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Page 28 text:
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26 The Branksome Slogan VICTORY LOAN B ritain long has ruled the seas U nto the Polar snows, Y ou must help to keep it free. y iotory is not for our foes I f you would keep our land so fair, C aim, and peaceful, and good, T ry to help them over there. O h! Send them equipment and food, R ender your money useful to them, Y ou know how much we shall gain. B uild a ship all complete from the stem to the stern, 0 r send shrapnel from cannon like rain. N ow that you know, let us keep from our land D er Fuhrer and his German race. S end your money in Victory Bonds over the strand. N ever let Hitler out of his place. O n Britain our hopes rest to guard our dear land, W ith giving we must not delay. To back our strong troops in the brave Motherland, Buy Victory Bonds today. SHIRLEY BAKER (Form lA). JUMBLED EPITAPHS Miss Walker, Miss Maxwell, Miss MacLaggan, Miss Robinson, Miss MacMichael, Miss Reader Harris, Miss Edmison, Miss Phillips, Miss Armstrong, Miss Craig, Miss Sime, Miss Howitt. ' ' You cannot learn Maths, with- out a pencil in your hand. ' ' I could never spell. ' ' Stop fidgeting, child. Now, listen! Not that you weren ' t listening, but ... I ' m appalled at your ignor- ance. Speaking in study is a serious offence. It ' s wonderful stuff! Use your head, child! Sh-h! Pull up your socks. That ' s right— isn ' t it? Jawohi! TAG DAY Buy a tag, sir? Help the blind. Oh, how that wind does blow ! Buy a tag, sir, help the Blind? Why did it have to snow? Each person hurries by me, Intent upon his work, A street-car stops, lets people off. Then starts up with a jerk. In this great noisy city street. Won ' t someone, please, be kind? I ' ve stood so long, my feet are cold, Would you, please, help the Blind? CHARLOTTE KEENS (Form IB).
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Page 27 text:
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The Branksome Slogan 25 must have been hunting in freshly-turned furrows, following farmer Log ' s plough, over the hill. Yes, ;he will start ploughing tomorrow. It is colder now ; a little breeze springs up, bringing the mists in- land. Rabbits have come out to nibble green things in the twilight. The horizon, a clear limpid green, shades into darkness above, in which one star shines like a pale white lamp. With a shrill squeak, a bat, wakened from his hibernation, flits by, black against the western sky. Silence! Yet as the light fades, the isenses grow more acute. The smell of dew-moist earth rises, surges in rich waves. The winter leaves rustle roiund the roots of the ash trees ; the breeze makes a little piping sound through the twigs, a clear cold sound like marsh winds in the reeds. It grows louder; now it seems that you can hear the damp mists coming in from the sea, and, yet again, it sounds like a horse munching in the dusk. It is a friendly sound, like the chuckle of a rook — baby, warmed by its brothers in their nest high up. The rabbits scatter, their white scuts gleaming, bobbing. A pointed face shines in the darkness, and one by one they stop, satisfied, and re- turn to eat. Little hoofs rustle among the leaves with a prancing step. The hairy ears twitch, the nimble fingers whisk up and down their pipes. Who is this god-child with the goat-limbs? Thoughtless lad! The emblem of spring, he tramples the primrose buds and whistles aw ay down into the valley to waike odd roosters on their dirty perches. The old Pan is gone, the gnarled wise creature of the earth who helps the animals to find a secret place to die, who tells the burier-beetles where to find their bodies. He went with the winter, like a last leaf which taps against dry twigs, till the young buds, bursting with pride, push it aside, and it droips to moulder in the ground and give strength to the new leaves. Classical legends do not thrive in the English countryside. Doble knocks oiut the ashes on his gun-barrel, and puts his pipe away. The mists are closing down. No aircraft will be over tonight. He loops the strap of his gun over his shoulder and wanders ofi over the hill. HONOR PASS, (Form IV A).
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Page 29 text:
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The Branksome Slogan 27 The Time Is Now Exactly Ten O clock ' Triends of the radio audience, we now bring you through the courtesy of ' Sillvean ' s Syrup ' those eminent young wizards of the air, the Kwizlings. I now present your Kwiz Maestro. What a programme! muttered Jane. She struck a high note and quavered: ' Sillvean ' s Syrup, that soothing, delicious remedy for colds, sore throats, rheumatism and gout! ' ' Why, we could probably put on a better show than that ourselves, I said. Jane sat up with a bang. ' We could, she cried, Why don ' t we? It ' s very simple; all we have to do is to write a script and find some actors and — and — anyway, it ' ll be very easy. Well, we did it ! Jane lunged headlong into the idea and I stayed behind to pull her back when she got too excited. The greatest prob- lem was deciding what type of programme to produce. Jane had a never-ending supply of ideas, but they never seemed to develop into anything worth putting on the air. A few days later, however, she burst out with a new thought. We ' ll produce a quiz programme ourselves, she cried. Why didn ' t we think of that ibefore? We ' ll think of something new, which will capture the hearts of the country and will wipe the Kwizlings off the face of the earth! Jane is always dramatic when she has an idea. It won ' t work, I said with a sigh, but I knew I wouldn ' t be able to stop her. Jane ' s ideas always blossom out beautifully at the beginning, but, gradually, they wither and dwindle into nothingness. I have learned this by experience. We struggled on. We bought all kinds of paper-backed books with questions and answers, and wrote our script. It might have even worked except for one thing. Where should we get our experts ? Whom did we know who could answer the questions in our script? There were ques- tions such as, indentifying yggdrasil and epicentrum and Mesene- bryanthemum , questions which only a good dictionary could answer, certainly not a mere human being. It ' s impossible, I said with a woeful face and a secretly happy heart, you can ' t even pronounce these words, much less understand them. Don ' t be silly, snapped Jane. You always want to give up. All we have to do is tell our experts the answers beforehand. What experts? I asked, but Jane did not answer.
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