Student Stories and Poems
AN ADVENTURE
Into the deepening darkness we drove through the native bush, winding in and out amongst the forest giants to a chorus of birds whose notes echoed shrilly in the night. Now and then we could hear the hoot of an owl coming from the surrounding trees. We were alone on the road without any sign of human habitation, except the lights that twinkled like tiny stars in the grey distance.
Onward we traveled, ever onward, past the familiar landmarks, through the fern gully, past the small school and the only store and post-office, towards town, and still better - home. To our surprise, however, we heard a jarring noise which strangely did not harmonize or blend with the beautiful sounds of the bush. It was the noise of a motorbike.
For a short time nobody in the small car had spoken, for all were drinking in the wonderful scenery for which the bush is renowned. But these jarring noises brought murmured protests of “speed-hog” and “silly ass” from our small party. Roaring down the incline he shot past us at about 60 miles per hour, but unluckily there was a bend in the road just in front of us, and owing to some loose metal he skidded and was flung from his machine.
We applied all brakes, for he lay flat on the road in front of us. Skidding madly on the loose metal we did two complete turns and headed for the steep bank, and then came that fearful dive which I shall remember until my dying day. It seemed to last for hours, but in reality it was only a few seconds. To our amazement we struck something, a patch of gorse. We swayed gently to and fro for a few minutes, not daring to move, for the slightest tilt would mean a drop of fifty feet into the valley below. We were saved!
The man on the motor-bike who had caused all this trouble, and who thought his last day had come, picked himself up and came to see if he could help. As he was unhurt except for a few bruises, he hopped on to his motor-bike and raced off to find help, which was not long in coming. Then, with the aid of chains and ropes we were lowered on to the main road, after which we resumed our journey, arriving home without further incident.
Milton Thornton (age 12)
From Theosophy in New Zealand February 1932
THE SHIPWRECK
Plying her way from England to France, a seventeenth century vessel made from solid oak was nearing the coast of France, when to the gunner’s surprise and horror a twenty four pounder carronade broke her moorings and charged like a battering-ram across the deck. After a few of these clashes, sounding like colossal mallets against the enormous iron structures, the captain and lieutenant rushed to the stairs leading to the gun-deck, at the top of which they stood stupefied, as though turned into images of stone. At the time of the disaster groups of men stood about the gun-deck talking, and, without time to realise what had happened, they were charged by the vengeful monster and crushed like flies, their gory bodies being thrown to all parts of the deck. As the ship again reeled, as though steering the gun in its course of destruction, the carronade charged, gouging huge yawning caverns in the solid masses of oak. Again and again it thundered its headlong flight along the deck; the mind and will of a demon seeming to guide it on its path of devastation, relentlessly smashing everything that came in contact with this inhuman and, as it seemed, immortal destroyer.
As every eye was cast upon this most formidable of ocean accidents, no one noticed in the east an enormous squall gathering, till at last it broke over the ship with thundering violence. The lashing waves gushed into the spacious gaps, filling the ship with their deadening load, till she dropped slowly, slowly; and every gallant sailor muttered a prayer as she was devoured by the merciless waves.
By Eric Archibald 8/7/32
Into the deepening darkness we drove through the native bush, winding in and out amongst the forest giants to a chorus of birds whose notes echoed shrilly in the night. Now and then we could hear the hoot of an owl coming from the surrounding trees. We were alone on the road without any sign of human habitation, except the lights that twinkled like tiny stars in the grey distance.
Onward we traveled, ever onward, past the familiar landmarks, through the fern gully, past the small school and the only store and post-office, towards town, and still better - home. To our surprise, however, we heard a jarring noise which strangely did not harmonize or blend with the beautiful sounds of the bush. It was the noise of a motorbike.
For a short time nobody in the small car had spoken, for all were drinking in the wonderful scenery for which the bush is renowned. But these jarring noises brought murmured protests of “speed-hog” and “silly ass” from our small party. Roaring down the incline he shot past us at about 60 miles per hour, but unluckily there was a bend in the road just in front of us, and owing to some loose metal he skidded and was flung from his machine.
