St Hugh's College, Oxford - The Imp, Dec 1919

TII IMP.

DEC EM BER,

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9 T 9.

EDITOR. A. IL PARK.

YEAR REPRESENTATIVES ON COMMITTEE. W. HUTCHINSON RALSTON

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Third Year Ropreseh!ative.

SCCO'iVi' Year

TREASURER. M. DALSTON.

Relve3entative.

No. 4.

December, 1919.

Contents.

PAGE EDITORIAL AN IMPROMPTU VISIT OF ST. HUGH

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AP' IN THE

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RAPIDE

SONG.

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HINTS TO TROUBLED STUDENTS.- PART -IL

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THE NORTHERN LIGHTS REMINISCENCE

FRENCH VERSE

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A PICKLED ACCOUNT OF BALLAD

LETTER TO THE EDITOR

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"

THE DANCE

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THE IMP

Editorial.

THE entries for both competitions and the ordinary articles have been regrettably scanty—the competition especially so. A special request is therefore made that everyone will try to contribute.

Once again people are reminded that articles of a more " solid " nature are welcomed.

A page will be reserved in the future for " Letters to the Editor," in order to encourage people to ventilate their grievances and ideas.

The effect of them on public opinion, and the reverse process, may have beneficial results. You are asked to he brief.

Old students are reminded that THE IMP would be glad if they sent in contributions.

There were no entries for " the Six Whitest Elephants of Daily Life." One entry alone was received for a " Diary of St. Hugh on a visit to this College." It was of sufficient merit to be inserted.

The competitions for next time are 1. An article in imitation of Stephen Leacock or. " College manners."

2. (a) A Boating Song. (b) Ballad on some incident connected with the war (humorous or serious).

THE IMP.

COMPETITION ENTRY

An Impromptu Visit of St. Hugh.

7,30 A.M.-St. Hugh awakes in his downy nest in Paradise and bethinks him that it would be a novel and diverting experience to visit that abode of learning that bears his name. He twangs on his harp for his attendant angel and bids him saddle his swan.

7.40—He departs from Paradise.

7.50.—He alights on the terrace of St. Hugh's College.

7.55.—Entering the College he hears a loud bell, and is much bewildered, but, having deposited his swan in the BUrsar's Office, he finds himself surrounded by a bevy of sleepy eyed damsels, and following them he enters Chapel, causing no slight stir among the congregation.

8.—Having introduced himself to the Principal and received a most hearty welcome, he breakfasts at the " High " with appetite, and finds that his halo makes a most admirable porridge plate.

8.30.—He requests the Principal to show him over the building, but she, being much occupied in interviewing students, hands him over to the Senior Student, graciously permitting them to proceed unchaperoned.

8.35.--He makes a tour of the garden, as domestic operations are in progress within.

9.10.--He inspects the College, being much impressed with the various modern contrivances.

On arriving at the J.C.R. he professes profound gratification at the sight of his portrait, which he declares to be a masterpiece. Meanwhile, a commotion is heard in the Bursar's Office, where the neglected swan is discovered breakfasting on ration cards. The bird is forcibly removed to the Visitor's Cloak Room—and fed.

St Hugh now proceeds to 4 St: Margarets' Road, where he is greeted by the 4th year students.

10.30.– -He returns to College, where his attention is directed to the bicycle sheds. He is amazed and dumbfounded at the results of modern invention.

10.45.-- He expresses a desire to attend a lecture in the town, whither he is conducted by various students.

11.--He causes considerable sensation in the Lecture Room, where he behaves with becoming dignity.

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THE IMP.

12.---He gives rise to an acute moral difficulty by expressing a wish to walk along the towing path. Allowing himself to be dissuaded from this, however, he partakes of coffee and buns at Boffin's.

12.30.—He returns to St. Hugh's on the top of a 'bus, an entirely new and rousing experience, and his halo has a narrow escape from being lett behind in a tree.

1.15 P.M.—"He lunches at the High."

2.--He proceeds, with the Principal, to watch a hockey match at Summertown, whence he returns excited and slightly dishevelled.

4.—He drinks tea in the drawing room with various College officers.

5.—He retires to San I. to prepare an address to be delivered after chapel.

6.—He has forty winks.

7.30.--He appears at dinner much refreshed, and is slightly puzzled by the menu.

S.—He goes to chapel and delivers a stirring address.

9. —He is besieged by invitations to cocoa, parties, and to avoid causing jealousy is obliged to draw lots as to which he shall accept.

9.30. —He repairs to the room of the fortunate and partakes of cocoa and cakes, comfortably installed on a humpty in front of the fire.

10.10.—He takes hurried leave of his hostess, but, finding himself locked out, has to make a distracted exit through the kitchen.

