Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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The Branksome Slogan 29 Feast on Two Burners As the sun completed its downward curve and buried its face for another day in choppy blue and white St. Lawrence river, the sailing craft ' ' Lotus anchored for the night. The surrounding country was serene and peaceful, but aboard the ' ' Lotus confusion reigned. On board the clatter of pots and pans was mingled with a profusion of nau- tical oaths. This was the moment for which ration books had been mutilated, grocers had been coaxed and ibutchers flattered. For now a meal, nay, not a meal, a feast was to be created. The captain of the three man crew leaned against his tiller, his hat cocked at a jaunty but somewhat weary angle, and roared out in- structions and criticisms. The greater part of these were ignored by the crew, which strove and laboured mightily in the galley. Cartons were unpacked, bags unearthed and cans discovered in various unlikely places. At last the pre-culinary arrangements had been made. All that remained was to light the stove, cook and devour the meal. Then the two galley slaves would lounge in luxurious comfort while the captain did the dishes. To the unknowing landlubber preparing a meal may seem compara- tively simple, but alas, the sea-going or nautical stove does not consist of a system of ingenious buttons that turn on harmless electric coils. On the galley stove, it is found necessary to provide a certain degree of pressure. The above pressure must be provided by a series of small hand pumps. If the pressure is too high, the galley ' becomes thoroughly seared and the cook becomes as well done as the steaks. If the pressure is too low the results are far less dramatic — in fact, nothing happens. Thus it might be ascertained by the discerning reader that a great deal of precision and experience is necessary in the art of nautical cookery. Unfortunately these requirements were not among the many attain- ments of the crew of the Lotus. The stove fizzled — the stove exploded! The once neat and compact galley became blackened and charred. Potatoes floated about in the bilge, pots were blasted over the side into the depths, and various cans of vegeta)bles were mixed with the guilty coal oil. The first cook, recoiling from the shock of the explosion, reached behind her for sup- port. Unfortunately raw steak on a slippery board does not afford the best of support! Cook number two beat a timely but unpremeditated retreat to the wash room. The reader might at this point think the crew of the Lotus would become discouraged. This was the case. Vows in blood were taken on

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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.

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30 The Branksome Slogan the spot ; never again under any circumstances w ould they attempt to cook another meal aJboard. At this particular moment the captain of the crew entered, fresh from an invigorating swim and enquired as to the source of the delay. Mutiny is a strong word but compared to what ensued, it lacks vigour and force. The captain ' s personality, the desirability of the boat, and the slave labour problem were gone into to great and most uncompli- mentary lengths. The captain was a man of discretion. Did he drive his mutinous crew below, did he threaten them in the time honoured manner? He did not. With diplomacy born of long acquaintance our commanding officer suggested a meal ashore. In a time too short to mention, Mother, Dad and yours truly were entering the hotel to do irreparable damage to the best on the menu. JEANNE GARROW, Form III A Good Day ' s Hunt The stable smells fresh — the air ' s snappy to-day; The horses are stomping and sniffing their hay. In a moment the master walks in. At last He jumps on his hunter, ' ' White Gallant, so fast. The horses are prancing and sniffing the air ; One shies at old ' ' Bellman and young Lady Fair . The huntsman cries Come on ! Away let us go ! For there ' s a fox to be hunted, come rain, or come snow! The old hounds start casting, the young hounds run gay — ' ' Yoo-ee, cries the huntsman, over there, he ' s away! Old Bellman gives tongue, and the field follows after — Even Josephas Gray on his horse, Happy Laughter! Over jumps, over creeks, over ditches and hollows, Over fence, over hedges, and sand dunes they follow; First a check, then away again, over and through — The fox dodges and tries all the tricks he can do.