THE CITYThe street lights blue in the fragile silencesOf a dark black road .Regiments of lit shops. This is all the people see .A planter model tilts a hollow headWith vacant smile .A big hotel, a glimpse of furs and jewels.A waft of perfume on warm airAs the : door opens. The mindless massesWho don't want to know.Who don't careAbout,* tired sick old manScuffling at the grating above the big hot kitchensTrying to keep warm . Clutching vainlyAt the sights and smells of unattainable food .Scared of living.Scared of dying.Iris futile escape in a half-empty meths bottleSlips senselessly from his old curved fingers.It spreads a pool of mauve poison round his feetIn the blood of millions .But'he doesn't know,And neither do they .A quiet Georgian square,`The dinner party, _ -The entertainers and the entertained,Neither' quite sure which is which.A smile like_ clucking ice,A laugh like a fist through glass .Cooing and flattering -And loathing every last one of them .Living a lie .Wading through the pea soup of London streets,The black murky ; river,Viscous with filth .A can. A dead dog,, legs tied.No-one wanted him either.The early market .Pathetic animal carcases hanging in rows,Graded - in true human fashion -For Size and Quality.A group : of students on the stepsSeem to be on hunger strike . -Don't know what for. Don't much cam."What is it to me?-„ -You shrug. -Let them starve" .A blind' man on the corner, begging."Haven't they got places for people like him?I haven't got time .Can't he see I'm in a hurry?You tap mechanicallyTo your nice safe job .You smile a complacent, corpse-like smile.The loud sign across the road flashes. -" It's the real thing„. it says.But is it?Gins Hearnden (Year S)Oh yea, NATIVIT there was painSplit the scripture from Its Poetry,Tear the words from their. imageryUntil you have just the bones,And you will know the pain .This Is his body.Sea the hands not pierced, but tornWhite lumps of sinew wet fleshAnd the blood that stiffens both skin and hair.Listen!"Eli, all, lama sabachtani",The lonely scram of a child at prayer.Smart the odour.Taste the air .Put out your handAnd'place It in Ids side .Touch the ooze of clotting red ;This is his blood -How sweeter now Is wine or bread .Now peer again through this low arched doorInto the musty oppressive glow.The hot stanch of cattle and a rusty flameWill outline all we need to know .This flame is now master .The night• is pushed outsideAnd this light is bothDirector and producer,Changing the red to the surreal,Shoving great blocks of shadow round the room,Forcing solid walls to shudder, to dissolve and reappearHot and liquid. through the thickening gloomOf cow-breath. While even the cattle,Wide-wet-eyed, stamp uneasy Can they tooSeine how young and how frightened ?Her lips partAnd her tips part in a low moan.The hot liquid bubble of flesh quakes and spasms,UK hand breaks from the anxious joiners,gripBut finding no refuge frost bet taut corpulence,Slips back, too, ding more tightly than before.white knuckles become a confusion of one .But arty Unity is undone imply becauseHe can only as, the pain which Is Inside her .And it is inside her now as her lips openIn a scream of birth, a drawn-out grinof agony, like' skin stretched over a skull .Gradually the slow pulse from the t* WSlackens, and is` replaced by newer cries.So one pain is born and another dies.And what of us?Wed, I suppose these wooden crossesNow disclose a greater love;Because in a time when death is not so rareTo mean a supreme sacrifice, we must not ." fide:Dats young girl's pain . For us he did, . .-tAit it is also no shame that for us he wasBorn also.Stephen Dobbin (Year ?)
THE EPICThere was this film director,the last of the Hollywood tradition,who decided he was going to makethe epic to end all epics .It had the most enormous budget,and the climax of the whole picturewas a scene which involved a tremendous battleand the burning of a whole village .It was costing a million dollars for the villageand all the thousands of extras employed,so they could only film it once .Taking no chances, the director set upthree cameras,and then started shooting the scene .The battle raged for over an hourand the village blazed magnificently .Until all that was left was some exhausted extrasand a pile of ashes .Excitedly the director approached the first camera-man,and discovered him in tears beside his camera ."Just as I was starting to shootan extra crashed into me and sent the camera toppling,"lie explained .So the film director went to the second camera-man,an expert with hundreds of films to his credit .He was looking as pale as a ghost, as he explainedsomehow he'd forgotten to put any film in his camera!The third camera was right at the top of a nearby hill,overlooking the village, raised on a scaffold .The director staggered up the hill, and crawled,exhausted, to the bottom of the tower and shouted,"Everything okay, Sam ?"Sam, a wizened veteran,with thirty years of experience behind him,looked down and shouted,"Fine, sir . Ready when you are ."The poet makes good use of all the words,As you will see,When and if you listen . And this are youPaying attention ."When we went to London last year, the sentriesStood tall and proud, nothing could disturb them .They were paying attention ."For preparation tonight, take this down ;`In your rough books write a poem on yourThoughts during this lesson' . You can do itQuite easily by taking snatches of conversation" .Oh dear! I can never write a poem, and what haveI been thinking? Think! What have I been thinking?Carol Clarkson (Year 3)Lesley Harbottle (Year 3)THOUGHTS DURING AN ENGLISH LESSON,AFTER READING"NAMING OF PARTS"Today we have poems of war ; yesterdayWe had "Julius Caesar" and tomorrow morningWe shall comment on our writing ; but todayWe have poems of war. The planesFly noisily overhead, but going where? Maybe home .On Friday we shall go home ."Listen carefully to this line . The poet
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- Page 10 and 11: PRIZES - 1970-711st YearRosa Ainley
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- Page 18 and 19: opera. Mr . Rice-Oxley as Archibald
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- Page 30 and 31: THE BIKER"I'd just had an argument
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- Page 55 and 56: Back Row .The 1st XI . Mr . Shepher
- Page 57 and 58: The 1st VI . Judith Hall, Sandra Pa
- Page 60 and 61: GIRLS HOUSE SWIMMING GALAThis year
- Page 62 and 63: ACADEMIC HONOURS 1971Advanced Level
- Page 65: WRIGHT, Nicholas (2)EDDY, Caroline