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

Page 22 text:

“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)

Page 21 text:

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

Page 23 text:

Page Twenty “THE SPARTALOGUE — 1952 The Chain (Second Prize) The sun was a molten ball beating down unmerci¬ fully on the miserable galley slaves. Huddled in front of the battered oars, they presented a pitiful spectacle, their emaciated, deformed bodies, wracked with pain, and their bony legs held fast by massive, rusted chains. Antonio winced as he drew back his oar, for his back had been flayed almost to ribbons by the cruel whip wielded by Michael Garth, the malicious guard. Pausing to gain a few seconds’ rest, he was forced back to the oar by the raucous voice of Garth accompanied by a sear of pain ripping his back. He strained in exquisite agony, pulling, pull¬ ing, at the oars. Year after year this had gone on: a pathetic group of men, now become mindless machines, with one goal in life—to pull and strain at those rough splintered oars. Each man thought only of the thick, heavy-linked chain that kept him from a happy life and bound him to suffering and pain. From his appearance it was not hard to discern that Antonio was Italian. A still-powerful, muscular body, swarthy skin, and a mop of thick, black, curly hair set above dark, piercing eyes betrayed his origin. Now he was bent and twisted, his back dis¬ playing half-healed scars mingled with fresh purple welts which oozed great drops of blood. Sweat stood out shining on his brow and upon his body and the bodies of his unfortunate companions. He begged Garth to give him water, but Garth only replied, You ' ll get no water, you filthy swine, until sundown, so keep pulling!” Antonio stared at him, seething with suppressed rage. He stared at the well-fed body with the rounded shoulders and squat legs. Garth ' s face was flaccid and pasty in spite of hours spent in the hot sun and crisp breezes, and his eyes were red- veined and puffy. His broken teeth showed in an evil grin as he put his face close to Antonio: You ain ' t so high and mighty now, are you? I guess me and my whip here took you down a peg or two—thinking you should be fed better food than bread and water and getting the other fools to back you up. Well, I guess we learned you the hard way. As the leering countenance came closer to Antonio and the liquor-laden breath beat against his face, he could endure it no longer. With almost super¬ human strength born of desperation, he tore the chain loose and swung it at Garth. A succession of gaping red wounds appeared on the pasty face where the chain had struck, and the astonished Garth, his mouth open with amazement, fell with a thud on the deck. The other slaves cheered Antonio as he steadily and methodically beat the blubbering, cowering Garth to a gory, sodden mass. When there was no longer any life in the quivering hulk that was once Michael Garth, Antonio took thought for his safety. The galley ' s crew were closing in on him as hunters close in on some animal at bay, for that was what Antonio had become—a frenzied animal at bay. He lashed out with his chain, cutting down the oncoming men like saplings, all the time fighting his way to the edge of the ship and freedom. Finally he dived into the cool green water still dragging his chain. Down, down, down he plummeted to the bottom where for a brief instant he rested, only to be compelled to battle his way upward again to obtain fresh air. The chain was no longer a help to him but a hindrance, yet struggle as he might, he could not free his ankle of the iron clasp and one of the links. However, as he watched the other rust-coated links sink to the bottom, his mind felt as though it had been relieved of a great burden, and wearily he struck out for the distant shore. His surge of super¬ human strength still remained with him, and after what seemed to be hours of endless swimming, he reached the shore of a small island. For the first time in twenty years he was a free man. He lay down, exhausted, on the warm brown sand, pondering his next move. He would find some food, then some fresh water, but first of all he would rest. It was pleasant to be there with no harsh shouting in his ears, without the fear in his mind of a heavy whip descending on his quivering flesh. As he lay there, a gentle rain began to fall, moisten¬ ing his parched legs and cooling his feverish body, until he fell into a gentle sleep. For some inexplicable reason his thoughts centred mostly around the chain. He saw the chain binding his mangled legs to the galley; he saw again the same chain crashing into the bewildered face of Michael Garth; he saw the crew going down before the chain; again he saw the chain, sinking down into the depths of the sea after he had managed to free himsef of part of it. Then, mysteriously, the chain slowly dissolved into nothing and once again he saw the sunny skies of Italy, his luxurious home, his loving parents, his friends. All were waiting and beckoning to him. His tortured soul, able to bear no more, left his body for a land where pain is unknown—where happiness and peace predominate. —Myrna Wright, 13A. The threat of war—the devil ' s shroud Hangs darkly o ' er this doubtful world, Will light ne ' er pierce this ominous cloud And shine on Freedom ' s flags unfurled? The bear awakes—a hungry roar And Hamelin ' s piper of the east, Is edging toward his victory feast. Will peace prevail no more? Freedom (Second Prize) Freedom now must face the test, And rouse the potent, dormant west Against the flood of greed and hate, That surges now at Freedom ' s gate. Has not experience taught us yet? Make ready now! Lest we forget. —Ken Bottoms, 13A.