Gordon Bell High School - Purple and Gold Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

Page 58 text:

GORDON BELL HIGH SCHOOL POETRY 1st PRIZE Dream Ships By IRIS RUTHERFORD At even tide when the world’s at rest. From a port of mystic hue, A beautiful ship comes sailing O’er waves of rippling blue. Its decks are a-gleam with silver, Its masts are wrought of gold, Each swaying sail of moonbeams made, Hangs glistening fold on fold. It’s the ship of dreams embarking Till misty dawn breaks through, Carrying on board its cargo Of wonderful dreams come true. 2nd PRIZE The Storm By ALISON WARNER The air seemed foreboding, we heard the gulls cry As clouds gathered o’er us and dark¬ ened the sky. The wind moaned and whistled through forests of trees, The waters around were disturbed by the breeze. Each bird felt uneasy and flew to its nest. For a mist was approaching from out of the West; It came rapidly nearer, the sky dark¬ er grew, The storm burst upon us! The wind wildly blew! Great oaks and tall pine trees crashed to the ground. Waves lashing the rocks seemed to echo the sound! ’Neath the force of the rain the earth trembled with fear, The roar of the thunder was awful to hear. The storm soon abated, the dark clouds rolled by, The sun struggled forth and bright¬ ened the sky, Again the birds sang and all heaven was gay, But the havoc below lasted many a day.

Page 57 text:

GORDON BELL HIGH SCHOOL 55 I’ll get a frying pan for you,” offered “Happy” as he strolled over to the scullery and opened a cupboard. He was wrong. “Don’t trouble yourself ‘Mr. Waverley’,” ironically responded Reggie as he luckily chanced upon the right cupboard and withdrew from its spacious interior a huge, iron frying pan and placed it on the stove. The two chops were placed in it, and Reginald, now full of confidence, turned on a burner. Alas! It was the wrong one. Not completely discouraged, he tried another. That also was the wrong one. Now the enterprising “Happy” decided to cast his luck to the mercy of the Fates. He too was wrong! Undaunted by his earlier failures, Reggie tried again. Failure! Madigan in the meantime had bent down and was busily reading the names under the switches. “Ah! This is it,” he asserted and finally turned on the right one. Flustered with this success, the pesky “relief man” went one further. “I’ll get some plates,” he proffered, and turned to get them. There was a thump and a grunt. He turned around like a flash to see Allington-Smith in the grasp of a burly assailant who was certainly the better man and was fast lulling Reggie to sleep by thumping the heroic one’s head on the floor with consider¬ able force. Rushing to the stove, Madigan grasped the great frying pan and struck with all his force the bald pate of the huge one. It was the best “relief” job ever engineered by “Happy” Madigan. Reggie’s assailant dropped like a log to the floor. “Happy” stooped down to help the groggy Allington-Smith to his feet and left him swaying on his members while he bent down once more to pick up Reggie’s soft felt and place it on his own head. Running as fast as he could, while supporting his dazed comrade in trouble, Madigan made for the scullery. Arriving at his destination he picked Reginald up by the seat of his trousers and the scruff of his neck, hoisted him up on to the window sill, and gave him a push. He then clambered up himself, and holding tightly to his black bag, leaped to the ground. The retainer of the mansion regained consciousness a few moments later and ran to the window. There, in the moonlight, were the figures of “Happy” Madigan and Mr. Reginald Allington-Smith, racing off through the night with their coat-tails flying. Although the local newspaper had reported that Sir James Waverley had left for a six months’ vacation in England, it had not explained that their butler had been left behind to guard the house.

Page 59 text:

GORDON BELL HIGH SCHOOL 57 The Late-Room By MAUREEN CAMPBELL There’s something about a red-brick school That makes one long for the open air, To be out from under the teachers’ rule, With never a thought and never a care. When it looms up big before you And the bell re-echoes its chime, You think “Do I really have to go— What’s the use when I’m not on time?” For the general rule of Gordon Bell Is an hour at four for a minute late, And so “Better late than never” Is now “Better never than late.” The teachers stern their vigil keep O’er the victims in their power, And every teacher takes his turn In the “Late-Room” for an hour. When you think of the hour before you go, That one long hour of work, You wish you didn’t have to go, But it will be two hours if you shirk. So with footsteps ever-lagging To Room Three you wend your way, And with the others who were late For an hour there you stay. Judges ' Comments The judges of the Short Story and Poetry Competition or 1933 feel some¬ what reluctant to express an opinion concerning the quality of the material sub¬ mitted. Considering the number of pupils in the school, surprisingly few en¬ tered either stories or poems. It is to be hoped that a much larger entry will feature next year’s contest. With regard to the stories, the judges felt that the average story submitted was hardly of a standard worthy of High School students. There was a tendency to the “blood and thunder” type which too often tempts the amateur writer. The result, in most cases, is a cheap unwieldy mass of detail, lacking style and cohesion. Of the story which won first place, “The Passerby,” by Lovell Clarke, it may be said that the judges found no difficulty in fixing upon it as their unani¬ mous choice. It is written in a pleasantly discursive style. The plot is good and is worked up to a satisfactory climax. The story has atmosphere, which means that the reader re-lives the various happenings. Second place was awarded “It Happened Like This,” by Stafford Wilson. It has flashes of style of another variety. The characters are fascinating in their (Continued on page 58)