Saltus Grammar School - Yearbook (Hamilton, Bermuda)

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Port of Call, by H. Taylor, 5h THE KIND OF LIFE I HOPE TO BE LEADING A FEW YEARS FROM NOW As 1 gazed around myself, I saw the reflections of an amazing man, well-formed and rich of mind and soul. The room, heavily laden with trophies and awards, depicted the ferocity and brilliance of the man captivated before them by his own thoughts. His brows contorted, and his face tense, he pondered his position, for although he held the destinies of others in the palm of his hand, he had no control over his own. With a shrug of ' his shoulders, he strode out into the ornate hallway strung with the original sketches and paintings, which had made him the talk of the art-world, and had subsequently bestowed upon him the bulk of his fortune. His wandering carried him out into the lush gardens, sculptured into arabesque shapes and designs, depicting somewhat warped and illusionary scenes. Scattered among the sculptures of nature, were those of stone, which were cut along the same lines of thought. Grasping back into the further recesses of his mind, he withdrew the strand which would uncoil the series of bizarre memories. Cautiously, he strained, and then, suddenly, he was sixteen, living in all the freedom that a youth could desire. He had been an an ' ogant young man, challenging the cruel world to reduce him into oblivion if it could. His self-confidence had overcome all obstacles, and his assertion had earned him job after job. His employment had ranged from commercial art, to newspaper reporting, and each had met with financial success. Soon after, through diligence and skill, he had been elevated to the top. And his sapient ways led him to possess an incredible accumulation of wealth, in a relatively short time. At nineteen he was a multi-millionaire. Fame and wealth had made him the idol of the opposite sex. Leeches had come to his wallet as a vulture to a carcass. But he had feigned at their advances of love, and sought genuine companionship. Even then, his raw temperament had driven his lovers into fits of exasperation. ■ Flis lack of success in social affairs had led him to aimless acts to boost his morale. Thus he had entered the world of sports, subsequently reaching a professional level in both baseball and hockey. Hero-worship had been lavished upon an obscure name, which he lurked behind, unwilling to damage his intellectual status by revealing himself. He had evolved into a frustrated young man with amazing resources and capabilities, but so diverse that he could no longer function as one. He was harassed with demands from every side, and yet he met each and every demand, no matter how outrageous. Thus, he pushed himself to the limits of mental and physical endurance, until absolute fatigue enveloped him. In his exhausted, vulnerable state, the desire for stability had almost taken its toll. He had lusted for an average life, a family, and a small house, and at one point, renouncing his wealth to obtain this seemed a resonable bargain. But, the stronger lust for money, fame and recognition, had pummelled any such ideas back into the endless mazes from whence they had been born. And greed had repossessed its own. Violently he shook his head, erasing all thoughts of the past, and focusing his consciousness upon the pains of the present. Reaching into his pockets, he withdrew a shiny . fragment of glass fringed by gold, and peering from it into his eyes, was a man of twenty-one, with the marked facial lines and greying hair of a fifty year old. With a curse, he tossed the mirror to the ground, and that which had absorbed the vanity of a great young man, and had stolen his youth now lay strewn in pieces, small and insignificant. In seconds, the unique qualities had been dispersed, and in their place stood a humbled man, ready for a fresh start. Mark Aubrey, 4k Gliding Along, by G. Scaff, 2p

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DESCRIBE AN OCCASION WHEN ALL MEMBERS OF A FAMILY COME TOGETHER FOR A CELEBRATION As I reluctantly entered the magnificent garden of my client ' s morbid home, I couldn ' t help but notice a mutilated cluster of roses. After suppressing my inexorable desire to retreat to the safety of my car, I found the courage to ring the decrepit bell. A long chortle broke the timeless silence and. simultaneously, the towering doors creaked open. Then as I peered cautiously inside, a huge Cyclops appeared before me. The small, decorous room in which I awoke was exquisitely accented with early eighteenth-century furniture. Then, as my vision became accustomed to the lighting, I felt the presence of another in the room. Suddenly a voice from the shadows of the corner of the room sounded, followed by the emergence of a punctillious butler. With outstretched arms he handed me an ensanguined three-piece suit, which he asked me to put on. In return, using extremely invective language, I told him what he could do with the suit. Completely ignoring my unstately conduct, he continued to comport himself with the utmost dignity, informing me that the family was ' en masse ' in the ballroom, impatiently awaiting my arrival. My fellow lawyers had deprecated involvement with the Count Munster family. But I had insisted these remarks were derisory, and I thus derided their efforts as immature behaviour. Pencils, by S. Kitson, 1b North Shore dwelling, by D. Wellman, s.y. My involvement with the family began with Count Munster, the head of the family, coming to me for consultation in the completion of his application for status. Then there was the controversy over the parking ticket incident, followed finally by the Count having had me draw up his will. This was comprehensible, for the Count had previously informed me that his age had started to catch up with him. But the compunction only began when I received an invitation to the celebration of the Count ' s thirty-eighth birthday. I was compelled to attend this joyous occasion through my wife ' s reassurance that there must have been an error in the printing of the invitations. And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing, Today a civil servant, tomorrow, a digestive irregularity. But these so disheartening thoughts were abruptly ended by the interruption of my not quite ' compos mentis ' butler friend. Some time today, if you don ' t mind!, he bellowed stridently. I rose from the bed, and in constraint, put on the ghastly suit. Then, slowly, I walked to the door. Indecisively, I held the ivory door knob as I stood frozen in my place. Then, at the nadir of my fears, I threw the door open, revealing an endless dark corridor, poorly illuminated by a candle. Boldly I stepped out into the corridor and the cold of its floor penetrated the soles of my shoes instantly. The violent flickering of the candle flame produced scores of illusions throughout. Then, without warning, a draught extinguished the flame, incapacitating me for further venturing. It wasn ' t until after my eyes had grown fully accustomed to the darkness that I noticed a stream of light emerging from under a door. And so I headed towards the door, but as I neared my objective I began to hear what appeared to be the incessant beat of drums. After having finally arrived at my destination, I found the whole door pulsing with the rythmic beat. Overwhelmed with bewilderment I cracked open the door. It was then I recognised the incessant beat to be none other than ' In the Bush ' , of Musique ' s latest album ' Keep on Jumpin . Overcome with the urge to groove, I swung the door open, discovering the Munster family linked together in a train, rocking their way around a huge cake embedded with sixty- eight candles. Thus with the acknowledgment of my arrival, the party officially began. Charles Scott, 4k

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Headlines of Death, by S. Davidson, 1 b 3. s LOST IN A FACTORY A blast of icy wind caught the door and hurled it against my back and I was pushed inside the factory. I heard with alarm the lock click shut. I was filled with mystery. At the far end of the workshop I could vaguely see the eerie glow of the furnace. I walked cautiously across the clammy floor. A blinding flash of lightning lit up the great resting monsters on the factory floor, their iron muscles shining with oil. The thunder that followed shook the vast engines as though trying to awaken them. For a second I was deafened; as the thunder echoed away, the machines 4! came to life. I started, terrified, as the great furnace pump began its evening ' s work. The lightning played over the vast engines and their power seemed great. The great forklift truck stood with reaching arms as though daring me to approach. My mounting terror was now bordering hysteria. I ran towards the furnace where at least I could be warm. As I ran, the furnace door opened and a blast of red-hot air seared my face. The molten iron poured away along its familiar route and the light from the furnace made visible two night workers to whom I ran in profound relief. P. Clift lb