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

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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

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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

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Hi-2 D' moonlight increased in intensity it could be seen that this shadow was a man. He was clad in a dark overcoat and had his hat pulled low on his forehead. Obviously his intent was to enter the old farm-style dwelling. and as he moved along in the shadow of the hedge he knew it would be sheer lunacy to attempt the deed until the inhabitants of the house were safely in the arms of Morpheus. As he neared the porch the man looked up at the window and pictured in his mind the jovial expression on her face, which would be changed to one of surprise if she knew his presence in the yard. Mr. Kimbel knew what fearful railleries he would have to face in the morning when he told his wife that, despite all he had said earlier, he had decided not 'to leave her. He had reached his decision when he had missed the nine o'clock milk train. Harvey Smith, Xlll. 0ii. An Experience With Invisible Paint tSecond Prize Short Storyj The noted artist fastened securely, by the turn of a worn key, the paintless door whose duty was to keep out all humans. A look of pride carried itself on his face, as he descended the narrow dusky steps to the busy street. Why shouldn't he be satisfied, with only one more ligure to portray in his masterpiece? Behind a locked door stood, in all its array, his so-called masterpiece. The art- ist's board-form guarded in its arms the precious and costly painting. A few last rays of the sunny day found their way in through the scanty soiled curtains reveal- ing a chance-medley of dyed rainbow rays, stained-handled brushes, a rnuch-used broom, a piece of canvas concealing several unfinished pieces, and a shelf where sat in disciplined order the bottles of oil paint. One little can lay sleeping in the dark corner behind a useless box. Now the last lingering beams of day fled allowing the in- habitants of the miserable room to rest in peace until next morning. , At exactly nine o'clock next morning the artist burst into his workshop. He was none too soon either, because scarcely had he time to run the broom over the cracked and rolling floor, put on his faded greyish-blue smock, or rush the comb through his over- grown black hair. A manly knock partly opened the none- THE TATLER too-strongly-made door. Excitement and suspense caused the artist's whole frame to tremble. Xlihen he stood face to face with his new model, he would know whether or not his painting would be completed by to- night. His anxiety was not prolonged more than two seconds. The features of his visitor were not quite what he had hoped for in his dreams, but he decided that a per- fect model could not be found in his poor suburb of the city. The artist set to work at once not wish- ing to waste precious and costly time. It was costly, for each hour meant another ten dollars from his already empty pocket. At three o'clock the same afternoon only the face remained to be filled in. It was a certainty then, that the last touches could be applied by five o'clock. At three min- utes to five the paint-oozing brush was dipped in solution before resuming its posi- tion with the other brushes. The model took his departure, happy as a schoolboy on the iirst day of holidays, with an eighty dollar cheque in his vest pocket. Trailing him was a man with a mournful expression on his tired face. The sorrowful news would have to be told to his darling tive-year-old daughter. That would be more dreadful than having his masterpiece a failure. His slow, weary, and heavy steps reached their goal too soon for his pleasure. His little Bunny, as he had nick-named her, was listening for his footsteps. He avoided telling her till after their supper of thin soup. Before retiring he discovered that care- lessly he had left an important paper at his studio. Bunny was only too glad to run and get it for him. Now, she thought, she would be able to get a glimpse of the won- derful painting. In no time at all she had reached the door of her father's studio. In the dark she fell over an old box, and her hand caught hold of a small round can. In the dark she tried to be careful, but as luck would have it she knocked against the prized painting and splashed the contents of the can over the newly-formed iigure. Horror struck, she ran to tell her father. After her father arrived, he realized that because of her blunder the main figure- that of Jesus-was now perfect, it had only the vague outline of hands, feet, and head remaining. Betty Williams, XIII. 37