Words and Pictures

WORDS & PICTURES

ANIMAL RIGHTS

Animal rights is a subject that has featured a lot in the news recently. It has seemed almost impossible to pick up a paper or turn on the television without the veal trade or a similar subject being the centre point of what you are reading or watching. I have found a simple solution to this. I no longer read any newspaper articles about animal rights nor watch a programme about the subject on television. There is also a simple explanation for this. Animal rights has become something that the British are obsessed with. The protection of animal rights is no longer something to which we are happy to donate our small change. It is now almost a religion. Whenever we see an animal rights campaigner collecting money it is no longer enough to fish around in our pockets for a coin. We are expected to remove our wallets and place a crisp banknote in the collection tin.

The reason why I am perturbed by this obsession with animals is this: people are more important than animals. That is a conviction which no one will remove from my thoughts. I believe that we should spend more time worrying about people and the charities that support them. Spare a thought for the war veteran who cannot afford to put his heating on because too many people chose to support the new dog sanctuary instead of buying a poppy. If it wasn't for people like him there would be no animals because they would have been wiped out with the rest of us when the Nazis invaded. Spare another thought for the disabled child who cannot go to the seaside. The charity which normally caters for his needs is unable to do so this year because too many people have given money to the local hospital for injured birds instead of them. Spare a final thought for the small girl in Ethiopia who will die of malaria because instead of donating money for vital medical supplies in Africa, many people have contributed to the R.S.P.C. A. 's vast cash surpluses. In the final article about animal rights I read I was informed that the R.S.P.C. A. has a cash reserve of twenty million pounds yet still they ask us for money. Let them spend what they already have before they come begging for more of our hard-earned money to support their bureaucracy and obsession with dogs which will be put down within two weeks.

Unfortunately, there will always be animal cruelty. I do not wish to condone animal cruelty but it is a sad fact that there will always be some unpleasant members of society who get some perverse pleasure out of animal cruelty. The various animal charities have enough sources of income without preying on young children. Asking children to give up their pocket-money to help fluffy, vulnerable animals isn't on in my opinion. Of course a young child is going to want to support a helpless-looking dog such as those we see in adverts by giving up his or her pocket-money. However, the child is not informed that after their money has been used to support an ownerless dog for two weeks then the dog is destroyed. The child might have simply thrown their money away — it just prolonged the unpleasant existence of a dog for a number of weeks.

In conclusion I would like to say that although I do not believe in cruelty to animals, I think that there are more important things to worry about in the world. Perhaps veal calves should not be transported over long distances but truckxlrivers should certainly not have their cab windows smashed. It is definitely wrong for animals rights activitists to attack the home of the owner of a transportation firm whose lorry has just run over a protester. Arguing with a heavy goods vehicle is extremely dangerous and when you play Russian Roulette you sometimes get the bullet. There are things of far greater importance than animal rights for people to concern themselves with.

Nikolai Shepherd

Nikolai was awarded the fourth-form essay prize for this piece.

Zoe Wight

It is only eight hours since he passed away. In his sleep, it was. He fought it off for three short years. Then it gripped him for three long days. Then he died.

I saw him last night, to see hjm for the last time. He lay there. Where an amusing, robust man used to be was now a frail, old man, savaged by illness. Where his face used to be beaming with colour and life, it was now grey and tired.

I held his weak but warm hand. I wonder if he recognised me? I think he did. I had nothing to say. What could I say? I felt my eyes aching to let out a stream of water. I opened the gates of my eyes and a lone tear tumbled its way down the contours of my face, leaving a tell-tale trail behind it. I clenched his hand tighter. He mumbled something, I don't know what.

The televison was flickering in the background of his and my grandma's bedroom. The curtain was drawn and it was black outside. The rain lashed down ruthlessly. I was sitting on a chair by his bed. It was a small rocking chair. I used to play about on it when I was younger. I remember he used to get out an old jack-in-the-box and wind it up. Every, time that red-faced doll jumped out of the box, I screamed with shock. I used to think it was so funny. I remember when he and I used to feed his ducks together, and we had to go into that old greenhouse, past the tomato plants to get the oats. I remember the hats he used to wear. Those funny old tweed ones I used to try on. I remember his smell and his voice.

I looked up to the creamy ceiling, trying to contain my tears, and then back at his face. In the corner of my eye, the yellow light of his drip flashed. Suddenly water fills my eyes and I cry. Now, I do not care who sees. Why did I care in the first place?

