M.G.S. Magazine - July 1957

Section: |   1  |   2  |   3  |   4  |   5  |   6  |   Choose another mag  
MGS Magazine 1957
Articles written by pupils


It was Saturday. For once it was very quiet in Kirkburton, an eerie sort of quietness, an unpredictable silence had fallen. People out late all hurried home wondering why there was not the usual blare, brightness and boisterousness of the Youth Club. Where were all the crazy, jive-mad teenagers? One or two people thought it a relief to find the place quiet. No uncurtained windows threw shafts of light across the road; no loud, booming strain of "rock" music filled the air. It was all dark and shadowy round the youth club building.

"The obvious solution is that the club has broken up and everyone gone home," said Mrs. Pearson to her husband. It was so odd that no group of girls should come tumbling down the steps, laughing and chattering about the table-tennis finals or the latest hit tune.

"There must be something wrong," remarked old Mrs. Jackson. "Our Ann went and she said she would be late home because they were having a Twenty-first dance tonight."

There was something wrong, something ordinary, quiet, little Kirkburton, with her few shops on the main road, three pubs and a new housing estate, had never known before. She had grown from the quiet little place of rest surrounded by beautiful old trees, fertile meadows and bubbling streams, into a popular just-out-of-town jaunt, suitable for Saturday night frolics.

Meanwhile, in the Youth Club, a hushed, horrified crowd stood round something in the middle of the floor. Curtains had been drawn, and the village policeman, Potterson, had been sent for. Peter Simpson lay on the floor, one hand half-out stretched to a split glass, his body twisted, and on his face a horribly contorted grimace of sudden death.

JUDITH FOX (5 Alpha)


Professor Dean told us all to lie down and relax. "In a few minutes we are going to land on the moon. I t will put a terrific strain on the body, so do relax," he had commanded. I closed my eyes and buried my head in my pillow. The throbbing in my ears grew louder, louder, louder; my head was nearly splitting; then everything went black.

Of course, I was the last one to regain consciousness; I'm the last at everything. The professor had been surveying the outer world with the special camera and, seeing no sign of life, he decided to go and explore. He split us up into two groups. One to stop and look after the ship and the other to prepare to go out. I managed to persuade them to let me go out, so' putting on the rather clumsy, but comfortable suit, I went to join the rest.

It was a very strange and dismal world we saw when the outer door opened. It was a world of craters and cliffs, steep slopes and grotesque pinnacles of rocks. At first glance everything looked grey and dismal. A cold clammy mist hung over everything, impeding the sight.

We clambered down the ladder on to the firm ground. This strange new world fascinated us. The professor drew up a set of rules: No one had to wander away, etc. You know what I mean; the sort of thing you're told on the Sunday School treat.

I can remember setting off from the ship and then my mind goes blank. The next thing I remember was a strange underground cavern. It was very beautiful with its stalagmites and stalactites but I don't remember how we got there. We seemed to be drawn along by some strange power. Although I had never been there before I seemed to know where I was going. Now I was looking for that little stream I knew would be round the next bend. On and on we walked, it must have been miles but I didn't feel tired, it only seemed to be a few yards.

Then suddenly a shiver ran down my spine. I knew that around the next bend I would see the person or thing that had drawn us there. The others seemed to have the same instinct. We crept up to the rock and peered round, and then we saw our hosts.

They were about eighteen inches high and covered with gold hair. They wore no clothes, and were strangely beautiful. One of them came forward and spoke to us in our own language. He told us not to be afraid, he said his name was Lologig and he would now take us on to the city. We continued along winding tunnels which suddenly opened out into a large cavern which looked down upon the city. It was a magnificent, indescribable sight and as we climbed down thousands of steps into the city itself there were millions of these small people waiting to greet. us. We were then taken by Lologig to the house of Otho, the ruler of the City. Here we were treated with great respect, a feast was prepared and we ate our fill of strange, mystic food.

After we had been shown everything of importance in the city, the Professor ordered us to prepare to leave. We were given a guide to lead us to the outer world, as they said we would not know the way now.

As we travelled back I noticed something which greatly interested me. Stopping behind to examine it closer I got cut off from the rest of the party. Suddenly I heard a dull rumble, the ceiling started to cave in and in a matter of seconds the cave in which I was was cut off. I heard my screams echoing and seeming to mock me. I felt wet and clammy and could feel a terrible pain in my stomach. I opened my eyes.

My horrible little brother was doing an Irish jig on me. I looked at the clock on the wall-eight-thirty! As I dived out of bed everything went flying, including Frank, and I have never been as glad to go to school in my life before or since.



Silence is a simile that means golden and quiet. It is the act of making no noise and is the basis of all organisation. It also means shut up and shut up means quiet.

Teaches and horrible prefects are always shouting it and if you don't obey you get six long words for someone to be done by next day to do one hundred times or you will get a detes? detensh? ditent? debt? det., to rite which si wasten ink and paper as well as time when you could be having a date with your girlfriend.