10.15.—Appropriating a stray bicycle lamp to light him on the Milky Way, he mounts his faithful bird once more and returns to Paradise, congratulating himself on having spent a most enjoyable day.

E.M.S. and M.R.C.

In the " Rapide."

It used to take less than seven hours to go from London to Paris, but in 1919 it takes eleven hours, plus a considerable amount of patience and physical strength. However if we omit the hours spent in having passports vised, in grimy consular offices, and in narrow gangways on the boat;there is compensation when the " Rapide " Moves slowly enough along the French railways to enable one to see something of the marks of the great war.

The sandy coast from Boulogne to Etaples, and beyond, was still possessed by the British army in. August, 1919. There were miles of army huts of the familiar Woolwich pattern ; army waggons driven by men in khaki ; motor-cycles dashing at hot speed along the ,

THE TIVIP. straight white roads ; Salvation Army and Y.M.C.A . huts announcing themselves in plain English. One saw now and then a group of laughing Tommies sitting on a tank, as if to be photographed in a group ; a young lieutenant talking pleasantly to an old peasant woman, and bargaining with her for supplies, his long figure having the familiar droop of the arms and head : signposts and turnings marked in English ; rails for British rolling stock running parallel to the French railway line.

Alter Etaples and the opening of the Somme the scene changed.

All the foreground was golden with corn-sheaves, and there were woods, black against a bright, thundery sky ; but soon bare and ruined trees began to appear, and the low hills were scarred with trenches, while the railway cutting was full of dug-outs, reached by a perilous slide from the top of the embankment. The white, chalky trenches, frothing, as it were, on the hillsides, must have been an easy mark from above.

Amiens Station was filled with horizon-blue soldiers, looking like bronzed Romans under their tin hats. Trucks of rubbish and broken glass were standing in a siding, and the glass of the station roof was still unreplaced. After Amiens the fields near the line were full of thorns and thistles, while broken farm-houses and barns split by shellfire were very numerous. Creil had literally acres of German trains stacked in its yards, with rust-coloured German war waggons. At the Care du Nord the most striking thing was an immenes rest-camp, where any soldier back from the front could have a bed and meals and club-life during his leave if he were too far from his own home.

Once in Paris it was easy to see what good use had been made, of the months since the Aimistice in recovering the impression of ordinary life. But every man was still in uniform, and nearly every woman in mourning. With the exception of a few Americans, the khaki-clad soldier had disappeared from the capital, though notices in the shops still remained, inviting him, in naive English, to spend his money there.

Enter, we do not charge you more, Because you are in khaki," E. F. JOURDAIN.

Song.

The dainty words that I have longed to say, Because the spiders' webs are dewy-lit, How very small they were—how everyday, How exquisite.

THI I yip.

The knightly deeds that I have planned to do, Because the tiger lilies break to fire, How old and cold they were, how burning new Was my desire.

The winged songs that I have tried to sing Because the gathered swallows 'southward fly, How low fell each, being but an earth-born thing Which craved the sky.

MAY N. RALSTON.

Hints to Troubled Students.

Part II.

AT TEA PARTIES.

By ONE WHO KNOWS. (1) The Hostess.

There are some guests whose shyness never evaporates under the influence of ordinary conversation. For the benefit of these the hostess should prepare some ingenious device beforehand. In many cases this may be afforded by slightly loosening the legs of her bed, just so that on the sitting-down of her seventh or so guest, they would give way. In the laughter and confusion which invariably follow, our hostess would find the ice quite broken. It would add somewhat to the merriment if she could see to it that all her guests were supplied with tea before the accident occurred.

(2) The Guest.

If by chance you find you have taken a sip by mistake from your neighbour's cup, a circumstance which may often happen—though the most careful of hostesses usually attach luggage labels bearing the guest's names to the cup handles—the most tactful thing to do is to engage the company in discussion on socialism, hypnotism, the food shortage, or some such subject, and while demonstrating with a bun or piece of cake, and gazing fixedly at the. ceiling, and passing the hand carefully above your neighbour's cup, let it fall sufficiently low to avoid an undesirable splash_ You thus compensate your neighbour with a fresh cup of tea, without embarrassing the corn-pany by the acknowledgement of your unfortunate error.

(3) Recipe for a Student who has forgotten her Tea-Party till 1,5 p.m on Thursday. " TEA-TOFFEE-CARE-SCONES "-INGREDIENTS. of week's allowance of butter .; 5 ozs.

1 oz. of flour or cocoa ; of sugar ; 2d. milk.

THE IMP. Mix butter into the sugar and dissolve the flour i.n the milk, then add solution to the mixture, stirring well all the time. Pound the Whole to a solid mass and roll out in cylindrical form. Cut off chunks about -i-inch thick and place in the oven or gas ring. Cover with lid and cook till a smell of burning is detected, then turn and repeat process. Scrape both sides and serve with jam, or dip in condensed milk and sprinkle plentifully with oatmeal.

