Alma College - Almafilian Yearbook (St Thomas, Ontario Canada)

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HANDS The human hands are man ' s most remarkable tools. The tiny, groping hands of the newborn baby who is unaware of their importance in the years to come. The strange fascination they hold for the tiny tots. The creative hands of the youth as he fumbles clumsily with his jalopy motor. The quick, intelligent hands of the college student alert every moment to discover new things. The capable, steady hands of the faithful doctor going about his never-ending work of healing. The gnarled hands of the farmer roughened with work. The trembling toil worn hands of the old that have felt their way through the long journey of life. All this the young soldier thinks as he gazes bewilderedly at his bandaged stumps and wonders hopelessly how he will live without his hands, hands that are the symbol of faith, hope, happiness and success. Daphne Agnew. THREE LETTERS Beverley Searle . The small, white light at the end of the hospital room shed its dim glow over the beds nearest it. They held some of the broken, wounded soldiers of the Korean war. Some of the men were sleeping, their fear and pain forgotten for the moment, while others lay awake, too racked with the agony of injuries and fears to sleep. It was to one of the latter the army nurse came. She knew the soldier lay awake in his bed, yet she had done all that she could to relieve his pain. He was a very young soldier capable of stirring compassion even in the most calloused heart. He had become rather special to the young nurse because he seemed to need more care and attention than his fellows . He put up a hard and bitter front but through his eyes , one could see the scars of an unloved childhood and the hurt of an insecure manhood . The nurse approached his bed quietly and paused there a moment. She knew that he didn ' t really care if he lived or died and that he was feebly tottering on the brink between the two extremes . The previous night she had promised to write a letter home for him and although she doubted the wisdom of his seemingly queer plan, she did not have the heart to ref- use to take part in it. So it was that she began to write this very important letter dir- ected by his barely audible voice . About a week later in a large city of the United States, a letter from overseas was delivered to a fashionable home. The butler received it at the door and handed it over to the maid, who in turn ran up the stairs, and delivered it to a cold austere-looking woman in her mid-fifties. Only a part of that letter needs to be recorded here -- that part which meant life or death to the young soldier fighting his way through a maze of pain and mental anguish. —and so, Mother and Father, could I bring my buddy home with me? He is very badly wounded and will require constant care for some time. He will never walk again, as he has lost both legs, and to sum it up, he is pretty badly chewed up by the Reds ' shrapnel. Maybe you ' ll find it hard to understand but this means a lot to him, for if you refuse, he won ' t have much to live for. You see, he has no family at home to care for him — The woman, and the man who had entered the bedroom just in time to hear the let- ter, looked at each other, an angry frown on the face of the woman and a cold unfath- omable expression on the face of the man. Pag 37

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ALMA GRADUATES SONG ' 55 Our Alma Days are past, Grad ' s here at last, And as we bid adieu to all our friends We will recall these ivy walls, The Bell that calls us to Our work for a future bright and clear. Toujours En Avant our motto true To guide us forward all the long years through. Our memories dear, hold the thoughts Of chapel talks and candlelighting too, To cherish now and forevermore As we close the door Of dear old Alma. Tune: No Other Lo ve. MY HOME-TOWN In the haven of the bluffs it lay, My peaceful, small home-town, And stretched beyond it the sapphire bay And distant mist like a shimmering gown. And high up above in the deep blue sky, I see little snow-white clouds float by; As the sweet scented breezes come whispering roun ' I think there ' s no place like my own home town — Josephine Smith SOLUTION A dog bctrks, a cat yowls. In the tree, I hear two owls. All four make a great ado. I cannot sleep, What to do? Shut the wiiidow? Throw a shoe? I simply must stop that ado. Then a brilliant idea appears — Now I sleep — plugs in my ears. — Anonymous

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Again, a little more than a week later, the nurse was making her early morning rounds.. As it was still dark, she carried in her hand a small flashlight. She approached the bed of the young soldier, but by some inexplicable feeling she knew without testing, that he was dead. Somehow she managed to find the strength to pick up the white sheet of paper on the pillow beside his head. One part of it seemed to leap from the page at her, and tear itself agonizingly into her soul and brain. •• of course you cannot be so thoughtless and inconsiderate, son, as to expect us to take on the responsibility of this friend of yours. We certainly have no place in our busy life to bother with such a badly crippled man. What would our friends say when they heard of such a thing? It is perfectly ridiculous and entirely unnecess- ary on your part to suggest this. Surely you don ' t expect your mother to bear the sight of a legless scarred veteran, do you? I am confident that you will see this matter our way and not mention the subject again — . The nurse managed to check the scalding tears streaming down her cheeks, long enough to look at the face of the soldier again . It was filled with a peaceful content- ment and there was almost an expression of joy there. She knew then that he had found eternal happiness and the love which he had missed on earth. Sometime later, a black-edged telegram was delivered to the same fashionable home and accQmpanying it was a letter . As in the previous two, only one part of it needs to be recorded here . —and so you know the reason for your son ' s death. He was not killed in action, although in one sense he died, fighting a losing battle with himself. Yes, he lost, and maybe it wasn ' t even a courageous loss, but yet in his own way, he won. You see, he has found a Paradise, where there is no hatred or neglect and where he will be lovingly cared for, and where there is time, always, for love and devotion. Although I no longer need pray for Ms. happiness, I pray for yours, and I pray that through his death, you may love others in his place. Yours very sincerely, Tim ' s nurse. WILL TELEVISION REPLACE THE MOVIES? Carol Ann Powell-11. A great new entertainment has arrived - television, or as it is commonly called T.V. Television is comparatively new in Canada, the first privately owned station was opened only a year ago, but already the number of outdoor sports attendants and radio fans has been reduced. The big question now is, will it replace motion pict- ures? By law no movie may be shown on T.V. unless it is at least five years old. May I assure you that most of those shown are a great deal older and are quite often second- rate pictures . Motion picture studios have struck back at television with third dimensional movies and cinemascope, but the better the movie, the higher the price. If a picture is des- cribed as super-colossal, it is good. A movie described as magnificent is even better. But one described as stupendous is simply out of this world and so is the fage 38