REFLECTIONS

OLD SCHOLAR'S SECTION

An Open Letter to Old Students.

DEAR OLD STUDENTS,
With one more year of busy work, and (shall we say?) busier play throwing its shadow behind us, we may pause awhile to "take it and try its worth" in the approved style. Since this little journal is concerned solely with the woes and joys of our Alma Mater, however, we are concerned solely in this letter with the affairs of old students, and from this view-point 1926 has been very successful.

The number of subscribers to the Magazine is steadily increasing - we can place nearly 150 subscribers against the 80 of last year; but financially we are still on the debit side. We appeal to those of our members who are already loyally supporting us to introduce new subscribers if possible. The introduction is all we need; "Reflections" can be relied upon to maintain the acquaintance.

We should also welcome contributions for publication from old scholars. At present these are few and far between.

An outstanding event of the year was the Staff Dance held on November 27th. This was organised especially for Old Scholars, and the demand for tickets was so great that sales had to be stopped. After a thoroughly enjoyable evening over 150 Old Scholars joined hands and voices to the strains of Auld Lang Syne. In view of this encouraging response the Staff is hoping to organise an annual reunion about Christmas time.

Now, since time and tide wait for no man, and space and the printers are equally unaccommodating, we must make our adieu. Like Scrooge, we may look back on unsuccessful Christmases; we may look forward with mingled hopes and fears to Christmas future; but Christmas present is with us - jovial, hearty, rosy-cheeked, and we cannot do better than bid you join him, and wish you heartiest enjoyment in his company.

Yours sincerely,
THE EDITORS.

O.S.A. Notes.

By LESLIE OWEN (Hon. Sec. O.S.A.)

When we look back, it seems but yesterday that the O.S.A. was first founded. The memory of those pioneer meetings is still fresh, but time has passed quickly, and the O.S.A. has grown.

I can truthfully say that the first session of this year has been pleasing; September saw a fresh batch of old students enrolled, and since then, all the meetings have been well attended.

The Dramatic Society has started rehearsing, and hopes to be soon ready to stage its "revival Show." I understand that a few members are required to take minor parts, and if there are any enthusiasts who care to "start at the bottom," then Mr. A. Latimer would be pleased to hear from them.

The "girls," if one may now be permitted to title them thus, have again started their Gym, with, I understand, very pleasing results. They have also formed a Net-ball Club, and have joined a league, and so have a pretty full fixture list. I hear that the result of their first game was rather disappointing, but I am sure that such a set-back will not discourage them. Any members who are interested should apply to Miss W. Lane, 108, Hampden Road, N.8.

The weekly meetings have been well attended, as usual, and the monthly meetings have also passed off much better than before.

The dances, too, I am pleased to report, have been much better supported than usual, and those already held havebeen very successful functions from every point of view. In this connection, thanks are due to the caretaker, Mr. Colman, for his invaluable assistance in decorating the Hall, etc., and also to the Committee and other members who have assisted.

In conclusion, I must, of course, wish all old students the merriest of Christmases and the brightest of bright New Years. The older members are looking forward to the rest that this holiday brings; while the younger ones will, no doubt, devote part of this time to thinking over their first experiences of "business life"; and I am sure that, on due reflection, they will wish they were back at school again.

Voices from Afar.

A Motoring Adventure in India.

By FRANK CACKETT (1921-25)

One Saturday morning, when things were rather dull, my friend at work turned suddenly to me and announced that he was off that afternoon to Poona to fetch a car which had been given to him. Scenting possible adventure, I offered to accompany him and, as soon as the morning's work was done we hurried home, secured a few necessities, and caught the Punjab Mail to Poona. The rail journey from Nasik (where I live) to Poono, is perhaps one of the most interesting in the world - especially during a monsoon. The train, ascending the mountains slowly and painfully, crosses many suspended bridges and passes through many tunnels. All the time, the scenery is of surpassing beauty. Water thunders down, down, down - over moss-covered stones and through deep gorges into a main stream far below. Tall palms stand out above thick foliage of cactus and banyan. On all sides the mountains rise in lofty masses, till they seem to touch the sky. All is wonderful. We pass through a series of winding cuttings and again through a few tunnels, and all sense of direction is lost.

We arrived safely at Poona, and after spending the night with some of my friend's relatives, we set out on the return journey on the following day (Sunday), soon after twelve. The distance to be covered before night-fall was roughly one hundred and twenty miles, and the car, I might add, had not been used for over three months! However, my friend, fortunately, was something of a genius with cars, and after a little trouble he managed to set the thing going.

The first thirty odd miles, during which we crossed a river by passing through a road under it, were fairly smooth and uneventful. Then we began to ascend the Peth Ghat. We had hardly reached the Peth plateau when we experienced our first tyre-burst. This detained us for about three- quarters of an hour, but at length we set out again, and continued, passing a village called Narajangaon (pronounced nothing like it is spelt), until at about 3.15 p.m. we came to a dead stop. There in front of us was a river with no bridge, no road under it, and a ferry which was not working. The river at this point was about seventy-five yards wide. At the moment of our arrival a large passenger 'bus was about to cross from the other side. With a rush, it entered the water, but very soon it stuck. About a dozen coolies had been hired to assist in coaxing the 'bus across, and these, after the most strenuous efforts, managed little by little to push and pull the 'bus through the water. The operation, however, took an hour at least. At one time the 'bus made no headway at all for about twenty minutes, and I began to think it was permanently stuck fast in the bed of the river.