The Northern Lights.

Cold was the wind against our cheek, We felt that frost was in the air, As, joining with the jostling crowd We hurried through the noisy glare.

We left the crowded town behind But still the line of street-lamps shone, And shattering the evening peace The jewelled tramcars rattled on.

Darkness and silence came at last, The peace of darkness so profound, It seemed a sacrilege to hear Our ringing footsteps on the ground.

And then we saw the stars, the stars!

Blazing, they mocked the street-lamp's blur, Darkriss and silence fell away It seemed the sky was all astir.

Trouble there was in that bright plain, For, stealing on like some grim ghost, Dark storm-clouds piled against the north With menace to the radiant host.

The blackness triumphed, drifting on, It blotted out the starry heights ; When from its very depths there burst A wonder---lo, the Northern Lights!

Upward they quivered, vivid, free, Like quaint searchlights' distant beams.

Long rays of silver laced the sky, Trembled, then waned to livid gleamS.

THE IMP. Then up again they shot. Again Triumphant spanned the breathless air.

Like angels' paths to heaven they seemed, Shone Jacob's Ladder half so fair ?

The icebergs' gleam was in their light, The glimmering of untrodden snow, The beauty of a sparkling world Reflecting back with gorgeous glow.

Over the ice, like flaming swords, We knew they glittered, hostile, keen.

Over the hills, in peace, they watched, At one with nature's peace—serene.

Over the noisy, sordid town Their shining banners wide they furled.

Eager they pierced the gathering gloom, Witnesses of another world.

Once more they sank.. Before anew • Could quivering rise the radiant darts, Into the house we slowly turned With all that wonder in our hearts.

E. E. STOPFORD.

Reminiscence.

It has been a scorching day, and even after sunset the rocks are warm to the touch. At the end of the lake, behind the silhouetted pines, the sky is crimson and orange, staining the still water between the islands. As the angry light fades, slowly the still, cool night comes down, and with it that unending procession of sounds and scents that fills the dark hours of August in Canada, and over all a sky of sapphire velvet and great silver stars that here and there lay, a long lance of light, upon the blackened water. There are lights low down across the lake, the far-borne sound of voices, the rattle of canoes ; silence again, and darkness, except for the lanterns, and where, here and there, the drops from a paddle catch their light then—the whirl of the back-stroke as a canoe swings into shore, the lisp of rubber soles on the rock, voices again around that dark pile that shuts out six feet of after-glow. With a great roar the pinecones and needles catch, and the flames shoot up so that it seems as if the tree-tops and very stars danced in the blaze. Is this a beacon, and are the Iroquois on the war-path ? No, just a marsh-mallow party on Bonfire Rock.

THE IMP.

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When the fire dies down, and the shadows creep up close, a silence falls, and instinctively they lean forward and clasp their knees, these sunburnt people, who live so energetically in the open all day long, and swim three times a day, like Ulowgli, if they " feel hot or dirty."

But now they are still, and waiting, like the shadowy world about them, for something that is going to happen. There's a wonder working to the left of them, a great red moon, unbelievably huge and round, is rolling slowly, fatally. Out of the hidden swamps, where fluted fungi sprout on rotting logs, and the cardinal flower flames by day, and where, at night, the lilies sleep about the feet of skeleton pines, comes a cry, over and over again, despairing, " Whipoorwee-ee-ee, Whiporwee-ee-ee," and now lunatic laughter shakes over the water, " Hoo-hoo-hoo," " Beastly loon " mutters someone by the fire, and throws on an armful of brushwood, which flares up cheerily, and at the edge its glare swims all we can see of the maniac, a long black neck, ringed at the water's edge with white.

Pile on the wood; let's sing and he cheerful. Song after song rings over the lake, well on into the night, till voices tire and limbs grow cramped. Gradually the group breaks up, with the rush of canoes into the water, and farewells called from island to island. There is a glorious hissing and splashing as the remains of the fire are pushed into the lake, the noise of a last embarkation, and Bonfire Rock is deserted.

How still after human song and laughter, how very still under the stars! The moon's far up the sky now, a small and silver moon that we all know, the birds that sang with such mad reverence have lost their awe and are silent. The lake stretches like a marble floor between shores of sable velvet, and only the sky is midnight blue.

Faint, behind the pine-trees, the Northern Lights come and go, like the shaking of a silken curtain. All about is the smell of water and sometimes something delicious and fleeting—sweet grass. Now that one's ears have ceased to ring to human sounds, they perceive a thrumming that swells and sinks, yet murmurs ever, the toads, like a myriad fairy banjos, singing " Summer, summer, summer! " HELEN BURNETT.

