The Life of Agnes: Angels, Americans and Agonising Agony

There are three things I love more than anything. 1) Animals 2) My family 3) My freind

In this book you'll find out about the day my best (only) freind came to school for the first time. And about how I found my soul sister in an African American girl from the past. (Who heard Martin Luther Kings speach when she was my age). You can also read about my younger brothers atempts at being a stunt man. (Ouch).

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4. My (African) American Heroine

“Hey Tommy. Come and look at this.” We were in the school library, looking for famous people to write a poem about. I’d pulled out a book called Famous Black Americans: Past and Present. There were people everyone knows like, Barack Obama and Martin Luther King. But some weren’t so well known. “It says here; Jenny Magdale was born in Boston, North America. Her mum was killed mu members of the Ku Klux Klan when visiting her sister down south. She lived with her dad, older sister, younger brother and granddad. She wrote a diary from the age of 10 to the age of 16. In some places her diary’s just as popular as Anne Frank’s diary.”  Tommy nodded. He’d been looking at past sporting heroes. “Are you going to write about her?” he asked. “Yeh. If I can find anything else about her.” I stood up and went over to Miss Shire the school Liberian. “Excuse me. Have you got any more books on Jenny Magdale?” miss Shire shook her head. “Sorry no. Though I hear they’re selling copies of her diary in Books and More.” I thanked her and went back to sit with Tommy. “So?”

“Nothing. Though she did say they had copies of her diary at Books and More.”

***

   On Friday afternoon me and Jacques went into books and more. As its name suggests the shop sells books. But it also sells puzzles, board games and DVDs. Whilst I looked through the autobiography section Jacques flicked through a beano album. An attendant came over to me. “Can I help you?” he asked. “Yes. Do you have anything on Jenny Magdale?” I asked. He went over to the far corner. Pulled out a book and handed it to me. It was made to look like a red leather diary with gold coloured print saying; The Complete Collection of Jenny Magdale’s Diaries. I nodded. “Thanks.” I bought the book, (and the Beano album). Then I took Jacques to pets at home, to buy all the pet essentials we’d run out of. We bought dog food, cat food, kitty litter, fish food and budgie food. Then we had tea in the café. I had a cheese salad and a Dr Pepper. Jacques has a sausage roll and an orange juice. When we got home I went up to my room and began reading. I really got absorbed in it. (This doesn’t happen too often). I felt like I was somewhere other than my bedroom. With its cream and pastel pink walls, covered by a vast collection of animal posters. My shelves of stuffed animals, (as well as a couple of real ones).  With my wooden floor boards covered, (make that littered) with rugs. I just have a thing for them. I felt I was someone other than Agnes Boleyn. With my wispy black hair.  (Bummer). My deep brown eyes. (My best feature). And my miss matched feet and legs. No I felt like I was Jenny Magdale. Dancing with her sister. Listening to her granddad tell her stories. Listening to one of Martin Luther King’s famous speeches. I smiled. I’d found myself a heroine.

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