MACHINES God did not create machines, man did. God did not intend man to create machines, for machines are destroying God. Man could not exist without machines. The machines are taking over : at first man could control his machines, but now he has no option—either he submits to the machines or he is destroyed. They have taken over what man could no longer control. Man is indeed the slave, he is required only to 'feed' the machines their 'food', to mend them, to look after them. The machine world is a cold, calculated world, programmed and with no margin for error. Gone is the warmth of love and human desire. Soon machines will programme men. Machines are replacing nature: man is forced to bulldoze nature to where it came from, in order to give his machines more room. When nature cannot cope, the machines move in, polluting, killing, looting the land and anything else which stands in their way. Efficiency is a key word. The horse was not efficient enough, so it was replaced by a machine. Nature's products are replaced by synthetic substances. So what happens to man when he is no longer efficient? Will machines replace mankind? Will life be destroyed? Or is man already a machine? If he is, man is an exceptional machine. He is irrational, emotional, often illogical and subject to errors. W. J. CLAPPISON, IVth Form
STARLINGS In the summer Hundreds of black beetle birds Sit Silently in the long grass. The green speckled wings Of greedy giants Glittered, like stagnant water In the sun. I went outside And all at once The air was full of Croaking angry vermin Full of angry fire Thrashing the air with great green-silver Flecked wings. A whirling up above And they were gone. S.C.A., IIIrd Form
THE HOLE IN THE ROCK On the crest of the bleak moors Stood a tall, grey boulder; I climbed it, and at the top, I saw a small round hole, Big enough to hold my fist. In it, two small pebbles Were whirled around by the wind. These two stones must have Carved the hole alone. I imagined them, through blizzards, Through gales, through storms, Spinning around in the Miniature whirl-wind; Slowly grinding their way into the boulder, Through sheer time. T. J. STEPHENSON, IIIrd Form 35
