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Tailors' Notes
This term we have a new master tailor, Mr
Wernicki. He replaced Mr D. Henderson, who retired last term after having been with us for many years. We all miss him very much.
During this term we have been finishing the
work we had been doing with Mr Henderson, and next term we will be going on to some new work.
We were joined this term by four new junior
tailors. They are I. Brock, G. Sim, J. Innes, and K. Dunn. This now brings the tailors' strength up to six. No boys have left this session and I am afraid we will all be back after the summer holidays. W. D.
A Piece of String
One cold and misty night a lorry driver was
driving along a road when he turned a corner and went crashing into a ditch. Luckily he was not hurt, and as he climbed out of the cab he saw a short distance away a monastery. He went up to it and asked if he could be put up for the night.
The monks agreed to do so and led him upstairs to a room. In the corner of the room was a pile of straw and a stool. The windows were barred, and hanging from the ceiling was a piece of string. He asked if he could pull the string, but it was refused. The next morning he left.
Five years later he went crashing into the ditch again, and was again given hospitality at the monastery. He was taken to the same room, but this time it was furnished with a mattress and a table, and the same piece of string hung from the ceiling. He asked if he could pull it, but was refused. He went away next morning.
Many years passed before he went roaring into the ditch once more (he was not a very good driver), but this time he was mortally injured.
He was carried into the monastery and up to the same room—it was now fully furnished— and laid on the bed. The piece of string was still there. He asked the abbot if, as he was dying, he could pull the string.
The abbot consulted the monks, and as the
man was about to die, they agreed to let him pull the string. They put on their finest ceremonial robes and, returning to the room, they lifted him up, higher and higher, until, at last, his fingers touched the string. He pulled it. The light went out. He died soon after that.
A. D. LEITCH (Form la).
Obituary
We were grieved to read among the list of victims of the Malta air disaster on the 8th February last the name of Cpl. J. J. McKay of the R.A.F.
2166 John James McKay was here from January, 1945, to April, 1949. At the age of 17 he joined the R.A.F., training as a wireless telegraphist. He was on his way to spend his leave at home in Perth after service in Pakistan and the Canal Zone.
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Departure for Denmark
Through the haze of a June morning we made our way to the bus which was waiting for us at the village fountain. It was still early and we were the only people who broke the silence of the deserted streets.
On boarding the bus, we left our luggage in
one pile so that it could be put into the boot of the coach. We then had to wait for Mr Buick, who was in charge of the party. He arrived, half awake, and when all the luggage was packed away, all farewells were made. A few minutes later the bus moved off, amidst a small group of women, waving with both bands at the departing coach.
At first the journey was monotonous, and so we had to be satisfied with gazing out of the window at the slowly lightening countryside. Time dragged on until we reached Edinburgh, and by now the sky had taken colour and the world was bright again. People who had tried to sleep began to chatter with excitement as the bus raced on through the streets which by now were becoming busy. We stopped at York for a quick cup of coffee, but before long we were on our way again.
Towards mid-day we reached Newcastle, which was our destination. We made our way through the crowded streets to the docks. On reaching the docks we got off the bus and took off all the luggage. We found our way to the customs shed, although we had two hours before sailing. As we were a party, the customs' officer allowed us to pass through, taking our word that we were not smuggling.
We boarded the ship, and we were shown to our cabins at once. Leaving our luggage below we went up on deck to watch our departure. At approximately one-thirty-five the lines were let go and the "Pakistan" glided away from the quay, slowly revolved, and soon was heading down the river into the open sea, bound for Denmark.
J. K. SIM (Form IV).
A Mystery Solved
What in Heaven's name is it?
It might be mud and dog's biscuit,
It might be ——— I'll try and quiz it,
So, hang on.
It's brown! It's blue! What lovely yellow!
It's an artist's delight, I'm a lucky tellow,
But the sickening taste would make anyone
bellow.
Ughl I hate it!
It's gooey, it's messy, it's lumpy and thick, I'll hold my nose and swallow it quick.
Oh! goodness gracious, how I feel sick,
I wish I were dead.
That odour brings back a memory.
I wonder — perhaps — could it be?
Yes, it must — at last I can see,
It's stew!
K. GAVIGAN (VI).
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