Meanwhile, my friend had waded out to get into touch with the coolies. He offered one of the coolies a rupee (about eighteen-pence) if he would persuade the others to push our car across for two rupees. Indians, you may be surprised to know, are very independent, and although these men had received only two rupees between them for an hour's hard work with the 'bus, they refused to help us for the same sum. At length, we were forced to give them five rupees which was ill-spent, since our car passed through the river in about fifteen minutes, and almost on its own power.

It was then necessary to clean the car and again repair the burst tyre with a piece of the car's floor-covering, which was all we had. In consequence, it was 5 o'clock before we again set out. We were about seventy miles from home at this point.

With a few stops at toll-houses, we rushed on, my friend driving and I counting the milestones and calling out every now and again: "Only fifty miles more to go!" Our way here lay over the Ghats, and when we reached the summit the descent was really wonderful. With a sheer drop of seventy feet on one side, and a steep embankment on the other, with numerous blind corners and hairpin bends, the road came down and down into the plain below. A long, smooth run carried us into Sangamner, thirty-six miles from Nasik. We stopped for petrol, rigged up one good light with the aid of a penknife, and set out on our final stretch at about 6.30 p.m. We crossed many more ghats, and when about twenty-five miles from home, darkness, as in the Far East, came upon us with the suddenness of a dropping curtain.

At about 8.30 p.m. we had another tyre-burst. The floor-covering which we had used had been completely worn through. It took us about an hour to put things right (using more floor-mat), and soon after 10 p.m. we reached Nasik railway station - only to find the level crossing gates closed. Nothing is more disheartening to motorists, especially after a long and fatiguing journey, than a closed level-crossing. However, after a short delay we were able to pass, and we arrived home at about 10.30 p.m. and found a good dinner awaiting us.

Considering that the car had not been in use for over three months, and that we were detained by tyre trouble for about two hours, and again about two hours by the river, Ido not think the journey was a bad performance - especially when I reveal the fact that the car was a Ford! It was really a very interesting and, at times, exciting journey, and in spite of all the mishaps I enjoyed it very much.

Launcelot in London.

By G. H. CARPENTER (1919-23).

Out of Waterloo Station, over Westminster Bridge, and up Whitehall, strode a tall, khaki-clad young man with a long stride and a pensive air.

With him came a breath of fresh air from remote corners of old rural England - a breath of which stirred the blackened leaves on London's trees, and caused the horses of the Guards opposite the War Office to stir ever so slightly, as memories of their young days crowded on them.

And when we add that this young man, nevertheless, seemed quite at home in London, and that his features retained their habitual appearance of grim simplicity, our readers will, of course, instantly perceive that this was Launcelot.

"I say, soldier!" someone shouted.

Launcelot looked round in surprise. "Yes," he answered.

"Are you from Aldershot?"

"Yes."

"Well, perhaps you can help me..."

The stranger was a thin, unhealthy-looking young man, dressed in the jaunty fashion that is the hall-mark of the young bloods of Bow and Battersea.

Launcelot regulated his pace to fit with that of his companion, and listened attentively to the latter's tale of woe.

It appeared that the stranger was a corporal in the Hussars and was stationed at a convalescent home at Colchester. He had that day ridden into London by motor-cycle, and had had the machine smashed up in an accident at Mile End. He had now no money left, and could not get back. As he was awaiting discharge with a disability pension, a prolonged absence might mean a serious financial loss, as well as the inconvenience of walking back to Colchester.

"I have half-a-crown," said Launcelot, simply.

"Well," said the stranger, after some thought. "I could cable to my father at Harwich, and get him to send me the money for my fare."

"How much would the wire cost?"

"Two-and-fivepence."

Launcelot looked mildly surprised. "How very fortunate!" he murmured. "I have just two-and-six."

"If you could do this for me," pleaded the stranger, "I should never forget it. And perhaps one day I might be able to....."

But Launcelot looked embarrassed by this expression of gratitude. His glance wandered down to the stranger's gloves.

"Well," he pronounced, "I am due at the War Office at eleven. If I lend you the money, can I see you there at eleven-thirty?"

"Certainly. I can be back by a quarter past."

Launcelot produced the half-crown, and the stranger prepared to utter his thanks.

"First of all, however," murmured Launcelot, "give me your gloves. I shall keep them as a token of good faith."

Very unwillingly, but with a fair show of good grace, the stranger handed over the gloves, and received the half-crown.

At eleven-thirty, Launcelot stood outside the War Office. But where was the stranger? Ah, where?

Launcelot walked to the nearest pawnshop, having first sworn a mighty oath that should he see that stranger again -!!

The pawnbroker shook his head. "Gloves are of no use to us," he said. "If you have a watch or a ring, now.. "

"Sorry," said Launcelot. "Couldn't manage any of those to-day."

"Get out of my shop!" cried the man, in terror.

"Idiot," growled Launcelot, and went.

On the West-bound train from Waterloo, Launcelot, sitting moodily in the corner of the carriage, pulled out the gloves once more and glared at them.

"No cigarettes for the rest of the week." he reflected.

He turned them over and examined them critically, and then, looking out of the window, seemed inclined to throw them forth. Struck by a sudden thought, however, he began to try them on. His hands, much too large for them, pulled them taut. He smiled, and gave the right glove a sudden pull.

"Great Shakespeare!" he muttered, as his fingers touched a piece of crisp paper. "What's this? A note? Oh - ten bob!"

The following day, a sadly-smiling youth presented St. Dunstan's with seven-and-sixpence.

Our Age

By GEORGE CARPENTER (1919-23)

Beside a racing, hissing stream,
Between a bed of roses and a hill,
On a couch of down and thorns,
'Neath the ever-dreaming dome
Of the Beyond,
There lies a youth,
With wide eyes waiting -
Wondering -.