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

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“you don’t know what it’s like to be-—-— blind.” The stranger chuckled softly. “You’re wrong, my boy,” he said. “You see, I am blind.” The bottle slipped to the floor for¬ gotten and the stranger’s handclasp brought the light back to Bill’s heart if not to his eyes. —Ruth Bryden 4B MeWuf, CltA,iritmaA It’s here, it’s here, That joyful season of the year, With all the splendour that it brings — Gifts and tinsels, shiny things. Be glad, be glad, ’Tis not the season to be sad, But let exalted praises ring. Through heaven’s halls to greet the King. Now hash, now hush, ’Tis the end of the shopping rush, Starry-eyed children are waiting to hear The sleighbells and patter of Santa’s reindeer. Be jolly, be jolly, See the mistletoe, cedar, and holly, Let these pleasures being you good cheer Because once again Merry Christmas is here! ■—Dorothea Kirschbaum 3A A ae+itu.n.e ' i af a Sbiamostd I was born in a mine in Africa. Along with a number of my fellow men I was placed in a cargo that went to England. We were very carefully guarded as there were many who would have liked to have us in their possession. We were docked at Liverpool where we were taken off the ship and escorted somewhere by police. Next we were put on a train that was headed for London. On arriving in London I was separated from my friends. I was taken to a little store, called Patterson’s Jewelry Shop. For some time I lay around in the shop. One day the head jeweller came and picked me up and examined me. He said, “You are destined to be one of the most beautiful gems that has ever shown itself in this store.” With that he began carving on me. Soon I was ready to be set in a ring. The ring I was set in was a lovely eighteen carat gold one. There were two smaller diamonds on either side of me. Of course I was the centre of attraction. When I was finished I was set on a costly velvet cushion in a show case. Here I rested for a few weeks, during which time I had many ardent admirers. Bright and early one morning in May a handsome gentleman came into the shop. He asked the jeweller for the nicest diamond in the store. The salesman came right straight to me, and proudly showed me to the customer. The gentle¬ man went into ecstasies about me, and exclaimed that “Mary will love it!” The jeweller wrapped me up, and home I went with the happy young gentleman. That night he took me to see a charming young lady. He slipped me on the third finger of her left hand. I knew then, that that was where I was meant to be. I stayed on this finger alone for three months. Then a gold band was placed beside me. This is where I belong, and where I hope to remain for many years. —Margaret Garland 4B Bad Jla+tdl a( Ike fyJeAt Leaping and bounding across the parched river bed, the outlaw headed toward the hills and safety. There were green bills reaching out to him, drawing him right into their darkest interior, tearing him away from the very arms of the law! There were hazy hills beckoning their contemporaries to high plateaus ' — hills rising steadily up—hills pressing their bleak peaks toward the clouds; hills, hills, and more hills crowding the Bad Lands of the West. “Just a few more steps, Pinto,” the outlaw urged, and then the foam-flecked horse scrambled over the crumbling ledge onto the green plateau. “Oh, those blessed hills of safety,” murmured the outlaw. Turning in the saddle he grinned sardonically, then raised his stetson in a farewell gesture to the group of men clustered far below. As they looked up to the hills, the horse and rider vanished into the deep purple shadows. —Beatrice Tate 4C Belt ' IfeaA.l OuA. JUuel My carefree youth was squandered in school, Braying my lessons like any mule, Where all my “happy” days were spent Wondering what the teachers meant. “The early bird catches the worm,” they said, {Alas, rny mind’s still home in bed) “A rolling stone gathers no moss,” they claim, And that goes ditto with a wandering brain. With instinct as my answer guide, I ' ll make my way in the world outside — And you can keep your smug old cliches, While l get rich by washing dishes. —Shirlemae Grain 4B Mattie Milt What can you find as thrilling As walking in a mist. When all around The world is bound And with soft greyness kissed. I left my work brain whirling And came outside to find A world of grey That cleared away Confusion from my mind. I marveled how enchanting This world now was at hand. The streets were changed — Seemed rearranged Just like some fairy land. And high up in the heavens The moon that shone so bright Was soft and small, A fuzzy ball High in the voiceless night. And yards that were cluttered With unimportant things, Were now all clean Wrapped in the sheen Of white, which the mist brings. A nil boughs above me towered All white, so pale and still; Bathed in moonlight. It was a sight To make heart and soul thrill. —Trudy Woldrich 3A One StoAsny, HicfUt I was filled with a frightening awe—yet I stood rooted to the spot! Each gray- purple, steely flash which fell over the street clenched my heart like a paralyzing vise—and I could not go. Then came a lull; with the sweet sea-smell wafting through my open window I scorned my fear—my crouching terror and resolved to stand up against this bluster. It was only bluster I tried to convince myself. No sooner was I secure in my newly found courage than a low growling wind rose in the distance, causing the leaves of the trees before me to shudder and tremble. Uncomfortably, I anticipated the storm king’s return. Above me, sitting on his thunder-throne, he looked with startled amazement at the insignificant being who had the audacity to refuse to admit fear of his strength. Perhaps it tickled his fancy—or perhaps the laughter which rang from the heavens was only his way of warning me of what was to come. How he laughed! His destroying breath hit hard against the trees and with almost conquering strength against the unyielding boughs. His roaring ran and reverberated like the role of the drums which played for {Continued on page 76) Balfour Beacon ’J8 Page J,9

