Halifax Grammar School - Grammarian Yearbook (Halifax, Nova Scotia Canada)

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vampire bats. They carried the lid over the cauldron and sank in. All was deadly quiet. The pot boiled on. Still silence. Then the witches picked up a chart. Cauldron come, End is near, Creepy things Now appear. Enter in Never out. There goes Zabala With mushrooms about. Flutter of wings, Bring the lid. None stop the end, This we forbid. The new leader stepped into the light of the fire. A hush fell upon the crowd again. Zelda, the new leader spoke. Sisters, see the dull red fire, It looks on my heart ' s desire. When I drink the things within. Then my thirteen years begin. Stately as if already the great one, Zelda moved towards the cauldron. She took the lid off and threw it far away, out of sight. Slowly she lifted the cauldron and with a quick move of her hand, gulped down all within the cauldron. Now she had the power within her. A wave of her hand made the cauldron disappear. Sisters all, the dawn does come, Our simple task, now is done. Quietly now leave this place, With poise, elegance, and grace. In the utter silence the procession formed itself. Then suddenly, in one last farewell, the thunder and lightning redoubled their efforts, and slowly died away like witches ' laughter. Dropping petals. Fall from flowers. End is coming And it is ours. Srini Pillay , Upper Three 9 - 12 Prose 2ND PRIZE THE LIBRARY Rene: The library is the scene of a fascinating competition you say? Francois: Yes indeed, a daily contest takes place during school hours! Rene: Of what nature is this contest? Francois: It takes the form of a verbal battle. The librarian in all his wisdom, feels that a quiet library is best. He overlooks, of course, the insignificant point that he generally makes more noise than the disturbance he is attempting to quiet! Rene: An interesting aspect. What do the disrupters hope to gain? Francois : Well their strategy consists of making as much noise as possible, without getting ejected. They train in class, attempting to disturb everybody without being detected. Rene: But surely there are those who wish to work in the library? Francois: The number is negligible. There are rare occasions however, when an impending French test will quiet the library with amazing rapidity. Rene: French tests, then, are a tactic employed by the librarian to maintain silence? Francois: Not at all! You credit the librarian with too much guile. On the contrary, it appears that at such times the librarian seeks 18 revenge, constantly manoeuvring chairs and people. Rene: You would think this sufficient inducement for silence at other times! Francois: You underestimate the average student. He is a sly, unscrupulous, lazy creature, capable of all types of deception to ensure his pleasure. I could name innumerable such characters, but suffice it to say that the older the student, the greater his procrastination, and more important, the greater the versatility of his deceptions. Rene: How does the librarian compete against such odds? Francois: Well, constant training is required. For example, the librarian requires powerful, but durable, legs to cover the halls, library, and art room, while constantly having to get from one area to another with the greatest possible speed. A slow librarian never lasts. Rene: Does the librarian encounter any problems? Francois: Certainly there are those who object to being ostracized from the library, but for this the librarian has developed great eloquence. The quality of language frequently fluctuates in proportion to the age of the offending student. Rene: Where do ostracized students go?

