July 1956 School Magazine

Brisbane Girls' Grammar School Magazine

July, 1956-

July. 1956

:Brisbane Girls' Grammar School Magazine

"THE DIMPLE." An angel was departing from the earth, Enraged was he with all he left behind; The hates, the tempers, slanders and the spites, And all the other follies of mankind; When, looking down, he saw a little child Who, in his cradle, sleeping sweetly, seemed With breathing deep, content, and on his lips A smile, as if of pleasant things he dreamed . "Behold !" the angel said, "this infant fair Cannot belong to human man or maid, He is too beautiful for this vile earth". Then came he to the child, and laid His fingers on the rosy cheeks, and there Where he had placed them, were two dimples fair.

FRANCIS DE VOIL, VI A.

"THE ORDEAL." (with apologies to Alfred Noyes .) The wind was a fiend of clankings between the labouring wheels, The sun was a thirsty furnace making me faint and reeL The road was a ribbon of mourning over the city's roar. And the tram took me much nearer - nearer - nearer The tram look me much nearer, up to the dentist's door. He'd a miner's light on his forehead, a black beard at his chin, A coat of starched white linen, and trousers of white tricoline; They fitted with never a wrinkle; of his tailor's skill 'twas the proof ! And he stood with a metalled twinkle, his instruments a-twinkle, His dental drill a-twinkle, under the metalled roof . Over my molars he clattered and clashed with a dark little bar, And he tapped with his rod on my grinders, but they were all on guard; He whistled a tune as he poked, and what should be wailing there But those naughty, wicked germses, Yes, those wicked germses, Holding with horrible rootses, growing like long black tares. And down in my poor old jaw-bone, a poor old tooth-root creaked, While I j·Jst sat and listened; my face was while and peaked; My eyes were hollows of madness, my hair it turned to hay, But I loved my own poor loathes, my own poor pearly loathes, Dumb as a dog I listened and I heard the robber say - Now miss, my poor little girlie, all those things mus t come out, But I shall make ready the false ones before next New Year's rout; Yet, if I'm very busy, and worried through the day, Then come to me next Saturday, I'll pull your teeth next Saturday, Yes, they'll be pulled next Saturday, though the Devil should bar the way. My chair it rose to the ceiling, I scarce could reach the floor, But I opened my mouth at the widest, and cried out more a nd more As the red cascade of my b lood came tumbling out of my mouth; And he pulled by teeth in the morning , (Oh, sweet little teeth in the morning!) Then he tugged a t my root in the morning, and I felt like a breaking drought. ANNE HUTTON, IV A. 39

ATHLETICS FOR THE ONLOOKER.

--M. MORROW, VB.

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