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

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THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1956 Page Twenty-One HAWK Motionless in a breathless sky He listless hangs, He sights his quarry And, like some plunging star, He plummets down, Talons widespread. It struggles futilely in his cruel grip But he, Relentless, Unmoved by muted pleas. Lifts up into the pale sky, Bearing his prize to some bare, sun-scorched crag, To feast in unmolested gluttony. —Rosabelle Veighey, 12A. FAITH As we walk along the broad path of life Experiencing sadness, sorrow and strife, Knowing that someone greater than we Is willing and waiting to hear our plea, Knowing He sends the drops of rain We certainly ought to praise His name. As we live on earth from day to day Molding our lives as if they were clay. Seeing small buds bloom into flowers Watching the birds fly to church towers. Watching small children play for hours We soon learn who made this great world of ours. —Margaret Johnstone, 10E. BY THE RIVER The ducks are on the river. And ice is drifting by. The sun shines bright as silver. No clouds are in the sky. Nature used her magic wand. To make this all serene. No boats with shrill command, Now mar this peaceful scene. Spring will soon be with us. The wild ducks will fly away, And the boats with their busy fuss Will start again one day. —Ann Rutherford, 11A. WHY •’ Soft white clouds line the deep blue sky. Blossoms cover the trees so high. Many times I ask myself why God gave these gifts to such as I. Purple sunsets, brightest dawns. The greenest woods, the gentlest fawns, The shining sun with its golden crown All this He made when He came down. —Joyce Brent, UB. “FISHIN’ ” A business man may sit a wishin ' . To get away from his toils; But instead of wishin ' , to be fishin ' , He SHOULD be fishin ' . A millionaire may sit a wishin ' , To get away from plush and gold; But instead of wishin ' , to be fishin ' . He SHOULD be fishin ' . A school boy may be a wishin ' . To escape from his classroom toils; But instead of wishin ' , to be fishin ' , He SHOULD be fishin ' . A teacher may sit a wishin ' . To escape from his stupid hoard; But instead of wishin ' , to be fishin ' . He SHOULD be fishin ' . You may sit and be a wishin’. For me to end this silly poem; But instead of wishin’, to be fishin ' , YOU should be fishin ' . —Tom Anderson. 10E. THE RIGHT WAY The way is never filled with ease. The road is hard to see. I know that I can find my way, If I but look to Thee. The days are often dull and grey. No end to care I see. I know that I can find my way, If I but look to Thee. Many a time my hidden faith Has almost fled from me. But I know that I can always find The path to right, with Thee. THE LIGHTHOUSE Across the deep, black waters Stands a lighthouse bleak and grey. Its beacon light is flashing To guide the sailor ' s way. Around the little island Lie the rocks so sharp and cold. The white-capped waves come dashing. So white, so bright, so bold. The lighthouse is so desolate Filled with surrounding peace, You hear the sounds of eternal sea. The sounds that never cease. I often think of it at night, This lighthouse bleak and grey. Its beacon light still flashing To guide the sailor ' s way. —Judy Ambrose, 11A. THE POWER OF THINKING When all the World looks dark and gray. And all your hopes are gone. Sit down and think in just what way You did somehow go wrong. For life’s a hard and narrow road, A road that never ends. With lots of tears and heavy loads. But still your constant friend. And when you’ve thought it over twice. And searched down deep within your soul. I’m sure you ' ll lead a richer life, And then, my friend, you’ll find your goal. —Barbara Skeggs. 11B. —Dawn Campbell, 12A.

