July 1960 School Magazine

Brisbqne Girls' Grcrmmcrr School Mogcrzine

Iuly, 1960

Brisbcrne Girls' Grqmmcrr School Mcrgczine

Iuly, 1960

NEARLY A CEF{TURY BEFORE It was a crisp, clear winter morning when my family and I drove over the old bush track in the Bunya, Brisbane. Snuggling into my corner, I looked up to the sky and, as I watched, the clouds seemed to change their shape, until in my mind, they were a coach drawn by six sturdy horses-a Cobb and Co. coach. My father was explaining that the Cobb and Co. coaches had used this same road nearly a century ago and, as he talked, ffiy mind slipped back to those times. I saw a strong wooden coach drawn by a team of the fastest, finest horses I could ever imagine, their legs stretched ahead seemingly never touching the ground, pulling that clumsy, swaying coach across the rough track. Their manes flying in the wind, their heads stretched, straining every nerve in their bodies to bring that coach safely around the sharp corner and up the hill, those magnificent horses galloped on-on, never failing, never stumbling. The westerly wind moaned and whistled in the trees, scattering leaves around the racing team. But even the cascading leaves in front of their eyes did not deter the horses. The incessant crack of the driver's whip, his shouts of encouragement almost drowned in the wind, and their own longing to reach the relay station and rest drove them on. With the speed of Mercury, the horses dashed around the curve, causing the coach to swing dangerously towards a giant eucalypt besides the trail. But there was no real danger. So often had the horses made that run that their timing was perfect. At the last second, the coach was jerked from the danger, shaking the occupants roughly and adding to the discomfort of being bumped over the road for nearly four hours. It was the hardest run of all, from the settlement to the first relay station. Hills, gullies, excellent facilities for bushrangers, that was why an extra guard was always added there. Climbing that last, steep hill, the horses pulled and strained, slowly, painfully, each step dragging, each breath more laboured and more difficult than before. The passengers, a woman and a man, were obviously unaccustomed to such travelling for, as the man remarked ruefully, he felt "worse than a landlubber at sea in a storm." The woman's hair, once neatly affanged und er a neat, plain bonnet, hung in untidy threads 29

DAYBREAK

As I contemplate the daybreak, The cool fragrance of a dawning day breathes into my soul. Streaks of vivid light dance with elfin tread From cloud to cloud, Silently erasing the darkness of the night. Gone is the melancholy of the weary hours; No more do the trees stand forth against a cold grey sky. No, the sun is rising, the day has just begun.

The sky becomes an artist's canvas Tinted with golden glow and icy blue.

The night has crept away, following in Flecate's wake, And once more, in the Eternal order of the universe, Day has dawned.

ANTHEA SHAW, III.D.

MARY ROSE, VI B.

WII{TER I{OCTURNIE

Still in the cold blue silence by The old moon's edge of light, Snows of a shimmering winter lie

On northern mountains, towering high, Where clouds haunt the hush of sky Like cool whispers of white. And a frosty wind whirls from the crest Of the shadowy timber line; While slumbering, far in the woods to the west, Soft and grey in a furry rest, A squirrel curls down in the leaves of its nest, Warm in a hollow pine.

-PATRICIA WRIGHT,

III.D.

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