December 1958 School Magazine

B: isbane Girls' Grammar School Magazine

December, 1958

Brisbane Gids' Gramma:.· School Magazine

December, 1958

castle on a headland, furiously lashed by Atlantic waves. When they discovered our nationality, the old ladies settled on us like flies , plying us with q uestions about Gympie, w here some member of their family had once lived. A very complacent, middle-class, English lady, a member of a touring party in Switzerland-once enquired of me where 1 had learned to speak English so fluently. Those who are in ignorance of our land are willing and eager to learn more , for wherever we went we found people e xtremely interested in hearing about Australia and in treating us almost like royalty. The form of welcome varies according to whether one's abode be a three-star hotel or a humble "bed and breakfast" , but an Australian tourist may always be assured o f its warmth and sincerity. -Clcice Birkbeck, VIB. THE PLAY During the long hours of preparation, rehearsals and yet more rehearsals, time seems to drag; then excitement runs high as the night of the performance draws closer, and your world blurs and fades as you come to realise your new character. Then occurs the rushed dressing, the frantic last look at the script, the muffled call "you're on", and you stumble on to the blackness that is the stage. Slowly the curtain is drawn back, the lights blind you, suddenly for a moment you are afraid- the sea of faces all expectant , looms in front of you, a human abyss that you must cross. You realise in a flash that the vital part is that you become somebody else. Ah yes, it's· easy now, words stream to your parched mind, you begin, everything falls into place . . You are absorbed in your interpretation-Act I; Act II; Act III pass by, then the finale. The abyss is not so frightening now, but have you convinced the minds of that facial sea that you are somebody e lse? Are they satisfied? Hitherto only faint mur- muring s of appreciation have drifted to you, but what of the final feeling? They remind you of a panel of judges, pausing before their verdict; your nerves are taut, you perspire fre ely, grease- paint blurs your vision , th~ heat is intolerable. Then, at last, it comes-the storm of applause which booms in your ear- drums , you relax, the tension snaps, tears of relief spring to your eyes. The curtains close. To-night another act in the game of your life has ended, you have played it well and now you are impatient for the next one to begin. -Ann Simpson. VC. 29

"INN AND 0 UT" It is in teresting indeed to travel from Land's End to John 0' Groats and both obser ve and appreciate the different forms that British hospitality may take according to the part of the country, for the British take great pains and pleasure in making Australian visitors as welcome as possible to their island. The "Marquis of Granley", at Bamford, near Sheffield, welcomed us with the Italian Renaissance Room, a vast, oak- panelled chamber rather suggestive of secret doors and skele- tons. Plush curtains and pictures of Venice added to the daylight charm but night-struck awe of our bedroom. The opposite door was labelled "The Empire Room" . As none of our famil y occupied the room, I can only suppose that it was adorned with flags and portraits of Napoleon and Josephine. Another less sumptuous than the Tudor "Marqu is", if rather more romantic, was the "Sutherland Arms"; a delightful yellow-stone hotel in quaint little Golspie, on the North-East Coast of Scotland. Freshly caught salmon was served at supper, in addition to the red nosed Major who caught it, and his golfing friends, who discussed the life history of the salmon before us at the table. The charming little rooms at the "Suth- erland Arms" only retained their charm while -the rafters remained at a safe · distance from the head. Scotland was also the scene of a family reunion in Camp- beltown. We stayed a t a tiny inn in Bellochantuy, where my father attended the village school when h is family paid a visit there. From our w indow there was a magnificent view of ye ll ow sands a t the back fence and pounding surf beyond. Across the road from the inn stands the shop and post office where my father's cousin carries out the duties of not only postmistress and grocer, but also registrar of births, marriages and deaths . Anothe r to-wn to which famil y interests brought us was Lichfield, the beautiful cathedral town just north of Birming- ham. From the rather tipsy-looking windows of the "Swan" we could see over the little stream and park, above w hich the delicate spired cathedral rose magnificently. The uneven floors, rough-cast walls and ceilings and dark, low beams so often found in English inns and hotels like the "Swan" indicate the venerable origin and centuries old tradition of these old monuments. One of the most heartwarming welcomes we ever received was tha t of two kind old ladies in Tintagel, in Cornwall, who kept a guest house in the true English "silver tea-pot and coffee in the drawing-room" style. Not far from the guest house stood. the ruins of King Arthur's legendary birthplace and 28