Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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YEAR BOOK, 1960 Page 31

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Page 30 THE BRANKSOME SLOGAN BOARDING LIFE Main House Boarders A whole world goes on behind the impressive doors of Main House. Understanding, study, fun, participation, and learning to get along with others all comprise a busy year in ' ' Main . ' ' Main is renowned for its wonderful spirit, and this is manifested in the fact that we have many membe rs of school teams, choir members, pianists and very apt students in our midst. Of course pranks and practical jokes have been played, but this only helps to make life more interesting. Mrs. Cameron, our helpful and forgiving housemother has understood the jokes, and has helped in the granting of new privileges. We certainly all thank her for her understanding. To next year ' s Main House, we hope that you will all have as much fun as we did, and to you we leave. Bells, walk, honey, buns, Bloor, study pickles, laundryday. Bells . . . BOARDING! Sherborne House Boarders At the beginning of the year, the B.B ' s (Branksome Boarders) held their annual swimming meet, which was loads of fun. Ginny, Brooke Margot, and Judy organized the teams. After strenuous races — such as eating an orange under water, and swimming the length of the pool in one ' s pyjamas (serious stuff, you understand), we congratulated Ginny and her team mates on their victory. Shades of the History book no less appeared when the Main House girls challenged us to a basketball game. The Sherborne spirits (no com- ment) won all their games except one, which was a tie, which goes to show the old crocks aren ' t done in yet! Panic reigned! The fourth and fifth form dance, of course, accom- panied by orchids from unknown admirers (though they never did turn up) , and all our senoritas had a wonderful time! We could be heard all the way down to Bloor Street, at our Xmas party, which was held just before we left for home. Sandie led us on the piano, and we literally raised the roof. Candy canes, brownies, and a delicious cake were donated by those affected (with the Christmas spirit of course). Shivering Sherbites stood on the corner waiting for the light to change. The scene, preceded the breakfast party held at Sherb, after the formal. We were all pleasantly tired after the big dance, and sat in groups (of six and eight) talking, and listening to records. On a serious note. This has been a wonderful year in Sherborne, and our thanks go to Mrs. Maitland, for helping to make it so. THE SHERBORNE ROVING EYE,

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Page 32 THE BRANKSOME SLOGAN THE DAYS OF THE WEEK Year by year, week by week, hour by hour, the days pass by. When I was a small girl, the days had no particular meaning for me, but now each day has an individual personality and identity. Monday is an old man. His nose is always red, and his old black coat does not protect him from the icy wind. He walks with slow rheumatic steps, shuffling his feet along the side walk, probing ahead with his cane. Never does he reach his destination. The hours of Monday pass so slowly ! Tuesday is a middle aged woman, stout and sour. She pulls her hair into a tight knot, and wears dull grey shapeless dresses, and carries an old battered umbrella wherever she goes. Her apartment is conveniently situated on the middle floor. Here she can complain all day about the neighbours below her, and thump her broom all night on the ceiling at the neighbours above her. Her only love is for a small smelly high strung dog, and for a collection of weird plants. Wednesday is a man whom no one notices. He is the janitor for the museum and is happy in his work among the dead. In the same dreary routine he sweeps the ' ' Ancient Civihzation room and the ' ' Prehistoric room, at the same hour, night after night. So quiet is he that people cannot tell him apart from the ancient Egyptian mummies. Thursday is a sharp contrast to Monday. She skips along the side- walk, her red pigtails flying. Her eyes shine, and the many freckles that dust her cheeks and nose add to her inquisitive expression. Thursday is a Tomboy, looking forward hopefully to better days. Friday is a real man. He is tall strong and handsome, with dark curly hair, and he wears a red and black checked mackinaw. In the northern woods at his lodge he likes to hunt and fish and snow shoe. At night he lounges in his comfortable old chair in front of the fire, smoking his pipe, and reading his favourite book. Friday loves his lodge. Here he enjoys the weekends, and relaxes after the long hard week in the city. Saturday is very busy. The gang will be arriving soon, and she has countless things to do. She has to make sure there are enough soft drinks, that the potato chips are ready and that the favourite records are in order. Excitedly she looks forward to a carefree evening of fun, music, and dancing. Saturday is a bright and cheerful teenager of sixteen, think- ing only of the present and caring not for the coming years. Sunday is a tall striking woman. So beautiful is she that she brings the sunshine into each heart, warming and strengthening it. She carries herself with solemn dignity and although she is far superior to them, she does not hold herself aloof from the other days of the week. The nature of Sunday is lovely, for she is the day of rest and peace. When I think of the days as People they become more real. Yet still, hour by hour, week by week, year by year, the days pass slowly by. MARGOT VANDERPLEOG, lA.