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

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THE BOND OF MUSIC Music is a universal language which not only endeavors to sever the barrier of communication between diverse nationalities, but also endeavors to institute a mental telepathy between man and animal. As such an interpreter, music has developed numerous styles to concatenate with prevailing traditions, guiding spiritually and physically. Life of the past has also been transmitted, in its different phases, through music, a distinct idiosyncracy of the different epochs. Such music is still appreciated today, although it originated many years past, and validates the power of communication which allows music to conquer time. Music has become the literature of man’s emotions, the passion of mind which has developed the world into a switchboard of war and social pressure. Both man and animal have many thoughts which cannot be expressed, but music has completely dissolved this impediment into a saturated composition of mind and spirit. Although all animals alone—cannot produce the music, they are continually attracted by its magnetic field, a field of sonority transformed into a solitary emotion. These emotions, as human emotions, have been constituted to inaugurate a new phase of life which can be understood by all nations. Music, in its precalent structures, has promoted peace among countries as the universal element which conjoins their otherwise diversified interests and powers. As such an element, music must be promoted to advance equally with the expanding forces of our world. Music as a tradition has given man the initiative to improve himself and his country. This music imprints suc¬ cessfully its own purpose and materialize it into incentive for nationalism. With such a purpo se, music acquires the form of an anthem, the expansive force which conjoins the individuals of a country into a powerful constitution to enrich its goal. Personal traditions institute established forms of music to validate the custom and to enliven its purpose. The most customary of these forms is the Christ¬ mas carol, a fashion which has grown in strength and ac¬ ceptance to institute an element which strengthens the resolution of the individual to improve his own condition and to exhilarate his success. In this way, tradition induces man to conquer the resilient elements which repel his expansion. As a chronicle, music has brought to us the life and thoughts of the past in the classical music which is highly accepted by society today as an improtant source of knowledge. Although the younger generation has instituted a popular form of music, it does not have the power to rival with classical mucic. Classical music expands the events of history which have been detailed in literature and at the same time contains the hidden description of life in the past. The early seventeenth century music of Johann Sebastian Bach implies a daintiness which inevitably procures the traditions of his time. Classical music not only satisfies a knowledge of the past, but also provides the harmonious entertainment which today promotes society to an organized and stable pattern of life. This is certainly quite a contrast to the disorder of music which is being produced by our younger generation. Classical music is the basis of a stable society, and therefore the foundation of a powerful world. Music is the center of infinite rays which diffuse out as constituents of amelioration in the existent world enigmas. The bond of music has penetrated the barriers of world expansion and is now attempting to destroy them. As a powerful solvent of unity, music will slowly disintegrate the opposing forces and attempt to constitute world expansion in our forboding environment, the endless universe. Stephan Kruegar Form III 83

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MOONBEAM It lay draped in the sky line some malevolent serpent, its knowing, venomous sneer beamed the blackest of all light earthward on to the cringing animals and cowering evergreens. It shone on the queerly sparkling lake that revelled in evil ecstacy at the light of the moon. The morning found the three hunters paddling into an unnamed lake high in the Canadian north. The guide provided an incessant but uninteresting dialogue that drifted over the water and then faded into nothingness, unloved and certainly unwanted. Sometimes, however, he came out with some profound statement or interesting thought. “Well,” thought Jim Bartell in the front of the canoe, “give a monkey a typewriter and eventually he’ll spell a word.” Red Hollings slept in the middle of the canoe. He was prodded out of this blissful state by the guide, who in his sargeant-major voice bellowed out that they were the first men to pass through these waters in over 250 years, and they were the first white men ever to set foot near this lake. Red Hollings, now awake, asked why the lake was deserted. He pointed out that there were many animal tracks in the area and so food would be plentiful. “Gentlemen, it’s just that the Indians are scared stiff of this place. They say it has spirits that are more evil than the Wendigo.” Both men looked at the guide with surprise. They knew the stories of the Wendigo; the evil spirit who roamed the woods. It seemed surprising that the Indians could hold something in greater dread than the Wendigo. Jim Bartell posed the question, “Did all this start 250 years ago when the last Indian came here? ” The answer came quickly, “Oh, no! Ever since the Indians can remember this place has been taboo, but over 250 years ago a strong brave tried to raise himself above mortal status by defeating the spirits. He never came back, and nobody ever went to look for him. They say it happens in the night.” The two men in the front of the canoe had the idea at the same time, “Let’s camp here.” At first the guide tried, almost hysterically, to lure them somewhere else—anywhere else, but, after many reflections on his courage by the other two men he relented, and paddled into shore. They swung into the now routine task of setting up tent and chopping wood. However, as the day advanced, the guide became more and more disquieted. This panicky feeling could not help but rub off on Red and Jim. The woods began to change, slowly, stealthily; its changes were tiny and insignificant but it was changing sure enough. The once bright woods became sombre, brooding. It was now a forest, not of trees, but of fear. The guide looked at the sun and made his decision, he had about an hour to get away. He told the men that he was going to take the canoe out of the lake and up the river and camp there and return in the morning to collect the equipment. He pleaded with them to come with him, away from the lake, but Jim and Red mocked him. He looked at them with pity in his eyes, entreated them one more time to come with him and then paddled quickly out of the lake and up the river. The sun sank below the rim of trees and the moon rose. The men edged closer to the fire. Beyond their puny circle of firelight lay a forest and a lake that they now feared. All at once the fire flared up and abruptly went out. Moonbeams girated wildly, catching the two men and flickering them into the lake now tumultuous with phospherescent specks. Red and Jim were led by dancing spectres that writhed gleefully in the fiery moonbeams. They led them past altars where lustrous Things danced and slaughtered other indescribable monstrosities. Everywhere there was dancing and singing. Somewhere a giant organ croaked out evil sounding melodies. Creatures that did not invite close inspection growled hideously and devoured screaming victims. Everywhere incense was contributing its acrid, pungent fumes. Custom-made tortures were made to bear on Red and Jim. Indescribable tortures that made mock of man’s own attempt in the art. And then c ame the ultimate torture. Fiery moonbeams swarmed over the two men, and ever so slowly baked them alive. The guide paddled up to the shore in the early morning. His eyes averted the singed and mutilated bodies. He was still terrified by the screams he had heard in the night. He put the food into the canoe and quickly paddled off. —Laurence Mardon Form III THE DREAMERS There’s always something new to do today; Old things are quickly done with, pass away From all our senses; but our mind Retains a pleasant memory of things past. The happiness, the color and the pain, Come back to life just as they were before; Creating in the present, what was past; A dreamlike image of reality. Escape from life cannot be found in dreams; The present binds us up within a wall, A concrete wall, from which there’s no escape; No chance to break the stifling bonds of life ’Til death provides us with a better way, And all humanity is nought but dust. —John Bredin Form V 82

