December 1966 School Magazine

December, 1966

Brisbane Girls' Grammar School Magazine

December, 1966

Brisbane Girls' Grammar School Magazine

boy cling together, almost in desperation, before parting to make their way back to a drunken father or a weary mother-to a "home" in one of the many sub-standard "flats" scattered about the district. Over there, a couple walk hand-in-hand, still savor- ing those last magic moments conjured up in the coffee lounge. A final glance over the shoulder shows the glowing naked electric light bulbs proclaiming THE ESCAPE glow red and dimming-closed, after another night's business. !SABELLA RICHARD, V IE

conducts a forum down here. Poets, artists, writers and singers all take turns in presenting their work to be criticised. Fiery debates arising from such meetings send arguments ricocheting between the narrow walls. Watching them is a girl in faded jeans and a sweat shirt, barefoot, with long unkempt hair hanging about her shoulders. To look at her, one would class her amongst the ranks of the "no-good" girls with nothing else to do. However, a second glance discerns that, although she has taken great pains to con- ceal it, she has "been brought up well". She felt, as did many of her friends, that she was being suffocated-she wants to DO SOMETHING-to go out and live and escape the fetters of re- spectable life. It is fun "hanging out" with the guys. A loose kind of mateship holds them together, in spite of their vastly different backgrounds. She longs to meet different people, as many as possible, from all walks of life. She resents the monotonous security of the life all her 'proper' friends lead. She likes the song the boys are singing now with all their energy and rhythm. She belieyes that it could be her theme song and she softly sings it with them. Others walk erect, for money Is their reputation. Who knows, behind closed doors, how they Flirt with Salvation? The blanket of smoke curls around them, masking their in- dividuality, turning them all into anonymous blue-grey shadows. Conversations ebb and flow. The only indication of the approach- ing evening is the mouth-watering smell of fish and chips, their cheap, staple diet. A few luckier ones, with regular work, arrive. They are met by a chorus of greetings as they settle around the tables. A pleasant evening flies by. The carefree atmosphere is hard to leave, and all wish that it would go on for ever. Coming reluctantly back to earth, a bitter youth shambles out. The rest gradually drift into the alert darkness of the early morning hours. Groups swing away in cars and on motor bikes. Here a girl and 52 How can people such as these Dulled by prosperity, decry Our lives, our clothes, our lack of funds? It's God, my man, and I.

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- ROSLYN LESLIE, VIE, WOOLCOCK HOUSE

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