As I stared at him lying there, I knew he would not live after the morning. The doctor had said so before I came, but then I had hoped that he'd pull through, just like he had done before. But not now. I saw a man in pain who had suffered for long enough. I realised then that it was time for him to leave. I had known for a long time that he was going to die of cancer, but I had never wanted to think about it. Now, all those times that I should have thought about it were crammed into the space of the hour that I was with him, like a tree inside a seed.

Crying is a strange thing. I had spurts of crying time where I thought that I'd never stop, and then I was fine. Every time I thought of something different about him, a new crying phase would start, and then die away, like a diminuendo on the piano.

I kissed him for the last time and said goodbye, as I always did. As I reached the door, I looked back at him, and I shall never forget this. He waved to me with that weak hand, and his face and eyes managed a faint smile.

Today was a beautiful day, and as I stare out of the window into the fading sunset, I can't help but think that this is a tribute to a beautiful man.

Zoe Wight

This piece was written shortly after the death of Zoe's grandfather, James Herriot. It is a fitting tribute to him.

LOVE AND LOSS

"Terence" — her Irish accent sang out clear, Not Terence — her face nervous then relaxed. "Philip" — Dad was the something in her hand, An old frail-brown photograph was there.

She had a radiant smile that warmed the heart, A jovial laugh — always kindly meant. She brought to that home all her Irish charm, Her Cinzano, two portraits and her scent.

On the white chest a vase of bright carnations, Perfectly arranged, gleam and draw the eye. Views of Ireland outstrip the zimmer frame, In the worn top drawer treasured letters lie.

I visited again the other day — How cruelly had it changed! How the air Reeked with pungent tobacco and whisky fumes. "Grandma", I cried to another in her chair. Philip Kerrigan

Andrew Daughtrey

THE END OF THE AFFAIR

I wish I could express what was lost to me that day. The emotions I felt still touch me, when I remember the way she used to laugh, or smile, or even cry, and I break down each time, and die.

The cold biting wind of that winters' morn, I recall widi such bitterness, then I recall the way she spoke my name with such passion, and I smile in sadness, and grief.

Oh Death! Your cold grips extends now even towards me, as it did towards her that fated day. And I drown my sorrows in a bottle of the wine we drank, and I cry, but no one hears.

Will it never end, the suffering, the pain? I think not, till she whispers, "I love you" again. Andrew Taylor

In a way it was expected. Polite mumblings had never before Entered into our little sharings. I could tell by the way you stood; Nervous, and ill at ease — Something had gone wrong.

Even now I can't understand What happened when the moon was up. The sun was setting and it seemed We were setting with it.

Like the dying flowers around us We withered and faded. At first I tried denial, summer would call again. I tried to regain you, but you were lost — We were lost in the depths of time That would not pass again.

Even now my arms seem empty: Time has not healed my pain. I long to have you here beside me To hold me like you used to.

I can still remember that dawning of time Which signified our end. On that cold, hard day you passed me by And I was left behind. We will always remain as one In the memories of the past.

Emma Hook

Ginny Mackie

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THE DYING OF A LOVE AFFAIR

It only took a few words but I knew it was not the fate that was intended. We stood apart, as destiny denied.

Now we were to fade away as the lingering could no longer continue. I folded the rules of time and I flew from the bonds we'd made.

I was not the image you intended but only a passing phase; time could not withhold our choice for change.

Impossibility was not the question but the space was eternity which could not hold the links of time. You and I were never again to be. See you in the next life.

"The tour starts here", said the tour-guide, "Keep in line and wait your turn. Observe the group of children on that side, They are eager to listen and learn.

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The children don't look too appealing

With their jackets all fuzzy and brown, Though their noses all point to die ceiling,

Their knuckles are scraping the ground!

THE n* scHouRSHiP (ftrtcncAi. c) The first tiling I recall of St. Peter's was the sense of loneliness I felt. The hall, the buildings were empty, alone —

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This lesson here's madiematics,

Wait and see just what is in store. The maths teachers are all lunatics,

And the pupils are tired and bored.

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distant almost... people coming and going around me, but no one seeing... preoccupied with their own matters; to-ing and fro-ing with bags, carriers and

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Now we will go to the lunch hall

To see what is cooking today. This gravy is strange and lumpy,

And it's made a hole in my tray!

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Alas, now the tour must be ended,

I hope you've had a nice time, I'm sorry it can't be extended,

There's a limit to filling this rhyme!" by Chris Reilly 3S parents waving goodbye. But where were mine? They'd already gone: a kiss a hug and "Darling you'll be fine" — I almost believed them... Almost.

Emma Newton 3S

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