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

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Page Twenty-Four THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1959 IS CHILDHOOD THE HAPPIEST PERIOD OF ONE ' S LIFE? Who ' s that crawling around the floor? Fred laughed as he picked up his year-old son, lifting him high above his head. Little Donny gurgled his pleasure at this man with the big thumbs which tickled him in his ribs. Fred and Dorothy loved their new son. They laughed together at Donny ' s curiosity as he crawled under the chairs, through the door-ways, and around the chesterfield. He had been a nosy, happy little thing ever since they had brought him home from the hospital. Dorothy had had some trouble in childbirth, and, as a result. Dr. Rhodes had performed several tests on Donny to see if he was all right. Dr. Rhodes had assured Fred and Dorothy that nothing was the matter with Donny at all. And on seeing this bubbling little creature running wild in his bliss, they were certain that Donny was perfect. The day Donny had been brought home seemed so long ago! Ever since then, he had been made the centre of attraction, and he was enjoying every minute of it im¬ mensely. As he lay tucked in to the chin in his tiny b lue crib just before nap time, Dorothy would come into the nursery to admire him. She would coo at him and tell him what a beautiful baby he was; he would gurgle back at her, a twinkle in his eye. As Donny grew, he grew in a house of love and affection. Fred and Dorothy were deter¬ mined that Donny would never be able to say that he had grown up in a house without love. But love and affection did not seem sufficient for Donny. In almost everything he tried to do, he failed miserably. He just couldn ' t seem to co-ordinate his brain and his hands. He stumbled frequently as he climbed the stairs. Even though he was not yet in the first grade at school, he did not seem to do as well as the other children in many ways. Dorothy realized that something was terribly wrong with Donny, and she arranged an appointment at the Medical Clinic. The following week, as Dorothy was walking out of the Clinic, she seemed too stunned to speak. She clutched mercilessly at little Donny who was in her arms. Mentally retarded! What could she do? How would she ever tell Fred who had always been so proud of his son ' s perfection? Somehow, Dorothy managed to blurt out the horrible words when Fred arrived home from work. He, too, was too stunned to speak. A look of horror came over his face; it changed to sadness; it changed to disgust. The next day, Dorothy applied for Donny ' s admittance to the city ' s special school for retarded children. Bui there were now so many children at the school, that the head-mistress was forced to tell Dorothy there was no room. Donny stayed at home, and Dorothy tried her utmost to help him. But how could she possibly help him when she received no co-operation from her husband? Fred ' s love for his son had grown to disgust. He no longer played with Donny; he completely ignored the child. Donny was entirely bewildered by all this. How was he to know that his life would be one endless childhood? Donny grew in stature. Nothing else. He had reached the peak of his mentality and could go no further. He had learned, through the patience of his mother, to make his hands do what his mind wanted them to do. But there was always someone to make fun of him. The neighbours ' children taunted him. And if their parents saw the children around Donny, they would say, Come away from there. It ' s not safe! How utterly ridiculous! But the boy could only turn his back and retreat to the house. Childhood should be a happy time. Childhood should be remembered for years to come. Donny would not have to remember his childhood. He would always be in it. Never would he grow out of childhood. Is this the happiest part of one ' s life? No! It is Donny ' s childhood. Can we help these children? Can we make their childhood the happiest part of their lives? —Judie Hickson, 1 2A. ONE CAME BACK They were young and full of the vitality of youth. They laughed and joked as they strode lightly over the ancient, snow-covered trail that led to the unconquered Dead Man ' s Mountain in the Himalayas. They clambered easily over the peaceful foot of the giant that had foiled the attempts of the greatest professionals. As they went higher a frosty hint of the giant ' s icy breath blew over them, and they suddenly realized that what had once been just a daring adventure to four young men just out of college, had now become a menacing reality. The dazzling white pinnacle had looked so easily attain¬ able when the old guide had told them of the dangers involved in climbing this mountain. They had assured him that they had the finest and newest equipment that money could buy, but he still refused to accompany them. They had laughed when he told them of the curse placed on the mountain by Baron Von Hessman, the renowned German mountaineer, just before he died as a result of his fall from one of the icy slopes of this mountain. They had not dared to show the twinge of fear that each felt as the old man said this, but they decided to set out alone to conquer the invincible. They remembered the curse as they edged around a narrow ledge at