Tillsonburg District High School - Tatler Yearbook (Tillsonburg, Ontario Canada)

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THE MISTAKEN IDEA by Leone Turner, XIII IP:-'ize-Winning Essay on Serious Themej Long, long ago in the remote countries of the East there lived people who prac- tised sorcery and witch-craft. If they wished to cause the destruction of an enemy, they built a small doll in the like- ness of the foe and pricked it with thorns or other sharp objects, hoping, in their superstitious twisted minds, to be able to thus destroy their enemy. Who would believe that such conditions exist today? Such conditions are present and will be present as long as racial prejudice thrives in the twisted minds of our people. We also raise an image or standard, to re- present all the qualities that we find objectionable in people different from usg we pierce this image with the barbs of comments and with the thorns of ridicule. Why do people act this way towards people of different colouring, different race or different creed from their own? The answer is the same as it was hundreds of years ago-ignorance. People are always confused and resentful to things that they don't fully understand. In order to keen a feeling of superiority, they make fun of a man whose skin is yellow, black or brown, mock a man who attends a syna- gogueg ridicule a man who prays differ- ently, scorn a man who is Hebrew or Negro, or virtually exile him because his name is Goldberg. To appease their vanity they segregate black from white, or French from English, or Christian from Hebrew. Perhaps some small little voice inside you denies that you could act that way, but the next time you find yourself laugh- ing ata joke about a Jew for even a Scotsmanl or avoiding those who are of different beliefs than you are, or feeling a smug glow of satisfaction because you are so much superior, pause and ask your- self if this is fulfilling the principles fought for and achieved with the Bill-of Rights and the Declaration of Independence. The basis of all discord in the world today is the prejudice that one race or religion feels toward another, and until such stupid prejudices are abolished, we shall try, in our ignorance, to destroy our enemies by piercing false images that we have erected. Is this sophisticated society, that has evolved from the age of witch- craft, really so much improved? THE TATLER HEART'S DESIRE by Richard Rokeby, XII fPrize-Winning Short Storyj ' The room was dimly lit by the fiames in the open hearth, old widow McSloy sat quietly tatting and mumbling to herself. Another figure enters the room: it is Hiram McSloy II, only son of widow Mc- Sloy. He is extremely bashful, and has yielded to his mother's wishes ever since he could stand, but by the determined set of his jaw it would appear that on the eve of his thirty-eighth birthday he has decided to do something, whether his mother consents or notf He has lain awake at night for weeks making up his mind. He has wanted to do this ever since his twenty-first birthday. All his friends had by then married and settled down while he was still tied to his mother's apron strings. He quietly approaches his mother, kisses her brow and says, Mother I am almost thirty-eight years oldg I have decided to--. Yes, Hiram, rasped the old lady. That is I would like to-. HYeS.!9 Well, you see I-. Yes. I-I-I guess I'll retire early tonight. A good idea, said dear widow McSloy by way of concluding the interview. All his hopes had been shattered by that ominous Yes. He went up to the loft, and thought and thought. Finally he decided that since he would be thirty- eight tomorrow, he would announce his stupendous decision to his mother, whether she liked it or not. Why shou1dn't he have one? All his friends had them and they seemed to make life so much easier. As we peer into the room the following evening we see Hiram again approach his aged mother, and dispensing with the kiss, he gets down to business. Mother, I've decided that since I am thirty-eight now I have the right to do something that I've wanted to do ever since my twenty-first birthday when all my friends had left me to get married. They found a new friend to help them through the trials and tribulations of life. Why shouldn't I? The town is full of very fine specimens, and I think that I have seen my heart's desire. Of course, it will cost money, I'l1 want to go riding with her, and I'll have to find room for her to live in, but I've planned for that. Ever ll 33