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Page Twenty THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1956 J lie Deciding Pitcli Carol Patterson, 18A. I can still see him as a rangy, heavily-bearded, raw- boned guy ambling across the left-field grass on his way from the bull pen to the mound. We had to get this one man out—the big one—and if anybody could do it, it was Sal Sloam. I was waiting for him at the mound, mask in hand, with our coach Leo Dolan, and our starter, John Pedros. When Sal reached us, Leo tossed him the ball. All yours, Sal. Sal nodded, and dug the toe of his spikes into the mound as if contemplating his next move. We’ll make this short and sweet, Sal, I said, strolling back to the plate. As far as we were concerned, we gained nothing if we won the game. We were up against the Hawks, who were tied with the Sox. The Sox were already winners of the last official game, and if the Hawks lost this one, the Sox were in for sure, and we had the Hawks down to their last out in the bottom of the ninth, four to three. But, they had loaded the bases on our starting pitcher who had given them a rough time for eight innings, and now, the fate of the Hawks depended on Sal, who would decide whether they would get a chance at the play-off and maybe the World Series. Even at thirty-six and after ten years in the big leagues, Sal was a man who had gained more honour and stature and victories than most. But he once said that he had always wanted more than anything else to play in a Wor ld Series. He never had, and never would, because he was all through to-day, bowing out as a relief pitcher on a club who had clinched eighth place. Sal dried his hand on the resin, and as he did. he took a slow cold stare at the third-base coaching box. Inside it. Continued on Page 46 Man Without A Country j Rosalie La Fontaine, 12B. I was deported from my country for a reason which I shall not disclose. In my defense, I shall say that the charge against me was wrong. I have been living aboard ships for many, many years, and the year is now 1852. As soon as we come near land they transfer me to another ship and I go out to sea again. This is my punishment. I have not seen land since I left America, and I shall never see it again. The sea is a lonely plain which has no end. It never changes. Many things have happened since I came aboard. Once I saved the ship from being taken by our English enemies. One night I was sitting on deck by myself when I saw the phantom ride over the horizon. The moon revealed the white sails and immediately I warned the rest of the ship. The English came aboard our ship. The captain ordered me to my cabin because I was not allowed to do anything as a soldier. I went against orders. My victories included the deaths of seven Englishmen and the saving of my captain’s life. He could not pardon me for my disobedience and I was still an exile. All day long I sit and watch the sea. I have had much time to think about my past. Living in remorse is good for no man. I have learned this. The blame for my suffering does not go entirely to the president but rather to my fate. God has never stopped hearing my prayers because I have not given up hope that this wrong will be discovered some day. The sea has become my world. I am now quite accus¬ tomed to it. The only signs of life in it are the sharks which often come close to the boat. When we near land, sea gulls hover over the ship like flies around honey. Soon they leave us and the boat is left unescorted at sea. To-day I am lying in bed, because I have been sick for more than a week. My appetite is gone, and my weak body can no longer stand any strain. My arm is too weak to write. A good friend aboard this ship is writing my final account for me. I am not afraid to admit that the hand of death is slowly taking me. My life has not been wasted. I have learned to tolerate man ' s mistakes and have mended my own ways. At first I would rather have died than live at sea with the fishy smell and salt air, but I soon learned that the surroundings were not the only thing that counted. What really mat¬ tered was the way you lived in these surroundings. God is now beckoning me and I do not want to keep Him waiting. I would like to say something before I die. Please tell my family of my whereabouts if any of them are still living. Tell them I love them and have been long¬ ing to see them.” Turning towards the captain who had just entered the cabin, Bury me in the sea which has been my home for so many years. I would have it no other way.” He closed his eyes forever. The captain opened the Bible and found a hand-written passage at the very beginning. It was short and he read, “I loved my country as no man ever did. My greatest desire was for my country, and I would have done nothing against it. I forgive anyone who has done harm to me and especially those ignorant of my innocence. The sea was made for man to enjoy as well as the land. I have learned to love it as a home. My body will be cast into the sea but God shall take my soul.”

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Page Twenty-Two THE SPARTALOGUE — 1956 I lie Release By TAMY COHOON. 13A The rocking of the boat ceased. The time of reckoning was close at hand, but the small figure, huddled in the corner, seemed lifeless. It had been such a long time since he had seen the sun¬ shine. walked on the cool, green grass, smelt the fragrance of the flowers. His thoughts drifted back to that day when he had been so abruptly shut up in this dungeon, this dark smelly hole in the hold of the ship. It had happened so quickly that his mind had not conceived the meaning until it was too late. He had been walking nonchalantly along the wharf, when suddenly he felt himself being grabbed and dragged up a gangplank. After bumping down two flights of iron stairs, he was shut up in this cage-like cell. A small window about ten feet higher than his head afforded him a clear view of people’s feet, moving on the upper deck. He did not under¬ stand this sudden imprisonment, for he had done nothing wrong, No one