Sign of the times: Little Grove students show their support for the deaf community on Auslan Day
Auslan is the sign language used by most deaf people in Australia.
Little Grove teacher Allison Lilly said students had been learning sign language for two years and had been discovering the signs to accompany the school song.
They can also express feelings and know the signs for colours and numbers, she said.
Auslan Day, which was on April 13, commemorates the first publication of the Australian Sign Language Dictionary in 1989.
During classes at Little Grove on Auslan Day, children learned about the history of the language and the importance of inclusive communication.
'These activities complemented our broader Harmony Week celebrations, which focused on fostering respect and belonging for everyone,' Ms Lilly said.
'The children have been really positive and very engaged with their learning.
'They were encouraged to wear their favourite colour instead of their school uniform because this represents our support of the deaf community and acknowledges Auslan as one of the many languages used within Australia,' she said.
They also headed out to the oval for a drone shot of the school community in rainbow formation.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
West Australian
2 days ago
- West Australian
Adrian Barich: As readers of this column would know, given the choice between most things, I'd walk my dogs
The other night I polished my jarrah floorboards with Mr Sheen. Yes it probably wasn't they smartest move, as Jodie reminded me of later when she slipped in the passageway. But how the wood gleamed, and how was I to know that using Mr Sheen on floorboards is dangerous due to the potential for slipperiness and the possibility of damaging the finish? Wood was pictured on the can, so that was good enough for me. Plus, I'm sure I recall in that famous 80s ad that 'woodwork everywhere' was mentioned 'Oh, Mr Sheen … Oh, Mr Sheen!' But there's a more serious aspect to my cleaning error. Lilly, our 14-year-old pug, stepped out, slipped, and ended up sprawled like a four-legged fawn-octopus hybrid, defeated but dignified. It was a little bit funny, but somewhere behind the laughter sat the quiet knowledge that her body now couldn't always do what her head wants. It was a sobering moment, really. As readers of this column would know, given the choice between most things, I'd walk my dogs. These days, that means Lilly and Frank, a cheeky Cavalier cross. We used to be a family of three pugs, but we lost two within a month to lymphoma. That still stings. There's a particular kind of heartbreak that comes from losing a dog: the absence of a wagging tail at the door, the missing click of claws on the floorboards. Walking all three pugs used to turn heads. With my thick rugby league neck, the four of us definitely looked like a family — a living personification of the old line about dog owners eventually looking like their dogs. Lilly is the survivor of those heady days. She came into our lives with a tiny snort and a wiggle, all bug-eyed curiosity and boundless energy. She made a home out of our house. Now she pads more slowly across the cork-floored kitchen, her once-springy trot only coming out when Frank annoys her. Her eyes are cloudy, her hearing patchy, but the moment she catches a whiff of 'it's dinner time or treat,' the spark reignites. We know we're nearing the hardest chapter, the one every dog lover dreads. As writer Agnes Sligh Turnbull beautifully put it: 'Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.' Preparing for Lilly's eventual goodbye feels like bracing for a storm you can't outrun. You're never really ready, a bit like all loss of life. There's guilt in even thinking about end-of-life scenarios. But you're sort of forced into it, aren't you? It feels like we're betraying her unwavering loyalty by imagining a world without her. Because for all her quirks: the wheezy snore that rattles the floorboards, the stubborn refusal to toilet in the garden when it's wet — Lilly has been a quiet kind of magic. There's a joy in dogs, Milan Kundera called dogs 'our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent'. He was right: dogs are joyous, almost magical with all their tail-wagging and unconditional love (or whatever you want to call it). It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't loved a dog how fully they become part of you. They greet you like you've returned from war, even if you just took the bins out. They don't care about whether you're really not that special. To them, you're perfect. In a world that so often feels pretty complicated, it's simplicity in a 10kg fur ball. Yet ageing hasn't dimmed Lilly's character, if anything — it's amplified it. There's a wisdom to her now, a softness. She's perfectly content with long naps, happiest when the whole family is in one room. Her muzzle is silvered, her gait stiff, but her devotion is as fierce as ever — especially to food. Watching her slow down has made us slow down, too … to appreciate