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5 - 8 Poetry 2ND PRIZE WINTER As I step out the door, a frigid wind grasps me like glazed hands, The snow which fell the other night Feels like corn flakes under my feet. I look towards the tree with its brown leaves frozen to the branches. A chill grabs me with its frosty breath, And an old brown rat lies dead in a gelid corner. Now a turbulent wind grasps the frozen leaves and carries them, tumbling, down the lane. The brumal clouds bring the snow from the sky, Swirling like white doves dashed to glacial earth. My numb fingers swell under the wind ' s merciless breath, I am cold and the snow blows hard in my face. It stings like small icicles jabbing into my deadened flesh. I look towards my house with disbelief as if I didn ' t know it was there. I run as fast as I can with my frozen feet, And step in the house with a sigh of relief. Jay Bugden, U 2 Grades 9 - 12 Prose WITCHES, WITCHES The wind blew fiercely and the trees were knocked about like thistles on the prairie. The rain poured down in dense sheets of water. In the marshy swamps of Salem, the witches held a congress. To them, this was the most triumphant day of their lives. Witches arrived singly and in groups and always before 8:00 p.m. Those in silence; then, the great one entered. Cries of glee filled the dark air. Zabala was among them. They all bowed to their great leader and sat down. The meeting was held in the open and the thunder and lightning which came after everyone had sat down, pleased them all very much. This was the day they had waited for, for a long, long time. The purpose of the meeting was to choose a new leader. Zabala had filled her thirteen year term. Now, the end had come for her. All were dressed in ceremonial black. Their hands flew up as if to catch the wind which whipped about them. Even the mighty wind was restless, because of this evil gathering. Only gleaming eyes and white teeth could be seen in the scanty light, shed by the demon ' s fi re. With a wave of her bony hand, Zabala summoned a host of evil, crawling creatures of the day and night. Forward they marched, mini- zombies, obeying only Zabala. They put the pot on the fire and immediately jumped in. The substance within boiled and mixed itself and the insects together into a slimy mixture. So the ceremony went, as it had gone for thousands of years. Then, Zabala walked in stately manner towards the cauldron. Mushrooms old and smothered with fungus, appeared out of the air. They formed steps so Zabala could climb into the cauldron. At the top of the steps Zabala stopped and turned slightly to her left. She seemed to be gathering all her demonic powers for the moment of choice. Suddenly her eyes lighted and flashed through the darkness and a single figure in the throng was illuminated in a reddish light. She had indicated her successor. Then, she turned once again and descended into the cauldron, the mushrooms following close by as if alive. Another wave of her hand. The last command. A host of fluttering bats was heard. They carried the lid to the cauldron. The sound of their wings grew louder, louder, and still louder. A host of 17

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Francois: Well, they usually end up in the hall, where their strategy changes. The emphasis switches from library disruption to class disruption. The inherent advantage lies in not being in the class. The teacher is badly handicapped, having to divide his attention between the hall and the class. This tactic is known as division of your foe. Rene: Terrific! It ' s down to a fine art then? Francois: Oh yes, but it is essential when employing these harassing tactics, to watch for the roving librarian. If detection takes place, the student ends up back in the library. This is a truly despicable fate. Rene: It would seem so. Francois: However there is a last retreat for these students. The washrooms are frequented to obtain a little peace. Rene: The librarian doesn ' t cover the washrooms? Francois: Rarely, if ever. This is the students ' last resort, and a cornered student is a vicious and dangerous animal. His verbosity then knov s no bounds. Rene: An interesting place, this library, does it have any good books? Francois: Well, I really don ' t know! 9 - 12 Poetry 1ST PRIZE POEMS How much easier a smile found, with brush, paint, and paper faces, than true eyes. POEM 4 Two prints in sand, and gone again is man. Robbie Finley, Upper Five POEM 6 The music of an age played quick and gone; And notes and strings will bend to some new time, find a new rhythm, and far outlive their past masters. Peter Bryson, U 6 Robbie Finley, U 5 2ND PRIZE THOUGHTS Thoughts wander through my head. Of thing unmade, of words unsaid, Thoughts that burn like coldly glowing fire, Burning in huge flame, upon Satan ' s funeral pyre Till it has consumed and lusts for more. In this manner — thoughts — through my mind passages — bore — Riddling my brain with tunnels and holes— A truly adequate abode for mind moles. Like gleaming knives, they cut and slash. Making hopes and plans, little bits of trash. They smother and choke — as one eternal noose— Into my mind ' s corridors, then let loose. Squirming, viriggling parasites, that gouge and devour Sapping my mind of its strength and power. No more! I shriek, but all in vain. Constantly drilling, they come on again. Till they have sculptured a work of art That aligns itself with my soul and heart. For however brutal logic attempts to prevail, It cannot do otherwise than miserably fail. Laurence Gillespie, Upper 3 19