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

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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.

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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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THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1954 Page Ninetecn THE DEVIL’S VISIT i. JUDY STEADMAN — 13A O NCE upon a time in the long, long ago, in the days of knighthood and of many petty kings, the Devil sat in his fiery cavern brooding long and silently over world af¬ fairs. Rumors of jealousy, of hate, and of many angry quarrels had reached his ears. Now at last he felt the time was ripe Twas time to overthrow the world! He arose and called his slaves and bade them arm him in his suit of flaming scarlet, such as would put the mighty Firebird to shame. Blazoned on the breast, a oglden eagle glowed. In its eyes, two great rubies sparkled with the same fire and fury as did the Devil ' s own. Then three slaves brought in a coal-black charger which pranced, and shied, and leaped in such a way that none could quiet him until his master sprong upon his back. The great horse thundered down paths paved with red-hot coals, past grumbling, smoking crater holes, and at last emerged in the clean sweet air of Earth. Horse and rider passed through green and fruitful lands fragrant with flowers and filled with sweet bird songs, but soon again were plunged into a Hell on earth. Around dark rocks ominous shadows loomed. Dark moss dripped and reeked. Above it all there hung a heavy evil cloud. Suddenly from out some hidden cave, a great black horse bearing a knight of monstrous size sprang into view! Both men grasped their lances with a firmer hand. Each paused to calculate the other ' s size and strength. But as the Devil lifted his heel to spur his mighty steed, the Black Knight cried, Ho! Ho! Wait a moment, friend. Dost thou not recog¬ nize me. thy faithful fellow-worker on the earth? Some call me Hate, some Jealousy; still others speak of me as Vice or Immorality; but to thee, good friend. I am thy humble servant. Sir Malcolm, the Black. The two then laughed, and talks, and chatted as friends. Sir Malcolm offered food and drink to his guest who gratefully accepted both. When he was ready to depart, the Black One gave him as a gift his sword of tempered steel wishing him well in his conquest of the world. Riding on, the Devil noticed he had left that land of rocks and crags behind, and was now entering into a land of low flats, stagnant marshes, and grey mists. Then from the mist there rose the ruins of a city. Beside its rusted gates there stood a haggard knight all dressed in grey and mounted on a bony nag. The Devil ap¬ proached the Knight, with the cry. “Who art thou. Sir Knight, and whose crumbling city is this?” To whom the Knight replied: “I am Sir Casper, the Impoverished, and this city is mine.” “Yield thou thyself and thy city, Sir Churl, or thou diest.” The Grey Knight answered sadly. “Feign would I fight thee. Evil One. but I have neither spirit nor power in me; therefore, I yield. Pass on.” When the Devil had passed through this land of pov¬ erty. so hungry and so parched was he that his heart leapt for joy at the sight of the green meadows and clear running streams which now met his eyes. Soon there sparkled on the horizon a castle of the purest gold whose turrets twinkled in the sunlight with such brilliance that he rode on half-blinded. Here was a land of beauty! A land of plenty! Here was a prize to tempt the wealthiest of kings! But as he neared the shining palace walls, the gates opened, and a huge chestnut mare stepped forth bearing proudly on her back a haughty knight in golden armour clad. Jewels sparkled on his sword-hilt; jewels were on his shield; and on his casque red rubies, garnets, and twinkling tourmalines captured every tiny sunbeam and multiplied it a thousand times until his w ' hole head was wreathed with flashing, dancing light. The Devil, himself, awed by this outward show of strength, per¬ ceived the proud knight’s fleshy face and his gluttonous eyes, heard his laboured breath, and soon he knew there was no cause for fear. Silently he laughed within himself but to the knight he roared. Who art thou. Sir Knight, and whose city this?” To whom the trembling knight replied, “I am Sir Edward. Knight of the Golden City, the City of Wealth and it is my city.” Then cried the Devil. No longer is it thine. Sir Knight, but henceforth shall it be mine.” “No! No! I beg of thee. If thou hast pity in thee take but a part and leave a part for me. Without my gold I am lost! cried Sir Edward, loath to see his wealth so quickly stolen. But the Devil, laughing, said, “Nay. foolish Knight. All shall be mine. With one quick blow he unhorsed the ponderous fellow and slew him instantly. Then entered he a leafy forest where there bloomed wild flowers in such profusion as would delight a maiden ' s heart — purpled violet, snowy trillium. and dainty butter¬ cups! Within the lovely forest there arose a towering fortress to the sky. The Devil, angered because he could not enter, threw many fiery torches over those high walls until the mighty building blazed and crumbled before its master. Fire. Suddenly, a knight fled from the burning castle crying. “Woe! O woe is me! And the Devil spoke to him saying, “Who art thou. Sir Knight, and whose forest this?” The knight replied, I am Sir Harold, the Learned. This was my castle and this my forest; but now I have lost all, for see thou my knowledge rises with yon smoke to the very heavens and with it goes my life. Without my books and knowledge I am nothing. ' So saying, the distraught knight drew his sword and plunged it into his breast. Thus did the CONTINUED ON PAGE 38