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There was beauty untold, I thought. If that wealth had always been there and I had passed it by, there must be more I was missing. From that time on I looked, always, for beauty. And whenever I found it, I yearned to make some portion of its fleeting loveliness last. I came to appreciate what poetry was. How wonderful it must be to be able to put into words the glory of the sunrise and sunset; the majesty of hill and vale. Men like Shelley, Tennyson, Lord Byron, Longfellow, Thackeray, and Keats are immortal because of the beauty they gave to the world. Beauty in words. Listen to Thackeray describe a sunrise. “And lo! in a flash of crimson splendor, with blazing scarlet clouds running before his chariot, and heralding his majestic approach, God’s sun rises upon the world.” A poet is a magician who weaves his spell with words. A spell that brings us the wealth of romance, adventure, and history. But nature was not the only place I found beauty. I found beauty in music— “That rarest, subtlest form of sound.” Somebody said that music was the language of emotion—that is true! No matter what type of music you hear it affects you emotionally. Beethoven said, “Music should strike fire from the heart of man; and bring tears from the eyes of woman.” Many people do not feel the emotion because they do not listen. The difference between listening and hearing is that hearing is acknowledging the sound of music, while listening is letting your soul interpret it. When you hear a rousing Sousa march you cannot help but thrill at the booming of the drum and glow at the blare of the horn. A popular song affects you temporarily either happily or sadly—whatever the trend of the piece, because there are words to give its mean¬ ing. But classical music where you must find your own meaning requires listening. That is why many people flippantly declare symphonic or orchestral music is too deep for them. They are so accus¬ tomed to hearing they have forgotten how to listen. But train yourself to understand the beauty of the music of the masters, and you will find a new and deeper sense of gain. From nothing can you benefit as much as from friendship. A friend with whom you can share your troubles and joys— someone who will be an eager listener to your problems and a willing helper to solve them is something all the money in the world cannot buy. Friendship is, in many respects, like a bank account. You must be able to give as well as take. If you always draw out and never deposit, your account will not stand very high in anyone’s opinion, and with a friendship, over¬ drawing on one part can often be the cause of its ruin. When you find a friend, take articulate pains to nurture this relationship. Treat it as though it were a delicate tropical flower—just as it is hard to get, and exotic as it is, it dies quickly unless you handle it carefully. A friendship can be strengthened by little everyday actions— a smile from the heart, a knowing hello or any little act of kindness and con¬ sideration. You never appreciate a tiling until you have lost it; don’t let this happen with your friendship. Don’t wait until you find yourself alone and with aching heart and brimming eyes find out what you have missed. All our real riches are like that. You have to be able to appreciate them the first time they present themselves, or have them not. It costs nothing to take a little time to enjoy the wondrous things God has given us and the dividends we reap are all the more precious for their being so free. Let us all store up in our souls the riches that no bank could ever assess or hold. Let us become really rich and draw out our savings on a rainy day when we can get love, comfort and consolation from them. ■—Trudy Woldrich 3A bete+itia+t Detention, The teacher’s invention, If you skip, They want none of your lip, You just get on a 10 to 1 bet, Detention! Detention, Back at 2 every day, Back at 2 with no overtime pay, Back in good old room 22, Back alone with you know who! You jack around and Extension, Detention! Attention! To skippers who think they know their stuff, And truck out when the going gets rough, Once again we will mention, Detention! —Norma Gaul 3A •—Shirley DeBolt 2A Ib ' iou.CflU an the. P ' lai ' ii L The crop, seeded with much hope in the Spring, was now a sad sight to behold. It was parched to a sickly grey by the blazing yellow sun. Hundreds of grass¬ hoppers took care of what was left. The endless, hot, choking winds tore away the soil and piled it against the fences. Not a drop of rain had fallen in this dry, hot land for days and weeks on end. Heat, heat, and more heat seared all plant life, dried up the sloughs, and baked the land until it was as a desert. •—Chalmer Shoeman 4C FIRST PRIZE QalfOSie. 2 awn Bill stretched, and wriggled his toes, feeling the cool linen of the hospital sheets. His eyes still closed, he was startled by a feminine voice that said: “Time to get cleaned up, Mr. Marshall. This is a big day in your life, you know.” It was a very pleasant voice and Bill found himself wondering what went with it. As he slowly opened his eyes, terror gripped him. He leaned forward, straining towards the light, and then fell back exhausted. So it hadn’t been a dream. The doctor’s words still rang in his ears. Blind! Blind! Blinded by an accident which had nearly cost him his life. “Perhaps a year, maybe two years— if all goes well.” But Bill knew the hopeless futility of such a promise. A wave of frustration and despair swept over him. Life was all over at twenty-five. It couldn’t happen to him. Bill Marshall, whose brilliance in the field of science had already won him fame and recognition—and yet it had. Slowly the world came back into focus. The nurse had left him alone. Alone. The word gave him a peculiar sense of elation, as if some great burden had been taken from him. He reached out, groping, feeling until he felt the smooth hard enamel of his bedside table. At last. His fingers closed around the small object—half a bottle of sleeping pills! Suddenly a knock was heard at the door. Recovering from his momentary panic, Bill slipped the bottle under the covers and called, “Come in.” Two men entered. Bill recognized the doctor’s voice. “There’s someone here who wishes to meet you, Mr. Marshall.” The stranger had not spoken, but his footsteps were confident and assured; a man who must have some great purpose in life, reflected Bill. The necessary introductions were made. “Mr. Jones,” said the doctor, “is the head of one of our largest manufacturing companies, and thinks perhaps he can find a place for you.” “Yes,” interrupted the stranger, “men of your capabilities are much too valuable to be hiding away in hospital rooms. Hundreds of our workers have, like yourself, lost the use of their eyes, but have become so skilled with their hands that we could not manage without them. Our administrative branch offers inter¬ esting work with chances for advancement, also.” Bill clutched the bottle tighter, and laughed bitterly. “Why not set me up at a pencil stand? Yes, and maybe after I learned the business I could branch out into shoelaces, too. No thanks,” he said, Page J,8 Balfour Beacon ’1,8

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