the small, ordinary moments. Her trying to wriggle out of my grip when I pick her up to take her outside, her ability to fight back against Frankie in any play fight. The vet speaks in careful tones about 'quality of life'. We nod, but deep down we know Lilly's quality of life is measured in tail wags and her love of food. There's still joy in her, even if it comes in shorter bursts. We remind ourselves that grief, when it comes, will be the price we pay for all the years of companionship and humour. As the old line goes: 'If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.' Loving a dog teaches you about life itself: the selfless kind, the kind that doesn't keep score. And when that love inevitably ends, it leaves you changed: softer, more patient, perhaps a little more forgiving. Is it really a huge problem if the odd slipper gets chewed? Dogs probably make us better people. We're not there yet. Lilly still insists on claiming her spot on her bed. She still knows exactly when it's time for breakfast. But there will come a day when we'll gather her favourite blanket and say goodbye. When that day comes, our house will feel emptier. But for now, we'll keep walking slowly, letting her sniff whatever she likes. We'll savour the time we have left, because this is the deal we make when we bring a dog into our lives: they give us everything, and eventually, we have to let them go. When we think of Lilly in years to come, we'll try not to dwell on the day we said goodbye but remember the countless times she brightened our day just by being there. The everyday moments that stitched themselves into the fabric of our family. Because as all dog owners know, a dog is probably the only thing on earth that loves you more than it loves itself. (OK … some mums are that selfless too.)
Perth Now
2 days ago
- Perth Now
A dog's world: Why four-legged friends make us better people
The other night I polished my jarrah floorboards with Mr Sheen. Yes it probably wasn't they smartest move, as Jodie reminded me of later when she slipped in the passageway. But how the wood gleamed, and how was I to know that using Mr Sheen on floorboards is dangerous due to the potential for slipperiness and the possibility of damaging the finish? Wood was pictured on the can, so that was good enough for me. Plus, I'm sure I recall in that famous 80s ad that 'woodwork everywhere' was mentioned 'Oh, Mr Sheen … Oh, Mr Sheen!' But there's a more serious aspect to my cleaning error. Lilly, our 14-year-old pug, stepped out, slipped, and ended up sprawled like a four-legged fawn-octopus hybrid, defeated but dignified. It was a little bit funny, but somewhere behind the laughter sat the quiet knowledge that her body now couldn't always do what her head wants. It was a sobering moment, really. As readers of this column would know, given the choice between most things, I'd walk my dogs. These days, that means Lilly and Frank, a cheeky Cavalier cross. We used to be a family of three pugs, but we lost two within a month to lymphoma. That still stings. There's a particular kind of heartbreak that comes from losing a dog: the absence of a wagging tail at the door, the missing click of claws on the floorboards. Walking all three pugs used to turn heads. With my thick rugby league neck, the four of us definitely looked like a family — a living personification of the old line about dog owners eventually looking like their dogs. Lilly is the survivor of those heady days. She came into our lives with a tiny snort and a wiggle, all bug-eyed curiosity and boundless energy. She made a home out of our house. Now she pads more slowly across the cork-floored kitchen, her once-springy trot only coming out when Frank annoys her. Her eyes are cloudy, her hearing patchy, but the moment she catches a whiff of 'it's dinner time or treat,' the spark reignites. We know we're nearing the hardest chapter, the one every dog lover dreads. As writer Agnes Sligh Turnbull beautifully put it: 'Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.' Preparing for Lilly's eventual goodbye feels like bracing for a storm you can't outrun. You're never really ready, a bit like all loss of life. There's guilt in even thinking about end-of-life scenarios. But you're sort of forced into it, aren't you? It feels like we're betraying her unwavering loyalty by imagining a world without her. Because for all her quirks: the wheezy snore that rattles the floorboards, the stubborn refusal to toilet in the garden when it's wet — Lilly has been a quiet kind of magic. There's a joy in dogs, Milan Kundera called dogs 'our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent'. He was right: dogs are joyous, almost magical with all their tail-wagging and unconditional love (or whatever you want to call it). It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't loved a dog how fully they become part of you. They greet you like you've returned from war, even if you just took the bins out. They don't care about whether you're really not that special. To them, you're