had bothered to explain the reason to him either. The only person he had seen, within speaking dis¬ tance, that is, was a short, stocky man with a black patch over his left eye. He was dressed in seafaring togs and walked with a pronounced limp because of a peg leg. This inimical character brought him his food twice a day. The so-called nourishment consisted of a dry cracker and maybe a small morsel of meat with a small ration of water to wash it down. At the beginning of the dire adventure, he at- to evoke a reason for his imprisonment. All he ever received was a harsh Shaddap! Many times he had tried to reach the ears of those people to whom the feet belonged, but to no avail. Not a soul seemed to comprehend the nature of his predicament. Finally he resigned himself to the inevitable. He could do nothing but wait and seer Returning to the present, he felt the boat sway gently from the force of the water. The scraping and shuffling of feet across the floor of the ship reached his ears. Hearing many voices ringing out, he listened intently until suddenly a familiar voice floated across the intervening space. It drew nearer and as it did so a great new hope surged in his breast, driving away the fear and anguish of the preceding days. Steps resounded on the stairs and then the door opened. A small, dark, immaculately dressed woman in her early forties walked to the door of the cage. As the latch was released a tiny brown ball of fuzz literally threw him¬ self at her and gave her a series of wet, affectionate kisses. With great sighs of contentment the dog admitted to himself that life was again beautiful for he was in the arms of his mistress as they landed in a new country. Crash Landing By JOHN SPARLING. 13A In the radio despatcher ' s office at Idlewild, the hands of the clock showed one a.m. Despatcher Welland stretched, got up, and crossed the room to the automatic coffee dis¬ penser. He was just returning to his chair when the red warning light flashed above the massive bank of instruments he operated. With the speed of long practice his hands flitted over the dials and switches. Almost immediately the speaker intoned. T5934 to Idle- wild—request permission and instructions for landing— over.” Welland ' s voice lapsed into that even, robot-like tone used in air communication as he answered. Idlewild to T5934: runway five cleared for landing. Range: eight miles. Ap¬ proach bearing: two zero degrees, over.” Planes using the number T59— were the new Comet IV jet airliners used by the British Overseas Airways Corpora¬ tion. As usual, this Comet was ahead of schedule. With its speed, it would be over the airport in forty seconds. The night was cool and clear, with unlimited visibility. The plane would have no trouble landing unaided. Welland sat back more comfortably in his chair, took another sip of coffee, and idly gazed out the window, watching for the silver ship to loom out of the darkness to the north of the field. A moment later the shrill screech of jets pervaded the airfield, and on the horizon a tiny speck rapidly grew larger. Aboard the Comet, Pilot George Blake pressed the button which would lower the wheels. A little red point of light flashed on immediately above the button. Something was wrong with the landing gear! The wheels were not down! He pressed the button again, but the red light remained on, like a stubborn eye. watching him, refusing to close. By this time his co-pilot, Nick Porter, had seen it too. They looked at each other, creases of concern appearing on their foreheads, their hands tightening on the controls of the plane. As if by command they both looked out towards the airport. It lay straight ahead, a field of light against the darkness, with a path of twin rows of lights beckoning towards the plane. The runway was only a few thousand yards off, and they had no wheels! Blake pulled up sharply on the wheel, and as the plane leveled out above the airport, he spoke with clipped terse¬ ness, T5934—landing mechanism won’t work! Our wheels will not go down. I will circle above the field. Try to see what is wrong—over. His voice was tense with fear, as yet under iron control. Idlewild. wilco, over.” Despatcher Welland picked up a telephone, snapped a few words into the mouthpiece and the whole airport awoke to the danger above. Searchlights stabbed up at the Comet, turning her into a bright white cross flashing above the field. Fire-engines and ambulances with sirens screaming concentrated at runway five. Radios warned all planes in the air to keep away from the field until the Comet had landed. As it passed overhead, observers could see that the right wheels were in satisfactory condition, but the left ones were only half down, and seemed to be twisted. If a landing were attempted, it would almost certainly be fatal. Inside the plane, co-pilot Porter spoke quietly to the passengers through the intercom, Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat-belts at once. The landing will be somewhat rough. With this fine piece of understatement he finished his message, and returned to the business of helping to land a plane without landing gear. In their compartment, the passengers began to wonder why the plane kept circling the airfield again and again. They soon realized something was seriously wrong. They could see the fire-engines and ambulances below; they could see the searchlights focussed on their plane. Then someone on the left side happened to notice in the searchlight beam the twisted, slanting wheels of the left landing gear. Quickly the word spread through the pas¬ sengers. A stewardess walked hurriedly up the aisle to the pilot’s compartment. Five seconds later the co-pilot’s voice snapped harshly over the intercom. Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed that you know the situation. Do not panic! Every effort to avoid danger is being made. The safest place for you is in your seats with your seat-belts fastened firmly.” They did not panic. Several began to pray silently; others spoke in whispers; still others sat with their eyes staring Continued on Page 67