St Johns Ravenscourt School - Eagle Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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The world seemed a conflicting quagmire Of mixed emotions; Black was not back, nor was white white, But all feelings were veneered, and gave the world Tints of grey. Emotions of love and hate then came, Dressed in cloth of black and white, Which is which. Indefinable, yet infinite, Definite, yet intangible, But ever present and omnipotent, Ruling all under an obscure power Which controls the rulers of the land of transition. A vision of justice came to me, In a perfect symphony, Exhibiting the perfect harmony en masse Because the solos were flawless within themselves. All the solos were moulded Into a sound which fit. The fire was beginning to flicker When I caught a glimpse of truth; But only a glimpse, mind you, Because truth goes not hand in hand With emotion or justice, For the truth is undefined. The glimpse I saw, on that heavenly night, Was one of angels floating in fire, But the vision soon left me; It was above earthly ideals. The fire died slowly, And brought me away from these Heavenly thoughts, And back into alleged reality. The death of the fire Ended my sympotic flight, And made me gaze at the world Which we think real, But which is, in fact, A world of dreams and ideals. — Sandy ShandroVI ' ijk State, CkMmhf Sometimes as I look out my window, Staring into the cold whiteness which surrounds the night, I hear the wind hovering above, Seemingly endlessly swirling the snow into semi¬ madness. And I wonder what the wind will do After it has finished its work here tonight. Will it stay for a while And start again on tomorrow’s eve? Or will it move to some other inhabited isle, And make confusion rule in nature for a night or so, Whether the rebels be snow, sand, or sea. But how does he know when his labours are done? When the ship is sunk and the crew tossed? When the land is barren and the field lost? When the sand is the surface and the dwellings are no more? Or when the snow blankets the ground and man stirreth not? Is he guided by some mysterious light that maybe I have missed? So I look again and search the scene before me. And Behold! There to the north shines a faint glow Of some distant star which man has forgot, Which all this time has had in its plot, To undo all that man has done. And so be it with the existence of man. Where is his star, no matter how blurred, To guide him on his journey through life, And tell him when to stop and when to move on? Yet ’tis true: man had his light many years ago, But he himself put it out. And its reflection has grown very dim; Soon there will be darkness again. Who will help man then? — Charles Andison VI 87

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kCrndk The two men sat and talked in the little tavern. The time was late in the afternoon and the musty smell of sweat and tobacco smoke filled the crowded room. The room was not very spacious; huge old cedar timbers supported the low ceiling and acted as pillars. The table at which the men sat was of the same wood, burned on the top many times by lighted cigarettes being carelessly dropped on it. The two men were conversing in loud, slurred tones: both had been drinking steadily since noon. They seemed caught up in the intensity of their argument and paid no attention to the heavy din of laughter and chattering which filled the tavern. There jes’ can’t be such things or else, by now, we would have proof. Them scientists would find a way to prove it, sure as Hell.” The funny thing is, John, lots o people says there ain’t no such things as Ghosts, but veryfew ever would go to a place that was s’posed to be haunted by them¬ selves.” I would go alone”, said John. And I’d be willin’ to bet ten pounds ye wouldn’t”, Harvey replied after a pause. Aw right! It’s a bet. But how are ye going to test me. There ain’t no haunted houses or the like ’round here,” said John. He was certain he hadjust made him¬ self ten pounds. Do ye know the cemetery on Westminster Boule¬ vard?”, continued Harvey. ' Tes” I happen to know of an old burial vault on the right side of the entrance to the cemetery.” So” In that vault there is a candle. It’s been there for years. If ye go in there tonight and bring me the candle I’ll pay ye ten pounds.” Done” There was an autumn chill in the air. John did up the buttons on his old checkered jacket as he walked down the deserted road leading to the cemetery. Small gusts of wind stirred the dry autumn leaves into minia¬ ture whirlpools at his feet. As he walked he stared at his feet and thought about what he must do. It was close to midnight. The bare trees on either side of the road cast their shadows on the cracked pavement. The only sound was that of the scurrying leaves and somewhere in the distant fields a cricket would sound off. John suddenly felt very alone. He had not been aware of the feeling before and he shivered. As he neared the cemetery his sense of uneasiness grew until his heart began to beat quite heavily. He cursed himself for his feeling of apprehension and went on. He stopped at the entrance to the cemetery and got out his flashlight. The small beam of the flashlight pene¬ trated the darkness and finally came to rest on the door of the vault. Yes, he thought to himself, that was it