2006 School Magazine

Creations

Creations

A Musical Interlude Why do sad trumpets always play on sweltering days? Howdo drums knowexactlywhen to strike up in a chase? Andwhydoesthesaxophone,youknowwhichoneImean, whining beneath the woes of film noir heroes, Why does it always sound the same? Wheredoes thismusiccomefrom, andwhy is it thatwithin ourheadswehearit, thoughwemaynotnoticeatthetime- Howisitthatwehearthemusickindleall thosemelodiesof that grand cinema of the mind? Madeleine Bendixen (10L) Winner, Doris Townsend (Waraker) Bursary 2006

To thine own self be true...

shatter his children’s awe. His thoughts were disturbed by a long low hiss from behind. He turned slowly. An ugly mongrel cat stood between him and safety. His heart stopped. It was well known that escape from a cat was impossible. He was going to die. “Daddy,” came a small frightened voice behind him. It wasn’t just he who was going to die. His family was going to die. Elise, little Herbert and Harriet. All dead. He felt his heart start again, blood gushed through his veins, a red mist descended over his eyes. With a blood-curdling screech, he threw himself at the cat. It was taken off guard; it was the hunter not the hunted. This was wrong. Its lunch had jumped off the silver platter and whacked it over the head with a plate. Fur and feathers flew, with beaks, claws and talons. Then there was quiet. Herbert hurt all over. He began to shake uncontrollably. The cat was lying still. He had done it, they were safe. Suddenly there were voices and cheers. His family were there to congratulate him. Aunt Maryanne gave him a big hug. Orville andWilbur gave him a pat on the back, and a gruff, “Always knew you had it in you, lad.” He was accepted. His siblings surrounded him, fawned over him. He was home, he was accepted. But it was wrong. A year ago, he would have given anything to be treated like this, to be loved by his family, appreciated. He turned away from them, and limped towards his real family. They had loved him as quiet, thoughtful Herbert. Not as a Wondswothy-Peppington. As Herbert.

Herbert Wondsworthy-Peppington the Fourth came from a long line of distinguished roosters. Admired for their bravery in combat, the Wondswothy-Peppingtons had a commanding presence and were respected and admired wherever they went. It was partially this that made Herbert think he may have been adopted. He was different from his brothers and sisters, who were all fierce and proud. Herbert preferred to think. He thought about a lot of things, where the wind came from, why water could fall from the sky, everything. Often, he would wander about the yard on his own, thinking. His mother did nothing to dissuade him from this, as she would have done with her other children. It was not safe for a chicken to walk about on his own, but it was better than being tormented by his family. Herbert’s Aunt Maryanne disliked him intensely. “I think someone switched one of your eggs for a joke, Deirdre,” she would say to his mother with an evil chuckle. “He’s not one of us, that’s for sure.” Herbert’s mother just sighed. The guinea fowl, Orville andWilbur, were the heads of the flock. “Deirdre, he’s giving the flock a bad name. You have to get rid of him.” But Herbert’s mother just sighed. Later that night Herbert went to her. “Mother, I’m sorry I’m not brave like the others. I do try you know.” Herbert’s mother looked at him and sighed and a tear ran down her beak. Herbert ran away. It was not the smartest, or the bravest thing to do, but it was better than staying. After journeying for several months, Herbert met Elise. She was a pretty hen, with

black feathers and a delicate beak. She looked him up and down sceptically. “I suppose you’ll do.” “I’m sorry?” he said, utterly confused. “You’re here to apply for my hand in marriage, like the others, aren’t you?” It was then that Herbert noticed a large crowd of roosters next to the hen house. They were looking at him suspiciously. “Right, clear off you others, I’ve got one,” she called indifferently. Herbert was too flabbergasted to say anything. “Well?” she asked expectantly. “Aren’t you going to take me to my new home?” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The thing is I...,” he looked up into her beautiful, hypnotic, black eyes. “I...it’s a long way,” he finished lamely. “We should get cracking then,” she said happily walking back the way they had come. “Come on.” And that was that. Herbert had gained a wife in five minutes, and now it seemed he had no choice but to journey back the way he had come. In truth he wasn’t very disappointed; he liked Elise, and who knows, maybe now he had a wife he would get his family’s respect. Several months later, Herbert pushed through the familiar wire fence into the bottom paddock. Then he leaned back to help his wife through. He had grown quite fond of Elise over their journey, and they now had their own brood to care for. The two small black and yellow chicks looked up adoringly at their father, so strong, so brave, so clever. In truth Herbert felt like a bit of a liar, hut he couldn’t bring himself to

Cinematographer There most certainly is a point, he muttered, when you begin to see things through a frame.

The world becomes a colossus of shifting lenses quivering and gliding across the screen, whilst you cannot help but take the shot as it passes. It is not a conscious decision- for how conscious can an artist truly be- but neither is it theorem or rite. Certainly, the line of work has a tendency to spark certain obsessions and neuroses- even he will tell you that- because the day will not be well and done until he has captured that bunkering fragment for himself.

Hannah Cliff (11E) Winner 2006 Betty Woolcock Challenge Cup

Madeleine Bendixen (10L) Winner, Doris Townsend (Waraker) Bursary 2006

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Br isbane Gir ls Grammar School

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