6Sc. Form Report
or The Epistle from the Perfumed
Pontificate
Owing to the fact that our illustrious predecessors, the Syllicates, are no longer with us (except for the inimitable D.W.G.), having left us to pursue their various and distinguished careers (?????), it falls to us to write this epic of English Literature.
On returning to school after the Summer Holidays (work to most of us), we learned that our wonderful and sweet smelling domain, the chemistry lab., had to be shared with 15 objects of curiosity. From their angelic and wide-eyed look it can be assumed that their G.C.E. results were satisfactory (in some cases). At first we thought that one of them was a specimen for the biology students but later we found out that he was the pantless wonder of the chemi-lab.
Once again it is Mr. Tempest who takes our names daily.
To dwell a little on the elite, ourselves, for just a little while, we are outnumbered two to one by the objects of curiosity but what we lack in numbers we more than make up for in brains. (As Blackshaw says, "We're lush"). Owing to the noise emitted by the aforesaid objects the bigger members of the Sixth (Widdall) have been forced to carry out an extremely dangerous operation, to wit - the transference of our lockers to the depth of the underworld. We were helped in this task by the timely advice of a certain Physics master.
This year there has been a need for the institution of new disciplinary methods, namely Alcaponation efficiently executed by those exponents (1st class) "Stew to you" and "Hank". This together with our Form Master waving his rod of caustic soda has kept even the most violent of transgressors (e.g. H. Butterworth) at bay, so that we now live in comparative peace. We close now mainly because we cannot think of anything else to say.
The Benzene Ring and One Pulley.
Junior Essay Competition—Winning Entry.
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Getting up on a cold morning
I awoke to the sound of the wind howling around the house like a ferocious dog chasing a feeble kitten. I sat up sleepily, and gazed through the window in delight. Lacy snowflakes gently alighted - ignoring the ferocity of the wind, and made a soft white blanket on the rough grassy ground. The branches of the trees looked like delicate china fingers pointing daintily at the snow. To me the world seemed like a dream come true, a wonderful fairyland of cotton wool. I loved days like this. I lay down again in my warm snug bed, and thought of other things I like.
I like watching spiders spin their fine webs of gossamer, and I love seeing the radiant dew-drops forming pretty necklaces on the webs' fine strings.
I like to see the sun-beams kiss the sky, and I like to watch flames leap merrily across a grate. I like watching blue-tits pecking open the shells of peanuts. I like the smell of tar. In summer I like to put flowers in a jar, catch a bee, and listen to it buzzing angrily among the flowers. I like the feel of frosted glass and I like to be the first to tread on new snow. New snow. Outside lay a dream-world waiting for me. Excitedly I got up, and crept around getting dressed. "I must be quick and quiet", I thought, "lest mummy and daddy hear me. They'll make me have a good wash, and clean my teeth, and have a good breakfast before I go."
I tiptoed downstairs, my feet making no sound on the thick carpet. I stepped over the third stair - the one that creaked. I quietly opened the front door and slipped out. No fear of making a noise now; the thick snow deadened all sound. I circled round and round making endless tracks in the snow. I chuckled remembering Winnie-the-Pooh following such tracks as these.
When I had completely covered it with imprints I made some snowballs and heaped them behind the wall. We would be having a snowball raid later on, so I would have some ammunition ready. I might even catch some unwary passers-by.
Then I crept in again for my sledge, but alas I was trapped. Trapped because mummy was now up making breakfast, and, understanding though she is, she insisted that I should have mine before going out again. But she said if I ate it up I could go sledging till lunch time.
I don't understand why grown-ups complain about getting up on a cold morning - they could have such a lot of fun. I'm glad I'm still a child.
ELIZABETH WINN, Form 1G.