Brentwood College School - Brentonian Yearbook (Mill Bay, British Columbia Canada)

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Brentwood College Magazine Reverie A rising moon, a cove, a shell-strewn shore, And glistening sand between the foam ; Dark woods behind, a moonbeam aisle before, ' Twixt age-carved clrffs that rend the fleecy dome. Two promontories embrace the white lagoon, And out to sea, beyond the silver breech, A lathered reef of rocks, that pierce the moon, Break waves eternal ere the rustling beach. Have frigates dared this reef and anchored here, The moon black-barred behind each pirate-sail? Did seamen, treasure-drunk, their fortunes bear Ashore, and, heartless, hearken to the wail Of captives, soon to dangle in mid-air, While ceaseless breakers gleamed in moonlight pale? R. M. B. Roome). Page Six

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Brentwood College Magazine Fire drill is a joy for ever, though we don ' t enjoy it weekly. The skill and agility of some of our young friends who always put their foot through the same pane of glass when descending the ropes are much admired. As far as is possible in an imperfect world, Brenty has managed to solve the eternal question of perpetual motion — and noise — when the boy s pass to and fro upon their lawful occasions below the north verandah. One day as the School was on tiptoe in expectation of certain famous players (no connection with the movies ), a car drove up and three or four husky gentlemen emerged from its depths. They were warmly welcomed, taken round, shown all the sights and luncheon was suggested. As it so often happens in life, the climax was followed by bathos. First, if you don ' t mind, they murmured, when they could get a word in edgewise, we would like to see the beds we ' ve come to repair. Tableau ! The hot-air register in the Sixth Form Room does not always function. Wc understand that Keeling nobly supplied the deficit. An Entertainment One afternoon, towards the close of this term, we became the spell-bound audience at a delightful entertainment. Mr. Hutchins, a well-known American ornithologist, who was spending a holiday among the beautiful scenery of this island, lectured to us on birds, their songs and colours. He admirably reproduced the songs and calls of many birds of this continent and painted, in pastels, their rainbow plumage. To the accompaniment of his singing, Mrs. Hutchins, who has a sweet soprano voice, charmed everyone with her Welsh melodies and with her playing upon the harp. Mr. Hutchins besought us, with touching eloquence, to revere Nature ' s birds, trees and flowers, so essential to man ' s existence and happiness. The programme was closed with an encore, after the Headmaster had extended to the entertainers the hearty thanks of the College. I ' m weary of your piles of stuffy buildings, Your man-made monuments of cold, gray stone. I long to see the moon creep o ' er the pine trees, Somewhere, where I can be with God, alone. I ' m craving for surroundings solitary, My senses plead for gloom of forest glade; I long to wander by the still, still waters And fall asleep somewhere out in the shade. Somehow I ' m caged within your iron city; My fancy beats its wings against the bars; I ' m hungry for the hills and flaming sunsets, The silent night and canopy of stars. C. B. HUTCHINS. Page Five

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Brentwood College Magazine In Circe ' s Toils TARBOARD the helm, cried Captain Olsen as he signalled Slow Ahead on the engine-room telegraph. Steady, now. Keep her clear of that point and watch the tide. As the above orders were issued and the big freighter turned in closer toward the first land we had seen for three weeks, a thrill of excitement ran through me. The circumstances that led up to this sudden change of course were most unusual. My friend Oscar and I had been eagerly scanning the shores of the lonely little atoll, searching for possible inhabitants. Suddenly and at almost the same time, we noticed a black object bobbing up and down in the surf off the sandy beach. After drawing the captain ' s attention to it, we noticed an oar raised with a white flag on the end. At this signal the captain had ordered the quartermaster to steer in-shore, and from then on we watched the little boat through the glasses. Sometimes it seemed to have sunk beneath the waves, so long did it disappear from sight in the hollow of the swells ; till again the canoe and its occupants would ride on the summit of another wave and be silhouetted against the deep blue of the sea. From the deck we anxiously watched the tireless paddlers drive the heavy- laden canoe slowly nearer with every stroke. We marvelled that they did not turn turtle in the surf, till we saw that the boat was a catamaran, a type of canoe used largely by the natives of the Ellice Islands as well as throughout the Cook Archipelago. The long, clumsy outrigger greatly reduced the speed of the craft, but prevented capsizing in any weather. We kept going slowly to maintain head- way against a two-knot current, and it was some time before the boat caught up with us. When the canoe drew alongside, an old man, whom we had mistaken for a European clothed in white ducks and a pith helmet, rose on unsteady feet, raising his soiled cap in one hand and waving a bunch of green bananas in the other. We saw that his hair was snowy white and that all he wore was a long cotton shirt. This distinguished the old fellow from his naked comrades, and hence we inferred that he was their chief. He addressed us in a high, quavering voice ; but at first we could make nothing of his curious mixture of pidgin-English and Polynesian, especially the captain, who was born and bred in Norway. Finally we gathered that he wished to exchange his fruit for some magazines and papers. It seemed an absurdly trivial excuse for stopping a steamer on the high seas ; and, moreover, it seemed very curious that savages like these, who could not speak decent English, much less read or write it, should want reading matter. Our curiosity was now fully aroused, and the captain was growing angry and im- patient at the vexatious delay. Some carefully-directed inquiries made by Oscar brought out the fact that there were some whi ' mans on the island. How many? asked my friend. One? Two? Three? indicating with his fingers. Page Seven