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Page 27 text:
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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
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Page 28 text:
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16 SAMARA i$lj %ik toitt) tfje Jf aioeUg I AM a cat called Julius. I am two year old i Iy mother ' s name was Caesar. I was born in the back part of a pet shop in London. For a few days I stayed in the back part of the shop. Soon I opened my eyes. But far too soon I had to leave my cosy bed, to be put in the shop window with two little Per- sian kittens, three jet black kittens and two beautiful white cats. My mother had to stay in the back part of the shop. My job, as I soon learned, was to mew whenever someone came into the shop, because the two white cats were too stuck up to do so for themselves. One day a man and woman came into the shop and spoke to the man who owned us. The lady gave our master some money. Then the lady came over to me and picked me up, and took me over to where the two men were standing. Soon they had packed me away in my basket and pulled down the lid. They then took me to their car (how I know is because I peeked through a crack in my basket). After a while we reached a house and the man who was driving stopped the car. A door opened, and I felt myself being whisked away into the house. My basket was put down and soon I heard two eager voices chattering. After a moment the lid of my basket was gently lifted up and out I sprang— right into one of the little girls ' arms. She screamed and let me fall to the floor because she was only five and had never had a cat of her own. From that time on I learnt to love the Fawell family. My happy days with the Fawells passed far too quickly. One day the children were dancing around when the telephone rang, and Mrs. Fawell went to answer it. When she came back she talked to Air. Fawell for a long time. The children, being very inquisitive, wanted to know what they were talking about, but their parents would not tell them. For about two weeks there was nothing but bustle in the house. I supposed that the girls had been told the secret, because one day the children came out of the dining room screaming and yelling. Then, one day the children and their parents got into the car with a lot of luggage. Before they went, they made a great fuss over me and their goldfish, but they went away in the end. After a few hours, Mr. and Mrs. Fawell came back without the children. I mewed at them, and they stroked me. I am still waiting for the time when my two young mistresses will come back to me. Alison Fawell, 4 C, Age 10 TEDDY have a little Teddy Bear He is my very own. I foimd him on a wood-land path; He hadn ' t any home. I took him in and nursed him, And fed him on some milk; I fed him on a piece of bread. He went to bed on silk. I took him to the sea-side, To play with me all day. But one day by misfortune. My Teddy ran away. MoiRA Nolan, Form 3, Age 9 IN THE APPLE TREE ONE DAY In the apple tree one day, I saw an elf at joyous play. He looked so odd, with big round eyes And had the look of real surprise, He bowed politely as he said, Excuse me stepping on your head. Your parting looked so like a lane! Fm sorry. Fll step off again. Sheila Madden, Form 3, Age 9
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