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AN UNCONQUERABLE MASS The sea is something to be feared and to be liked. It is an example of luck. As Ian Fleming wrote, “Luck has to be accepted with a shrug or taken advantage of to the hilt.” It roars and pounds. It is lethal and should not be played with. It is almost unconquerable. But to conquer something you must know it. This is the fatal mistake and should be avoided. The sea can do terrible things but it still remains as a major attraction for foolhardy young hot-heads. The sea unfortunately has a mystic quality which it keeps using as bait to uncertain young men who hope to find adventure and romance without them over exerting themselves. But the sea soon repays them and they know it as they sink below the surface, bedraggled hulks of human beings. But on the other hand, to conquer the sea is a tri¬ umph almost unparalleled. It shows how puny a man is when he stands up to shuddering cascades of water. It is a power that when unleashed sends boats scurrying like ants from the horny snout of an anteater. After a single-handed triumph a man knows how precarious life is. He knows he is balanced on the edge of a bottomless pit waiting, waiting for the fateful moment which has to come, if a man returns back, he shows not the same foolishness again, but a feeling of freedom and knowledge of life as a thing. It seems impossible a man can fall in love with the thing that kills him, but it happens. The sea can be grey, green or blue or almost even black. But the sea also hides things like coral and sea fans. It seems these beautiful things do not belong in the sea which is just an oily, gushing and flowing mass. The sea is living not in the way we consider life but in a spirit which could be life. The sea is grey mark but can sometimes have a serenity that a student of yoga would envy. At other times it shows a wiliness and sheer exertion of sheer power which shames such a toulike thing as the atom bomb. It can rock a boat as gently as a mother and then smash it with its freight of human cargo to a pulp almost ready to be made into a newspaper. Then the sea digests it using voracious reptiles and the age old system of rotting. To an ordinary person it means death, until he has lived with it at which time he comes above our so called ordinary person, the thing about the sea is it shows us who we really are. It can either break a person or make him. The lethal question is: WHICH ONE? James Hutchison Form II DEATH The fiery sun was past its peak, and shone down mercilessly from the azure heavens, upon the placid waters of the lake. All was calm. All was silent. Then, as if the dazzling silence was too good to last, a foul earsplitting roar ripped the air into shreds of turmoil. The dragboats were out. Artificial thunder rippled across the water again and again as pistons whined and propellors whipped the tranquility into frothy fury. The shark-nosed monsters were all ready and belched furiously as they eased up to the start on now choppy waters. The gun cracked, and simultaneously, a dozen whini ng propellors churned, drivers cursed, and the fans roared as the streamlined fiberglass hulls sped away from the start and began the gruelling course. Knifing the waters out in front at the tumal tucrus pack two boats whizzed recklessly along, side by side, grappling for the ever so precious lead. The water boiled as the two skimmed along, neck and neck, with barely six feet between them. Then, suddenly, one of the two boats shot forward as its driver made one last surge to pass his opponent. The crowds gasped. With all its speed, the nose of the boat suddenly lifted .... hesitated . . . then, like a bird leaped into the air with a sickening whine as her engines over-revved. Slowly the dagger sharp nose spiralled upward, twisting and turning in its death dance. Then it came knifing down toward the other awe-stricken driver like a hurtling spear. The rending heat of metal split the air and sparks flew as the two bodies merged to one and tumbled across the water. The impact sent a wall of glassy water high into the air, which came twinkling down in a million glistening droplets. Before the mist cleared a gigantic, fiery red mushroom of flame, flecked with black, billowed up into the sky in searing gory, and a rumbling boom echoed across the lake. Then even the last ripples of water of sound lessened and faded away. The fiery sun was past its peak, and shone down mercilessly, from the azure heavens, upon the placid waters of the lake. All was calm ... all was silent .... Richard Alms Form V 84