Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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20 The Branksome Slogan Before I had gone many steps I realized that he was an out-of-doors man. He had a free and easy walk and seemed to think it the most natural thing to have the wind stir- ring and tossing his iron gray hair. We walked along the cliffs for several minutes. The sea was dash- ing piteously against the rocks far below us. Suddenly the clouds parted and the moon peeped out. Only then did he turn to speak. You love all this? he asked with a broad sweep of his hand. Yes, I answered, There is something so majestic and yet so real in it all that I love to be out with it — to feel it. He smiled as though this was his very thought. You know, he said, I always lived near the sea as a boy but I became a great business man and forgot it all. Now I ' m an old man but IVe come back to it. I ' m nearly happy now. He smiled wistfully and we walked on in silence. Presently he spoke again. You have your life before you. Don ' t spoil it. Remember the joys that nature alone can give to those that understand her. If you are tired or unhappy go back to her and she will rest you. ' ' His words made me feel silent and subdued. We turned towards home — still in silence. Then he stopped and asked me if I was cold. I shook my head and he suggested that we sit on a large rock nearby and listen to the sea. For several minutes we sat motionless, neither of us wishing to break the stillness — broken only by the crashing of the waves on the cliffs. He told me of his love for the sea, for the cliffs, for everything belonging to nature. He told me of his carefree boyhood days spent in scrambling over cliffs and fishing with the fishermen. He told me of his boyhood longing to become a sailor and of his father ' s firm re- fusal to permit his desire. He ended by saying, Most people say I have made a great success of my life — I ' m a wealthy man and I give large sums of money to the church and charity, but I feel dissatisfied. Gradually as I drink in the beauty of these surroundings I will become peaceful, rested, and perhaps, happy. But my life has been a failure, an utter failure. His voice broke and neither of us spoke. After a moment or so, we con- tinued our way homewards. At the door of the hotel where we were staying he stopped and held out his hand. We are at the two ends of life, he said, You, at the begin- ning and I, near the end, but we have found each other kindred spirits. We may never meet again but neither of us will ever forget this hour. With this he was gone. DOROTHY HOYLE, Form IV A.

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AN ENCOUNTER It happened one summer while I was staying by the sea. The night was dark and windy, but at intervals the clouds burst apart and the moon shone brightly. It was an ideal night for a walk and I expressed my wish to go out (to a group of visitors who were huddled around a bright cheery fire). They all stared at me in astonishment and quite frankly told me that I was crazy. Just then a low voice from the corner said, would like to accompany you as I, too, love a walk on such a night as this. Curiously, I turned to see an elderly man stand up. He was tall, and straight and came toward me with a quick, light step, a quiet smile playing on his lips. My sister whispered to me not to go but as I looked into the man ' s honest, keen, gray eyes I knew, somehow, that here was a kindred spirit. I ex- pressed my delight in having his company and the two of us walked out into the night dressed in warm sweaters and mackintoshes. A tall and silent tree — an only pine, With spreading limbs and stature lean and proud Beside the highway stood. A glar- ing sign Nailed to its trunk proclaims, Ten miles to Stroud! O what a shame — that once so proud and free The king of woodland realms in estimation. Now slave to modern times, this ancient tree Holds high her head in mute humiliation. JOYCE CAUDWELL, Form V. 19

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ON SLEEP O sleep is not divine as poets swear! It earth-born is and can no far- sphere claim ; No theme, no inspiration fair, However mortal hand may break or maim Or chain with pen, but springs from sight and sound: While wak ' ning we attain all loftier notes Which in the darks of sleep can not be found. The birds which hymn to God with praising throats Create their psalms in the sun ' s bright flood, When the light was quench ' d and the song had ceased The moon could only confirm it good, And no muses of sleep its worth increased : Dreams are fabricated of reality, Sleep is a pause from day-divinity. SHELAGH SPRAGUE, Form V. PROMISE They said: But still the snow is white. The trees are stark, all things are dead. It is not Spring when nothing bright Lifts to the sky a coloured head. They are fools; Spring is close around. Its soft wings strive beneath the shroud Of stilly snow and earth ice-bound. Gentlest wings like a Springtime cloud. To these the world in stupour lies, But the struggle ' gainst Winter is won; With tender, first flow ' rs in his eyes The Poet walks warm in the sun. SHELAGH SPRAGUE, Form V. 21