from the clouds into the ground
The sun is beating down on all our crop fields all around
And then the farmers bring the harvest to the barn
Their work is over now
Until it starts again
Let it grow, let it grow
Then harvest every year
Let it grow, let it grow
It is the time of year!
Here we stand,
and here we say,
Thank you for our food
The fields were too overgrown anyway!
The flame-red moon, the harvest moon,
Rolls along the hills, gently bouncing,
A vast balloon,
Till it takes off, and sinks upward
To lie on the bottom of the sky, like a gold doubloon.
The harvest moon has come,
Booming softly through heaven, like a bassoon.
And the earth replies all night, like a deep drum.
So people can't sleep,
So they go out where elms and oak trees keep
A kneeling vigil, in a religious hush.
The harvest moon has come!
And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep
Stare up at her petrified, while she swells
Filling heaven, as if red hot, and sailing
Closer and closer like the end of the world.
Till the gold fields of stiff wheat
Cry `We are ripe, reap us!' and the rivers
Sweat from the melting hills.