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

Page 56 text:

■ul fUled Mr. Wilson and his seventeen year old son, Jim, lived in a rambling, old house on Campbell Street. Jim and his father were very devoted to each other and Mr. Wilson’s only ambition in life was to see Jim through college and safely launched into a brilliant career in engineer¬ ing. Jim’s chief concern was his father’s failing health and one day Jim burst excitedly into the living room and proudly announced he had a “Job!” Mr. Wilson could not help but smile and wish him luck. When questioned as to where he had secured the position, Jim said, “Mr. Deler’s Shipyard.” The next day father and son walked briskly down the street to the intersection. There they said goodbye and each departed to his respective occupation. As noon drew near, Mr. Wilson, feeling faint, hurried to the rest room, but collapsed in front of the entrance. A doctor was quickly summoned and pro¬ nounced Mr. Wilson in very serious con¬ dition, the result of a severe heart attack. The news was a startling blow to Jim, who now assumed the responsibility of supporting both his father and himself. One bright, sunny morning, a few days after his father’s attack, Jim awoke with a feeling of light-heartedness. He took his father’s breakfast in to him and was gratified to learn that his father was feeling much better. At noon Jim helped his father out to the sunny open-air verandah. There he left Mr. Wilson to spend a restful afternoon. Arriving at work, Jim met a large crowd of workers curiously grouped around a huge tank. Upon questioning one of the workers Jim learned that Mr. Deler’s nine year old son, Maurice, had fallen into the tank. Nobody could get inside the tank because of the small opening. Without any hesitation Jim volunteered to be let down into the tank to try and rescue the young boy. The foreman would not hear of it, saying the danger was far too great and he would not risk it. But Jim begged so hard that at last the foreman consented. A thick coil of rope was brought and one end tied around Jim. He mounted the iron ladder and squeezed through the small opening on top of the tank. He dug his feet into the bricks on the side of the wall and finally reached the bottom. The beams of Jim’s flashlight fell on the unconscious form of Maurice huddled in a corner of the huge tank. Jim hastily gathered the boy in his strong arms and shouted to be pulled up. Slowly he was pulled up—up. The uncon¬ scious figure in Jim’s arms gave a low moan and Jim’s arms felt as though they ’Twas the night before that dreadful exam , And into my head must everything cram. So with books piled high and papers rear, That dreadful lest 1 began to fear. But before 1 start 1 really should Get some cookies and cakes to make things good. A pillow or two and an easy chair, That’s all one needs, to gel marks fair. The clock creeps round, ' lis now past nine. Just to get started, and all will be fine. But there is the radio looking so dead, Why not get some music before more is said. Now slump down into my chair and gaze far into space, And wonder how that exam I’ll ever face. The class pins I’ve dreamed of sprout wings so fast, But I hope that in the future I can boast that I passed. I pick up a book in erne lone , last attack. And come to the conclusion that it’s brains that I lack. So into the corner all books I now chiock, And hope that I pass by some “streak of luck.” Doreen Jones 4B cMolic cuf, Rejjlectio-n ' L o-jj a StuxUesU Who but looks forward to the advent of school vacations with relief and antici¬ pation? During the few days before “the holidays” the undercurrent of excite¬ ment and impatience manifests itself in divers ways. On blackboards prominent cartoons incessantly remind one of the number of days remaining to be worked through, and last minute exams, come thick and fast. However, one’s morale is upheld by the knowledge that he is achieving his goal and that the inevitable arrival of a few carefree, though transitory, days will crown his efforts. With bated breath each receives his report card— and then there follows a clamorous com¬ parison of marks but anon, percentages are forgotten, each bids his fellow an earnest “au revoir” or perhaps an adieu and respective departures are made. Many are the individual forms of “holidaying”. Some will travel, perhaps by train—where the staccato rhythm of the swiftly rotating wheels soon forms a part of your thoughts, but the tiresome trip is more than compensated for by thoughts of a carefree sojourn at your destination. Or perhaps one indulges in sleep and otherwise forms a comfortable stereotyped routine in contrast to the systematic activity of school life. Then there is the odd anomaly,—one who is ambitious enough to clear up any exercises he may have previously not completed. But as the next school term approaches, new vigour and enthusiasm is born and students begin to contemplate with purpose the return to school. They are eager to have, “ knowledge to their eyes her ample page rich with the spoils of time,” unfurled. Here is born again, a desire for instruction and training which will enable them to not only acquire money and position but to make a success of their lives; to obtain a moral development thereby enabling them to live as happy, useful citizens. John Corkis 4A would break off. Only another few feet! Would they make it? The top of the tank and safety were at last reached. The eager hands of Mr. Deler took young Maurice from Jim, who suddenly felt very weak. The foreman came forward and congratulated Jim on his splendid courage. Jim was about to return to his job when a shout behind caused him to turn. It was the foreman who told Jim, Mr. Deler wished to see him in his office. Jim was told by the grateful Mr. Deler that he could not ever repay Jim for the splendid way in which he rescued Maurice. Mr. Deler said he would do anything he could for Jim and his father. Jim only asked that he be given the assurance of a steady job in order to get the extra medical care needed to completely restore his father’s health. Mr. Deler was only too glad to grant Jim’s request. The next morning there arrived in the mail a cheque from Mr. Deler for Jim. This money Jim spent for medical care for his father. Jim now has his college education and is a brilliant engineer. His father’s dreams have been fulfilled. Betty Neiszner 3A Page 44 Balfour Beacon ’47

