December 1967 School Magazine

Brisbane Girls' Grarnmar School Magazine

Brisbane Girls' Grarrimar School Magazine

December, 1967

December, 1967

. Th.y were like that, living yet breathing death, annoyed bv the flies which smelt the blood, themselves waiting io. i;, Crushed until their ribs grated together and their legs lould no longer hold their bodies. Then th.v felI and no more were annoyed bv the flies. Yer the flies ate. Camiages like death carts, lured the flies oD, the fat greedy flies with gyes li\e a crow's. The death carts iunged lan"guidlv past me laden with endless remains of infinite ugoni.r. - My rnind knew I ate like the flies as a pararite, a scavenger, and my body revolted as it felt my mind *U . ' Their poor eyes not comprehending the bars and the heat uqd the jogging ( like a death dance )- - misery, such dumb rnisery. Eat like the flies, gormandise, stuff your mouth with their meat, tear the warrn flesh from the bones, chew it, swallow and fatten on their fat for they are ignorant and soulless. _ K. DENMAN, VC, GIBSON HOUSE TIMES NOT FORGOTTEN I can just see the old battered drum which used to serve as a-mailbg* - i1's lost all its paint and is rusting. No mail has been dropped in that box for ovir two months. From the mailbox it 'was about a mile to the homestead. The uack was well worn but then the red dust had cruelly obliterated any racks and signs of human existence. The homeitead v/as not much to look at Lut it was comfortable and suited our needs. Behind the homestead was a bunkhouse for the stockmen and the few swaggies who visited us looking for hand-outs , I can remernber when the bunkhouse was bursting with the sounds of the stockmen celebrating after Christmas. They didn't know then ,that_it was to_be_their last -_ on this station at any rate, There weie 3,000 head of prime beef and rve werJ in higl, sqirits - we had just sunk an experirnental bore on this ..rtrEd place and had come up with *at.r. \X/e rejoiced in our few blessings. Then, one week, one of the men came in to tell me that a couple of head were dead. \7e had to expect that- no 14in - the bore was our only hope - it vras holding us together. How- ever, ,we didn't lose heart. Now, I' wish we had, it might have been better for all of us . Still no rain ! Only those merciless u/esterlies bringing the red dust to suffocate our already parched land, I must .orgmtulate them! They did a good jobl

AIN ARTTST

There he sat, staring absently-minded at the sheet of paper in front of hirn_. A piece of charcoal luy idle in his long ierisitive lrands. I{is _long bror,vn hair untidily-framed his face,- while his brown beatd, with a hint of ginger, add.d to the impression of a deeply agitated man. His .5res v/ere a beautiful, cliar, piercing, green which divided the world into shapes and spaces 'nnd .o,-tki distinguish between warm and cool shadows. Then he began drawing idly without any purpose at aII. Gradu ally the lines began to take form and shape m hir inspira- tion beg,an to flow through his hand to the pup.r. He u*r^i the picture before him. He impatiently began iummaging through his pailts and canvases, finding an ,rn.rr.Jone, and ro*. part-usEd tubes, his palette and some brushes. He speed-ily set to work. The paint was quickly applied. The colours, forms, shapes and masses soon were upp.uring as the inspiration gtipped him like a vice until he had -finished it, He worked with a feverish haste, filling his canvas which would show a pafi of his spirit and his deepestlnnermost emotions iust with sorne paint. Then he finished. He stood back to look at it. It gave him a sense of pride but also at the same time he felt he coild do a better one next time and this u/as just a painting which had to be done to reach his ideal, like the rungs in a ladder. \)Tiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he placed the painting among the other canvases. He returned to his original chair staring into the nothingness of the space around him, void of any inspiration, as a piece- of charcoal Iuy idle in his long sensitive hand. ' ,,ARTISTE", VD SHEEP TRATN I watched as the carriages clacked by. I looked and sau/ and smelt the stench of bloody death. In- the heavy, calm heat of the midday no noise, only the slow thumps of the wheels on the buryring rails, the flies and a ueeping nals.r inside my soul. I'd seen something like it before in a movie or something. It was about a concentration camp I think. I only remembered the- filthv figures clawing and uying until amongst death they sank and moaned slightly.

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