Oakwood Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Toronto Ontario, Canada)

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Stoitft yit Scd The Savannah sailed with a peaceful tranquillity, despite the frequent and clamorous hurricane warnings crackling over every wave-band of her radio. The sleek white freighter was steering direct- ly towards the heart of the storm, for this was the culmination of weeks of waiting and watching the weather forecasts from her anchorage off the Georgia coast. At last a hurricane was brewing, fifty miles south-east, and the Savannah was on her way to rendez-vous with it. The meeting was to be a test. N.S. Savannah was the most modern freighter in the world, and the only one with those special initials N.S., Nuclear Ship. Yes, the Savannah ran on nuclear power, and both her power and her design were to be rigidly tested by the coming battle. Her reactor was buried deep inside her, encased by layers of lead, plastic, wood, and tons of concrete. No dangerous radia- tion could possibly escape this thick shielding, but before she could leave the experimental stage the Savannah had to prove she could sustain a rigorous beating in beyond normal weather conditions, with- out any damage to the enormous power-pack she ran on. Leaving the coast rapidly behind as she cruised at twenty knots. Savannah steamed towards the dark, sullen clouds brooding on the horizon. Above the coast a blood-red sunset tinted the land a sacrificial hue, and the usually light green water reflected only a sombre sparkle. Ahead of her, there was no sun to be seen, as the black rolling clouds met the sea in a turbulent darkness. Over- head the sky changed from blue to dark blue to a dirty purple. Higher up, small wisps of vapour scudded away from the storm centre, contrasting with the gloomy depth of the heavens. At sea level, a wind picked up, and with growing fury it swept over and past the surging white ship. Already her trim beauty looked out-of-place on this funeral scene, as angry white-caps rolled to- wards her, growing in size and strength with every minute. The storm was approaching quickly, and the Savannah kept on. Finally, the radar became a mass of blips and static, signifying their arrival within the raging giant. The whistling, cutting wind had reached gale force, and it was building the waves into huge mountains. A face, peering from a golden-glowing porthole, shivered as fear clutched its owner ' s heart. Outside was nature in all her awesome strength. Outside was a mariner ' s nightmare. From the glass-enclosed bridge the captain sur- veyed the erupting elements with a stoic confidence. Everything was going well, and he exulted in the magnificent performance of his ship. Only the slightest roll could be felt aboard the Savannah, whereas every other ship in the world would be bouncing and bobbing, rolling and heaving in the gigantic swell. Savannah ' s revolutionary stabilizing wings were continuously tilting operating on the same principle as a gyroscope, in their task of keeping the ship on an even keel. As each swell was born, it was electronically anticipated aboard the ship and from her sides, like blades from a switch-knife, swung two broad fins which tilted at contrasting degrees to offset the ocean ' s action. No one aboard the Savannah was seasick because of the sea. The Savannah slipped on, her engines at half speed to keep her inside the storm as long as possible. Since the sun had set, no light came from any direction, and the Savannah gleamed like a beacon below the ink-black heavens. Like a beacon of defiance, for it seemed the storm had concen- trated all its destructive powers on this frail, white resistant. Huge waves towering fifty feet reared up and engulfed the deck of the Savannah. The black, oily mountains of water crashed down upon her decks, breaking into torrential rivers of green, foam-flecked water, hurrying to run off the inde- structible steel queen. The wind blew and blew but could do no damage, for the streamlined Savannah offered no hindrances, not even a smokestack, for the wind to centre on. The wind finally abated, seeming to diminish in a defeated retreat, before the stalwart ship. The ravenous seas ceased to flood her decks, retreating and retreating, as the wind powered them no more. The blackness above began to twinkle, once in a while, as the light of the brighter stars succeeded in piercing the thinning cloak that had been the storm. With the storm ' s demise, Savannah ' s mighty heart began to beat faster as her numerous carbon rods quickened their nuclear rhythm and delivered a surge of power to her propellers. With a smooth change of speed, this beautiful conqueror began to slice through the water and plough up a curling, roiling furrow with her sweeping bow. She turned in a long, leisurely semi-circle, to face the distant shore and the victor ' s welcome awaiting her. Bill Jeffrey 63