Je veux t'offrir mes vers-toi qui mon ame assiege, Mais ma plume tremble ; j'ai pein de la beaute.

Qui voildrait couronner la rose de Fete ?

Qui vetirait Venus, ou qui peindrait la neige ?

Helas! mon coeur trop plein de cet amour supreme Verse surtoi des mots d'un petit of tut eonfus, Comme un ruisseau limpide et jasant—rentends-tu ?Qui it ses fleurs charmantes murmure " Je t'aime."

R. HoRA.

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THE IMP.

A Pickled Account of the Dance.

(By OCR EXTRAORDINARY CORRESPONDENT.) The sun bickered to its close, the late larks twittered in the wisteria, as melting Missouri refrains floated out through the terrace door.

Many were the dazzling maidens, few and stalwart were the men.

Two, or perhaps twenty, damsels without partners obliterated themselves behind a primula pot. The drawing-room ran ice-cream. In the intervals the migration was towards the garden. Scorned were the flowery niches, tactfully concealed in the window-sills down the corridor. 'Twas Pan who called. Scintillating, gliding, cooing, prattling, out into the dewy night they stole. Re-animated by delicacies from' a young buffet, back the bevy bounced, in answer to the strident melody of " Look down, dear eyebrows." The cream (whipped) of the younger generation at Oxford swirled round the room with a lazy, stumbling grace. They were dancing, so one said, the schottische glide and the pussyfoot.' Frocks green and tucked, frocks black and effervescent, frocks sheeny and slim, glittering shirtfronts inextricably mingled together. Life became a giddy round, the world•-a woof of fruit-salads, waltzes, lights, shot through with ice-cream. Ah! those ices. Their fame mounted up, even as far as the pariahs who had not, in their ignorance, bought dance tickets. One caught gleams of wistful eyes round the bend of the staircase, heard their little moans float down from attic windows . . . nearer came eleven—and see—see, with head erect, arm in silken sling, smart and debonair, there appeared ONE. Rumour had it he was Byng, a banana merchant, the Proctor, shade of Sir Walter Raleigh ; our fancy played luxuriantly round his identity, With haughty prowl, with courteous lissomeness he loomed in the background. Struck eleven. Farewells uttered. " First Woman's College in Oxford to have a dance. The war, you know." " Let's have another war, then." Surely, of the power of repartee displayed, of the delicacy and wit that was shown, this was not the humblest specimen.

The flowers humped themselves in wilting groups, programmes half torn, flecked the floor, crumpled cushions in the chair, betokened the passing of dance. Once more we trooped to the buffet ; once more we . . . when---when—the dark, distinguished stranger re-. appeared. He was counting the spoons. He was the caterer!

THE IMP.

Ballad.

The angels sing in Paradise fair Sweet is the morning and sweet the dawn, I still without on the draughty stair, Chill is the morning and chill is the dawn.

Past the stars the wind bloweth cold.

Chill is the morning and chill the dawn ; Shut are the pearl gates and shut the gold.

Chill is the morning and chill the dawn.

A strong wind bore me on his breath, Chill is the morning and chill the dawn.

I came not the way of the gate of death, Chill is the morning and chill the dawn.

I sit here when the winds rise high, Chill is the morning and chill the dawn.

Angels must pass a fairy by, Chill is the morning and chill the dawn.

There in Paradise still they sing, Sweet is the morning and sweet the dawn.

Never for me a lone, lost thing, Sweet is the morning and sweet the dawn.

A. A. YourzoimoHEs.

To THE EDITOR OF " THE IMP." I suggest, through the College magazine, that a useful way of showing one's appreciation of one's time spent up at St. Hugh's would be by supporting the library ? This could be achieved by every Member giving a book the term she goes down.

Yours, etc. --DEAR MADAM,—May

,,31K1Sitti).A.14

1 Wm. HUNT, 18, BROAD STREET, OXFGRD.

CONSTITUTION OF THE COLLEGE MAGAZINE.

I. --That the name of the Magazine shall be called

THE LIP,

II.---That the officers of the Magazine shall be an Editor and a Treasurer, elected by the J.C.R. and a representative from each year, elected by their own years.

Ill.—Contributions shall be accepted or refused by the decision of the maiQiity of the Committee, the Editor reserving the right of the casting vote.

IV,----The Committee shall not be held responsible for any orinions expressed in the Magazine.

V.—Nothing of intrinsic merit shall be excluded on account of views expressed therein.

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Vi. Thy anonymous character of contributions shall be respected

when required,

VII.— Contributions from the Senior and Junior Ccturnon 1:?..c. ems, past and present, shall be accepted.

VIII --The Committee shall be empowered to invite ccntrihniens from anyone not a member Of the College at their discretion.