Saltus Grammar School - Yearbook (Hamilton, Bermuda)

Page 15 text:

of the shark, whose jaws had closed around his muscular torso, compressing the wealth of intestine and muscle therein. The odour of his own blood was strong and acrid, and lie felt faint. With his last burst of energy, he thrust three fingers of his left hand into one of the monster ' s eyes, scraping at the flaccid eyeball until all that remained was one white, squirming socket. It worked! The creature released its grip and retreated to the depths. Mitty ' s lungs ached for air. His head broke the surface just as an overwhelmed Mrs. Swift opened the door. His tortured, maltreated body was escorted into the Headmaster ' s office, which smelled distinctly of wet paint. He seated himself in the Headmaster ' s chair. Just as he felt his mind begin to drift, he was rudely awakened by the untimely arrival of Mr. Stephenson. The Headmaster, barking and appearing to froth at the mouth, snatched Mitty ' s lapels with his groping fists and forced him into an eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation. Mitty struggled frantically to restrain from gazing into the bloodshot eyeballs of the senior mas ter. Before he knew it, he was obeying an order to touch his toes and preparing his rear for the Headmaster ' s expert cane-wielding. But nothing happened. 30 seconds passed. A minute. Startled, Mitty looked up, and instead of viewing the awesome figure of Mr. Stephenson and cane, his eyes fell upon one of the most gruesome creatures he had ever seen. Fighting down his rising bile, his mind registered the significance of the mottled green flesh, protuding antennae and twin compound eyes. Before Eric P. Mitty, on this overcast morning in mid-September, stood none other than a visitor from a distant galaxy. As the alien approached, Mitty wrestled out of his precarious position and prepared for combat. The creature responded by emitting a light-ray which obliterated the desk behind him. The brave Mitty was left with no alternative but to flee. He sprinted longer and faster than he could ever recall doing on Sports Day, and he could feel the adrenalin and blood pumping vigorously round his tiring frame. He closed his eyes, feeling his head on the verge of detonation. When he re-opened his eyes, he saw that he was heading directly for a sharply-cut cliff-edge. He attempted to arrest his frantic pace, but his efforts were in vain. The immense velocity he had attained ensured that the body of Eric P. Mitty sailed off the cliff, twisted and spiralled in the air and accelerated downwards at a mind-boggling rate. After what seemed like an eternity, the body of Eric P. Mitty finally crashed on the razor-sharp rocks below. The steel-grey water lapped lullingly around the seemingly lifeless — but still intact — body. Mitty dared to open his eyes; slowly at first, but finally he managed a wide stare. And I trust you will not want to repeat the experience you just went through? , aske d a triumphant Mr. Stephenson, still rubbing his cane with a cloth soaked in linseed oil. Mitty, amazed at the understatement the question insinuated, remained motionless for a few seconds. Then, wiping the sweat from his brow with trembling fingers, he emitted a hollow sigh and buried himself in the traditional upper corridor crush that had formed outside the office . . . S. Bagen, s.y. WHY ARE PEOPLE BORED? People are bored because they receive too much one- sided entertainment. Humans have one great distinction over animals and that is creativity. During the last decade creativity has dwindled. Frequently man does not want to Running for Home, by P. Clinton, s.y. entertain himself, he wants to be entertained. Does this mean creativity will continue to shrink in importance in our lives? I believe so, unless we take affirmative action. Man will have increased technological advancements in years to come and so will have more leisure time, therefore more time for one-sided entertainment. The question is, will this extra time be used creatively? A classic example of one-sided entertainment is television. People watching television receive stimulus from it — a laugh ... or perhaps a feeling of sorrow, depending on the subject-matter. They do not have to contribute anything. People ' s thoughts and opinions are not required and most often do not change the television ' s subject matter. The television turns them from their natural creative instincts into persons dependent upon others for entertainment. What would you do on a rainy Saturday? Would you paint a picture or start a model ship rather than watch television? I ' d watch TV, most would say. This would indicate a lack of creativity. Most bored people don ' t think of things to do. They just sit around bored, being entertained. One wonders what would happen to these people if entertainment ceased . . . Parents have the ability to help their children do creative things. If they cut down the time which their children spent watching television then the children would be forced to be creative. Hobbies are an obvious outlet for the creativity of the human mind. A stamp-album or a coin collection or even a bottle collection can give hours of creative pleasure in the sorting and ' filing ' of the specimens. However, children need their parents guidance to show them how to be creative. Parents could also enroll children in athletic activities, such as baseball and soccer for boys and horseback riding and dancing for girls. There should be Government- sponsored programmes of athletic and leisure activities so that people of all economic backgrounds could participate. Adults are on their own and so have to have the incentive to become creative by themselves. Government can help here also with sponsored activities and educational television. More complex hobbies would do excellently for adults. Crafts such as macrame, woodcraft, weaving, leatherwork, carving etc. — the list is endless. A family project is also a great outlet for creativity. The family would or could contribute to raising some livestock or gardening, building a boat . . . or jogging together for better health. Enrich your life, let your creativity shine through so others may also enjoy a lost part of themselves, creativity! Brian Hughes, 4k

Page 14 text:

