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

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i M was ee.- -Qfw fa WY A ee J 't W' , Www? iq ' jr, wry, J - , ,M f fmgjgzrf Q ,dl L 3 l ' i , IQ l fjlf ' ' A A Z 474 r Hy! - - ... - sf A C 3- . , '- ..... - i , f -s , .- ' i . I , d x ' gl ,ji Ili' ' ' f , 1 .-.-f: T if ff ,ff 4 ,dj ff W , U ffZ7777f7jflff7f f7W7f f!!Wffg!WMWf f IMWE7' ffff777ff2wf0f Ijfffffgffffffiffff st -.10 - , I .,,x hull! , . f ia elfe so s s 1 N tj .e . .fi -1- rf Q iy-.- efiiiii f i ' ' 0 , - .19 . fl ii l U fl . 1 l, , ff' Ai 4: Q2 7 ' if fi 1- , . I Jil' X gg 'f' l mx I Q f i -- 2 Q- Q - 'F' I AU lX ig?-gi -3 1 f fl -. --- f 'f1fWWWHf1WW WWW fff WI .vfmwwwmowfff Mwffffm4m,ff IT'S A MAN'S WORLD IN T. D. H. S. First Prize Cartoon Edith Moon, Xll Silence Silence is one of those golden things of which we citizens of the modern enlight- ened world know little. Many people dis- regard silence, and of those who stress it as a virtue, few know its true meaning. True Silence is seldom achieved. A sound-proofed dwelling may bear the outward appearance of silence, but, beneath the veneer of appearances there is external strife-strife of thoughts, words and actions which destroy the idea of silence. The lull before a summer storm may be considered by many as silence, but the background of tinklings, chirpings and nest- lings of hidden beings among the grass and leaves destroy silence. Besides the stirring insect life, there is a tension in the air, a foreboding of the approaching storm. 38 Although this is not true silence it is much nearer to silence than that which is obtained by sound-proofing and ear-plug- ging. In the thick of a heavy, steady, windless, quiet snow storm, a measure of silence may be obtained. The air heavy with snow bears a feeling of silence, utter peace and quiet. However, this silence is shattered by the collision of legions of tiny floating ice particles, colliding with one another and with the stark reality of cold immovable objects on the earth. Many people consider that silence can be achieved only while asleep. To them, sleep is utter solitude, but about them, the quiet- ness is broken by the whisper of the wind, the croak of frogs and the pattering of tiny feet as myriads of minute creatures journey THE TATLER

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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

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4 W' The Mim- forth to kill and eat or be eaten. The pres- ence of these sounds destroys perfect silence. To the casual observer, a class during ex- aminations is an example of perfect silence. However, the frequent crumpling of a page, shuffling of feet and continued scratching of nibs and noggins exclude all real possi- bility of silence. The short pause after the prolonged clat- tering, clanging and grinding of an onrush- ing train may give an observer the sensa- tion of silence. It may appear to be silence, but it is caused by the utter distraction of the auditory channels and for this reason cannot be real silence. True silence can be gained only by a com- bination of quietude of mind and utter ab- sence of external disturbance. For this reason, silence is as rare as gold and is often. unknown to those who have riches. Peace of mind comes from a total lack of worldli- ness and freedom from pricks of conscience. Seldom can a combination of these be found in this tumultuous world. Therefore silence in its true form is unknown to the masses of people in the world. . Richard Rokeby, XIII. wi T 'BT tllonourable Mention, Short Storyj lt was many years ago, as men reckon time, that there lived in a small village of China a crafty miser. The Chinese have always been predominantly a poor nation materially-though they are rich in philo- sophical learning-and the village, where lived the miser was no exception. There were few, if any, in the poverty- stricken little community who were not under the shadow of debt to the ugly little miser. Among these was an old peasant farmer whose simple honesty made him feel obligated to pay the stupendous sum which Fate had caused him to owe to the shrewd miser. It was of no great surprise -or concern-to the people of the village that, when the old farmer died, worn out by life of hard, unceasing labour, the debt was still uppaid. Scarcely had the unimpressive funeral ended, when the miser left his home to take an inventory of the old farmer's simple hut. Perhaps, he thought, I may nnd some- thing of value to partially pay the debt, al- though not likely. THE TATLER u I His rich clothes furnished a sharp con- trast to the barren landscape of the country from which the inhabitants had striven for centuries to wring a pitiful existence, but his face, a dirty sickly yellow with deep wrinkles, blended perfectly with the dry, cracked soil as he approached the rude dwelling. He entered the little hut with an air of disgust and surveyed the few poor, simple furnishings. The miser was annoyed at the worthlessness of his late debtor's posses- sions. Surely, he muttered angrily, in his long, useless life he must have saved or acquired something of value. He had no friends or relatives on whom to waste money. He examined the table, chair, lamp . . . then began frantically to search every darkened corner-in vain! The miser felt that he was being cheated. Anger swelled within him and he kicked at the dirt floor. Seizing an ancient vase, inscribed as a gift from mother to son, he hurled it through the only window, screaming insanely, Sen- timental old fool! Villain! Thief! As he heard the vase smash on the hard rocks outside, into innumerable fragments, his anger was strangely satisfied, it cooled, and subsided. In the brilliant light of sun- set, he left the hut and strode home. Late that night, the miser vainly fought wakefulness as sounds of revelry drifted from the village into his room. Despairing of sleep, he rose, dressed, and hurried into the village, now bright with the light of many fires. Uttering an angry curse, he approached one of the conflagrations, the happy chatter ceased and the peasants stared at him in silent awe as he screamed, VVhat have you fools to celebrate that per- mits you to keep your superiors from their X pu slumbers. All seemed stricken with dumbness at his words. Answer me l shouted the enraged miser. O noble sir, answered one, bowing humbly, to-day, as some of us were re- turning from our daily labour in the fields, and as we were passing the hut of our late- departed brother, the gods showered a rare blessing upon us. Beside the road, in the shattered pieces of an old vase, scattered among the rocks, we discovered the great- est hoard of money any of us has ever seen. Gary Miller, Xll. 39