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Page 11 text:
dreary eyes revealed many long days and
nights of pain. Disregarding the frantic
child's pleas mingled with insults, the two
"delivers" gently lifted Casey up the stairs,
through the hall, and out the back door.
Iohnny's cries against Beth's "Stop-it"'s
were useless. Casey had gone forever to be
Mrs. Walden leaned against the wooden
doorway. Her anxiety, almost completely
masked was revealed by her beautiful, yet
red, roughened hand on her son's head. She
had always been proud of Iohnny's shining
blond hair which fell loosely over his dark
forehead. Now he was wet and dirty as he
quickly wiped away a tear, trickling down
his cheek to join the pool on his chest. What
was happening he neither knew or under-
stood. He could only see that his mother
was in deep misery.
Suddenly the hand, once soothing, pres-
sed down so desperately that he wanted to
cry out in pain. But he didn't. I-le saw the
reason for his mother's unhappiness now. l-le
watched eight burly men ignore the doorbell
to his home: he watched them trudge into the
combined bedroom-kitchen. Not able to en-
dure it any longer, he darted from under
his mother's hand to follow the workers
around the corner. At last he saw what his
mother had been keeping him from all morn-
ing. He saw his brooding father sprawled
on their only bed, his dark, dancing eyes
now languid under coal eyebrows. All of
them threw in their power tone could have
managed easilyl to "strong-arm" the vio-
lent, dangerous man, the thief of sixty-five
dollars from a home on Crescentville Drive,
out of his home into the chill summer air.
No resistance--Iohnny resumed his place
under his mothers gentle soothing hand.
Together, silently, they watched him being
driven away, the man who had tried to save
his family from starvation.
MADELEINE MURRAY-Grade XI
The light had been turned out and from
the single bed in the corner of the dormitory
soft sobs could be heard. Minerva Mullins
was not at all happy at boarding school.
She missed the family and the freedom she
had had at home. She hated it here. All she
could think of was escaping, leaving the
place and going home. That night she had
a brain wave. Now the way to escape was
clear in her mind. It was going to take a
considerable amount of time, but it would
get her home.
The next day she set to work. Being a
bright girl, Minerva realized that she must
have a means of transportation. Immediately
she knew what that would be, but the ques-
tion was where she would construct it.
Where around the school could she make
it, so as not to be discovered? She pondered
over this for a long time: then finally she
remembered the garage behind the school
which appeared to be vacant. lt would be
Step two was to find the materials for
the vehicle. Since she was at a school, the
chassis would be easy to get, but other parts
would have to be bought. She sighted as
she rcalizcd that this would mean saving
her allowance and therefore staying in on
Saturday afternoons. No movies, no cokes.
but it was worth it. Tools would present a
problem, too. She could find out where the
caretaker kept his tools and borrow them
secretly if she could get the key. One day
when the caretaker was mending a table
she followed him to see where he put his
tools when he had finished. They were kept
in a little room down in the basement off
the room where the furnace was. As she
watched, she saw that he did not lock the
door. What luck! The tools would be easy
to get after "lights out."
That night, after everyone was in bed,
a robed figure crept out into the basement.
Cautiously she tiptoed down the stairs to
the basement. Iust as she was about to leave
the tool room, she heard footsteps on the
stairs. Quickly she jumped back into the
shadows. lt was the night watchman making
his rounds. After checking to see if any-
thing was unusual, he left. Slowly Minerva
crept out and tiptoed up to bed.
The next day she went downtown to
look for pram wheels and a racing chain.
She decided, since she wanted to get home
quickly, that a racing chain would be best.
