Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

Page 78 text:

The stamp of one act committed prior, Being of nature ' s destiny, I bore; Branded like a drunk in a midnight choir Something so little, cutting to the core. It took from my achievements, although Strived for with all possible strength and might, The very pith and marrow of my soul, Knowing full well; I did not turn and fight. I sigh the lack of many things I sought, I moan the expense of more quested sights, Turning my back with but hesitant thought. I walk searching like death on dateless nights. So be it, a contriving soul of Nature, I ' m not guilty, though a supposed failure. By Joe Vickers (12E) Once upon a time there was a squirrel whose name was Jim. Jim wasn ' t like most other squirrels because he didn ' t have a body, in fact he was only a head. When the other squirrels played games like football or baseball, Jim always became the ball. One day Jim became sick and tired of being the ball. That night he wished that he had a body. The next morning when Jim awoke, he discovered that he did have a body. He was so happy that he jumped out of bed and ran out of the house. Unfortunately, Jim didn ' t look before crossing the road; he was run-over by a two ton truck. The moral of the story is quit while you ' re ahead! P.G. VanTighem (lOE)

Page 77 text:

M mS s: Originality, to me, is when a person is totally himself. And so, develop- ing originality is not something one does in a purposeful way, it is sim ply the outgrowth of a person. . . Style will naturally follow if you learn to be yourself. Ben Shahn On these pages we hope that you can share some the excitement of discovery and learning that hav taken place in the Art Studio during this year. This is, unfortunately, only a small select- ion. Every students ' work in its own way, is worthy of display. Some of the most precious memories of my life have taken form here at Appleby and it is with these safely tucked away that 1 look forward to the exciting challenges of Ufe as a full time artist in the Isle of Man. I am confident that my successor will find his life at Appleby as exciting and rewarding as I have and that in him his students will find a wealth of knowledge and inspiration that will enrich their lives.

Page 79 text:

The Strange Fate Of E. Neadle E. Neadle was a most despicable per- son indeed. He was scrawny, seedy - looking and weasel-eyed. He had never performed a decent act in his life and never planned to. He was, in fact, a grave-robber. Even so, few in the little town of Dunstable felt he deserved the fate that awaited him. Dunstable was a remote vUlage in a remote corner of the British Isles, and there was one thing this tiny backward town had that London herself could not boast of - a most bizarre grave- yard. Like perhaps a hundred others in England, it was supposed to be haunted. But more than that, the townfolk in the seventeenth century buried jewels and other valuables with their dead. It was indeed a choice spot for a grave-robber. How a small-time cockney pickpocket got word of all this is still unknown, but find out he did - and it was this knowledge that brought about his tragic undoing. The first time the good folk of Dunstable knew of Neadle was on a clouded night when the moon danced in and out of view. A person who happened to be just leaving the local pub, saw him racing down the hill- side path that led to the ancient cemetery as if the hounds of death were at his heels. Which way to the constable ' s office? Neadle gasped. The startled citizen pointed down the street. Neadle barely broke stride as he galloped on. Crathers, the constable, was just pre- paring for bed when this wild-eyed apparition of a human stumbled into the one cell jail-house that he had made his home. Crathers reached for his shot-gun but paused when he took a closer look at the pitiful quivering figure before him. Blimey! Neadle blurted. The saints be with me that you are here, Constable. Calm down, man. Who are you? What are you doing about this village? Neadle slumped like a rag doll into a chair. I-I ' ve come to confess my crimes, I ' ave. I ' m the very foulest thing on earth Constable. The lowest, the vilest, the down-into-the ground dirtiest thief out of London, I am. Your nibs, it ' s a grave-robber I be! Constable Crathers studied the spindly wreck of flesh before him for a mo- ment. Then he rose and patted Neadle on the shoulder. Just sit quiet right here, he said. I ' ll get my deputy and then you can tell both of us your story. Hurry! Please hurry , Neadle said with pleading eyes. Time is im- portant - important as life, it is. Of course, said Crathers as he hur- ried towards the rear door to awaken his deputy asleep on a cot in the back. He shook the man by the shoulders. Wake up, Charlie! Looks like we ' ve got a case for the mental farm in Hamburg. Get dressed and ready to drive him over there. When Crathers returned with his deputy, Neadle was staring wall-eyed at the floor, head down. Come now, man, brace up. First tell us your name. Emery Neadle. All right Emery , what are you doing in our village? Neadle ' s face twisted in pain and he rose from his chair trembling. Blimey, I told you I came to rob your graveyard! It ' s almost dawn, it is! I haven ' t much time left! Let me tell you my tale and sign a confession before it ' s too late. The constable beamed at the terrified man in what was meant to be a com- forting smUe. Speak right out, Emery. We ' ll listen to every word. Emery Neadle ' s voice sounded hollow with fear as he spoke. As I say, he began, I came out of London to rob your graveyard. I knew there was gold and jewels and all sorts of valu- ables buried right there among the dead. Well, it seemed a right patty - cake job. All I need to do is slip in careful-like with my little spade and just dig away. Because the place is haunted didn ' t bother me! Neadle paused and wiped persfHration