We applied all brakes, for he lay flat on the road in front of us. Skidding madly on the loose metal we did two complete turns and headed for the steep bank, and then came that fearful dive which I shall remember until my dying day. It seemed to last for hours, but in reality it was only a few seconds. To our amazement we struck something, a patch of gorse. We swayed gently to and fro for a few minutes, not daring to move, for the slightest tilt would mean a drop of fifty feet into the valley below. We were saved!
The man on the motor-bike who had caused all this trouble, and who thought his last day had come, picked himself up and came to see if he could help. As he was unhurt except for a few bruises, he hopped on to his motor-bike and raced off to find help, which was not long in coming. Then, with the aid of chains and ropes we were lowered on to the main road, after which we resumed our journey, arriving home without further incident.
Milton Thornton (age 12)
From Theosophy in New Zealand February 1932
THE SHIPWRECK
Plying her way from England to France, a seventeenth century vessel made from solid oak was nearing the coast of France, when to the gunner’s surprise and horror a twenty four pounder carronade broke her moorings and charged like a battering-ram across the deck. After a few of these clashes, sounding like colossal mallets against the enormous iron structures, the captain and lieutenant rushed to the stairs leading to the gun-deck, at the top of which they stood stupefied, as though turned into images of stone. At the time of the disaster groups of men stood about the gun-deck talking, and, without time to realise what had happened, they were charged by the vengeful monster and crushed like flies, their gory bodies being thrown to all parts of the deck. As the ship again reeled, as though steering the gun in its course of destruction, the carronade charged, gouging huge yawning caverns in the solid masses of oak. Again and again it thundered its headlong flight along the deck; the mind and will of a demon seeming to guide it on its path of devastation, relentlessly smashing everything that came in contact with this inhuman and, as it seemed, immortal destroyer.
As every eye was cast upon this most formidable of ocean accidents, no one noticed in the east an enormous squall gathering, till at last it broke over the ship with thundering violence. The lashing waves gushed into the spacious gaps, filling the ship with their deadening load, till she dropped slowly, slowly; and every gallant sailor muttered a prayer as she was devoured by the merciless waves.
By Eric Archibald 8/7/32
Poems
OUR LITTLE BROTHER
One morning sparkling with the dew, O’er hill and dale a sparrow flew. The people to him midgets were, And little for them did he care. The zephyrs were swaying the corn and wheat, The air was fresh, the flowers sweet. But as the beauty he took in, Someone performed a dreadful sin, And shot our little brother dear; But nothing in that is there to tear, For in the heavens now he plays, And whiles away the happy days. Hope Chandler 8/7/32 |
THE END OF DAY
The sun grows lower in the sky, And evening's falling fast, The Queen of Day her work has done, She seeks her rest at last. And slowly Lady Moon doth come, High up into the sky, And a million twinkling stars proclaim, That night is drawing nigh. And so as time departs on fleeting wing, The bird his song of evening stops to sing, And from the ever darkening sky, Flows a wondrous peace, and on high One can imagine angel’s wing, And from the heavens gently sing, To the world a lullaby. Nancy Thornton Form II From Theosophy in New Zealand Oct to Dec 1934 |
MY GARDEN OF DELIGHT
In my Garden of Delight, There are flowers gay and bright, Lavender and poppies too, Mignonette and pansies blue, Hollyhocks are standing there, All of colours gay and rare. Oh! It is a lovely sight, In my Garden of Delight. Tallest trees of steeple height, Sway about with all their might, Standing straight or bending low, Where a little brook doth flow. And the shadows flicker past, Of the birds that fly so fast. Oh, if you could only see, The garden that belongs to me. Joan Longhurst (13 yrs) |
ODE TO SPRING
As Spring unfurls her graceful wings, And tiny blossoms peep, The snowdrops lift their tousled heads And look up from their sleep. Upon the velvet hills and downs The lambkins frisk and play; They love to chew the new green grass Until the close of day. The sun sinks far behind the clouds And all the world is grey, Except the lonely staring owl, Who hails the coming day. The sky is curtained by the clouds, And everywhere looks dread, But twinkling stars light up the world, And all are hushed to bed. Elizabeth Ward (14 years) |