The wheels were easily purchased but the
chain was a problem. Either the second-hand
dealer did not know what a racing chain
was, or he did not have one. Finally in a
dingy little shop on an insignificant side
street, she found an old but still usable
Now with the parts collected and the
tools ready, she set to work. Each night
after the lights were turned out she would
tiptoe through the silence, through the
Page 10 text:
to reality, for under the nearest lamppost a
dark figure lingered, head lowered, staring
fixedly at the rough pavement. As I neared
the lamppost, my heart stopped beating
momentarily as I stared in terror at the face
so familiar to my thoughts with a damp curl
of raven black hair sticking to the lined
forehead. The face, calm and unruffled be-
fore, was now a wall, holding back pent-up
grief and sorrow. I watched his facial fea-
tures tighten and then erupt in fury when,
with a swift movement which startled me,
the eerie figure flung to the pavement a tiny
object that he clutched in his dark fingers,
and then, turning, disappeared into the sha-
dows of a worn and decrepit building. The
object spun on the uneven surface, whirled
around, and rolled to within a few inches of
my motionless feet. I dropped my eyes and
stared blankly at the gold wedding ring.
W 'A' 'A'
"The bus swerved, reeled, hit the curb,
and, with a blast of air escaping from the
left front tire, collapsed heavily, completely
demolishing one entire side of the vehicle."
I turned the page. The last few paragraphs
completed the story of Carl Steegerson, re-
lating his painless death as a passenger on
the fatal side of the bus. Of course I knew
my spontaneous fear was preposterous, but
my liking for the handsome darkie, the
cause of my anguish, overpowered my sane
judgement. I could not obliterate his face
imprinted on my mind.
'k i' 'lr
I climbed the great stone stairway with
the black book under my arm. Suddenly,
on impulse, I turned and craned my neck
to see the Greyhound bus which had stopped
opposite the libarary. My eyes scanned
rapidly the distinctively different heads a-
long the window. Not a familiar face. Dis-
missing my fears as superstitious absurdity,
I turned but wheeled about again to con-
firm my fleeting glimpse of a dark man
running toward the bus. I opened my mouth
to shout, but no sound came and I help-
lessly watched the image of Carl Steeger-
son step onto the bus, panting, but smiling
at his good fortune in catching it. The sink-
ing feeling in my stomach was hard to
explain, and, as my gaze followed the ve-
hicle into the perils of fastamoving traffic,
I wondered . . . about Tomorrow's Life.
SUSAN RILEY-Grade XI
Award-winning Story-Senior Literary Competition
Peace can be the lapping of waves at sunset,
The waving grass in a mountain meadow,
Or the close darkness and stars of night,
A walk through a wood in fall
With leaves fluttering . . .
Peace reigns in the ruins of Delphi,
Where cypress trees whisper,
The donkey bells tinkle,
And the water trickles down through rocks.
And the majesty of stone stands
But true peace
Lies within the heart.
J AN E' MOODY-Grade XI
-Senior Literary Competition
Under the Brooklyn Sun
The Brooklyn sun seems to favour Cres-
centville Drive. Perhaps this is because this
wooded drive is the "better district" of
town, for its rays certainly never slant down
into the shabby houses of Hudson Street.
In this dark gloomy section of the town
lived the Waldens. They were not quite so
fortunate as their namesakes on Crescent-
ville Drive: instead of living in a leisurely
way in a grey colonial mansion, they spilled
over in a two room home: this Mrs. Wailden
wore, not a blue shantung suit from Saks,
but a clean cotton dress, scrambled for in
Handy Andy's basement sale. The lives of
these two families were in a different mould.
In fact they had only two things in common:
each had a nine-year-old son, Iohnny-and
each had to suffer a precious loss this Mon-
"Why? Why? First give me one good
reason," demanded Iohnny in the most fre-
quent tone of voice. He turned angrily to
the negro maid who was preparing the
cheese souffle for lunch. "Beth-Mom will
be home soon, eh? In time to stop them,
won't she?" asked Iohnny, suggesting rather
a command than a question. "Yes-and-stop-
bothering-me," was the curt answer.
Her request was futile, for Iohnny called
to her attention to the doorbell. Beth let in
two men wearing clean white jackets. They
stopped politely in the front hall to remove
their hats and then outlined their job briefly.
