Port Perry High School - Hilltop Yearbook (Port Perry, Ontario Canada)

Page 59 text:

iJfiUiC,Q?Ql,,lil3 it ,ali-.zufitgli-5 WI would make all boys learn English, and then I would let the clever ones learn Latin as an honour and Greek as a treat. 7ut the only thinq I would whin them for is not knowinq Enrlish. I would whin them hard for that.W So said Winston Churchill in a book describing his early life. Ever since his beginnina, man has improved his methods of transfering thouaht to a fellow being. From Qrunts,'siahs, and other noises, he has slowly develooed a method of soeech or lanauaae. Our own oarticular tongue, English, reached its peak in the classic years of Shakesneare. Churchill would have all boys learn Enqlish and whip them hard for not knowina it. Before we can aaree or-disamree with this, we must consider whether it is best to nreserve the smooth flowinr majesty of Shakesnearean lanquaae, or to hermit the use of cont- ractions, slang, and other imperfections which form such a larae part of modern colloquial Enrlish.f Certainly the lanquave is not imoroving in beauty, but perhaps it is improvina in efficiency of its original purnose: to transfer men's thouahts. If this be the case, then boys will keen in contact with the changes in the language through everyday use. kr. Churchill mentions studying the classics as an honour and as a treat. Few people will agree that it is a particular honour, or a great treat to study Latin and Greek. But if he wishes to preserve the poetic beauty of the written word, and to instill this in the mind of boyhood, where could Dr. lf' Churchill find a better choice than in these stately and what is more important, unchangina lansuaqes. Gary Lawrence

Page 58 text:

Ordeal by Nancy Kight We waited on and on listening to the clock's muffled tick. The quiet of the room seemed so incongruous to the tumult that each person felt. The sun unconcernedly crept across the white marble floor making a pattern from the window shades and some- where beyond a nurse's quiet tread could be heard. Great noises from a distant seemed to muffle as they reached this little room that was to us the whole world. Terror struck me again and inside me something fell. Somewhere beyond that white door my mother lay dying. I could imagine the quiet little doctor walking out and in his quiet and sorrowful voice saying that my mother was dead. I wondered idly how the others must feel. It was my fault but it was over now. Why must they stare with reproach in their eyes? My brother was sitting with the nerves in his chin so taut that you could almost feel the tension. WDoes he hate me?N I wondered. And my father stood there tragedy looking out from his dry eyes. HDoes he wonder why God ever let me live without hurt?W my thoughts said. He couldn't see that my heart wasn't there anymore. No, my father wouldn't hate me. He'd hate himself for letting such a fool as I take my mother anywhere. He'd probably not forgive himself or me for the rest of his life. Then I looked at the man from the other car and wondered what he was thinking. His nonchalance was brutal as he sat flipp- ing pages of a magazine. He was probably wondering if he could get a new car out of it. WGood Lord he could have ten cars if only mother livedw ran my chaotic thoughts. Somewhere the distant sound of a factory whistle sounded, I wondered what difference it made if anything ever happened again. Still no sound broke the bitter and desolate quiet. Then sudddenly my eye caught a browned motto on the wall. I gazed for a few minutes then something inside me seemed to lift, Hope filled my heart. I looked up and my father's eyes met mine and I knew he too had seen it, My brother smiled a little and I knew there was forgiveness there too. Then the door opened. Every breath in that room was held as the doctor who stood on the threshold said, WYour mother lives,W Just before we went so jubilantly from the room that had been the whole world to we three, I turned again to the motto that hai ont- seemed shabby. It was glowing now. It read WForgive us our trespasses.W

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WHEH THE SCHOOL BUS COMES With hark and whoop and wild halloo The kids march down the halls of school, It's four o'clock of Friday night And everyone is in a terrible fight, First on with the rlbbers and then the coat, Then there's an elbow in the eye and someone's lost a tie. Then books go sliding across the floor And everyone's being pushed out of the door. Then someone yells, Wlfve forgotten my book.W And tramps on your toes when going back to look Youfre not safe and sound till you are off the bu and home Then you can quietly read a book While bathing your poor squashed toes, CHARLOTTE BULLER THE SILLY COW The silly cow all white and red Thought it was time to go to bed. She went into the barn and lay down on the hay And she stayed there all the rest of the day. She woke up in a little while with a start, And found out with great surprise it was dark She said to herself Ely goodness it's night I must've gone to bed when it was light.n Uv .1 .ull-.J .Q THE E 3 1132.3 Over the hill and away we go To enjoy a sleigb ride in the snow Johnny has a sleigh and I do too, And we started to rid' when the cold wind blew We went down'the hill like a bullet from a gun And, oh! boyidid we ever have fun, But in a little while we grew very cold And went into the house to hear a story told. Mary Louise Pickard