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

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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.

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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)

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‘•THE SPARTALOGUE” 1952 Pago Twenty-One Missing— (Third You stand there on the wharf, looking down into the dead face of your victim, and as you stand there, Mike Zaconi, you feel the first panicky emo¬ tions of a murderer. You have taken breath from the living—you have killed. Your mind sinks back a few minutes to when this form held life. It flickered in him for just a moment. Now he is dead—dead by violence, and his glassy eyes stare up at you. You look around and see the filthy water of the river rushing by and the idea strikes you. You can get rid of the body now. But no, not the river. Bury it then, Mike; do something. If you hurry you can get back to your home, blocks from the scene. You look at the still form and think of your dad. You cannot let him see you or your victim. If only you could turn to someone for help. No. you must face this alone. You are caught now—caught in the circumstances of your own clumsiness and ambitions. You had to show your dad how big you were, but you have failed. You reach down for the weapon and your hand stops as it touches the sharp point of steel. You let it go. For the first time in your life you are ashamed One Life Prize) and frightened. If only his body would move. But it just lies there with those glazed eyes staring— staring at you, Mike. Again you think of destroying the body and you notice that the day is ending. Shadows fall across the pier and the sun sets slowly. The water stops rushing and laps around the spiles. Life on the river ceases. The wind is cold and you pull your jacket around you tightly. You are alone now in the cold with your victim—very much alone. The darkness creeps in around you and the word escape pounds itself into your brain and thoughts. From the end of the dock, heavy steps echo in with the rhythmical pounding. A huge frame moves out of the darkness towards you, and a voice speaks softly yet determinedly. That ' a you Mike? I can ' ta see good in ta dark. Why you no ' a come home for deener, son? Your mama she ' a worry plenty bad about you. You look up, Mike, as you have always looked up to your dad and as he lays his hand on your shoulder, your eyes fill a little with tears. Gee, Papa, yo whisper, I ' m sorry. And your little hands tremble as you hold out your tiny fish. —Jackie Welch, 12A. The Vigil (Third Prize) She stood alone, this happy lass, A-looking o ' er the sea, A-waiting for a ship to pass And laughing out with glee. The first ship passed. ' Twas not the one. Another passed, then three. Her laughter ceased as she watched the sun, But a smile was there to see. She sat alone, this lonely lass. A smile was on her face. She waited for a ship to pass, And touched her skirt of lace. Slowly the sun began to fade. Slowly the moon came out. The smile now left the face of the maid. Its place was held by doubt. Close she walked to the edge of the sea, A pause! A sigh! A leap. The waves rolled in and foam danced free O ' er the lonely maid in the deep. Slowly a ship came into sight. A sailor laughed with glee. For he hoped to see his love that night, A-waiting by the sea. —Pat Kay, 13A Home (Honourable Mention) I miss the sunny open fields, The fields wherein I used to roam. The lonely hill which deftly shields The torrents from my prairie home. I miss the poplars ever swaying. In the breezes gently blowing, And the scattered leaves now playing In the wailing winds of Towling. I miss the warmly glowing sun, Which beats day long upon this land Of babbling brooks and streams that run Among the earth ' s great scattered band. And even as I pine for these, I seem to hear the distant sound Of many voices in the breeze Calling me back to my prairie home. —Shirley Saul, 13A