dusk. The oncoming darkness and the snow caused the ledge to be more dangerous than usual. The last man in the party hesitated as he stepped onto the ledge, then he slipped. He seemed to hang suspended on the edge of the precipice, until, with a piercing scream, he plummeted downward. Horror was mirrored in the eyes of the three remaining. The new rope, part of the finest equipment money could buy, had snapped. Perhaps the curse had caused it; but that was just a superstition. The following night seemed to last an eternity as the three men huddled in their tent awaiting the dreaded dawn. Suddenly one spoke. Jack and I have decided to go back. This was all good adventure until Tom fell, but it ' s no joke now. The last man of the party looked at the two of them. A fire of scorn kindled in his eyes and then went out. I understand, he said with a sigh, but it ' s a matter of pride with me, I can ' t go back now. Wait for me here Continued on Page 66

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•THE SPARTALOGUE — 1959 Page Twenty-Three WHAT EVERY TEACHER SHOULD KNOW Crack! A long silence. Crack! The screams of a child. Bang! The closing of a door. Clop, clop, clop. A skinny black-coated figure strode to the front of the room. Waving a flexible willow switch, Master Stonehouse growled, That goes for the rest of you little urchins too! Repeat the Declaration of Independence. Weak little voices answered his terse command. Louder, do you hear, or you ' ll get the licking of your life. Perfunctory shouts sprang from the trembling students. A piercing smile of cruel satisfaction appeared on Master Stonehouse ' s face. When I was a boy, I knew my lessons perfectly. I had to! We had strict teachers in those days. None of this molly-coddling! shouted Stonehouse. That night, one of those petrified pupils of Master Stonehouse went to see her grandmother. Grandma, do you think the pupils were really as good as Mr. Stonehouse says they were? she asked. Certainly not, dear; children were just the same, answered her grandmother. Imagine that Mr. Stonehouse scolding you. For land ' s sake, do you know he was the worst boy for putting frogs in girls ' lunches or sneaking off to go swimming. I guess he doesn ' t remember too well, giggled Jeannie, but you ' d think he ' d understand us a little at least. The next day at school, Master Stonehouse looked dif¬ ferent somehow, but in what way? He did not look really different and yet there was something different about him. Please recite your memory work with me, he said blandly. All joined in with an eagerness hard to describe and smiles dotted faces that would not have dared a smile otherwise. Don ' t you know your memory work? questioned Stonehouse. All the smiles vanished as little Jeannie trembled and said, No, Master Stonehouse. Then a look of amazement spread throughout the class¬ room as Stonehouse said, Let me help you, then and he proceeded to recite slowly with her. That evening, Jeannie just had to go to see her grand¬ mother. ' Gee, M r. Stonehouse was different to-day, blurted out Jeannie; she was in an especially gay mood. Mr. Stonehouse helped me, and Mike and Georgie tool she hastily added. Why was he so nice to-day, but so bad before? inquired Jeannie. Grandma smiled, rocked gently back and forth, and then said, Sometimes a little memory work does a teacher good. NIGHT FLIGHT Up and down, with dips and dives, With black hooked wings, and shiny eyes. Without the sun, always at night, He screams ahead and continues his flight. His target is sighted, destroying the land, He climbs high above and dives on the band, He continues his flight one knows not to where. Then returns to his homeland through the same silent air. His companion, the night hawk, is making no sound, But swiftly and suddenly swoops on the ground, Attacks his object, then circles up high. Attacks again without even a cry. A screech is screamed from the tree-top tall; Two lights are gleaming as they commence to fall. The white feathered owl with his two hooked feet, Has captured the prey and has made his retreat. Like the shiny black bat making his dive, While screaming, descending, gleaming like eyes, The powerful jet of enormous size, Streaks boldly along, dominating the skies. —Milton Lesperance, 13C. JOHNNY Johnny was a brainy, scientific kind of chap. He knew his cubes and calculus, Geometry and formulas, As soon as he could talk. He studied up on physics with his pablum and his pap. He nearly made an atom bomb, For which he was chastised by mom, As soon as he could walk. At school he was a problem to his teachers, one and all; Discovered anti-gravity In Kindergarten primary While playing with a top. He floated rafts of building blocks that cluttered up the hall, And coasted on them, yelling, While others did their spelling. They couldn ' t make him stop. In high-school tho ' , he settled down and worked with might and main. He polished off his chemistry, His history and his hemistry, And looked around for more. Higher education made a certain minor change inside his scintillating brain. He began to build a rocket But later he just dropped it For it had begun to bore! You ' ll find him in Bahama lying underneath a palm tree, Gathering virtue like a Buddhist, Contemplating his left knee. —Andy Small, 1 2A. —Mary Holden, 1 2A.

