THE SCHOOL MAGAZINE

Summer 1960

THE FORTUNE TELLER by Anita Potter

She sits on her small wooden stool inside the dimly lit tent. Around her head is tied a spotted headscarf. Her grey hair falls untidily beneath it and falls over her face. Her long glittering diamond and gold ear-rings dangle from her ears, and as she moves they seem to be dancing about.

Her face is long and drawn and lines of old age cover it. These lines seem to show all the unhappiness of the woman's life. Her eyes are deep set and look black in the dim light.

Her clothes are very plain and colourless. They seem to be simply made with no intricate sewing needed in the making. Around her neck hangs a large row of white pearls.

She sits gazing at the large crystal ball placed on the table, hoping I presume to see happiness in the future for herself.

AN INTERRUPTION by R. Hollister

It was quiet. From the midday jungle, heated by the rays of sunshine which poured through every space of leaves, steam rose. The distance appeared shaky. The baboons who clustered in groups of two or three around, in and on the surrounding trees were quiet. The only task they had set themselves was to pick nimbly irritant fleas from each other's long, light-brown hair. Occasionally the cries of a wild bird could be heard, but in this small clearing, smelling of decaying matter, tranquillity reigned.

Suddenly running from the jungle into the small clearing came a jackal. Having reached the centre he stopped and looked up. Gone were the contented groups now; hell had broken loose, and monkeys were running, jumping and swinging to and from trees. A stream of half-ended low grunts and high-pitched shrieks accompanied the flight. All this the jackal witnessed in total calm, neither moving nor crying. After a while, the monkeys noticed this and the noise died. Soon there was a rustling in the trees and tails were seen to rise and fall from branch to branch. The more mischievous young baboons crept closer while older and wiser parents stayed well hidden. Gradually baboons began to pluck fruit from their perches and then one coconut fell near the rear of the intruder. He swiftly turned, to be met with a shower of fruit from all directions presented by laughing and chattering monkeys. Realising he was beaten, the jackal ran back into the jungle.

But the monkeys, after winning their battle, leaped away, rank and file, to a new home.

It is quiet. The jungle, heated, by the sun pouring through the leaves, rots. Soon no trace will be left of this war save only the cores of fruit used once for a winning cause. The steam rises from the ground, in this temple of silence. It is as it has been for many years.

UN RÊVE by Ruth Britzler

Je me promenais un jour dans une rue déserte. Toutes les maisons étaient grises et isolées. Au coin de la rue il y avait un vieux monsieur a la barbe longue et blanche, qui s'approcha de moi et me souhaita le bonjour.

"Je veux que vous me suiviez mademoiselle," dit-ill, "J'ai quelque chose qui peut- être vous intéressera."

Il m'emmena par une petite porte noire qui se ferma derrière nous, et je me trouvai dans un grand jardin. Tout auteur de moi se trouvaient des statues et des fleurs magnifiques. Le vieux monsieur se tourna vers moi et lorsqu'il commença à me parler je remarquai un grand changement en lui. Ce n'était plus un vieillard ridé, au dos courbé, mais un grand jeune homme, aux yeux bleus et lumineux.

"Ne me demandez pas mon nom," dit-il doucement, "dans le pays où nous sommes, cela n'a pas d'importance".

Il m'emmena dans un vieux cloître où se trouvait une grande malle noire, fermée à clef. Le jeune homme s'approcha de la malle et dit quelques paroles d'une langue que je ne comprenais pas.

La malle s'ouvrit très lentement et laissa sortir une petite bête étrange. Elle avait une tête de chat, des pattes de canard et une longue queue de renard. Elle était noire, glissante et horrible, et me rappela quelqu'un, mais je n'arrivai pas à découvrir qui.

Soudain la petite bête me regarda fixement, ses yeux jaunes pleins de peur et elle courut vers la malle et y entra à toute vitesse. Puis la malle disparut devant mes yeux, et j'étais seule avec le jeune homme, qui parla maintenant d'une voix grave.