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On, akituj Jietick - jLtMt Leave-taking is an art which has been practised with more or less success ever since schools were first opened in the dim past. Every wayfarer on the not-too-primrose path of learning has, at some time or other, tried to absent himself (dare I say herself?) from vari- ous boring classes which intensify the tedium of the curriculum. Success in these intriguing adventures depends largely upon the individ- ual ' s ability and resourcefulness. The most successful leave-taker is one with a nonchalant manner and a convincing smile which can be turned on and off like a light, a person who, when his heart is doing a half gainer into his boots, can smile pleasantly at a suspicious teacher and pass the time of day without a quaver, a person who is confident of his powers of bluff and the ability to keep a straight face when necessary. Be sure to be going somewhere. Not that you must have a definite destination, but you must seem to have one, for then you will pound down the hall without arousing suspicion as to your real motive. Think of the commotion which would be raised if you were found tip- toeing in the corridor. However, do not become over-confident or let your exuberance get the better of your judgment; joyous outbursts will create too much interest. Intentio ns of skipping should remain a strictly personal secret. Never tell of an intend- ed escapade, as it may lead to failure. A prac- tical joker may take advantage of you; even your best friend may let slip a knowledge of your whereabouts, thus breaking up a beautiful friendship and causing embarrassing moments for you. However, friends are an asset, especi- ally when one of them is carrying the attend- ance pad. To have access to this record of mis- deeds and to be able to work on it to your own benefit will produce a glorious feeling of secur- ity when you are entering the class which follows the period of your leave-taking. John Brownlee HE CLui Old Dianne Cekelis IIG 62 He set the world before me. And like a young bird put to flight I was to select my own route To find life ' s dream and height. He placed me at the crossroads. Paths led either way, I stood and looked, bewildered. Which would lead to day? The right view was enticing: The invitation of the trees, The fragrance of the blossoms And the murmur of the leaves. Then I turned toward the river. There the midst blinded my view. Mountains cast a shadow On the path I might pursue. He set the world before me, And like a young bird put to flight I was to select my own route To find life ' s dream and height. Sheila Rogow 12B

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' euk ut(f Cool burning sand, a roaring sea, A flush of light; A thousand eery figures swaying To a rhythm; A flicker of a flare, and suddenly. Life. A mad, hysterical frenzy of existence. Caught in a spell; Red, Orange, Black, Bongo! A tempest roaring in an ear. In the other A beat. Forget yourself — forget today — Until tomorrow. Long hair, a shoulder, eyes closed now, Leave the world behind. Live — for a pulsating hammer Drown everything. Fill your brain with fire! But soft. Humans come too. Live today, not tomorrow. Love. Lovers. A touch, a smile — burn. Soft now; Slower. Laughing too — a haunting laugh. Hollow. Hide behind your mask of smiles But don ' t get caught. Life ' s good — if you ' re a watcher! Marjorie Montgomery 12B A fierce, howling wind tore at the trees, A moaning wind, singing of death and disease, But sudden, a howl came into the night While over the hill, a blaze of light. It flickered, danced, beckoned me on. And I followed its path — so long, so long — To the top of the hill where, etched in the light Stood a figure of evilness, black as the night. Attracted, repelled, bewildered, amazed, Hesitantly I moved toward him dazed; ' Til with a sudden flash of light. Gone was the evil and the night. I Stood; I cried; I wept. Beverly Freedman 12B Izabel Wojciechowska 12F yf Vkou kt bowt Out %(im Green with shame I turn from bodies Ridden with bullets and blood. Dying in name From man ' s own hand. Cry, oh yee gods, On this subject of death. What is liberty, equality? Only a body being eaten By flies in a gutter. What are we doing here? What are we doing anywhere? Hunters we are that kill And kill by profession alone Faraway from our proper home. 64