Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

Page 29 text:

S A A1 A R A 27 At these few words, the snail was off in dreamland. His thoughts were far from the dull old frog whose mouth opened and shut tr ' ing to use every word in the dictionary. For many hours the frog lectured on and at last came to a stop with these words — I hope that after this brief talk you have changed your attitude towards untidyness . The snail dragged himself to the lecture room. Upon reaching the room he went to the most comfortable chair and curled up. With a pillow under his head he prepared for a trip to dreamland. The frog took his place at the front of the room and began: Dear snail, due to your untidy attitude I have prepared this speech to cure you of your untidiness . The snail who had wakened to these words made his reply — Dear frog, I thank the dic- tionary for lending you all its words for that very dry speech. I have never had the chance before to take time off for such a nap. I am happy to say I have not changed one bit. I will have lunch now and retire for the after- noon as I am extremely tired . The frog looked startled at such a remark and said to himself, That is the last time I spend my precious time on him. Why, he isn ' t even thankful to have such a bright fellow as I to help him . He then gave the snail a nasty look and left. The snail curled back into his shell with a sigh of relief. The sun also must have heard the frog for it, too, was gradually sinking into the west. Carolyn Bruce, V C Keller Description She was a small, tired-looking, little woman with patient brown eyes and a dejected, col- orless mouth. Her mouse-colored hair, streaked with grey and brushed straight back from her face, was tied in a bun at the nape of her neck, which accentuated the tired lines around her mouth and eyes, and made her drab clothes more obvious than ever. She looked small and out of place as she huddled in the corner of her seat. The rest of the people on the crowded street-car had been Christmas shopping and were talking gaily to each other about the wonderful presents they had bought for rela- tives and friends, and the dejected little woman edged even further into her corner, as if to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. She had no parcels, only a thin worn purse which she fingered with bare hands as she gazed wistfully at everyone else ' s well-loaded shop- ping bags and bulging parcels. Nobody noticed her as she edged off the car, except the people who had to move to let her out, and she cut a lonely, pathetic, little figure as she stepped down into the snowy darkness. Bobby Bradshaw, V A Nightingale Last Words of the Dying Sinner I see a tiny flickering light; But through the thickness of the night, It fades away. I grope and stumble. Still cannot find that light, Fore ' er imprinted on my mind. Because the stronger breeze did cool The weakening rays of light. And yet again I ' ll stand i n darkness. Upon those weary feet, Ady soul once full of honour. Now filled with deceit. All hope denied, all life passed by, I close my eyes, Ue down and rest. Someday my sins will be forgiven. Where life is lasting, love long lived . . . Goodbye, dear World, forget Thy mighty hand has never wrought So pitiful a sinner. I ' ll leave thee now, and as I slowly sink into oblivion, Forgive, forgive . . . Marianne Lovink, VI M Fry

Page 28 text:

26 SAMARA reward you. At dawn to-day go to the Old Yew Tree in the heart of the forest, dig under the largest root; there you will find a small box; in it will be the hair of a bald eagle, gold piece of a Scotsman and accent of an English- man. Do not open it, for if you do they will escape and all our work will be undone. And now, I must go, but first here is something for yoii . . . Goodbye Sean . But before the voice died away Sean demanded, But who are you? She replied, I am the ghost of happi- ness, Sean; because you made them happy they have remembered you . . . It died away, but there on the moss lay a tiny gleaming sham- rock, with Generosity, Faith and Contentment inscribed on the leaves . . . Well, Do-Good, heh, heh, didn ' t expect you back — er — but here ' s your emblem, young man, and don ' t lose it. This from the Senior Supervisor who received Sean and his tasks on the sunny morning of the tenth day. Never had the little leprechaun been so happy as he contentedly fingered his emblem (a Shellalagh) and tiny Shamrock. Yes, he said, pinning them on his new brilliant green tunic, It ' s the little things that count! Vicky Brain, V C Nightingale The Mind When some are alone They think of many things; Of poverty And wealth, riches and kings; Some think of their lives, Of one so well spent; Others think of their wives. Or how to pay the rent. All in all, the mind Travels far and wide O ' er land, sea and sky, Over oceans deep And mountains high. Until the thoughts have Reached above, and touched Our Creator with simple love. Lambie Steven, V A Fry Said the Frog to the Snail Many years ago there lived a king who kept as pets a frog and a snail. The frog had been given the very best education possible. Although his few brains were crammed full and his etiquette was the very best, he was a dull character. Whenever the king was in difficulties he turned to the frog for aid. The snail, on the other hand, was altogether different. He had never had the chance to be educated and he never stopped to think over throwing a crude remark at the frog. When- ever the king was feeling downhearted he turned to the snail for enjoyment. Now it happened that the frog and the snail lived together in the same little house. The snail, being a very stupid fellow, always did everything wrong and never failed to leave the rooms in a mess. The frog, who was very lazy, thought it below him to clean up the mess left by the snail and thus the little house was never tidy. One day the frog decided to give the snail a lecture. All night he sat pulling big words from the dictionary which he kept at his side. When the first rays of sun filled the room the frog moved to the lecture room. Making sure his dictionary was beside him, he began to practice his lecture for the snail. When the snail awoke he said aloud, To- day is the day of the big lecture . Then he added quietly to himself — What an odd character that frog is — always talking about something that I can ' t understand. Last night he scolded me for telling him his wig was crooked. Ah well! What can you do with a person such as he. ' Moments later the frog bustled into the snail ' s room crying — Hurry up, hurry up, vou are wasting all my precious time. I must give you my lecture now for I have my beauty rest to attend to . The snail looked at him. You dull character, he said, can ' t you see that you are about to waste my precious time with a lot of oversized words from that dictionary of yours . Come along, I have no more time to waste, replied the frog.

Page 30 text:

28 SAMARA The Photograph I held the photograph in my hand. My eyes became wet as they carefully traced each fea- ture of the face. It was a woman ' s face, one which I had often gazed at. The times and circumstance wherein I had seen her had varied but the feeling which she gave to me was always the same. Now I had but a photo- graph of her face — a mere picture through which I felt I could see the true character of this woman with whom I had lived, but really never known. My memory slipped back over the ten years I had known her. Somehow I felt glad that I could not recall the first seven years of my life, for they had been ones of misery, but to the following ten she had given her all to make me happy. I led this miserable existence when I first saw her — saw her face with the big, blue, understanding eyes, the tiny lips which had always expressed supreme happi- ness and the light brown hair which curled around the face and fell softly on the shoul- ders. This was the first vision of the young woman I could recall. I was standing in the dim halls of the orphanage where I can clearly remember her taking me by the hand, leading me away from its doors and into her heart and home. In the years that followed, I grew up under her careful guidance. She seemed to change little during this time, but somehow my impression of her beauty on our first meeting did not correspond with this photo- graph I held in my hand. When or where she had changed I do not know, but now I realized that she had known a life of sorrow which she had hidden from me and let only her goodness shine through. I found this hidden truth in my photograph. I could now see a shadow which covered this superficial expression of happiness. The un- known which lay beneath this shadow and the fact that I should never know the meaning of its existence deeply troubled me. Why had I not seen it before — in time to be of some help? Was it that I, as a child, could not sense the inner feeling of one so close? Was it be- cause I had been with her constantly and did not realize that she had changed? Or was it that this photograph was meant to be the means by which the true character of my dead mother was revealed to me? Margaret Reynolds, V A Keller There was a young yokel named Huck, Who lived in the hills of Kentuck, His girl friend in pink. Just drove him to drink. But the cork on the moonshine was stuck! Judy Ewing, V B Nightingale The Miracle Pierre was the boy ' s name and Annette the girl ' s. Their mother and father were French- Canadian habitants, who were leaving their homes in Quebec to begin a new life in a vil- lage that was yet to be built. They travelled a long way and finally found an ideal location for settling. It was in a small, well-sheltered valley nearby which there was a hill where they chose the site of their new church. Annette wanted to know why they built it on the hill. Perhaps, said Pierre wise- ly, to be nearer heaven. There was also a wooded island a little way from the shore, separated from the mainland by tumbling rapids that the Indians only could get over. It looked very beautiful standing alone out in the river and the settlers wondered if they would ever be able to inhabit it. The grown-ups were very busy that autumn. After the ship came down the river from Ville Marie, bringing with it all the familiar old furniture and their household be- longings from Quebec, the settlers started to build their new cabins.