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-THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1959 Page Twenty-Five ONE AGAINST THE WORLD Slouched over the rail of the Carona was a well-built lad, obviously a crewman of the clipper. He was a fair¬ haired youth of about seventeen years of age and weighing close to one hundred and fifty pounds. The boy ' s name was Zefferim Aleas, better known to the other members of the crew as Pete, a nickname which was more convenient than Zeffer. His only living relative was a twin sister whom he had not seen for many years. She was incessantly writing letters to him which he thought was indeed thought¬ ful even though it did not lighten his feeling of solitude. As his eyes dropped onto the water he caught sight of a soggy paper cup as it danced to the music of the waves, splitting as the bow of the ship sliced through them. While he stared, he also wondered if such an object could ever be lonely. If so, could it be as lonely as he? The ship was carrying a cargo from the mainland to a few desolate islands twenty miles away. This was not Pete ' s first voyage; nevertheless, they were all the same. He had many duties for which he was responsible; one of them was checking the supplies daily. This day, as every day, he had completed all his chores and stood idly near the ship ' s side. As he peered into the misty fog a strange sensation overcame him. Pete was unable to see more than three or four feet in front of him because of the haze. In spite of this he knew that his vision was becoming blurred. He could feel his eyes burning red and filling with tears as if he had been preparing onions. Then the veins in his hands began to swell until he thought they would explode. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow despite the cold tingle which raced throughout his body. Desperately he grasped the rail for fear of falling into the icy ocean as he became weaker and weaker. Suddenly it was not fog which surrounded him but curling smoke which seemed to seep through every pore. Was this his imagination? With his last ounce of strength gone, he collapsed to the damp deck. Pete opened his eyes. The waves began to break closer to the deck now and the soothing spray must have revived him. After a minute or two, he realized that he was still lying on the deck. Even though he wanted to stand, he could not. His arms and legs were paralyzed. He could not yell for help. What was this everlasting plague which swept over him? Help, help, please someone help me! he pleaded. But his cry for assistance was only internal, for no sound was heard; no one came to his aid. Then, after what seemed a lifetime, Pete could see two of the ship ' s first mates hurrying towards him. They carried him as steadily as possible, regardless of the persistent rocking of the boat. Among the few words Pete understood, as they mumbled between themselves was the fact that Pete was probably suffering from the results of a drunken binge. Pete knew better and although he tried to explain to them what had happened they could hear nothing. From this excitement, Pete was exhausted and fainted in their arms. As Pete opened his eyes again he could see the captain of the Carona and the ship ' s doctor stooped over him. What happened lad. did you have more than you could take? asked Captain Briggs sarcastically. No, no you don ' t understand. Well, you just rest awhile and I ' ll come back later to see how you ' re getting along. This was the opportunity Pete wanted. Now he cou ' d clearly recall what had happened the night before and account for its occurrence. But this was impossible. He was unable to think of any logical explanation. It was now March the eighteenth and three days elapsed before Pete had any reason to be concerned about what had happened. Because he had recovered from the ex¬ perience he loosely referred to it as a dream or a result of overwork (although he knew the latter was not likely to be the cause). Rather unexpectedly Pete was summoned to the captain ' s quarters. He did not waste any time for he knew that the captain only invited members of the crew to his cabin on very essential matters. As he entered the small but cozy room he noticed a direct change in the man. Captain Briggs was never a happy fellow yet never as sullen as this. Pete knew something was wrong. I have something for you, Pete. What is it, sir? ' A telegram. Promptly yet rather reluctantly he handed Pete the note. The boy ' s eyes scanned the words. Then, with tears streaming over his cheeks and wonder on his face, Pete ' s limp body slumped into the nearest chair that he could reach. The telegram stated that the youth ' s twin sister had been burned to death, while trapped in her bedroom of the five-roomed house in which she had lived. The captain remained silent even though he wished to express his condolences. In Pete ' s mind ran the solution to the mystery of his previous attack. From the men he had discovered that the fantastic sensation had occurred ap¬ proximately ten forty-five in the evening on a Friday night; from the telegram Pete learned that his sister died between ten forty-five and eleven o ' clock on Friday evening the fifteenth of March. Now Pete ' s twin sister was gone. No one remained for him to really love. No one remained to truly love him. As he aimlessly ambled down the decks he realized that he was alone, just one against the world. —Carmen Eaton, 1 2B. MIRAGE The student sat slumped in her seat, chewing her pencil and gazing morosely into space. A blank sheet of paper in front of her seemed to glare accusingly. Behind her was the menacing Tick, Tick of a clock. Suddenly, somewhere, a piece of gum cracked. As if it were a signal, the girl straightened up and began to write furiously. Yes, childhood is the happiest period of one ' s life, ran the words across her page. I can speak, with veracity, only of myself, and of the children who grew up around me; but some of the happiness that was mine must belong to every child, for children are children everywhere. Perhaps the care and love which I received are not given to every child, nor do all the children in the world have the material advantages of a Canadian; but children, no matter what nationality, have two common benefits. These are a lack of emotional responsibility, and a sense of wonder. Being something of a patriot, I would like to deal first with the advantages of childhood which seem peculiar to North America—mayhap even to Canada. The first of these is tender care, and love. In these days when war Continued on Page 50