Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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The Branksome Slogan 27 ZEKE: This is Zeke Chimpanzee signing off for ' ' Smoke Skreens, those wonderful cigarettes with that delightful aroma that simply knocks you out! ' The Atomics, was written especially for radio by Theodore Bombshell. We ' ll see you tomorrow. Until then — Goodbye. JUDY SHOEBOTTOM, Form III. Nocturne Too tired even to eat Peg and I crawled into our sleeping (bags just at dusk. Thirty miles ! We decided belatedly that it had ibeen far too great an undertaking for the first day of our canoe trip. We had made camp on a small island in Lake Singing Waters. A graceful fringe of silver lace which the evergreens made on the western shore contrasted with the majestic forms of the Hillory mountains, silent witnesses to centuries of beauty, on the east. At the School Farm

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26 The Branksome Slogan X-RAY UR. ATOMIC: X-RAY : X-RAY : UR. ATOMIC: X-RAY : ANNOUNCER UR. ATOMIC: VIOLET : BETA: VIOLET : BETA : VIOLET : GAMMA : DELTA: ANNOUNCER find X-ray preparing the instruments, with which he is about to operate on Cosmic. Let me see — which one of these is sharper. I won- der if I should kill him immediately, or make it a slow death. (A knock is heard at the door) Come in. Oh, hello. Uranium. Hello X-ray, — how ' s my son? The nurse said his temperature had gone down to 100.2. You must have made a mistake. It is 100.1. (Raising his voice) No. It ' s 100.2! (Also raising his voice) 100.1! (Yelling) said it tvas 100.2 and Vm right. (Flying into a rage) You ' re crazy! It ' s 100.1! We now leave X-ray and Uranium Atomic, and turn to a scene in a small house on Cannibal Street — a nice quiet little street — the home of Uranium Atomic. In the little kitchen, his wife, Mrs. Violet Atomic, is having some trouble with her oven. Her daughter. Beta, is standing watch- ing with bated breath. (In a sudden burst of rage) Why didn ' t Uranium have this oven fixed when I told him to! I knew this would happen. Wait until he gets home! I ' ll divorce him! But mother, you can ' t divorce him again. You ' ve already done it six times! (In a snappy voice) Seven times. NO mother, that was your other husband. (Screamingly) Seven times! (A loud crash is heard as Gamma Atomic rushes in, followed by Delta Atomic) We broke Mr. Volcano ' s window, and he ' s chasing us! With a shot gun! Is Cosmic Atomic ' s temperature 100.1 or 100.2? Will Violet divorce Uranium? Has she divorced him six or seven times? Will the oven work? Will Mr. Vol- cano shoot Gamma and Delta? If there is anjrthing left of your radio when this programme is over, tune in again tomorrow, some time, some station, to find out the answers to these vital questions. We will then present another episode in the life of those nice, quiet people, the Atomics.

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28 The Branksome Slogan The water lapped against the rocky shore of the island and, together with, the scent of pines and blueberries, it lulled our senses into a trance The goddess of night stepped shimmering along the ridge of evening. On the highest mountain peak she stopped — the most exquisite being I had yet seen or visioned. Her hair was like a calm sea at midnight and her hands like delicate carvings of purest wax. The gown which shroud- ed her graceful form in vapoury whiteness might have been fashioned from baby clouds at dusk, so soft and light it seemed. From a silver pitcher she poured the moonlight which filled an ebon world with golden radiance. Taking a sparkling needle in her hands she pricked a million pin-holes in the sky. Points of light danced on the velvet blackness of the lake beneath. As her lovely form faded into obscurity she threw a silver kiss to the world and the symphony of the night began. It surged from clammy coves in the depths of the waters and soared to the silver summits of the mountains. Even its crescendos blended with the quiet of the night, for when they ceased momentarily the silence became so profound that the air seemed to have lost its power of conveying sounds. Presently a lighter theme crept into the music and a small light be- gan to bob up and down above the eastern horizon. As it neared the earth I could perceive that it illuminated the wizened face of a very old man. His small, wiry frame was bent almost double by the weight of paint pots and brushes suspended from a yoke across his shoulders, but there were centuries of happiness etched upon his countenance. He was setting out for the morning ritual of his eternal task of keeping the flowers ' colours clear and bright. Just as he reached the eastern horizon, the painter tripped on a silver ribbon stretched between two mountains. His lovely colours flow- ed across the sky in a mad profusion of colour. With one loud chord the music fell silent. The whole world seemed standing on tip-toe, breath- less and dumb. ' ' Lazy bones sleeping in the sun, How do you think we ' ll ever get the days work done? Peg ' s hoarse chant, very much off-key, transported me to reality. Wrig- gling half way out of my sleeping bag, I hurled a convenient pine cone in her general direction. As we sat on a rocky point eating our breakfast, the sparkling ' ' Singing Waters and the purple Hillory mountains beckoned enticingly to us. CAROL HENDERSON, Form IV.