December 1954 School Magazine

Brisbane Girls' Grammar School Magazine

December, 1954

December, 1954

Brisbane Girls' Grammar School Magazine

AU REVOIR

DECEMBER MUSTER It 's hot, hard , dusty work-the December muster. The hoofs of the hundreds of cattle stir up the dry earth in a cloud of fine red soil; the stockmen shout, cooee and curse until their throats are parched and no s..ound comes from the open mouth; cattle bellow, toss their heads, unwilling to go where the men lead, and they break off from the mob , only to be cut short by a warning crack of the stockwhip as it bites into the air or with a lightning strike cuts their rumps, or by a sharp, swift canter of a horse shouldering them back, one by one; small calves lose their mothers , and drop back to the tail of the herd, bawling sadly. The sun beats down relentlessly on hunched shoulders ; eyes screwed up under a broad brimmed hat fail to shut out the piercing glare; the tired bodies sway rhythmically with the clip-clop of the horse, flecked with sweat, yet still champ- ing on the bits. With the pressure of a knee, or the sharp prod of a spur, the horse and rider wake to gallop , and slowly recoil into a steady gait behind the plodding cattle again . Water-holes are few .and far between in summer , and it is with a quickening of movement that the animals rush as they smell water . For an hour , dinner camp breaks the tedium of the day , and hot black tea, boiled over an open fire , whets the drovers' appetites-then it's back to the monotony once more . The plains merge into gravel hills, the scrub grows thicker, and the wilier beasts escape from the round-up for another year without much trouble . Within two hours the hills melt into plainland, bronzed and beaten by the hot sun and winds , year in, year out . In the distance smoke curls above .a clump of tea-trees near a dried-up gully where the branding of yesterday's herd is in full swing. In a corner of the yard a calf is thrown down , and the red hot iron singes his unbranded hide and the ear-mark takes away a piece of flesh in its grasping jaws. The day is over as the sun sinks and as the cloud bank reddens and grows amber in the dusk. But there is work, more work and still more work - work till all the paddocks are mustered, 1 the new calves branded, the whole mob dr,afted and dipped - work from when the morning star wanes as the dawn steals over the tree-tops to the time when the evening star rises - and all the times the bellowing, cursing, flies, the sun and the heat . Beryl Currie, VA. 42

The night was calm and serene. Stars glimmered faint- ly in the heavens. The pale rays of the moon illuminated the surrounding country-the ancient gums and pines, silhou- etted against the horizon, mysterious in the wan light-the shadowy paddocks, barely perceptible, and beyond a region- vast and unknown . Silence reigned-.a silence so profound that one might 'be deceived into thinking oneself the only animate creature in a lifeless world-a mystical silence, something unexplain- able, something fascinating. Suddenly that silence ·was broken. A sound, barely .audible, yet undeniably present , was heard in the distance . Nearer and nearer the sound came, rapidly increasing in vol- ume . And now all doubts could be vanished, for the unmis- takable drone of an aircraft can be heard above. On it came, now a dim shape through the gloom . On! And there were the two twinkling lights, green and red, bril- liant in the blackness of the night . Then it had passed. The ·grey figure receded into the darkness until it was merely a grey speck, the glowing lights gradually faded, and the noise .af the engines dimini·shed until it was no longer audible . ·Gone! Gone into the mysterious beyond . It was as if some dark shroud , impenetrable, barred our way. We could not ·enter there . So, as these past two years draw to their inevitable end, we wonder, as we wondered what lay ahead of the aircraft in the blackness beyond, what lies ahead of us. Two years! Does it seem so long:J No , only a few months. A few months of happiness occasionally tinged with sadness . A few months of work and play. A few months in which we learnt to love our school and to endeavour to uphold its honour . A few months in which we had a burning desire to win honour, not for ourselves, but for the school. Is all this to pass into nothingness? Are we to pass into the mysterious beyond , as the air- oaft did, only to lose all that we have gained:J No! These memories and the love and esteem in which we hold our school will linger alw.ays. As Keats said :- A thing of beauty is a joy forever. So, too , is our love for our school and all it has taught us. That will never pass into nothingness. Kay Wetherell. Form IV D. 43