Forster Secondary School - Spartalogue Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

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Page Eighteen “THE SPARTALOGUE 1952 Our literary department has been overflowing with the creative efforts of budding writers and the lyrical lines of aspiring poets. Thus it turned out to be quite a problem to narrow our choice down to accommodate the limited space in the Spartalogue. In the short story category, Sandy Robertson ' s Donachie Castle was a unanimous choice of the judges, who also placed Missing—One Life , second and Deflated Ego , third. The Ruby Necklace and A Ghost I Would Like to Meet received honourable mention. The choice of poems was harder to make because of the profuse contributions by 13A. Nitehood by John Lindsay, Freedom , The Vigil , Home , and Mine Is Forever were finally selected. On t ' other side the village lies The place where Louis ' uncle tries To shoo away the fountain flies, And not succeeding, Help , he cries; Where? Down at Charlie ' s Spot. Four brick walls, a roof of shingles. Make the place where Charlie mingles Malted milks and juke-box jingles, And known as Charlie ' s Spot. Little George stops his game To see the speed laws put to shame. As though ' twere meant to kill and maim, A shrieking hot-rod trailing flame Goes round to Charlie ' s Spot. There at Charlie ' s polished counter Loafs a lad who almost never Hopes for chance to go much further Than to Charlie ' s Spot. His glistening key-chain glitters free Like a neon sign we see. The tune he whistles aimlessly Lets all know that he can be Found at Charlie ' s Spot. Slouching low and wearing jeans, A tie of reds and ghastly greens. And a shirt of gabardines, He sits at Charlie ' s Spot. (First Prize) But down the street a little way, Rocks a man who ' s seen his day, And thinks that life is Na sa gai , Because he has a case to lay Against the lad at Charlie ' s Spot. Aye, I ' ve seen the years go slow, And through ' em I ha ' come to know The like of them as like to go Awa ' to Charlie ' s Spot. Aye, gone the days when knights were bold And tales of valour oft ' were told; And courtesy, we then were told. Should be a tennet to uphold As did the brave Sir Lancelot. Alas, we ' ve lost the youth of old Who knows the Book wherein is gold. This wurld is like to turn to mould ' Cause of him at Charlie ' s Spot! Well Age the Sage may sit and rage Because as far as I can gage True knights are found in any age And nobles who for right engage, But ours don ' t loaf at Charlie ' s Spot. And though our manners now grow cool. I ' ve yet to meet a fiendish ghoul Among the lads I know at school Or even down at Charlie ' s Spot. —John H. Lindsay Jr., 13A. Nitehood

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I « Back Row: Courtney Shannon. Grace Hillman. Catherine Soren¬ son. Arthur Maior. Margaret Moore. Evelyn Testori. Brian Pye. Bill Butterfield. Third Row: Merwyn Bear. Bill Pegler. Jo-Ann Caton. Shirley Borshuk. Anne Haeberlin. Caro Armstrong, Gerald Weingarden, Richard Myers. Second Row: Ed Thomson. Albert Ambedian. Bill Ellis. Esther Geisel. Barbara Couvia. Mavis McCuaig. Shirley McLean. Jean Currie. Ed Zolinski. Ken Gar¬ diner. Roger Wright. Front Row: Shirley Tousignant. Doris Douglas. Marlene Jerome. Cecile Dupuis, Miss Philpot. Eleanor Vincent. Nancy Her, Marilyn Hughes. Shirley Beere. Back Row: Ruth Richards. Delores Deiields. Front Row: Barbara Bennett. George Sutton. Mary Jo Hopkins. Back Row: Marvin Douglas. Jack Blinston. Frank Stedman. Frank Robinson. Morley Pattison. Frank Rosella. Fourth Row: Peter Masson. Tom Yates. Ron Wilson. Lorraine Baranowski. Jean Clark. Jerry Guenther, Archie Dease. Third Row: Jerry Cattanach. Mar¬ garet Bradley. Jean MeAlplne. Rosemary Reaume. Dorothy Lucas. Cecile Lavergne. Richard Howltt. Gordon Kirk. Second Row: George Mahler. Alan Mills. Pat Teahan. Ann- olle Chappus. Marilyn Sinclair. Margaret Dahm. Marguerite Dahm. Delores Charbonneau, Ross Archibald. Front Row: Marilyn Huntley. Joan Roberts. Donna Cunningham. Pat Ford. Miss Gurney. Bar¬ bara Allen. Judy Steadman. Rita Blondin. Kathleen Syroid. Bruce Trothen. Ecclesia Executive

