Greenhill Grammar school, Oldham

04_cartouch-  CONTRIBUTIONS



"Meals observed . . .


 1.    The Dinner Bell rings, we all swarm in,
The Teacher shouts, we're out again,
Then we get ticked off for making a din,
"Life gits tedious, don't it?"
 2. The Children(?) are hungry, they pick up their pencils,
While others begin to chew their utensils,
And sad to relate, they all lose their dentals,
"Life gits tedious, don't it?"
 3. The soup in the dishes gits lower and lower,
here's a hole in the plate and it drips on the floor,
We ain't had a meal for seven months or more,
"Life gits tedious, don't it?"
 4. The smell from the kitchen grows stronger and stronger,
"What is our Fate ....?" they soon start to ponder,
"Life gits tedious, don't it?"

. . . from the top table

Overheard at 12.17 p.m. :
        X to Y : "Good Luck."
Z : "Why do you need that?"
Y : "I'm on school dinners!"



la Belle Dame de I'escalier

In either end the school they lie,
Twisting stairs that lead on high,
That clothe the world (don't ask us why),
He'd only have to tell a lie
About those stairs in Greenhill School.
And up and down the people go
Those stairs that lead both high and low,
(There ain't no lifts in here you know)
At many staircased Greenhill School.
The choir a troupe of damsels glad,
The keen types always in the lab.,
And an occasional schoolboy cad
Or long-haired youth (an Edward lad)
Go up the stairs in Greenhill School.
And sometimes up the stairs (but rare),
The girls come running two by two,
They're all sent back to try anew
Those twisting stairs of Greenhill School.
They leave the book, they leave the rule,
They take many paces from this school;
They say to work, "Farewell" - quite cool
(Someone laughs silently "Thou fool"),
"Now for our labours we'll get pay",
This at the closing of their stay
Some pause to reflect but all will say
"I'm glad I've left those .... STAIRS ! !"

(With apologies to Lord Tennyson).

5. R. OGDEN, G. CARR, Yl.A.Sc.




It rings! The "Madding Crowd" rushes in. They fight frantically for a place on the sagging benches. They clamour for the realisation of their hopeful dreams with the clanging of their rough tools and shrieks of torture. They can smell IT! IT! that mysterious quantity which brings hilarious happiness to thousands !

It's here! The din becomes inconceivable; the bearers are swamped by the onslaught of the vultures, in their wild lust for blood. At last their mouths are stopped. SILENCE !

Silence? Ah, No! This Paradise is not to be enjoyed for long! Bedlam breaks loose! ! The Mob are ravenous for more entertainment, more satisfaction and more animal bodies ! Their savage thirst is satisfied at last (not with the unfortunate teacher on duty). But wait! What is this? This is a sad disappointment for their fervour.