Balfour Technical School - Beacon Yearbook (Regina, Saskatchewan Canada)

Page 52 text:

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' UJitUe. ' i ' Wo-ndeAia+id Winter! A lovely season and although it means overshoes and mitts, we love it. After the first light snowfall, operations are underway to make rinks. Skates are brought out of the cellar, taken to the repair man to be sharpened; hockey sticks are brought into view along with last year’s puck, everything is ready to form the new hockey team. Girls also bring out their skates, dream¬ ing of skating parties, and polish them so they will be all ready for their first spin of the season. Ski pants are also hauled out, and slacks and wool sweaters and thick mitts. But skating is not the only sport enjoyed in the winter. Sleighing and tobogganing are in the winter spotlight. Nothing can beat the thrilling sensation of whizzing down hills that are covered with a thick blanket of glistening snow, on a toboggan crowded with rosy-cheeked passengers, or the merry jingle of bells as a sleigh ploughs through the snow while the kids push each other off, their voices ringing out in the frosty night. That ' s what we love about winter. —June Williams 4B. We shall never really be apart. We CAN’T ever really be apart, for we’ve been together almost since you were born. Remember, when the war first started, and I worked in the factory where B-17 bombers were first made—or Flying Fort¬ resses as I know you’d rather have folks call you. I remember when you came down the assembly line to my section and a loose piece of your wing cut my hand. Oh, what names I called you! Do you recall how proud you were of all the parts of the world you represented? Your steel was from a Pittsburgh rolling mill, your copper from Montana’s mines, your rubber was brought from Malaya in the days before Singapore fell. Then there was your aluminum from a Tennessee plant, tungsten from China, instrument lenses from upstate New York, carnauba from Brazil for your electrical insulations. Yes, sir, you sure were proud! And I was proud of you too;—especially when the test crew had given you the “works” and the Army gave you the nod of acceptance. JliJze ' i and btiUzeA. Some men like the glamorous kind, Who have the glamour hut no trace of mind Who never have time for a readable book And who would starve without a cook. Some men like the real quiet kind Who seem to worry only about the mind, The girl who enjoys a quiet night Reading or listening to a song that’s right. Me — I’m just the girl in between Who loves a book or to sometimes nay-dream. I love to go to a dance or a show Or a party with my very best beau. I like to stay home once in a while, To read magazines on the latest style, You don’t need a fortune to have, a good time You can enjoy an evening just on a dime. So whatever kind of a girl you are, You’ll still like the moon and twinkling stars, But if you. like lights and a glamorous time, Don’t go with a guy who has only a dime. Marion Bickerdike 3A P ilaaie cMeaoe+i I never told you before, but I really missed you when they took you away to fly the scattered air lanes of the wide world. You know, it was you, that first gave me the yen to float around those soft white clouds, so I joined the airforce and was shipped overseas. Honest, I nearly cried the day the commanding officer took us out on the field to introduce us to the fellow who would take us out over the wide ocean to unload bombs on Hitler and Goering and all the rest of that gangster tribe, and found out the fellow was you! Boy, that was when the fun began, wasn’t it! Lots of times I thought it was the end of us when the Jerries poured so many bullets into you that you looked like a sieve. But you always got us back in one piece, even tho’ your tail was smashed and half your wing was off. I don’t think I ever felt more love for you than the time you flew four and a half weary hours on a single pair of engines—• 400 miles with your two starboard engines Q ' UUlU Uf- ' llfX Oh my goodness, how you have grown! I remember when you were just a tiny tot not able to walk, and just crawled around on the floor. You were pretty young then. Then you began walking. You stumbled over chairs, but once while running hit your head on the door, and received a big bump. I suppose you remember? By and by school was begun. My, you were shy. But look at yourself now! That was thirteen long years ago. About four years back, you were the spectacle of all your visiting aunts and uncles, and all you heard was the same old phrase, “You are all legs and arms!” Wasn’t that annoying? Then you had your thirteenth birthday, and were you happy. High school came at last and were you big! At least you thought so. Even wanting your own lipstick and such things proved that to your mother. Well, five years have passed since then and you are now somewhat the lady and have had many dates. But you are only eighteen and have plenty of time for marriage. But, of course, there isn’t much I can say for all this, throughout these years except, “My, how you’ve grown!” -—Nan Korpus 4B shot out by enemy fire. Then there was the time you brought us home in record time, because you knew your bom¬ bardier, that youngster from the Iowa corn belt, needed immediate attention if he was to be saved. You always did your best by us, no matter what condition you were in, and every one of your crew honours you for that. You brought us home this time too, even tho’ you had to crash to make the field. Now you lie there enveloped in flames and I can’t get near to help you. You see, when they dragged me out they found I had a bullet through my chest and they’re making me lie on this old stretcher while a doctor is trying to patch things up. But I don’t think he’ll be successful—that’s why I’m not putting up too big a fuss, ’cause I’ve a funny feeling that tomorrow we’ll be flying together again, but this time it will be in our own private heaven with no Jerries or gremlins to harm us ever again. —Vera James 4B Page J t 2 Ba four Beacon ’ fl