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Mo+tdLcuf Mosuusuf ReoeAie Our teachers have a theory That we come to school to rest, When our weekends make as weary; It makes me so depressed. So 1 beat the bell to classes, Fold my hands within my lap, Close my eyes behind my glasses Just to take a. little nap. Our teachers all are noisy To a horrible degree. They tell me to be silent When they’re talking more than me! But ’spite of all their dravjbacks I really am improving I do such loads of homework, To finish up my schooling. Helen Wolfe 2F SwimtnitUf “Sorry, mother, I won’t have time to have any supper tonight. Remember, it’s swimming at the ‘Y’ So is the cry of the Juniors as they hustle off for their regular Tuesday night swim. About this time the Seniors are gulping down their food to make it at the pool by 7.30. They arrive just in time to see the Juniors go through their last few minutes of muscle-bending. All the girls certainly look in tip-top shape (shape that is) as they withdraw from the pool to give the Seniors their turn. Mrs. Calder, (the swimming instruct¬ ress) tells us “To-night we are going to do some diving.” (or dying, which?) She starts us all off by doing a straight spring dive, and as this seems a cinch all the girls arc rarin’ to go for the tricky ones. If during the course of last Tuesday evening, some of you heard a terrific explosion, it was not an atomic bomb. No, it was the noise of the Seniors as they landed after doing their front flips. Wow!!— What form!! What graceful¬ ness! Just because we’re black and blue (with a little green and yellow mixed in) from head to foot doesn’t say we hit the water hard or anything! By the time 8.15 comes around, the girls have, in plain English, “had it.” They crawl out of the pool and there is a mad dash for the driers. And so, another swimming night is over and the girls talk (pardon me, yell), back and forth, about the evening’s events or should I say ‘dents’? Joan dcWitt Ou i Qol e+t MemanieA o-c eilten. As we gaze into the fire, you and 1 together, the flickering tongues of flame recall to us our memories of days gone by. The golden moment when firet I held your slender form, and, with painstaking care pressed you to my shoulder, and listened with intent ear as your message drifted out of the window and sailed away on ■ the fleecy down. I knew then that you and I belonged together, your face too gleamed with the anticipation of times to come. Do you remember the firet time we entered the spotlight together? My heart was bounding like the never ending roll of drums in the darkest part of Africa as 1 gazed with awe and fear at the sea of faces swimming before us. Then with a shaking caressing hand I held you and turned to face the tidal wave. However, the reassuring feeling of your presence and the coolness of your caress comforted me—then with the first note everything was forgotten, only you and I were in the room; only you and I and the music that poured from both our souls and blended into one beautiful harmony. All too soon it ended; there was the roar of applause and with smiling faces we made a quick exit. What a united feeling! Our first major obstacle had been overcome together. So years passed, and I entered higii school, but still you went with me. At our firet orchestra rehearsal, we met our fellows. Rehearsals led to performance—■ and the greatest night of all—the night we played for the operetta! The scenery, color, dress, suspense and excitement sent prickles of shivers down my spine. Then, at the signal, we filed into the orchestra pit, and at the first note, the curtain swayed and parted. The tension of the audience was relieved in applause and the play was on. Never! Oh never! dear companion, will that night be forgotten—• you were looking your very best, and I in my first evening gown. What a moment of supreme delight! But, dear fiddle, the hour grows late, and we could go on forever, but let us instead close our chapter of memories for the night and wind our way to bed and dreams of the past. Phyllis Roberts 4B % a PaiA. ojf ba+idntf, SUfiypreAA. A new pair of dancing pumps has come to take your place, “Old Faithful”, so I must bid you farewell, but, before I add you to the shoe collection, let’s reminisce for a while. Remember the day I purchased you? Your lustrous, black coat attracted me at once. The same coat that time and age have now cracked and wrinkled. Then there was the firet night I wore you to a dance. I stepped, pranced and jazzed. You stood all you could but finally you rebelled. How you rubbed and pinched my poor tired feet! I was glad to put you to bed that night. You’d cost me a tidy sum, so wear you I must. On you went again and again and off we went to more and more jamborees. Soon we were well acquainted. How often I told you my innermost thoughts and hopes. You knew how excited I was about going to the country dance. Then why did you fail me that night? Remember how all week long I prepared for the event. Finally, the night came. Off we went to have the gayest time possible. But, just as I was going to try a square dance you failed me. You let go of your heel and I had to sit back and watch the fun. That night, had you been able to talk, we should have had our fust quarrel. To show you that all was forgiven I took you to the shoemaker next day. He banged you, he knocked you around until you promised to hold on to your heel. I took you home and after that no matter how badly I misused you, you held together. But your young days are gone. Your shiny coat is shabby now and your sole is thin. You have joined the veterans and will soon march along with other shoes on another woman’s feet in a foreign land. —Dorothy Frombach 4B All we get is homework says the gang that goes to Tech, What will we be when we grow up, A razzle dazzled wreck! This homework business gets you down And makes you want to weep Oh! Please, dear teachers, do be kind — Don’t rob us of our sleep. We never go to parlies, or to dances or to shows, We haven’t even any time to give to wooing beaus, Our hair is straight and straggly, Our shoes are never shined, And all because of homework and the daily schooltime grind. Betty Neizner 3A Balfour Beacon t Jfk Page

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