THE FAIRY
As I walked through the meadow, The grass, the field, the scene, I saw a fairy dancing, Right on the village green. I called out to her “Hullo”, But she vanished right away, And never more I saw her From that day. Peter McLaren (6 years) |
THE ELFIN COBBLER
On the green the Elfin Cobbler stands With nails in his hands, And Fays are standing round, With a pound, To pay for the shoes he mends. The cobbler mends them with a will, And when the night is dark and still, There he stands With a candle in his hands, So he can see To mend the shoes for you and me. Jean Bradford (9 years) |
A LITTLE BROWN BOAT
A little brown boat went sailing o’er the sea, A little brown boat was she; She sailed the seas in search of unknown lands, Where palm trees grew, and blue waters lapped the yellow sands, But no lands found she, For she sank beneath the deep blue sea. On a dark and stormy night When all hope was out, they espied a light, The crew of this bonny boat Rent the sea with cries of joy And shouts of “Is there a ship ahoy!” But no answering call came through the night, For it was not a light they had seen, But a vision, Oh! Serene. They cried, “Oh! God, our end is near, For we have seen a vision clear.” They prayed for two hours, Then the boat was in the dark sea’s power. It sank beneath the foam Where little fishes roam, And never more was seen After that vision wonderful and serene. Valerie Nilson (12 years) |
THE BROOK
Oh look! Oh look! A little brook Is running away down there. And then, oh then, Oh can't you see A little brown-black hare. And how and then A little wren Puts out her glossy head, And then a baby gives a cry As the little brook goes by And once more on its endless way The little brook runs on all day. And now once more I open the door And have a look At the little brook Breathing and dancing, Crying and laughing, Living and dying, In the open air. Betty Brennan (10 years) |
SPRING CLOUDS
Oh beautiful clouds rolling along, Not a care in the world, only a song. Of the sweet pine trees whispering in the breeze, Of the sweet scented flowers sweetening their leaves. Of the green grass growing, Of the bright sun glowing, Oh beautiful clouds, aren’t you pleased? With the blue skies behind you, And the greenness below, Making the world happy, and everything go. Sweet tiny children come out to play With their animal pets and everything gay. At night when the sun sinks in the west You beautiful clouds change colour and rest. The earth is hushed and all is well Till the next spring day and everything will tell. Marie-Pat Tice-Martin. |
BIRDIE
Hallo! Little birdie, How are you? Hallo! Little birdie, How do you do? Don’t you love the sun, Shining so gay, Don’t you think it fun To fly all day. Jessie van Leyden (9 years) |
THE WINDY LANE
I walked down a silent street. With the patter, patter of my feet, I walked and walked till last I came to a little windy lane. I looked to left, I looked to right. At once I saw a gorgeous sight. The fairies and some little elves dancing with their silver bells. They skipped and danced around and round, And then at last flew off the ground. It was indeed a wondrous sight to see these elfins in the night.
Sylvia Ward (12 years)
THE GARDEN OF THE BIRDS
The Garden of the birds is hung with crystal dew,
For every lovely bird there is of rainbow hue.
There are birds with silver wings and birds with wings of gold,
And other birds like peacocks which from their tails hold,
Spirals of feathers aglow with precious stones,
All flashing in the sunlight as they fly towards their homes.
I walked down a silent street. With the patter, patter of my feet, I walked and walked till last I came to a little windy lane. I looked to left, I looked to right. At once I saw a gorgeous sight. The fairies and some little elves dancing with their silver bells. They skipped and danced around and round, And then at last flew off the ground. It was indeed a wondrous sight to see these elfins in the night.
Sylvia Ward (12 years)
THE GARDEN OF THE BIRDS
The Garden of the birds is hung with crystal dew,
For every lovely bird there is of rainbow hue.
There are birds with silver wings and birds with wings of gold,
And other birds like peacocks which from their tails hold,
Spirals of feathers aglow with precious stones,
All flashing in the sunlight as they fly towards their homes.
Poem and design by Julie Wooler (age 11)
From Theosophy in New Zealand October 1940
From Theosophy in New Zealand October 1940