Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

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THE GREAT ATTEMPT Two tickets for Cinema One, please. said the boy and the cashier paused. I couldn ' t help overhearing this, as I was next in the cinema line up. The cashier gave the two boys a cool, long glance. Cinema One is a restricted movie , she said. Restricted to what? questioned the boy. Impatiently she replied, You have to be accompanied by an adult. Why? said the boy. She indicated the sign on the wall, pointing her long bright red finger nail. The sign mentioned the fact that persons under 18 had to be accompanied by an adult. How does that apply to us? questioned the taller of the two boys. You have to be 18, said the cashier. How do you know we ' re not 18? asked the boy. You have not even asked us how old we are? All right, how old are you? she questioned. Eighteen, and my friend is 18 and four months the boy replied. O.K., look at these, our social insurance cards, they show that we work. The cashier responded, Yes, but you do not have to be 18 to have one. doggedness. Finally the cashier said, I ' ll just call the manager over to settle this little matter. The boys looked at one another and one turned to look at me. and said, She doesn ' t believe us. Would you accompany us? As he was standing on tiptoes, how could I resist? S. Gatrell JAMES HALL BROOKS IS AN UNUSUAL PERSON James Anthony Hall Brooks is unusual. In Canada, one of the criteria of abnormality is to have been born in the province of Newfoundland. This fact that our subject was born in Goose Bay, Labrador, therefore, has obvious phychological implications about his mental capacities. There is even a peculiar aspect to his name; inherent in its hyphen, for there is none. To aggravate matters, his name is continually being misspelt. Perhaps this is the root of the problem? Does James Hall Brooks have an identity crisis? Is this lack of cohesion so evident in his surname contributive to a fractured mind? I would tend to dismiss this as mere speculation. Were we to look more closely at the facts, however, we would indeed find something unusual with Mr. Brooks. His room is decorated in the early Doggerel style. On his walls, hang posters on behalf of the Progressive Conservative Party, and pictures of Napoleon Bonaparte, and a boy in the death throes of starvation. Surely THIS is the mark of an aberration of the mental processes. His library merely adds support to such a surmise, for in it are contained such dubious works as The Theory and Practice of Guerilla Warfare , an Introduction to Or- nithology , Watership Down , and the Holy Bible. James Hall Brooks is also rather unusual to look at. He has that emaciated appearance characteristic of the intellectual. In accordance with this he has been bestowed with the sobriquets of Pretzel , String Bean or Stickman. Otherwise, his countenance is nondescript, ex- cepting a ludicrous pair of glasses which are alway perched lopsidedly on the bridge of his nose. HB ' s psychological make-up is extremely complex, however, and I doubt whether even he suspects half the truth about it. Whatever the diagnosis be, there are some decidedly unusual aspects to it. For in- stance, he likes Latin. He is a latent heterosexual besides, although he is apt to assign this to diffidence. His political views are somewhat suspect, as are his motives in wanting to go to England when everyone else is trying to leave that country. He abhors decadence, especially Western style. And finally, he is one of that curious breed of man or semi-man, a harrier. The cumultive result of such nonsensical traits point, almost conclusively, to the fact that there is definitely something the matter with him. I know, but I just thought .... ' I listened to the conversation with some amusement, since I had then reached the great age of 21, but folk behind me were getting impatient. However, the boys were quite persistent and I couldn ' t help admiring their Despite all of Mr. Brooks ' idiosyncracies, eccentricities, and weird and wonderful ways , he may be consoled by the fact that he is a mere ONE one out of THOUSANDS of unusual people. It should be remembered, too, that it is these weird people as a whole who collectively com- prise the most dubious of all classes - the average, or THE NORMAL. Abnormality is the essence of normality. Such being the case, James Anthony Hall Brooks simply reeks of it. James Hall Brooks

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thing to do, something inside me - something which couldn ' t be ignored - said it was wrong. Then I saw the clipper in all its splendour, sailing across the bay below our house. It was battling the waves, and defeating them. The sails, boasting their majestic curve, welcomed each new gust of wind, circling it round in their billows. The dark blue seas, with its foaming white caps, parted in difference before the piercing bow of the graceful craft. I shall never forget the burning desire for reality, for a dream come true, which I felt as the pic- ture faded from my mind. As if in a final effort to sway me from my intentions, I saw mother, kneeling by her bed, sobbing. It was a sound which I had heard often since father ' s death, for I am a light sleeper, and had been awakened more than once by it. The next morning, I would rise to find her hard at work over some sort of furniture, which only the more affluent could afford to have restored to its former elegance. The scene broke sharply from my thoughts as I once again turned my attention to the boat in the window. I hesitated a moment, searching for some irrefutable reasoning which might prompt me to do as I wished. Although I found none, good sense soon gave way to fervent desire. Throwing aside all feelings of guilt, I marched decisively through the front door of the little shop. Returning home, I was not the proud young admiral I had hoped to be. My head was not held high, nor was my chest thrown out in an attempt to do justice to my new ship. Rather, I was ashamed of what I had done, and as I followed the winding Ravine Road , which led to our house, I felt a growing anxiety about how I would explain my actions. Again my thoughts turned to mother, and again I heard the sobbing. I began to see through the flimsy excuses I had heaped, one upon the other, as I had stood admiring the boat in the window. Anxiety quickly deepened into fear as thoughts of punishment rushed into my head. I began to walk faster, no, began to run as children aften do when tormented by guilt or fright. When I could stand it no longer, I left the road, and rushed towards the ravine. It was nearing suppertime, when I rounded the final bend before home, and seeing mother at the front door, I quickened my pace. My face in tears, I threw myself into her outstretched arms and began my lengthly explanation of how, upon arriving at the grocer ' s, and reaching into my pocket for the pound note, I had discovered it to be missing. The fact that I was late, I attributed to my having retraced my steps several times, but to no avail. The money was indeed, lost. She kissed my forehead. Don ' t worry Johnathan, she said. We ' ll find some way to make it up. Now, go and clean yourself. Supper ' s waiting. Walking towards the wash basin, I glanced over at the decript little boat, set in the comer of the room. My thought strayed to the ravine, and the once-beautiful clipper which lay in its clinging grasp, ravaged by the onrushing current. How nice it would have been Alasdair Halliday

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MIGRATION A presence felt but twice the year, Shifting gently o ' er the land; Nudging, pushing, driving near And sweeping past; her sweet command. Strong will not hers, she was conceived By playful gods that season sing With breaths that toss the autumn leaves. Yet warm the sleeping hearts of spring. Thundr ' ing prairiers, pulsing and free; Dust clouds trail the bestial stream. She leads the charge, sweet Liberty: The voiceless call of wilder dream. Dark nights winging overhead. She honks and squawks with restless soul Crisp autumn days, her angles spread In timeless skies of crackling gold. Delphic priestess, goddess of birth; In duty she breathes the mists of change, And lifts to flee the dying earth In search of warmth. No place retains Her transitory touch, for she • Is doomed to chase eternity. S. Roloff WHEN LIFE REJECTS ME When life rejects me and my faith decays. When I lose grasp of what I most desire And hope of health submerges in the haze, One thought sustains my spirit ' s fading fire. Within my life there is one love alone Whose peaceful warmth can fill my darkest hour. Who raises hope where seeds were sown And lifts me high to drift within her power. She gives me rest when time has run its course And living laughter when the rest is done; She fills me with a windmill-slaying force And sweet relaxing when the war is won. I cannot find the limits of her heart Nor of her love, and though I all the while Know greater griefs each time we are apart I find new heavens in the sunlight of her smile. Edward Dickens