for sure. The small burial vault was almost hidden by vines and overgrowth whose long thin fingers seemed to strangle the poor little building. The entrance to the crypt was a great iron door whose outside was rusted with years of misuse. When John reached the door he was surprised to find it swung open almost by itself. The sick, heavy smell of stagnant air filled his nostrils. He felt very tense. He had only one thought: to get the candle and leave. He was impatient and nervous. He would not have believed he could feel this way but there was something about the burial vault he very much disliked. Finally he spotted the candle through the murky darkness and quickly moved to get it. Outside there was a gust of wind which whipped the trees and just as John reached for the candle he suddenly felt something pull him backwards by his jacket. Constable McPheters did not like his job as police sergeant. He was bored. The tiresome job of writing a report of the death of one John Dempsey had been given to him. He did not like writing reports. Dampsey had been found dead three days previous in a burial vault in the cemetery of Westminster Boulevard. The autopsy had declared the cause of death to be a sudden heart attack and the time of death close to midnight, Tuesday. When McPheters had arrived on the scene Dempsey’s body was lying prostrate on the ground with one arm outstretched as if Dempsey had tried to reach for something. McPheters had noticed Dempsey’s checkered overcoat was caught in the vault door. But many questions still remained unanswered. Why was Dempsey in the vault? Why at such a late hour? What was he looking for there? McPheters had not noticed the candle. Mark Stethem Form VI The fire flared before me, As David before Goliath, As I sat in the midst of interminable woes And contemplated our transitory lives. I thought first of emotion, That unseen despot, Hidden by the emotional As the hypocrite hides hypocrisy. 86

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The day broke early, with the heavy morning mist still over the trees surrounding our camp. The bull baboon was letting the whole jungle know that he was waking up. Over at the water hole, just a few hundred yards from our camp the mighty elephant was trumpet¬ ing his delight at being the firstto drink. Some animals in the African bush enjoy the mornings but in the case of Mama Impala and her yearlings every morning is a threat for the big cats are hungry and either she or her yearlings would make a fine meal. Well, enough of this, I have my own breakfast to get as today we are hunting the swift and the sly Grevy’s Zebra! Ken quickly wakes up to the sweet aroma of the cooking Impala steaks and coffee. As he has a cup of coffee he is busily preparing our rifles for as one fault could mean a wounded animal or worse our life ... for when hunting the Grevy’s Zebra you have to hunt in dangerous lion and buffalo country. No words are ex¬ changed as we both go on about our preliminary tasks ... we both hope that today will be the kill, the sky looks as though it will hold the cloud around Mount Kilimanjaro if it does, we should be lucky, if not, we will have a lot of walking and hunting to do. The land-rover loaded; every thing that is breakable tied down; rifles in the gun receivers; breeches open; we’re ready. Entering the jungle trail, it is as though night has fallen once again for the dense overgrowth does not allow the sunlight entrance to the floor of the jungle. However this is where the zebra will sleep and this is where he will feed. Just as our eyes are used to the twilight atmosphere we break into a dazzling sun¬ light and we are on the edge of the plains of Kiliman¬ jaro. We leave the land-rover here to go and look for lays which is a bed of crushed grass where the Grevy’s zebra sleeps; or even some clue as to where they are hiding. The clouds hang around the mighty Kilimanjaro’s shoulders causing a shade right around the base. Fol¬ lowing the trees with his binoculars Ken finds our herd. Peacefully grazing on the slopes of the mountain. For four days they have eluded our sights but today they won’t! It will be rough going where they are so we will leave the land-rover and walk in. Ken and I are back in silence sensing each other’s movement, watching the wind, watching our step. Our biggest problem in the grass is the Black Mamba, Kenya’s most deadly snake. Ken motions me down as the stag is looking around. We are now about two hundred yards away and half a mile from the land-rover. Ken picks his mark and I have mine. Now the hunt really starts for there are two females with colts; this will be a one shot chance on the run. We adjust our scopes and set a range of about one hundred yards; we load our magazines alternating soft point and solid tipped shells. The clicks of the magazines start the herd grazing wider. Finally the break is made the shots are fired and our four days of hunt¬ ing are over for our zebra. We skin and slat the hides and after six hours we are turning into our camp tired, sunburned and hungry but proud and satisfied that we have got our zebra. We sit around our campfire laughing and joking planning our hunt for tomorrow. Fianlly going to bed after the Vervet monkeys chatter away at us, as though they are trying to tell us we are too noisy. Douglas Nesbitt VI 88