perfect. In a world that so often feels pretty complicated, it's simplicity in a 10kg fur ball. Yet ageing hasn't dimmed Lilly's character, if anything — it's amplified it. There's a wisdom to her now, a softness. She's perfectly content with long naps, happiest when the whole family is in one room. Her muzzle is silvered, her gait stiff, but her devotion is as fierce as ever — especially to food. Watching her slow down has made us slow down, too … to appreciate the small, ordinary moments. Her trying to wriggle out of my grip when I pick her up to take her outside, her ability to fight back against Frankie in any play fight. The vet speaks in careful tones about 'quality of life'. We nod, but deep down we know Lilly's quality of life is measured in tail wags and her love of food. There's still joy in her, even if it comes in shorter bursts. We remind ourselves that grief, when it comes, will be the price we pay for all the years of companionship and humour. As the old line goes: 'If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.' Loving a dog teaches you about life itself: the selfless kind, the kind that doesn't keep score. And when that love inevitably ends, it leaves you changed: softer, more patient, perhaps a little more forgiving. Is it really a huge problem if the odd slipper gets chewed? Dogs probably make us better people. We're not there yet. Lilly still insists on claiming her spot on her bed. She still knows exactly when it's time for breakfast. But there will come a day when we'll gather her favourite blanket and say goodbye. When that day comes, our house will feel emptier. But for now, we'll keep walking slowly, letting her sniff whatever she likes. We'll savour the time we have left, because this is the deal we make when we bring a dog into our lives: they give us everything, and eventually, we have to let them go. When we think of Lilly in years to come, we'll try not to dwell on the day we said goodbye but remember the countless times she brightened our day just by being there. The everyday moments that stitched themselves into the fabric of our family. Because as all dog owners know, a dog is probably the only thing on earth that loves you more than it loves itself. (OK … some mums are that selfless too.)
7NEWS
4 days ago
- 7NEWS
Tragedy as mother Jendaya Stewart, 26, and daughter Lillyannah killed in car crash at Hat Head, NSW
A young mother and her toddler have tragically been killed after their car smashed into a tree and burst into flames. Jendaya Stewart, 26, and her daughter Lillyannah, two, were travelling along Hat Head Road, at Hat Head on the NSW Mid North Coast, about 9.40am on 10 July when they crashed. Police and firefighters rushed to the scene and extinguished the blaze before discovering the pair's bodies inside the vehicle. Stewart, known affectionately to loved ones as 'Jenny' and 'Jen', was a proud Biripi and Thunggutti woman and an active member of her local community. Over the past few years, she had worked with a series of organisations and programs committed to preserving local lands and teaching bush skills, including National Parks Conservation Association, The Green Army, and as an agricultural farm assistant at Orara High School. Family have remembered Stewart as a 'beloved daughter and sister' who will be 'forever loved and deeply missed'. Jo-Anne Dacker, Stewart's mother, told her daughter was passionate about the environment and conservation. 'Jendaya was a member of Green Army and worked for Coffs Harbour aboriginal lands council with bush regeneration,' she said. 'During 2019 she (also) completed her certification to serve with the Rural Fire Service in Coffs Harbour during those disastrous fires of 2020.' Dacker said Hat Head, the site of the crash, always held a special place in her daughter's heart. 'Jendaya's love for Hat Head was immeasurable,' she said. 'She was so protective of the environment there.' Stewart also visited local schools to teach bush tuckers courses and was a member of the local art community, contributing to the Overwintering art project in Coffs Harbour in late 2019 and early 2020. In 2021, she also model for a fashion shoot for NAIDOC week. After several busy years, Stewart welcomed her daughter, nicknamed Lilly, in September 2022. On social media, Stewart gushed about the joys of motherhood as she shared doting photos of her little girl. 'Teaching my baby how to do the shuffle is so adorable,' one post reads. 'Seeing her copy me and collect them.. Teaching her culture.' Family say Lilly was 'beloved, adored, and protected' by her mother and was 'nanny's sweetest angel and poppy's best mate'. 'Adored and cherished.. Loved to the moon and back by all her family,' an obituary for Lilly reads. 'We will miss her sunshine and gorgeous smile in our lives.' Stewart and Lilly will be farewelled in a funeral service at Hogbin Drive Crematorium & Memorial Gardens, Coffs Harbour, on Saturday 2 August. Investigations into the cause of the crash continue. A report will be prepared for the coroner.