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“THE SPARTALOGUE” 1952 Page Nineteen Donachie Castle (First Prize) On a desolate mountainside in the Scottish High¬ lands stands a little-known castle. For decades, yes even centuries, it has looked down upon the heather in the valley with its stern and impassive counten¬ ance. Through its cold, dark eyes it has seen feudal warfare, clan strife and more recently the erection of the village of Glen Tay. In vain the winds and rains have beaten upon the weathered oaken door and sought entrance at the slit-like windows. Indeed, its battlements and slate roofs are impervious even to the sunbeams which glitter upon the swift-running mountain streams nearby. Perhaps within its interior there dwells a soul as black as the waters of its sullen moat for it has witnessed deeds of incomparable horror. The castle had never been more than a thing of remote interest to the inhabitants of Glen Tay. It had, as a matter of fact, become just a part of the scenery to them; that is, up to the time of :he arrival of Cameron Donachie. Angus MacTavish, the village blacksmith, and Lachlan MacLachlan, the water carrier, were talking together in front of Angus ' shop on that eventful October day. Did ye hear the news mon? asked Angus. Aye, replied Lachlan. They say that the last of fhe Donachies comes here to-day tae look at the castle. I heard one of the men up to the inn say that he may live there alone.” Losh monl I wouldna do it fer all the gowd in the world, said Angus. Nor I, added Lachlan. Well I remember my father telling me how Donald Donachie, Cameron ' s grandfather, took the castle from Campbell Macbride, narrated Angus. Campbell, they say, was a bad mon. He took the Donachie cattle and in doing it he murdered two of the Donachies. In a clan war the Donachies took the castle and Donald threw Macbride into the dun¬ geons. Later when Macbride was hanged he laid a curse upon the Donachies. Aye, said Lachlan, he swore that all of the Donachies would die violently and so they have. Now Cameron Donachie is returning to the castle where Campbell Macbride uttered that curse. As they were thus conversing, they were ap¬ proached by a young man accoutred in garb which identified him as an Oxford scholar. He was of medium stature and weight and bore himself with an air of gentility. The film of dust which covered his clothes, and was especially prominent on his boots, gave evidence oi a recent journey. On seeing the young man Angus turned to greet him. Can either of you gentlemen direct me to the Donachie castle? queried the youthful stranger. Aye mon, that we can, replied Angus, but we ' re loath tae do it. But say I ye must be young Cameron Donachie. Yes, I am he, answered the young man. Mon, dinna go up to the castle. I fear for what may happen to ye there, said Angus. Oh, don ' t worry about me, rejoined Donachie. I assure you that I am able to take care of myself. Besides I won ' t have time to worry about foolish superstitions. I will be engaged in intense mathe¬ matical study for the next two weeks. The castle is the ideal place for study. I shall have absolute quiet there. Weel noo mon, if ye ' re going up tha ' s nay much I can do tae stop ye, said Angus. But if we dinna see you about in a week or two well be up there. Thank you for your interest in me, but your fears are ill founded, replied Donachie. Now if you will show me the way I will be off. I must begin work immediately. Angus left Cameron Donachie at the foot of the narrow trail which leads to the entrance of the castle. Donachie walked swiftly up the paths and soon found himself standing in front of the heavy oak door. Drawing a large hand-wroughi key from his luggage he inserted it in the rusted lock. A loud click follow¬ ed and the door slowly and creakingly swung open of its own accord as though bidding him enter. The interior of the castle was shrouded in complete dark¬ ness. Donachie entered, struck a match and lit two candles. By the dim and flickering light he was able to ascertain that he stood in the common room of the castle. Seeing a doorway nearby, he picked up one of the candles and, with the aid of its unstable light, made his way to the doorway. On opening the door he discovered a bed chamber. In one corner stood a massive bed. On its ornate headboard he read the words Campbell Macbride . Well, he mused, to prove how foolish those superstitions are I ' ll sleep in this bed. If the old cattle thief should happen to come in during the night, I ' m sure that he won ' t mind my being here. It ' s a large bed and there is sufficient room for both of us. At this thought Donachie burst into gales of laugh¬ ter, but these subsided as quickly as they had begun. Very strange, thought Donachie, why my laugh¬ ter didn ' t re-echo from the walls. One would think there would be a thousand echoes in a place such as this. My laughter was smothered on the air as though the proverbial wet blanket were cast upon it. He did not give this much further thought, however, for he soon found himself occupied in preparing a place for study. For the next two days he was lost in the intricacies of progressions and variations and was entirely oblivious to his surroundings. Both nights he stumbled wearily to bed and no sooner was his head upon the pillow than he was fast asleep. On the afternoon of the third day, tiring of his work, he decided to look through the castle. Following a long corridor which ran off the common room, he suddenly came upon a large room which he judged by its furnishings to be a banquet hall. A large painting which hung from one of the walls immediately captured his attention. Donachie strode across the room to the picture and, removing the dust from part of the frame, he un¬ covered a small brass plate which bore the words Campbell Macbride . Well, muttered Donachie, now we shall see what the old thief looked like. On saying this, he proceeded to remove the heavy layer of dust which covered the portrait. (Continued on Page 43)