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

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Nineteen Fifty c+ 9 - PHOEBUS -(T ' fO A WALK IN THE SPRING Junior Poem Let us take a walk through the wood, While we are in this imaginative mood; Let us observe Nature ' s guiding hand, Throughout this scenic, colourful land. Along a rocky ledge there dwells A fairy with her sweet blue-bells; Singing and dancing through the day, Enchanting all things in her delicate way. A brilliant blue-jay scolds a rabbit, Lecturing him on his playful habit. A lovely butterfly flits through the air, As though in this world it hasn ' t a care. The many birds give their mating calls, Lovelier than the Harp in Tara ' s Halls: A wary doe and her speckled fawn. Creep silently along on their moss-covered lawn. Water cress line the banks of a stream That is the answer to a fisherman ' s dream; Teeming with trout and large black bass That scoot for cover as we noisily pass. The v-line of the geese reappear, Showing that spring is actually here; The swampy marshes are full of duck, In the water and on the muck. The air is filled with a buzzing sound, From above and from the (ground: The air is heavy with the scent of flowers, Of new buds, and evergreen bowers. This precedes Nature ' s endless show, Of all things, both friend and foe, Living in her vast domain, And under her wise rule and reign. Thus within her kingdom lies, Filling scenes for hungry eyes; Also treasures of this natural world, Which, if watched carefully, will be’unfurled. —David Suzuki — 13 —

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Nineteen Fifty PHOEBUS - r- o DOOMED FREEDOM Senior Composition I sat nervously in a large leather chair which almost swallowed me from sight. People around me were talking in low, muffled voices. My conception of the whole affair was hopeless but it had been planned and I was a victim of doomed life. Many people were wringing their hands with glee to see such an incident happen to me; others secretly wept. Someone touched my arm and motioned towards the door. This was it; my last ride of freedom. The car was ready, and when seated, I found myself flanked by two large men whose faces were tense with glee. No one spoke, for they all were thinking of my oncoming doom. I had given up hope for I realized too late, that there was no backing out. Destiny was not far off. The car lurched to a sudden stop. I was pushed out in front of a large stone, bleak looking building. There were cars on every side of the road, hundreds of people standing around, some sober faced, others with thirsty eyes, all waiting to enter and hear the official proceedings. I was directed into the building, down a hallway and into a small room, which was very stuffy. Here several men joined us and we all seated ourselves. The sun shone through the bleak windows; the room was sweltering, and the time slowly ticked by. In the silence, voices were heard, and many strange sounds of a large group of people were audible. A soft knock jolted every man to his senses. The door was opened and I slowly walked out into the large room before a huge mass of staring faces. I stood before a man who had ruled many cases like my own. His features were blank, his eyes cold and staring. When he spoke his voice was low and monotonous. He spoke for several minutes, then questioned me. I answered readily, for I was becoming tired and longed for the fresh air again. There was a pause; everyone was waiting breathlessly for these last words. He drew a deep breath, slowly raised his hand and announced in a slow, steady voice: I now pronounce you man and wife. —Garrett B. Smith 11A THE TROUBLES OF A TRAMP Junior Composition As the rain beat upon the paved street unmercifully, a bedraggled form staggered up the church steps and crouched into the protecting cranny. He dare not go in; at least not now while his mind was in its present turmoil. His confused thoughts came back no matter how hard he tried to push them out— thoughts of his wife, of his seven-year-old boy, Jimmy, of the comfort of the white cottage he had left years before to enter into this new world of harsh, cruel, brutal ways. A car crept along, shoving its way through the heavy curtain of rain, while he followed it with wistful eyes, wishing he were the driver driving back to Illinois, to his wife and child—what was the use of dreaming? That would never be. With a faint shrug of his shoulders, he stumbled down the steps, and slowly faded into the rain and mist, leaving behind, whirling in a muddy puddle of water, a picture—a picture of a woman and child. —Anne Bellez — 12 —

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Nineteen Fifty c+j - LIBRARY CLUB PHOEBUS - r o BACK ROW: Jean Dawson, Ois Hyatt, Dorothy Yeung, Joam? T nks, Thelma Burnfield, Mary Cornwall. Edith Dundas, Barbara Jean Mills, Faye Hillier, Joyce Thompson. CENTRE ROW: Ethel Kirk, Jacqueline Lcugheed, Frances Nichcls, Betsy Barnet, Irene Brown, Ursula Kurth, Margaret Elsley, Dcrine Shaw, Marguerite Galloway, Mary Hair- sin?, B ' tty Cooper, Juliet Cole, Dorothy Bunn, Dorothy Dawe, Pat Harii:on, Anne Wright, Audrey Jackson. FRONT ROW: Marilyn Bakes, Rita Friesen, Marjorie Robinson, Ann Bradley, Miss Ellwccd (librarian;. Sylvia Willras (president), Jane Anderson, Violet Waites, Anne Janosik, Katie Dama. THE WEALTHY ORGANIZATION t Again this year the hard-working Library Club members have contributed their part to the general welfare of the school. The Club is sponsored by Miss Ellwood, and under the direction of Sylvia Willms. At both the school and county meets, the Library Club had a profitable hot dog booth. The work done in the library is often unnoticed by the students, but every member of the Club deserves a great deal of praise for their splendid work and co-operation. — 14 —