They were not inexperienced and knew that
their task must be done quickly.
They found the whimpering beagle in a
dark corner of the basement. His dark
Page 12 text:
school building, put on her jacket and boots.,
which she left in a vacant locker, prop the
back door open with a block of wood, and
hurry out to the garage.
This went on for three weeks. Then
finally on a Saturday night the vehicle was
ready for a trial run. At twelve o'clock
Minerva wheeled it slowly out of the garage
into the street. It ran beautifully and Miner-
va was quite proud of herself. Then it hap-
pened. lust as she turned the corner, the
chain broke. Minerva, very discouraged,
wheeled the machine back to the school.
All Sunday night she worked on the broken
chain and finally repaired it.
During the next week Minerva saved
food and collected things for her escape the
next Saturday night.
Finally the time came. Dressed in a
jacket and slacks and carrying the money
and food she needed, Minerva tiptoed down
the corridor of the residence for the last
time. She wheeled it out of the garage, and
as the clock chimed three, Minerva Mullins
pedalled west on her four-wheeled desk.
RUTH THOMAS-Grade X
A rugged nation lapped on either side
By a salty wave.
A maze of furry forests,
Of trophospheric slashing peaks,
Of pancake prairies, and of living waters,
Adorned by a radiant sunset,
And topped by an ice-cream north.
But we dare not speak of this splendour!
'Tis best we forget our glorious past-
The dauntless men,
Their dreams, their hopes, their labour,
The foundations of our country.
If these things were spoken of,
Why men might think us proud!
Come, Canadians! Let us be proud of
Let our pussy-footed pens write of it
And our dull brushes dip in Canadian
For out of our glorious past,
And from the pulse of the living present,
Must emerge a mighty future!
CAROL SWINDELL-Grade XI
Red or Dead
Thomas Greenwood paused outside his
red brick house and inhaled one last breath
of the new spring air. Spring was his favour-
ite time of year, maybe because it reminded
him of his flaxen-haired fifteen-year old
daughter, Sarah lane. She had grown es-
pecially dear to him since his wife had died
five years earlier, and he was proud that
he was bringing her up by himself-unaided
by his ever-helpful female relatives.
"Yes, spring really is the best season in
the whole year. The birds sing and ..., "
Thomas Greenwood's pensive mood was
interrupted by muffled sobs which echoed
from the direction of the bathroom. Un-
doubtedly it was Sarah lane. Mr. Green-
wood raced to the top of the stairs and
threw open the door. The sight he beheld
fixed him to the spot and he grasped the
door to keep his balance.
There in the centre of a profusion of
topless bottles containing a bright liguid,
paper with directions, and red-tinted towels
stood Sarah lane with a head of flame
Mr. Greenwood blinked rapidly a few
times as if trying to dispel a nightmare, but
when he opened them again and found the
same sight before him, he cried, "Sarah
lane, my dear girl, what have you done to
yourself? Do you know what colour your
hair is?" I
"I only wanted a few streaks in the
front," wailed the girl, "but then . . . "
"But then your whole head fell in by
mistake," finished her father sarcastically.
Don't tell me the rest!" He clapped his
hands to his head and tried to think what
did one do in an emergency like this? Dial
999? Phone the fire department? Maybe
Aunt Martha would know. No, he would
handle this by himself, and as tactfully as
he knew how. He turned to his daughter
again and stated in a matter-of-fact way,
"Well, wash it out."
"I can't. The directions say that once
it's in, it won't come out for two w-weeks.
"TWO-two weeks? Young lady, you
have to go to school tomorrow, and I re-
fuse to allow you to leave this house look-
ing like a-a fire engine. Surely this stuff
will come out if we use plenty of soap, and
scrub," he ended rather dubiously.
No amount of pleading could dissuade
him. He srubbed for half an hour, but that
only made the colour brighter. Finally he
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