Leamington District Secondary School - Phoebus Yearbook (Leamington, Ontario Canada)

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Nineteen Forty-Eight r -o - JUNIOR POEM —First Prize TWILIGHT The sun begins to hide in the west. The streaked sky ' s aglow. Then silently, eventually. The evening shadows grow. A misty look approaches. It fills the fragrant air, The flowers all are closing. The world grows slightly leare. When all is but a silhouette, The trees all tall and weird. The soft sweet calling of the birds. The day has disappeared. Then one by one the twinkling stars Shine through the pale gray eve. Then in and out the fireflies Their mysterious pattern weave. —Joanne Rome, 9E. SENIOR POEM —First Prize ETIQUETTE IN DISGUISE Two gossiping ladies, befurred and bejeweled. Cultured and probably privately schooled. Were strolling the street, arm linked in arm, And, outwardly, seemed to be doing no harm; They were out for exercise (mostly of chin). What is the news? Well, let ' s listen in. ' Heavens, there ' s Clara! Look at that hat! Too much lipstick, and hopelessly fat! Why must she always look like a hag? We iust can ' t possibly chat with the bag! Let ' s stop at this store to see the display. My goodness, she saw us! She’s coming this way! Clara, darling, how have you been? What is your method for getting so thin? Aren ' t we fortunate meeting you here? Really your hat is flattering, my dear! Like to join us, for a friendly snack? What! You can ' t? You must hurry right back? Clara apologized and continued by. Thank goodness she did, for she escaped a great sigh, ' Cause if she had joined them the pair would have wept. Isn ' t it lucky she couldn ' t accept? Two gossiping ladies, relieved yet perturbed. Now strolled vainly onward, discussina the third. Clara ' s a terrible person to know. She ' s flattering; doesn ' t her jealousy show? She called us darling and praised your dress. Does she think we believed her? Definitely yes! Praise is so tiresome, but doesn ' t she love it! She looks like a million! Yes. every dav of it! Marie Will, 12A. II PHOEBUS -

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PHOEBUS Nineteen Forty-Eight c j -—- Jhh. zzciz ■ l j Literature is the immortality of speech —ScHLEGEL. SENIOR COMPOSITION — First Prire WITH DEATH DIES HATRED Andrew Bradley was a venerable little man. He had been a faithful employee of McNaughton and Smith, Publishers, London, England, for nearly thirty years now. Never complaining outwardly, and executing his clerical work patiently, he inwardly entertained a suppressed violent rage at the younger men who had entered the business with an education and had rapidly risen to be his superiors, but, most of all, he hated his employer. As he sat at his desk, a plan began to form in his demented mind. He must teach these proud, insolent young men a lesson without allowing them to rectify any wrong they had committed against him. One bv one, he became acquainted with them, entertained them at his bachelor apartment, tor no woman would have him, ate his lunch with them and learned their habits. That was his method, to learn their idiosyncrasies not too openlv at first, so as not to give them any grounds to suspect him of an ulterior motive, and then to strike hard and effectively. He must destroy all those who had had the audacity to accept a promotion, disregarding his seniority. The morning papers carried a startling story. Major, a young executive in the McNaughton and Smith firm, had been accidentally killed in a subway while waiting for his train after taking his nightly walk in downtown London. A little of the hate was gone from Andrew Bradley ' s eyes. The next few months brought three more deaths to the offices of a particular publishing company in London. One interesting suspect, common to all four fatalities, that was overlooked, was that all four had ' accidentally di« d while D a rform na some ins’ani cant habit to which they were accustomed. A grissly coincidence! London muttered. If one could have observed Andrew Bradley, one might have seen a little more of the hatred vanish from his eves after each death. A few weeks later, the general manager of his firm suffered a brutal attack. The assailant had fled, leaving a knife in his victim ' s groin. Little Andrew Bradley went to work as usual the next day. His eyes, now, were comoletelv void of the burnina hate. A buzzer rang, summoning him into his employer ' s office. Automatically, he rose at the sound and went to enter the room. Suddenly, he stopped. His thoughts pounded at his temples. This was not possible. Panic-stricken, he entered the room, where his senses fled at what he saw; the old look of hate returned. There were the five men he had murdered, waiting for him to join them in a business conference. He lurched forward, tripping on the rug as he went, and fell. An old man had died; with him had died a fiery look of hate, and a too vivid imagination, which had conjured up the sound of a buzzer and five apparitions. —John Turnbull, 13A. 10

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PHOEBUS Nineteen Forty-Eight C ' - 5 -tr- o JUNIOR COMPOSITION — Firs! Priie SUSPENSE The night was dark and stormy. The wind howled around the corners of the old. dark house, beating at the window, as if demanding to be let in. The trees in the yard were whipped by torrents of swishing rain, seeming to come alive, grasping and catching with their outstretched, tortured limbs any living thing daring to venture out on this evil night. This picture was impressed on the mind of the young man as he lay in his bed. He lay there, being tortured by evil, frightening thoughts pounding at his brain. He could not sleep. He lay rigid, willing himself to relax and to slumber, and failing. He kept remembering the story he had read only the night before. A story of cold-blooded, gruesome murderl He could picture the murder setting as the wind shrieked and blasted at his window. He could see a tall, bleak figure shrouded in black, creeping beneath the trees. The moon, shining for a frightened moment through billowing, racing groups of black war chariots roaring across the sky, shone on the advancing menace, showing in the gray, ghostly light, a long, sinister dagger, clutched in a scrawny, witch-like hand. Unexpectedly, the figure sneaked behind a tree, and was lost from sight of the voung man. Suddenlv, a Diercing scream rang out! A shattering, nerve-wracking scream, which chilled the blood of the young man. He froze in his bed! Again came a scream, this time more urgent, more chilling than the first! And then quick relief and sanity, and more than a little self-disgust, ran through the young man as he heard the impatient voice of his wife saying, John, won ' t you please get up and give Junior his bottle? —Faye Hillier, 10A. THE LIBRARY CLUB FRONT ROW: Miss Lowing, Shirley Hyatt. Eleanor Tomuick, Ann Bradley (President), Dorothy Hillier (Secretary Treasurer), Joanne Mills, Elfroeda Unrau. SECOND ROW: Irene MacDonnell. Irene Krueger, Doris Moss, Sylvia Willms, Gloria Hope, Erna L. Klassen, Bob Mitlon, Colleen Siddall, Shirley Snell. Gladys Upcolt. Mary Kay, Mary Grace Jackson, Eileen [ones