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' tk , Prose and Fiction edited by Richard Jones Poetry edited by Leone Turner ON WRITING AN ESSAY by Eric Steele, XIII fPri:e-Winning Essay on Light Themej When you think of it, this is quite a big world we live in, and on thinking of it, everything in it quite marvellous. A great many of the wonders of the world have inspired poets and musicians. Artists travel all over the world and spend hours reproducing on canvass the beauties they encounter. Business men find relaxation and pleasure in a small garden. Professors and scientists spend their lives studying nature. Besides natural phenomena there are the great things wrought by man. To write about all of them would fill volumes. Speaking of writing, there comes a time in the life of every student when he must write an essay. That is just the time when he is not inspired by nature, the wonders of the world, or, it seems by anything else. The student receives his assignment, goes home to his room in the quiet of the evening, opens his book, picks up his pencil and tries to think of something to write about. It isn't that he cannot thinkg perhaps he thinks too hard. Innumerable muddled ideas speed through his mind while nature's wonders elude him. In sum- ming up a description of the view from his window he finds a deficit of adjectives. In the millrace of thought, an inspiration struggles to the surface, only to be pushed down again by the lack of a first sentence. Hours later he is still writing and tear- ing and throwing away worn-out ideas. With a wail of despair he jumps up and paces the room, tearing his hair as if to pull forth an idea in that fashion. He bathes his hot, feverish face in cool water, and when the haze before his eyes rises and the hammering in his head slows down he chooses a fresh pencil and begins again, with the same result as before. The next morning he awakes and his mind turns to the night before. The hor- rible realization comes over him that he is still one essay short. At school, when the teacher asks him for it, he raises haggard eyes and replies resignedly: No, ma'am, I haven't it finished. 32 HARP OF THE WINDS f'Winner of First Prize for Serious Versej 0 seeking wind that plays through the willows, ' i Bending the boughs to your desire: Bending the boughs that in your hands Release their music even higher, Higher aloft in ecstasy Than any song has right to be. 0 wind that shakes the aspen leaves, A million voices to release, A million voices singing soft An echo of the song of peace: O song why must you disappear For greater ears than mine to hear? Harp of the winds, so great, so wide, That stretches o'er the countryside, Played by the wind, whose mastery Now wafts your song to infinity. Ruby Makins, XII. POST-EXAMINATION MEDITATIONS fWinncr of First Prize for Light Verscj The joyous hour has now arrived, The hour for which 1've dreamed and strived,' I've tried again my mark to win- My last exam is handed in. Those awful hours of toil are o'er, And now I crave through yonder door To dash: I surely now have earned the right To leave my books, and SLEEP at night! Few yards ahead my paper lies Within the clutches of the wise, Worn pedagogueg if only it I could retrieve And change one word before I leave. Short time within which he 'will bear My fatal document to where It will be read and judged and marked: On such a trip IT has embarked. Elsewhere 1'll go and I shall try To sound composed, secure. But why? 'Twill only be a waste of breath, For actually I'm scared to death! Richard Jones, XIA. THE TATLER

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since I was twenty I've saved my weekly ten-cent allowance, and over these eighteen years I have managed to save ninety-three dollars and fifty-nine cents, 'that ought to-. Hiram, what did you do with that other cent Y I'm sorry motherg in one of my rash moments I bought an all-day sucker, he continued. As I was saying 393.59 ought to be ample sufficiency. Have I your per- mission? Well, Hiram, consider that when that money is gone. you are pennilessg but if you have your heart set on it, go ahead, and I hope you make a wise choice !-You will have no second chance. Early next morning Hiram McSloy II set off for towng he went straight to the livery stable and blew his life's savings on the joy of his heart, a beautiful sorrel mare that he had been admiring for weeks. SOLILOQUY 0F A STUDENT fWinner of Second Prize for Light Versej How can I stay at school today When winds are soft and free? - I simply cannot concentrate On Ancient History. What do I care how Caesar died? 'Twas years and years ago,- And ways the Greeks and Romans lived Are things I'm s'pposed to know. My French I really cannot say, No matter how I try. With all the verbs I have to know It almost makes me cry. Physics, the worst of all the rest, May make good engineers, But listen while I whisper low,- It brings grey hairs, my dears. My English teacher shakes her head About my words and rhyme, She wonders how I am so dumb, So dumb most of the time. And from my Algebra, 'tis sad, My thoughts' will ever stray. What good 'twill ever be to me I really cannot say. The time for bed is almost here: My homework is not done. I really should be finished up, But I have just begun. H Agnes Thurston, XIB. 34 SONNET TO DAWN fWinner of Second Prize for Serious Verse! Awake! the curtain is about to rise Upon the royal entrance of staid dawn, A Golden Lady, waving o'er the skies Her magic wandg-the sombre screen ' withdrawn, She paints the gray horizon with a hue Unequalled by the painter's skilful brush, Soft scarlet, yellow, blended with light blue To serve as robe for last stars in a rush. The dewy dandelions shyly tip Their golden heads, in greeting graciously The irnorn. The rose-buds part their rosy U9 For the caress in all its ecstasy. O Magic Lady, in whose hand lies power To change the dark earth, welcome at this hour! . Helen Spanics, XIII. ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM fWinner of Honourable Mentionj The thin red line was bravely led, And though they knew they'd soon be dead They held their ground against all men That 'gainst them came and came again. I A gan appeared in the thin red line,' Rut it was closed without a sign From men who knew their duty clear But also knew the cost was dear. The charging horsemen hoped in vain To split the line that held the plain: But though they rode and rode again They could not break that wall of men. The battle wavered hard and long, Then toward the blue-coat throng The thin red line began to crawl, This last great chance to give their all. Behind on a knoll, o'erlooking the field, 'Some red-coat oficers quietly kneeled Near a man who doubtless was The greatest champion for the cause. James Wolfe fell back, on sods to lie, And breathed one quiet, longing sigh, Let me see the British under none: Then I'll know my duty's done. The light of life was flickering low,- There was not too much time to go, But 'fore he heard the trumpet call He heard them say, We're over all. Douglas Palmer, XIB. T H E T A T I. E R