"Ce sont tous les péchés dont vous êtes coupable pendant votre vie," me dit-il , "cette petite bête qui vient de se montrer en est un des pires..." Et il m'emmena hors du cloître, hors du jardin où se trouvaient des fleurs magnifiques et où chantaient des oiseaux, par la petite porte, et nous nous trouvâmes de nouveau dans la rue des maisons grises et isolées.

Je regardai encore le jeune homme près de moi, il changea encore en vieux monsieur barbu et me tendit un miroir. J'y regardai et la figure que je vis, c'était la mienne mais si changée. Elle était ridée, aux cheveux blancs. J'avais peur, affreusement peur. Je jette par terre le miroir qui se brise en mille morceaux, et je cours, n'importe où, mais tout ce que je veux, c'est fuir loir de cet homme étrange et terrible ..... et je vis soudain que tout était clair, la rue, les maisons grises avaient disparu.

J'ouvris les yeux - et ce n'était qu'un rêve.

FOREVER AMBER? by E. M. L.

Of course, it was quite unfair that they should suggest that Mr. Marples should be notified, or that a pony and trap might be safer for the rest of the community, or why not harness that black animal to a dog-cart, because from what I had seen of the roads today, it was quite obvious that any fool could drive a car.

And it was worse than unfair - it was unkind - to suggest that I was pretty deadly anyway, without going to the extreme of putting a lethal weapon in my power. But perhaps they were right: on all points.

It was this way.

I thought that for the first lesson (and no one could know less than I do about driving a car), they would give me some sort of harmless works of a car to sit at, and merely "go through the motions", but no...... they gave me the works all right - five minutes of, "Now there are certain things you must know, and which I will repeat again and again until you know them, but first of all, here is the instrument panel: here the ignition switch, the lighting switch and the starter switch, here the windscreen wiper (which we don't use now because it isn't raining), the horn (which you don't use unless it's absolutely necessary), the trafficators, the ampmeter, the speedometer, the oil pressure gauge (and this comes on now when the ignition key is turned but goes out again but if it comes on again later then that means trouble because you're probably out of oil), and this is the choke which we don't need now because it isn't cold and we won't have trouble starting. Right?" "Yes," I said. "Good."

"Now you have here the gears. You understand, of course, about internal combustion?" "Oh yes!" "And here the handbrake..." (Loud grating noise). "You have to press in the knob before you force it to move," he said patiently, "and the clutch, which when pressed down - gently! - disconnects the drive from the engine to the road wheels. You can never change gear without using the clutch. Now, when you let the clutch up - gently! - with your left foot, depress the accelerator, which I shall call the gas, very slightly - there, you see, that's too much. Between the gas and the clutch is the footbrake," and so on and so on.

It's amazing the sense of power you get racing down the Caledonian Road at 20 m.p.h, but only after making the correct hand signal, looking at your mirror, double checking at the back through the side window, disengaging the clutch, putting into 1st gear, engaging the clutch, stepping on the gas, disengaging the clutch, going into 2nd gear, engaging the clutch ad infinitum.

And taking a right hand turn in the face of oncoming traffic, with the gas letting out a whoof when your foot should have been on the brake but was on the gas, and giving more hand signals and coming up with a shriek of brakes, interlocked in the bumpers of a massive Vauxhall.

At this stage, the Instructor threatened to get out and walk back.

The damage done to the tyres and mudguards when nearly mounting a rather high curb instead of parking six inches from it can be repaired, of course.

But whether I shall see the same Instructor next time is a matter for conjecture. He said he was applying for danger money or a transfer, and then conveniently remembered he was going on holiday, and I'd probably be "passed over" to an ex-police Instructor!

But as for mastering the intricacies of double de-clutching, tappet clearance, sumps, stranglers and semi-elliptic springs, not to mention wheel wobbles and worm gear - ah well, any fool can learn to drive a car (and there's a moral in this somewhere!)

COMPARISONS by Ken Goring

The rainfall like an impatient person tapping a wood panel of a door.

The wet socks looked like a soggy, expanding bag filled with stones.

The waves rolled in like a continuous stream of persons rushing to the rescue of a burning victim and then changing their minds.

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