Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

Page 25 text:

HEATHER CUMYN

Page 27 text:

SAMARA 15 0nt THE CLOCK points to five o ' clock, and I am sentenced to die in one more pre- cious hour. I can not believe it. I keep running over the phrase, Only one more hour, one more hour. I am afraid to die, though I try not to be; I want to live. I have a wife, child and a happy home, in fact everything man could desire, but here I am cooped up in a cell, listening to the groans and cries of my race, waiting for my death like a coward. So many thoughts are running through my mind that I have to write them down. I think of my happy and peaceful boyhood —the wonderful feeling of waking in the morning to the sound of the cock crowing and not the sound of bombs falling, to see the morning dew sparkling like so many thousand diamonds on the soft green hills, and not the ruins of houses where families have once lived in a prosperous, contented state. I hear the whistling and shouting of labourers going to work, spades on shoulders, to produce our daily bread— not the mourning and crying of children, or the tramping and shouting of A.R.P. men digging under rubble for courageous people. I remember the pleasant smell of new-mown hay, of freshly baked bread and the delicate fragrance of flowers. I remember the walks with my father up and down dales, watching the sheep, with my old sheep-dog trotting by my side. I used to feel so proud and happy when my father asked my advice about the farm or some trifle. I remember idle days lying on my back, hands clasped behind my head, watching the clouds floating along like white, wooly animals. I always had the insane desire to get up and grasp them. Here I see only abandoned farms, ruined crops and blackened trees. It seems to me years ago, although it was only two days that I volunteered to go on a dangerous secret mission. I succeeded in getting the important information and sending it back to headquarters, but I was taken prisoner and condemned to die. The time is almost up and I can hear the marching of the guard coming to get me, but I am not afraid now. Refreshed by the memory of my beauti- ful boyhood, I have been made stronger in spirit and ready to die for my country. I know that I am dying to give my sons and my sons ' sons a hfe of security and peace. If I could live my life again, I would ask for no better death than this. The sun has just risen, casting a heavenly glow over the sky of deep purple, gold and red. I feel at peace with the world. When I am gone, This heart, all evil shed aivay, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given. Her sights and sounds, dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends, and gentleness In hearts at peace, under an English heaven Anne Patteson, V A Nightingale ? AN ELMWOOD SPRING The hand of wiiiter carefidly laid On every Elmwood field A silvery blanket, warm and deep, As if to guard them while they sleep And keep them ' till the spring. But now the cover ' s wearing thin And through the rents we see What winter helped to shield from harm With nature ' s own protecting arm, The grass of early spring. Diana Ramsay, V C. Keller Nancy Zimmerman, V C Fry