Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

Page 29 text:

Fourth Form

Page 28 text:

26 The Branksome Slogan Beside them, stand the men who will man her. They are young, thes sailors, young- and expectant, and they will love this ship as a man can love no woman. Stalwart and strong, they will care for her, guide her and keep her. In her they will know death and heart- break and fear much worse than death, fear so great that the most courageous must tremble and pray for a steady heart. They will tend her engines, scrub her decks, and fire her guns. They will stand long hours on watch, in summer nights under la cool, dark sky, and in winter when the wind pierces the inmost soul, and salt spray bites the flesh. They will live and die on her. They will gamble with death in every second of the fight, and her clean grey decks will be splashed with blood and torn flesh. Her guns shall rip the metal of enemy ships and take life after life. Her bullets will send enemy planes plummeting into the sea, spitting flame. These men will ha e no mercy. But they will dream of love on her; of women and little children waiting somewhere far away; of homes, soft chairs, and firelight; of comfort and shelter from a merciless sea; of safety from fear, and a belief in a kind, loving God. Their disillusioned young faces will lighten for a moment with remembrance, then darken as the present returns. They will love this ship. A wife ' s, a sweetheart ' s rival, she will enter into their hearts, their soiuls, to remain forever. They will love her long grey body and her sharp, clean bow which churns the waves into madness. They will love her throbbing engines, her bristling guns, her snub stern and her woman ' s disposition. She Vvill be theirs to work for and to love. For months together. She will see every ocean of the world, this ship: the dark, secret waters of the Orient, the Mediterranean, flame-coloured by a hundred thousand torches in the sky, the South Seas silver in the moonlight, and the frosty jewelled riplets of a calm, Arctic bay. She will sail proudly. The crowd is cheering now. I step forward. Red and white bunt- mg flaps against the blue of the sky. The high grey form before me is poised. I raise the bottle in my right hand — I christen thee and smash it with all my strength. The crowd is wild. The world IS bright through tears. ' ' God bless this ship and all who sail in her! PEGGY DREW.

Page 30 text:

28 The Branksome Slogaiv We Fled to Freedom This is a picture. It is only the dull hulk of a ship, but T call it • ' Home . Why? I do not really know. Maybe because this ship was our home for so long; maybe because she broug-ht us to a new home; maybe because she taught me the meaning- of home and hence the meaning of freedom. I was not very old, but bright enough to poke my nose into everything, smell the clean sea air, and enjoy myself thor- oughly ; as a result, my memory is a blur. But one moment I shall never forget and I want you to see it as vividly as I remember it. On a sunny December day in the year 1940, the ' ' Klipfontein docked in Portland, Oregon, many days late and a little broken down. She had suffered much, but had never failed. Her magnificent prow sliced the water like the shining fin of a shark, and if one engine was silent, the other made up with double the energy. I clung to the top rail, my eyes following the sure, easy movements of the men on shore, as our old ship panted slowly and softly into her berth. On board we were silent, waiting. Soon the first contact with North America would be made; until then we still felt lost and a little afraid. A motley group were we, of every race and colour, and to each person this first contact would have a different meaning. But one thing we all knew ; we were coming home. I saw the Count. His fine bearded face was turned to the city and one hand was tense on the rail. He had a straight figure and a royal bearing. His even features might have been chiselled, firm and perfect, from white marble, had there not been a few bitter wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, and a certain undefinable look of courage that can come only to those who have seen and who know. He had no home or country, probably no family. As he stood a little apart on the deck, he seemed like a soldier, alone in some big expanse of earth with noth- mg but God and the sky above him. At his side hung the sword of honour with which he could conquer the world. Geoffrey Chaucer put him and the spirit of his people into five simple words, ' a very parfit, gentle knight. ' ' In sharp contrast to the Count ' s quiet countenance was the illumi- nated face of the boy beside me. His dark eyes flashed and he wore a beautiful Arabic smile. Not a great deal older than me, this boy was travelling alone for the first time. His home was in Baghdad, but he had been sent to Canada to avoid the impending horrors he might have had to witness. He seemed out of place here. His smooth, dark head was meant for a crown; his narrow fingers should v ear ' bright, oriental rings; and only that supple figure could carry a heavy, red cloak with