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

Page 37 text:

Seen From the Choir-Loft tSecond Prize Essayj It was a typical August afternoon, hot and sultry, and in the small country church there were gathered, as there was on every Sunday afternoon, hfteen or twenty of the most faithful of the somewhat diminished congregation. The atmosphere, inside, was warm and drowsy with a little of that damp mustiness which seems to pcrvade the interiors of all such sacred buildings in spite of the fact that the windows are raised. Close to the lofty ceiling three hornets spun dizzily in their droning flight: now and then they swooped down over the scattered heads of the congregation or came to rest on the pulpit unnoticed by the patient minister but thoroughly enjoyed by the small boys. In the paths of light which filtered through the stained glass of the narrow windows, tiny, minute dust particles hung suspended. Bright rays of red and yellow fell across the backs of the seats, lay on the floor or rested on the heads of the small company. Outside, a bird twittered and a noisy vehi- cle sped past on the dusty road, causing some of the younger members of the con- gregation to stretch their necks cautiously, endeavouring to see out the window. The minister boomed louder with his deep, sonorous voice and emphasized his point by bringing his large hand down hard on the frail-looking pulpit. This last was perhaps an effort to regain the attention of his distracted audience or perhaps to arouse the gray-haired woman in the second seat whose head was beginning to bob dan erousl ' low, but remained com letel 'gt 3 I P .Y oblivious to his threats and energetic pounds. The congregation shifted. A large, over- bearing woman in the back seat indignantly prodded the ribs of the wizened, shrivelled- up man beside her. Failing to receive any response other than his soft, unconscious snores, she sighed resignedly and returned her attention to the sermon. Over in the left corner, an over-sized adolescent, grinning broadly, was amusing himself by untying the ribbons on the long pig-tails of the shy little girl seated in front of him. Her frowning and squirming seemed to delight him and he grasped the braids more firmly and proceeded to tie them together. THE TATLER ..4...a. 4?.W V - The minister's voice which had been droning on gently, patiently, was about to rise to a Crescendo, when he was interrupted by the loud crack of a hard-backed hynm book as it descended on a too-friendly hornet which had dared to land within reaching distance of a mischievous-looking little boy whose face now bore a look of proud satisfaction. Beside him sat his mother, pink-faced and tight-lipped. Her face bore the threat of a future punishment. The minister, seemingly choosing to be- lieve that the incident was performed in self-defense, turned away and directed his speech to a very old couple in the centre aisle, who sat placidly, piously gazing at him and attentively listening to each word. This at least was encouraging. The service progressed uneventfully, ex- cept for the occasional howl of an infant, until it came to a close with the announce- ment of the last hymn. Then, as the first chords of the organ sounded, the gray- haired woman in the second seat, being sud- denly awakened, sprang to her-feet and grasped her hymnal, only to find that she was the only one standing. Persistently, even though embarrassed, she held her ground, waiting till the organist had fin- ished playing the opening bars and the rest of the congregation had arisen stretching and smothering their yawns. She was the only one who seemed refreshed and I imagine this must have dampened the min- ister's triumph over having for once suc- ceeded in arousing her. As soon as the last straggling strains of song had drifted away and the benediction had been pronounced, the minister sank into his seat behind the pulpit and taking out a large white handkerchief, mopped his heat- ed brow. Ruby Makins, Xlll. Late ! On the fatal morning of Wednesday. january 25th, 1950, at 9:01 a.m., a be- draggled, baggy-eyed, half-dressed creature who could easily be discerned as a typical T.D.H.S. student, clattered up a flight of stairs, jerked open a door and burst into a room. A few seconds later this bizarre mon- strosity of mankind gently opened the same door and wearily trudged up those innnor- tal stairs which lead to The Office. 35

Page 36 text:

AND FICTION JEAN scR1MGEoUR, GRADE XIII Life's Like That QFirst Prize Iissayj joe Doake learned to creep when only nine months oldg he had just mastered this mode of transportation when someone started him walking. By the time he was three, he could walk very well, in fact, he was an expert, a professional. Someone gave him a tricycle and he had to start all over again, this time learning to peralnbu- late in a twisted mass of steel with three wheels. He became a master in that art before he was live, and being live, an expert tricycle driver and having two new teeth, he felt that he had reached his zenith. The poor lad was se11t to school when he was six. The first day he felt very proud, until he found that he was a dunceg he could neither read nor write nor do arithmetic. His star sank quickly below the horizon, and he knew his decline had set in. He despaired of ever being anything. However, Joe had not yet reached his golden age. Eight years later Joe again found himself on top of the world. He was in eighth gradeg he could read, write, ride a bike and even pronounce a few twenty- tive-cent words. He was one of the senior studentsg in fact, public school life revolved about joe Doakeg he was the centre of school life. Joe had, he was sure, finally reached his ultimate goalg he was master of the universe, second to none, and what's more, he was fourteen years old. The next time we saw Joe, he had just started high school and he found himself again pushed to the bottom of the line. I-Ie was disconsolateg he coulcln't speak a word of algebra, his trigonometric computation was atrocious and he was overshadowed by so many people who knew more than he did. joe was indeed despondentg he was so at odds with the world that he considered suicide or the Foreign Legion as his only chances. Rising, by virtue of a dauntless spirit, from the depths of despair, Joe found him- self, some five long years later, as a fifth former, in a truly enviable position. He wondered if he ever had been a lirst former and disgustedly decided that kids were dumber than when he had been young. 34 joe Doake was one of those lucky souls who went to college. Here we found joe again crest-fallen, dejected and miserable. He was a frosh , the lowest form of col- lege life, no longer a proud senior student, but rather a lowly freshman. However, joe, being a man of undaunted spirit, over- came this complex and a few years later we saw him as a proud college graduate, with the world at his linger-tips. He knew every thing from the abscissa periderm to the endogenous origin of buds. Joe found a job in a mining corporation. He was cocksure when he took on the job, but when he met the grizzled crew with whom he was to work, his old complex re- turned. He felt lower than he had even as a frosh g he was a tenderfoot, a green- horn, a novice. To be brief, he was dis- gusted with his own insignificance. joe Doake's name rose steadily in the mining world and recently he retired on a substantial annual income. Yes, joe was satisfied: he had made a success of life. He had overcome many difficulties. Through- out his life he had been pushed down and had sprung up again, had been ploughed under, only to grow more vigorously the next season. joe had beaten the world at its own game. He was a success. joe died shortly after his retirement. Now someone is trying to teach Joe Doake, the greenhorn, how to play a harp or is it to shovel coal! In any case, joe is again at the bottom of the ladder. Richard Rokeby, XIII. KEEP SMILING If things don't always suit your ways, And if you spoil one of your days, Keep smiling. If the heavens should sometimes blow Driving rain instead of snow, Keep smiling. ' If you would like to groan and moan, Because your toenails are ingrown, Keep smiling. For what's the use of moping Wound? Grouches put us underground. Keep smiling. K. W. Webster, XIII. THE TATLER

Page 38 text:

Such was my plight: I had been late--but only one minute late, for by the time I had reached my room my Illickey Mouse watch said precisely 9:01 a.1n. After I had dragged myself up those two creaky flights of stairs with the aid of that mighty and useful invention-the bannister, the terrible blow came-someone tor I should say perhaps half the student bodyj was there ahead of me patiently awaiting their doom. As I slowly passed along the line I recog- nized many of my old friends whom I had met before in the same place and who had been in the same predicament. Finally I came to the front door of Mr. I'Iay's room where I managed, with the help of a friend, to squeeze into this queue. A novel idea, quite practical too, occurred to me while standing there patiently await- ing that ever prized, widely-known and ac- claimed admit slip. Folding beds should be built into the walls so that they could al- ways be at the disposal of us punctual searchers of knowledge. As the dreaded moment rapidly ap- proached I steeled myself for that ever- pleasing interview and I was only too thankful that I had taken my vitamin and iron pills at breakfast. The moment arrived, tNeed I say 1l1OI'6?5. I guess that I was just one of the more for- tunate ones, for I emerged from that much- visited place not only with a detention, a threat of expulsion from school the next time I was late, and a good sound repri- mand, but above all with that priceless white piece of paper with the black letter- ing and the grey, legible t?j hand-writing with which we are all only too familiar. I descended the stairs to my home-room, elated, for I felt that I had a new lease on life and anyway I did have something to look forward to-classes tugh QQKQXLSQJQQJ I For fifteen minutes I had waited for this supreme moment-when I again would be able to open the familiar door to my room. I sadly handed my prized and priceless piece of paper to one of our most beloved friends, the teacher, and sauntered down the aisle to my seat at the back of the room where I sank into obscurity and slumber, content that I had accomplished something so early in the morning, for it was now only 0:16 a.ni. Douglas lfckel, XII. 36 I can't remember ever having seen the mirror, but it helps to know it's there. The Dark Intruder tlfirst Prize Short Story! The last of the evening's lights was turned off in the rustic brick dwelling shortly after midnight, leaving the yard and neighbouring street to the stillness of the night. lfrom the shadows of the tall hedge the entire yard could be seen by the means of the moonlight, which was continually growing in brightness. Above the broad porch a window was propped open and the cnrtain hung limply over the sill, awaiting the breeze which had for long desisted. Now, reinspired by the quiet, the breeze again arose and inexplicably billowed the curtain from the window, The breeze caused the tops of the dark hedge to sway gently and now the shadows could be seen moving in the foliage. On another look one would surmise that all the shadows were not constituted by the dense- ness of the hedge. One shadow, in particu- lar, was no mere hallucination. .Ns the THE TATLER