Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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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.

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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

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SAMARA 29 Pierre and Annette ran about the woods and meadows playing story characters or pretend- ing to be coureurs-de-bois; sometimes Pierre would be a priest, teaching the Indians (An- nette) about Le Bebe. Pierre and Annette were not quite sure about Him; if He loved them so much, why had He gone away? Why wouldn ' t He come back again, if everybody loved Him so? It was all very puzzling even to Annette, who had begun to learn her cate- chism and could tell her prayers on the tiny Rosary that one of the Jesuits had given her. One day Annette asked Pere Lalement, Why does He stay away? Why doesn ' t He come back to live with us? I am sure no one would hurt Him now, and we would all love Him so dearly. I say my prayers to Him every night and I always ask Him to come back . I ' m sure he listens, ma petite , said Lalement softly with a faraway look in his eyes. Perhaps He will come back soon when we have made the world a better place . Now Annette understood. She had to be very good and maybe Le Bebe would return once more. And so the autumn passed. Many of the priests had gone to live in Indian villages for the winter, to teach the wild, superstitious savages about Christ. Pierre and Annette said goodbye to them cheerfully, not knowing that they would never see some of their friends again. The houses were finished and the church, too, though it had taken all the wood on the little hillside to build them. They had an impressive service at the church to cele- brate the naming of the new village. They called it St. Anne, St. Anne de Beaupre because of its beautiful surroundings. The settlers were very happy and gay, even though they had made no plans for the winter. They had no wood laid ready to burn all during the long days and nights and no food stored up to keep them. Then the first snow came; winter was very early that year. Gradually the villagers began to realize their plight. Most of the wood available had been used for building the church and log cabins. The priests had taken most of the stored-up food and in the fields by the settlement there were no trees left to burn. There were no animals to kill for food, except an occasional rabbit, which was not enough food for the settlement of busy, hungry people and the people could not venture beyond the valley because of the Indians who could not let them touch their land. Across the river there was the island, with plenty of wood on it, and probably plenty of food too. But how could they get it? The rapids were more dangerous now, filled with ice floes, and black tumbled boulders peered out between the floes. Young Yvet, the cure ' s nephew, set forth in a light canoe, in a desperate attempt to reach the island and his overturned canoe was soon tossed back to the people. The next day the cure in a trembling voice said a mass for his soul and a sad little party wended its way down the hill from the little church with nothing but despair and grief left in their hearts. They had all learned to love the little com- munity and their fellow adventurers. Would they have to pack and leave their new home? How could they go back to Quebec, after promising such glad and wonderful results for the coming summer? Even so it would be impossible to go back over the cold, snowy path to Quebec, full of danger from the savage Indians. Pierre and Annette who before had not noticed the tired anxious faces of their mother and father now knew what was wrong. Papa looked grave and did not play with them any more in the evenings. Maman tried hard to laugh and be cheerful, but it was very hard! Oh, but the winter would soon be over, Maman and Papa would find a way, and le bon cure, he would help them. He always did. Besides there was Le Bebe. He listened to everybody ' s prayers. Pere Lalement had told them so. They wished He would come back. He would cheer everybody up, and find a way out of trouble, too. Le bon cure wished he had as much faith as the children. Night and day he prayed and