We have silence because noise is annoying and it interupts peopl so that they they cannot consentrate. It also gives people headaches so that they have to take tablets.

Silence is expected in coridors and librarys. I t prevents people corseing riots, copeing and disturbances. Evrybody should learn to be silent at the begining as it is one of the greatest virtues an human being can learn but that few do.

Silence is best for if we speak we often regret what we have said.


(The editor will take no responsibility for any mistakes in the above article).


I have a small island. It is snuggly situated in Crossley Bottoms. The field at the bottom of which it lies, is owned by Farmer Proctor. A small stream runs around the North-East, South, and South-West sides. It is in the form of a small hill, three or four yards high. On the South, East and West sides there is nothing but grass, but on the North side (my favourite) there are wild grasses and flowers. There is always fresh clean rain water in the stream, for its bed is of stones and pebbles. Further down the stream is crossed by several bridges but to get to my island I have to cross by a series of stepping stones.

In spring the grass is wet and soggy, the water in the stream is high and brown. For even though the stream is small it still has enough tributaries to force it to overflow its banks. In this case I have to jump from the first stone to the far bank. In spring the East side of my island is like a small marsh, the trees on the far side of the stream are bare and brown. The small bank of sand and pebbles which usually shows has disappeared beneath the murky waters, some of the smaller pebbles are lapped against tree roots in their Rushing! Pushing! Shoving! hurry to move along the bed.

In the early morning when the dew is still on the grass and the pale sun is showing its face above the grey, watery clouds, then, in my eyes, is my island most beautiful. The sun's pale rays light up the small drops of dew on the grass, and the brown waters shine as they flow merrily on their way.

In summer time my island is much prettier, for the leaves are in bud and some are opening. The sun also seems brighter as it shines on the fresh green blades and the new blooming leaves. When the sun shines on my island the stream is clear, and sparkling, and dancing again. My little pebble beach is there again and the flowers are opening out in the North.

In autumn the island looks even more beautiful than in summer; not when the glowing light of the morning sun shines in the dew, but when the evening comes and the golden-red rays of the setting sun Light upon the russet leaves of the trees and even turn the water into dancing fire-flames, while the grass acquires a new unmatchable colour. With the cry of birds above the musical tinkle of the waters below, who could wish for anything more quiet and peaceful?

Even as the seasons progress, my island grows more beautiful; and so it is with winter. Light untrodden snow lies on the ground, with bright green spikes sticking through; and the striking contrast of the bare brown trees and the active merry laughter of the sparkling stream as it pushes its way through the cool snow. All this beauty is surrounded by laughing children, sledging, sliding, snowball-fighting, but my little island is safe from all these, for they are far too interested in themselves.

As one can gather after reading this description of my paradise, I like winter best. My island looks so magnificent with the sun sparkling on the snow, and the dark boughs of the trees each holding its own share of fleecy snow-flakes. It is in winter that the nip in the air makes my blood tingle and the feel of the cool snow on my face makes my cheeks flush with pleasure. All this makes my spirits soar and when this happens I see even my drabbest things in a new mysterious light.


The long grey shadows of evening
Steal softly across the sky,
The world is bathed in blackness
For the silent night is nigh.
High in the dark blue heavens
The moon sheds her silver light,
The stars are twinkling and merry
As they gaze down on the night.

Below in the choking blackness
All mortals are deep in slumber ,
The wind moans gently through the trees
Awaking the birds in number.
Behold! it soon shall be glorious dawn
Bringing all sunshine and laughter,
Why dwell on the dangers of the night?
But think of the dawn coming after.

Stealthily creeping, the darkness advances,
In a billowing robe it shrouds the scene,
Not a sound disturbs the stillness
For Night is a conqueror supreme.
The sudden glory of her beauty,
Her glistening jewels set amidst the blue,
Are part of the great world God made,
To Him let us our praise renew.

Little Jane
Fell Out
Big Shout
Hit Ground
Dull Sound
In Bed
Stone Dead.


I was going home from the shop when the storm began. The sky grew dark and a few flakes began to flutter about. More snow fell and the wind sprang up at once. It whipped the flakes of snow around me, making matters seem far worse than they really were.

I reached home and by this time the snow was falling fast and whirling around the houses and trees.

The wind was in a bad mood, too. In rage it took hold of the light snow and bore it to the ground, mercilessly, as if the snow had done it some great wrong in the past and it was taking revenge.

The sky was a dreadful inky colour; great banks of cloud rolled past, giving the impression of an angry, storm-swept sea. Soon, the wind dropped, but still the snow fell in great clouds, still the sky held that dreadful, mysterious appearance. By the little light that there was one could see great drifts of snow against walls and trees as well.

The snow fell thickly and steadily now, forming an ever-deepening blanket and making trees and bushes seem to be wearing white jackets. Then the heavy clouds began to break and lighter ones to take their place. Soon the snow stopped falling and the sky cleared. As I stepped out into the transformed world I thought I had never seen anything as beautiful as the snow-covered, glittering, white world where everything lay still and quiet, with a flake of snow fluttering down occasionally.