Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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The Branksome Slogan 19 CUTHBERT CATERMOLE With steady tread, he roams at will From room to room and takes his fill Of sweet repose on downy spreads, And sheds his fur on feather beds. His piebald fur, grey, white and brown, Is wiry fur, not silky down. And he, a common alley-cat, When not in quest of mouse or rat. Fools not, but plays a haughty role Befitting Cuthbert Catermole. Broad in the beam, his shoulders wide With bowlegged spread, his feline stride Resembles more a bull dog gait Than any cat less blessed by fate. Imperious and proud, no fool — Without degrees he owns the school. Oh, why must we both fret and strain With French and Spanish, wrack our brain. When cats can win in such a role. As that of Cuthbert Catermole? MARY CRAIG, Form IV. AUTUMN The trees are aflame with barbar- ous hue, Brilliant sunlight drinks up the dew. I pick up the leaves as I go past And rejoice that Autumn is here at last. Wind-swept skies are high and new; White canvas sails on a sea of blue ; Arrows of geese in honking flight, Bugle the coming of Winter ' s might. I stand on a hill in a thoughtful trance. Thankful of having this wonderful chance To drink in the glories of Autumn ' s morn. And watch new beauties of Nature born ! ELIZABETH McCARTHY, Form V. A WISH If only I a nymph could be Then I would go beneath the sea, I ' d walk among the tangled weeds ; From pearls I ' d make a string of beads. From shells a tiny crown. And from the foam, a bed of down. ANNE GODSALL, Form III.

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18 The Branksome Slogan THE RO I was dusting, cleaning, sweeping. Working hard from morn till even- ing, On the front door came a rapping. Pausing for a moment only, I left my brooms and left my dusters. Walking to the door, and peering outward, I spied a brazen, shiny figure, Standing, gleaming in the sunlight. Feeling faint, I grabbed the door- knob. And stood amazed at this object. Gathering up my courage slowly Read its dangling, hanging, label, ' ' Hope this saves you time and trouble. On and on I read the message Claiming it a useful Robot, A servant Robot from my mother For to scrub and scour the wood- ■ work. Make the beds and do the cooking. Beat the rugs and wash the win- dows. Clean the cupboards, do the dust- ing. Oh, dear Mother, how I thank you For this badly needed helper! In I brO ' Ug ' ht it from the dooirstep. Wound the handle, set the gadgets So to make my bed and tidy All my room and all my clothing. I lay down upon my divan Waiting, watching o ' er my Robot.. Working hard throughout my bed- room. Resting, dozing, sleeping, dream- ing. 3T MAID A thundering, crashing, rumbling, rolling. Ripping, crushing, bolting, shak- ing. Woke me from my deepest slum- ber. I started, stared, and jumping up- ward, I dashed towards the vicious mon- ster, Tried to stop it from its break- ing And destruction of my vases, Of my pictures; of my tables. Of my clothes and of my wood- work. Picking up my silver hairbrush, I smote the Robot on the forehead. Down it fell — the engine stopped; Out the door I cast the Robot, For the salvage, for the junkman. Oh, dear Mother, if you only Knew how helpful was the Robot (To the salvage, to the junk- man!) I can tell you, I will never Want to use another Robot. Never! Never! Never! Never! BEVERLEY RUSH, Form IV. M. Watson: Hullo, is this the City Bridge Depart- ment? Answer: ' ' Yes. M. Watson : How many points do you get for a little slam?

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20 The Branksome Slogan Black Magic A bitter wind swept over forest and field. Here and there a stray leaf, torn from an already bare tree, was borne along in the wake of the gale. Tufts of yellow grass bent in patient submission against the earth. Sombre banks of clouds ranged themselves on all sides, forming an impenetrable grey blanket, covering the sky. Outlines of far away hills stood out in blank silhouette, a tracery of wildly waving limbs and branches on their summits. The countryside lay bleak and ravaged. The wind moaned through the tossing elm trees and swung the weathervane wildly. The gust flung bits of straw in mad arcs and capers across the barnyard. It swung open the partly closed barn door. Dust, dead leaves, pieces of hay, and old newspapers whirled inside. The horse, spent and disease-ridden, stood weakly in a corner of the stall, head down, legs braced, as if in attempt to thwart the inevitable end. His coat, a lusterless dull black was stretched thinly over the shriv- eled frame; mane and tail hung lifelessly. The barn door burst open, rattling and banging. The horse started, faltered, and slowly slipped to the ground. Then all was still but for the wind moaning softly out- side. Anyone is sad at the death of a friend — sadder still if that friend is an animal, dependent on one for life and comfort and happiness. The man stood, staring down at the horse, unbelieving. He had known that death must come — gangrene of the lungs, the veterinary had said, shaking his head ominously. He had known that one day, near or far away, he would find the animal lying there, dead. He had known what the reward of long months of fruitless toil against infection would be. And yet he could not believe it. The sightless, sunken eyes, the stiffen- ing limbs ; the tangled swirl of the tail ; the huge helpless blackness of the body lying in a tumbled heap on the golden straw — all seemed like a fantasy, frightening, but unreal. Memories floated before him ... the little colt in the meadow, bucking, and shying at clumps of yellow, waving buttercups . . . sunlight gleaming on the pitchy-dark coat .... his pricked ears, flaring nostrils, and proud spirited carriage ... the joyous gallops after hounds ....