Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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20 The Branksome: Si ogan SLOGAN STAFF I. Romeyn M. Sinclair J. Morton M. Brown K. Lea D. Macleod M. Clancey B. Williamson B. Brydon The Georgian Bay Dancing blue waters, leaping in play, Long winding channels go off Georgian Bay, While in the green reed-beds the ducks every year. Take refuge from hunters and find safety here. Near them the grey rocks slope down to the lake, Against which the waves in wild weather do break, While back in the forests the trees sway and bend, And pine-cones are scattered with the force of the wind. Under the pine trees the wild creatures play. And search for their food by night or by day, Where soft mosses lie and the blue- berries grow. Wild flowers nod when the mild breezes blow. The sunset ' s a crimson glow in the West, Tinting the white of the cloudlets ' crest. Till the whole world seems to be alight With the rainbow of colours, a won- drous sight! MARY HARRISON, Form I (Clan Ross)

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School While I am young and I am gay, I think of school in just one way, Exams to write, the classes a bore, The teachers are cross, no pleasures in store. There ' s constant work from morn till night. My room ' s untidy and what a sight ! The evening has gone, the time is late, It ' s hurry and scurry at an awful rate. It ' s early to bed and early to rise. So says the old saying that ' s learned and wise, But hfe is so dreary and Hfe is so dull, There ' s learning enough in my sleepy skull. But now I ' m old and now I ' m grey, I think of school in a different way, The chums I loved, the joys we had, The teachers weren ' t all so terribly bad. The plays we acted, the sports as well. Skating and skiing and how we fell. The matches we played, the school sometimes won, The holidays came with nothing but fun. No childish thoughts, no silly delights. No nightly feasts, no pillow fights. Life is a daily constant bore, I ' d give a lot for school once more. SHIRLEY McEVOY, Form IV (Clan Ross).

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The Branksomk Slogan 21 My Trip Around the North of Scotland Althoug h many people go to Great Britain every summer and tour most of England and southern Scotland, few people venture north of Inverness into some of the finest country in the v hole of the British Isles. On the West Coast of Scotland, particularly, are some of the most mag- nificent and awe-inspiring hills, of which someone once said that Dante must have had them in mind when he wrote his Inferno. This summer I spent a short time motoring through some of that glorious country. The first day was wet and misty and so we were unable to see much on our way from Inverness across to Gairloch on the West Coast. The next morning was as fresih and lovely as you could wish and we left Gairloch in a blaze of sunshine. As we did not have far to go, we were able to make our way in a leisurely fashion — I should say, we had to, as the roads are by no means as wide nor so well paved as the highways of Ontario. That morning we visited about the most perfect specimen left of what nowadays is a place of great interest but what once was almost a place of refuge — one of the preaching caves used by the Free Church after the Disruption of 1843. The entrance to this cave is quite hard to find, but with the assistance of the people living nearby, we found it in the end and it was well worth the trouble. Most of these caves are quite bare, but this particular one at Cove still has its pulpit and a few of the pews. Unfortunately the pulpit has been spoiled iby uneducated trippers who have insisted on carving their names upon it. We spent some time there and took several photographs to remind us of the determination of those people to stand for religious freedom. After we left it we went to another cave near Laide which was still harder