Aldershot Secondary School - Leonidata Yearbook (Burlington, Ontario Canada)

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' - m SONNET Jewels, set by willows gold with Midas fall, Glow in theTlame of. a radiant new-born dawn, Froth in a ;s over all. The branches downward drop like streaks of rain As blood red bushes boil up to meet Reflections scattered into dancing coins Spent now to pave the rich earth at their feet. Bend dowi See ore that runs in veins beneath the earth — Matches not this crust of living gold in worth. -■ ?•-. Yet every da And cold dark kills this ecstacy of light, JANET LAWRENCE, 12B

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THE GIRLS ' ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION TOP ROW: Miss Lyons, D. Shonk, S. Downs, F. Layfield, J. Fraser, C. Hall. J. Roberts, President; L. Cockwell, M. Filman. BOTTOM ROW: P. Williams, Congratulations are again in order for the fine efforts put forth by the G.A.A. under the excel- lent guidance of Miss Lyons. The association was responsible for two firsts in the history of A. H.S.: the organization of the very successful Grade Nine Get Acquainted Night , and the stag- ing of an Art Linkletter Skit which entertained the school at Christmas. Our annual Sadie Hawkin ' s Dance, and an ex- citing girls ' intramural gymnastics meet were two other noteworthy G.A.A. accomplishments which indicate clearly the enthusiasm and hard work con- tributed by these girls for the benefit of the school. THE BOYS ' ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION The B.A.A. carried out a most successful intramural programme in football, soccer, basket- ball, floor hockey and lacrosse. A joint effort with the Students ' Council and the G.A.A. produced a successful and enjoyable Ald-0-lympic Week which featured a tug-of-war and a volleyball game between the teachers. The Gold Team was victorious. In the fight for the Aldershot Loser ' s Cup, the B.A.A. was the winner of the prized cup, after being edged out by the teachers in a closely con- tested basketball game. The B.A.A. would like to extend their thanks to Mr. Neale for his valuable assistance this year. TOP ROW: Mr. Neale, B. Ferguson, P. Goodrow, R. Dale, G. Giannini, M. Lloyd. BOTTOM ROW: P. Buxton, G. Spinks, W. Crosby, L. Powell, C. Neil. This page sponsored by THE G. A. A. 52

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AN IRREVERENT STUDY OF ALDERSHOT Heh! heh! (please not the embar rassed tone of type), your intrepid and itinerant author-at-large (small?) can ' t seem to be able to dream up and set down a hard-hitting, thought-provoking, basically honest, . . .ad nauseum, topic sentence on the subject of my topic which is. . .ah. . .um. . ., well, anyway, I ' ll just ad lib as I merrily type along and hope and pray for the best. Therefore it would be wise for the intelligent reader to expect the worst. With my eyes and ears closed to all advice, and my mouth open, I now make the great leap into literary effortmanship. All seriousness aside, children; follow me, if you will, through a typical day in the never-ending wan- dering life of your author-at-school. The general trend of conversation as I breathlessly wend my weary way down the sometimes well-lit corridors to my homeroom at about eight-and-one-half-minutes-to-nine, usually runs (off at the mouth) some- thing like this: Hey, Nick, any teachers away today, I hope, maybe? Duh, I dunno, I ' m still asleep. Like, who ' s that? I haven ' t seen her around before. Okay, who stole my lock? Don ' t look at me, Donny boy. Who ' d ever look at you? At this point, Authority-Wit-A-Yardstick politely asks the gather- ing to move out to its respective classrooms, or else — . Scholars, students, pupils, and others begin to wander in the general direction of their girlfriends ' classes in order to prepare for the announcement talka- thon. Then the bell-which-rings-to-denote-the-start-of-first-period- (whew!) rings, and rooms erupt and ex- plode as students rush yawningly to their favourite classes for a badly-needed sleep. My own spare comes in rather handy on Mondays. Approximately two-and-one-half minutes later rooms erupt and explode as a conglomeration of wrong-doers hirple (that means ' to limp lamely ' ) along the empty bustling corridors in search of the pink-slipping office. Here I hesitate to continue, not because I might incriminate myself, but because I ' m running out of 350 words from Roget ' s Thesaurus. Then again, he who hesitates gets lost in the mush. .er. . .rush, so, I must forge ahead in my original suave and blas (Pronunciation guide: swayve and blaze) manner and incredibly couth style. Anyway, first period drags along indefinitely as teachers, stu- dents and the like hopefully keep an eagle eye on the clock. Of course, if one is in room 122, that infal- lible wonder of modern technology, the IBM clock usually, nay. .always, reads Moscow Time (or London Time, depending on whether one considers it seven hours fast or five hours slow). This marvellous clock never fails to fluster Mr. 122! One of these bright and sunny days, someone will stare in bug-eyed amaze- ment, as someone else dismisses the class because another someone else thought that another two hours of dreamland would be useful. Then again, it was only ten after six in the morning, sir. In the due process of time lunch rears its gorgeous head around the corner of twelve o ' clock. If one is still waiting for second lunch, as I am, the stomach lets one know, par (that ' s French, people, and means ' by ' ) discreet rumblings of the Hunger Pang System. Did you know that the Hunger Pang System is one of the most wonderful crea- tions of Momma Nature? This tiny organism composed of three-and-one-half jelly-beans (jelly-babies to the beatle folk) and one grain of salt from a year-old pretzel — tells one, without fail, that one is hungry, starving, famished, or beyond help, as the case may be. After lunch, the healthy specimens of humanity struggle into school, healthfully filled with a well- balanced repast of toasted Danish, Pepsi, and cigarette smoke. With classroom doors slamming in the faces of the tardy, who inevitably complain, But, sir, there was a terrific traffic jam on the main staircase, sir . . . ? , and with books and mouths opening and closing, and paper fluttering madly in the breeze — room tem- perature is either three degrees below zero or two hundred degrees above (would you believe ONE hundred degrees?) — I seem to have lost track of my subject matter, which was boring you and me anyway, anyway c ' est la vie. Maybe I ' ll close with a short swing at some mutually interesting topic such as the ' Seven Days ' controversy, or, Hoo Boy! Scandal! Espionage! but most of all, disinterest: The (trumpets, fanfare) Mudslinger Affair (fanfare, trumpets, applause, fade-out). Maybe I should stay away from politics. I never did like trumpets. ' Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, the band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; and somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, but there ' s no joy in Aldershot. . . ' (apologies to E. L. Thayer) for the gently falling, pouring rain begins to come down from heaven at exactly three-seventeen as a motley mob steams from the protective walls of 50 Fairwood Place West into the hard cruel, Honda- and Playboy infested outside world. LARRY SHERMAN, 12B