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

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THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1954 Page Seventeen Tke Plea Across the wide ocean, beyond the Black Sea. Lies a country of glory, a homeland to me, I ler golden shores rooted and ravaged by foes. Her people enslaved, and burdened with woes. Although the white poplar still bends in the breeze. And the pure golden sunlight still shines through the trees. Her cottages are burned, her churches barr’d tight. Her people unhappy without any right. The Editors would like to thank the English teachers for submitting their stu¬ dents’work for the Literary section of the Spartalogue. We extend a special vote of thanks to Miss Mun- nings, whose students con¬ tributed the bulk of the stories and poems appear¬ ing in this section. Mv Soliloquy Why do those we loved the best Fade silently before our rest? Alas! — If only — hand in hand, Together, we could seek that land. But no! A pattern. Life is not; The hopes and dreams that I had sought, So glorious in the morning light. Vanished, as the stars of night. Then, was 1 young, now I am old. My secret dreams have since been sold For deepening sighs, for endless tears. That brought a wisdom with the vears. Though distant her children are now from her shore. In adopted new home-lands, they still do implore On devout bended knee, and in reverence to Thee. They ask just one thing. Lord, set our land Free!” —Nina Mudry. 12B. You who are young and full of dreams, Attempt to carry out your schemes. List not to my soliloquy. Or heed my sad philosophy. Too late, you see. 1 realized How swift each precious moment flies. A fool was 1! Life flies today Take care! — This. too. shall pass away. — Fean Law. 12B.

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Page Sixleen “THE SPARTALOGUE — 1954 LAST YEAR’S GRADS- WHO ' S WHERE WILMA BACKHOUSE —Filing Clerk at J. T. Wing. DON BRADLEY -Ontario Agrgieultural College at Guelph. KEN BOTTOMS —University of Michiggan. study¬ ing to be a petroleum engineer. SHIRLEY BURNETT -Arts course at University of Toronto. JOHN CLEMINSON -Chemical Engineering course at Queen’s University. STAN DRABEK -Engineering course at Queen ' s University. MIRIAM DRYDEN -Ford’s office. HARRY FIDLER -Clerk in the Mailing Depart¬ ment at Ford ' s. BETTY HOLDSWORTH -At London Normal—studying to be a teacher. ETHEL MERCER -In training at Grace Hospital. DON MacLENNAN -Oakville High School. JIM OLIVER -Parts and Accessories Depart¬ ment at Ford’s. FLORENCE SENFA -Laboratory Technology at Uni¬ versity of Western Ontario. DICK SORENSON -In the Accounting Department at MacDonald and Healy. BOB SORENSON -Timekeeper at L.A. Young. JACKIE WELCH -Normal School. BOB WILLOWBY —Engineering course at Queen ' s University. NELLIE ZAJEK -Typist. Windsor Credit Bureau. LOIS BOWLEY -Carnegie Library. JEAN CLARK -Secretary at J. T. Wing’s. LORRAINE COURTIN —Office work at Motor Products JOYCE CREW -Office work at Industrial Ac¬ ceptance Corp. PEARL GHERASIM -Office work at Webster Motors. EILEEN HIGGINS -Stenographer for American Consulate. SHIRLEY JAMES -Office work at Electroline Mfg. Co. Ltd. KATHLEEN KLINGBYLE-Typist in Detroit. HELEN LOKIEC -Office work at Central Mort¬ gage Co. GAIL MORRIS -Typist at Canadian Industries Ltd. FREDA PYLYPIW -Office work at Riverside Town¬ ship Hall. EDA PYLYPIW -Office work at Dominion Twist Drill Ltd. DOROTHY SMITH -Teletype Operator, J. T. Wing’s. JOANNE SNEDDON -Secretary at Forster. ELIZABETH STEER -Typist at Hiram Walker’s. CHARLOTTE WATKINS -Studying music at the Ursuline School of Music. JOYCE WELLS -Office work at the Windsor Daily Star. DOLORES WILLSON -Office work at Viking Pump Co. of Canada Ltd. United Nations D URING the past months, there has been some controversy as to whether the United Nations sessions should be held openly or in private. As a recent observer at U.N. proceedings, I should like to present my views on this controversy. To me the United Nations seemed a “Glass House a stage on which the delegates were actors, vying for the acclaim of a world-wide audience. In every meeting, most of the delegates read their carefully planned, well-directed speeches. Each man knew that his speech would be re¬ ported to his own country and to others by newspapers and radios, and he was trying to make the most of this opportunity. For if he should concede even one small point to his opponent, his countrymen at home would certainly be displeased. It is very hard, you know, to admit publicly and openly even a partial defeat, and to compromise with the other fellow. Every member is sent instructions by his home govern ment as to what he should say in his speech, and he must follow these instructions to the letter. Every government looks upon this as a chance to build up its own policies and to tear those of the opposition into tiny pieces. Need¬ less to say. most countries take full advantage of the opportunity offered, especially Russia who continually uses the United Nations as a mouthpiece through which she can spread propaganda. It seems to me that world problems could be solved more quickly if the United Nations ' meetings were held for the most part in private or even in secret. I feel that the nations would be much more ready to listen to one another and to compromise if they were not always con¬ scious of their audience. Only recently Mr. Pearson, himself, suggested that such secret meetings would accom¬ plish more than the present open debates. However, ever since the first World War when President Wilson showed his distrust of secret meetings, the United States has in¬ sisted—first in the League of Nations and now in the United Nations—that matters be discussed openly. But. I do not feel that open discussion is the solution. Speeches made by the various delegates were full of clever witti¬ cisms directed at their opponents—it is true that several of them put on a very good show. However, after hearing a few of these highly dramatic speeches accompanied by much arm-swinging and desk-pounding. I was soon re¬ minded of that old song, Anything you can do, I can do better. JUDY STEADMAN—1?A