THE BOXER There he sits defeated and disowned His hopes and dreams are smashed Sweat pours off his body and face His eyes fixed far away Every scar is visible His hair sticks together Looks like rats tails His pride is down He knows he ' s past it His nose is stubbed By fights gone by Every pore is present Like an orange His eyes are deep set He knows he ' ll never Fight again. M. Turner, lb A DESCRIPTION OF A PERSON She was a tall, hard-featured lady, but by no means ill- looking. There was an inflexibility in her face; but her features were rather handsome than otherwise, though unbending austere. I particularly noticed that she had a very quick, bright eye. Her hair, which was grey, was arranged in two plain divisions, under what I believe would be called a mop-cap: I mean a cap, much more common then than now, with side-pieces fastening under the chin. Her dress was of a lavender colour, and perfectly neat — but scantily made, as if she desired to be as little encumbered as possible. I thought it in form more like a riding-habit, with the superfluous skirt cut off, than anything else. She wore at her side a gentleman ' s gold watch (if I might judge from its size and make) with an appropriate chain and seals. She had some linen at her throat not unlike a shirt-collar, and things at her wrists like little shirt wristbands. 1 called her the dreamer, for it seemed that in the back of her mind, she was thinking about once more becoming a child, if that was possible! She used to dream of things she ' d do When grown to be a woman, Beguiling childhood years away With many an idle plan. And now, when grown to be a woman, She knew no greater joy Than dreaming of the things she ' d do If still she were a girl. Mrs. Meant-to has a comrade And his name is Didn ' t-do; Have you ever chanced to meet them? Did they ever call on you? These two people live together In the house of Never-in And I ' m told that it ' s haunted By the ghost of Might-have-been. Grant Brandson, lb Gather round - I ' ll tell ' ee ci telle . . . MITTY VISITS S.G.S. Eric P. Mitty straightened his red and blue tie, arching his back painfully as his slender body was propelled by the enormous power of the twin 6,000 h.p. engines. With re- markable dexterity, he forced the streamlined vehicle into a crisp, neat slide, carefully avoiding the lions as they snapped at his bronzed thighs. He bit his lower lip as his alert eyes caught sight of the oil derrick edging nearer. Preparing for the impact, he thrust his head between his knees and his hymn-book tumbled noisily to the floor . . . Mitty! shouted an enraged Mr. Stephenson, his face showing wrinkles akin to a compressed accordion. Report to my office immediately after this assembly! Mitty ' s gaze drifted from the livid silhouette thirty feet in front of his row as he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. He maintained his indifference by remaining absolutely limp throughout the hymn, ignoring the frantic spasms emanating from Dr. Duncan ' s piano. A little later, he found himself whistling quietly as his feet paved a route along the top corridor, ending abruptly on the office doormat. As he rapped on the painted wood, he felt his whole body undergoing a sudden transformation. He fought wildly to keep his head from being dragged underwater, and he pounded his fists against the flat nose Survival, by M. Aubrey, 4k

Page 16 text:

ONCE IN A FARAWAY PLACE Stage Directions: Smoke on stage; two opposing colours. Dim figures in the back. GOD: In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God. The name was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him, and without him was not anything that was made. In him was life, and the light of man and the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. DEVIL: I seem quite solid though. Why am I here then — I who offered the world to the light ? (Musing) Got to admit, though . . . guts he had, and he refused. You realize he could have the whole thing sewn up. GOD: I am Alpha and Omega: There is no way to heaven but by me. DEVIL: Gan it, please? We don ' t have . . . GOD: And at the time of judgment the book of names shall be . . . DEVIL: Opened. Good guys left, bad guys right — quick march! Fiery lakes of Hell and eternal burning, second coming the rapture; I ' ve had two thousand years of it. Can we talk? GOD: What is your purpose here? Be still; I know the time is coming. DEVIL: But it isn ' t. It ' s not like it was anymore — black and white, good and bad; I could see clearly then. Now I am blinded by neon glare and corporate infighting and personal revenge and legal lust and justifiable homicide. GOD: The time of judgment is nigh; there shall be Babylon. There will be blood in the streets, and the first born of all the first born shall grow withered and ugly. That which is foretold is eternal and nigh. DEVIL: You naive fool! It is not the way it is supposed to be! Look, I got a guy down — this was a few years ago — one of your guys, a minister. He started prayer meetings in his area and from his collection he bought stocks from one of my assistants — let the people have pride in their homes, you know — and now he is running a golf course and pub. This was all a few years ago; imagine what ' s been going on since then. 1 myself haven ' t been down in quite a while; I ' ve been with the people — your people — trying to clear the mess; make it just good and bad again. I ' ll bet by now I ' ll have lost control if this stock thing has continued. People are no longer Hell material Anyway we have to do something — anything. Please? GOD: And all things shall pass away, dust to dust, ashes to ashes. When Christ comes in the time of the Apocalypse, the old shall be made new, the dead shall be lifted and made young and all shall stand before the seat of judgment. Samson ' s Revenge, by I. Gilbert, 2h Dawn, by P. Clinton, s.y. And the Book of Numbers shall be opened and all whose names are not found shall be cast into the Lake of Fire. DEVIL: Can ' t you see? Can ' t you feel? You who are all things know nothing. Look around you — you ' ve lost control. Look at the religious suicide in South America and we all know that I ' m not the boss. You and I have not faced each other in years . . . GOD: Get thee behind me, Satan! DEVIL: Get thee, get thee behind me, Satan. Ha! Where would you like me to stand? Here? Over there — here? (Points to God ' s side of the stage. Smoke mingles.) GOD: Be silent and gone — gone and silent. You have been defeated and turned aside — go back. DEVIL: No — Heaven ' s pawn? All has changed. Why this creation? This mass bastard with no origin? You started it all, you provided the excuse for all this. You! You! You! You! (Beam on pointing hand.) GOD: Get thee behind . . . DEVIL: Silence. Silence and be gone — take all with you. All. (There is silence, then a great wailing noise. God is no longer there). Hans Jorstad, s.y. The Cedar, by P. Clinton, s.y.