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Page Eighteen THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1954 f H E RACE KEN BRADLEY — 12A r pO ANYONE who loves races, I recommend a J- visit to one of the least publicized, and yet most amusing of all races—a fuzzy worm and caterpillar race. The most enjoyable part of this race is not found in watching the race itself, but in observing the faces of the owners and the expressions found thereon. Yesterday afternoon I found myself a spectator of this fascinating sport. The scene was in little Tommy Small’s living-room where he, as well as being master of ceremonies, was the proud owner of a sleek blue and yellow fuzzy worm, an im¬ portant contestant in the race. Half a dozen other boys from three and a half to five years old were also present, each warming up his own entry for the big event, marvelling at its spe ed and all claim¬ ing his own would win. When I heard, over all the excited chattering, the voice of Tommy calling the participants to the tion and excitement as he placed his tiny charge before the tape, and held on to the squirming object with starting line, silence suddenly reigned throughout; then each proud little face lit up with nervous anticipa- nervous and somewhat clumsy fingers, waiting for the whistle. The whistle blew and it was not long before I could tell which one was winning and which one was losing just by looking at the changing expres¬ sions on those children’s faces. One little fellow who had been bounding with delight a moment before suddenly creased his brow and tried very hard not to shed any tears. It was evident that his entry was not doing too well. His was, I remem¬ bered, the big green tomato caterpillar, and I looked down to see what had happened. He was doing fine. With unequalled speed and wonderful co-ordination he executed his steps. His feet fairly flew over the floor, but alas, somewhere along the line he had gotten his signals crossed and was travelling in the opposite direction. A moment later that pretty blue and yellow fuzzy worm, which had been well up in the lead, made a left turn for no apparent reason and was immediately upset and run over by an on- rushing cabbage butterfly caterpillar. This dashed the hopes of the master of ceremonies. I am quite happy to relate, however, that the insect who took over the lead and plodded slowly but surely to an easy victory was a drab little orange fuzzy worm belonging to a quiet little boy of about three and a half, probably the youngest owner in the race. As it crossed the finish line the little boy’s face broke out into a broad grin and he accepted the first prize—the satisfaction of owning a winner in his first big race. POEMS Poems are the greatest things. That man has ever made; They cry, they laugh. They talk, they sing, But never — never fade. They tiy in on the wing of night. And shout aloud of truth. They sing to us of hope and love And whisper too of might. MARY JEAN HENDERSON — 12B. THE SNOW The snow is falling through the air, Among the trees and everywhere Covering roads and creeks and lanes, And peeping in the window panes. It trims the grey fence rails in frills. Turns haystacks into fleecy hills. Gives the posts round, wollen caps. And fields white aprons for their laps. —DIANE YATES, 12B THE POET Here I sit, with thought of naught, not a bit of rhyme, not a dime. Both associated, with the morrow all sorrow, if not appreciated by the teacher, this feature! CARL BJERKELUND — 12B.