Balmoral Hall School - Optima Anni Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

Page 13 text:

' I I f WHAT SCHOOL DO YOU ATTEND? What school do you attend? is a question all of us are asked frequently during the year. This year when we replied, Balmoral Hall , our answers were often met with a blank expression. This expression, although as old as man, was something new to former Rupertsland and River- bend students. In former years when a Ruperts- lander or Riverbender answered this question by Rupertsland or Riverbend , their answers were met with smiles of recognition. But the turn of the half-century brought something new for the Protestant Private Schools of Winnipeg. The Boards of Rupertsland and Riverbend agreed that the two schools should amalgamate to form one good girls' school between the Great Lakes and Vancouver. This school would be sit- uated on the former Riverbend site while an additional building would be constructed. But Mother Nature thwarted this plan, for the Red River Flood came upon us and the new building was not able to be built at once. This was not going to interfere with Balmoral Hall's begin- ning, for on Sept. 6, 1930, the doors of Balmoral Hall were opened to its first students. Miss Murell-Wright, our Headmistress, and members of the former staffs of Rupertsland and Riverbend, welcomed us to Balmoral Hall, and to a year filled with endless surprises and thrilling experiences. To this day, their promise of new experiences and surprises, has not failed, and every- . , 2 . .--- R ' R. Y . , . .4 Q ug . L'5 'n, 1 'N . . , , ,V Y.,-,,. , ., , day in the first year of Balmoral Halls history, we have been face to face with some new challenge. With the election of Head Girl, Games Cap- tain and Prefects, the first term passed swiftly. Then in january, 1951, we named our four houses -Braemar, Ballater, Glen Gairn and Craig Gow- an. These names were chosen to foster enthusiasm and house spirit in all our future competitions. The sports' activity continued within the school and we took part in the city High School and Volleyball and Basketball Leagues. Although the Senior Volleyball team did not make the Sport headlines of the city's newspapers, the teams fought and played their games well, showing good sportsmanship. They never gave up and always hoped for success in the next game. These games fostered school spirit. We who have lived through both pleasant and disturbing days at Balmoral Hall, feel that as the school has been growing, we too have been devel- oping in mind and manner. Although many of us will not be back next year, wherever we may be, and whatever we may be doing, the thought of Balmoral Hall will be with us. May you, the girls whom we leave to Pull Together , mould a school of which Winnipeg may be justly proud, and may you receive the smile of approval when you answer Balmoral Hall to the question What school do you attend ? DONNA PATTERSON. Grade Xl.

Page 12 text:

IO OUR CLASSROOM There at the end of the long hall is a class- room where the early morning sunshine streams in through the windows, and lights up each rug- ged desk. All is quite still, but it is yet very early and this quiet room silently drinks in the sunshine while it waits for its big family of Grade Elevens. The tops of the desks show many an imprint of some girls' diligent work with a bobby pin and a pen. Yes, there are initials on the desks-initials of girls who used the same desks years before I was born. The blackboards shine with cleanliness, the books stand like soldiers upon the neat, tidy shelf, and the waste paper basket stands clean and empty. Then comes the sound of voices-the sound of life in the school. Familiar footsteps are heard coming toward the Grade Eleven classroom. Yes, it is the dear teacher, the first to arrive. She en- ters our still classroom and for a good ten minutes relaxes in the hard-backed chair enjoying the tidi- ness of her home-room, and awaiting her first morning glories . Soon the herd begins to amble in. Some smileg some throw their books on their desks and leave the room. She hears someone running outside in the hall, but is rather afraid to go and see who it is for fear of being knocked off her feet. She knows so well that the running girl belongs in her classroom. The Grade Eleven room already looks different. Books lie scattered here and there. One can smell the aroma of egg sandwiches escaping from the many brown bags lying scattered around the room. Our classroom is filled not only with books and desks but also with twenty girls, each with a dif- ferent personality. This is what makes the small Grade Eleven home very dear to each member in the class. The classroom couldn't be a sentimental memory without remembering all the fun, all the troubles, arguments and jokes we have shared many times a week. Once we were locked in the room. How we laughed as we nearly tore the door open! Another winter day one of my fellow class- mates left a window open and we nearly had a snow drift form on the well-polished floors. The fun we have is incalculablel Our classroom couldn't be dear to us without mentioning the poor ones who attempt to make us smarter individuals than we were the previous year. How they must suffer in our cluttered up kingdom of which we're so fond. As four o'clock draws near, we survey our wonderful classroom once again. Yes, its ap- pearance had greatly changed. The sunlight no longer shines through the windows. The tops of the desks are not nearly as tidy as they were early in the morning. They lie coated with dust and books. A strange fog seems to engulf the room. One who knows classrooms will recognize it at once to be chalk dust. The tiny particles float here and there over walls and windows. The boards are not the shining black colour they were dans le matin . They are a drab and dowdy grey with ledges heaped to the very brim with chalk dust. The waste paper basket stands filled to the top with tiny balls of writing material within a circle of paper which missed its open jaws. The shelf is covered with orange peal, torn paper bags and blotters. Even the pictures look tired as they droop to one side. Oh well, it's four o'clock, the end of another school day. Soon our home will be cleaned for tomorrow and another day in our beloved classroom. JANET BLEEKS, Grade XI. 'TIS EXAM TIME 'Tis nine o'clock- We drag to rooms In single file To meet our dooms- For ,tis exams. For hours we sit- More tired we get- And angry too With those who set Such hard exams. Two hours are up- We're half-way through- A half hour more- What shall we do? And still we sit. Pass papers in - We sit quite dumb- Regretting what Can't be undone In these exams. ELAINE PROTHEROE, Grade VIII.

Page 14 text:

L- -L .L THE AVERAGE STUDENT Why do we go to school at all? I have never yet found a satisfying answer to this question, but since we all spend at least eleven years of our lives in the halls of learning, it is appropriate that the bare facts of this existence be brought to light. Let us look in on an average day of an average student of Balmoral Hall, and learn some of these facts .... At some unearthly hour of the morning, per- haps seven-thirty, the average pupil is rudely awak- ened by a shout in her ear. She opens her eyes with a start, closes them again, remains in a state of semi-consciousness for some minutes, and then quietly falls alseep. She is promptly awakened for a second time by a second shout in her other ear. She then makes a valiant effort to rise and is, after some time, successful. With ten minutes to dress, eat breakfast, and leave for school, she throws on her clothes, drinks a glass of milk, and leaves on the run Qwithout hat, scarf, gloves or bootsj to catch the eight-thirty bus. Ah! After much running and waving of her arms, she has managed to arrest the attention of the bus driver Qwho very kindly has stopped the busj and is now sinking back with a sigh into the one remaining seat. QHow luckylj She is looking at her watch. Whatl? She is going to be late. Well, never mind, she will have thought of a feasible excuse by the time she reaches school, for after all she is an average student! Morning lessons have begun, and the average student is seen sitting in her average desk with a look of average intelligence on her average face. Now she is being asked to translate some French, and with a wild look at the blank face of her neighbor, she rises and begins stumbling desper- ately through the paragraph. Alas, she is not suc- cessful. She will be given extra homework for her efforts. English class is now in progress. She likes English and spends an enjoyable thirty-tive min- utes learning grammar. What now? Algebra. She has forgotten to do her homework. Another lot of extra work descends upon her. Recess arrives and the average student is off like a shot to get her milk and doughnut in the milk and biscuit room. No sooner is she munch- ing happily than a bell rings and she must go back to class. Her History has not been learned and her Chemistry problems have been forgotten. This must surely be one of her bad days, but no, it is an average day. The ring of a bell announces the lunch hour, commonly known as the noon hour, but incor- rectly so, since it doesn't begin until twenty to one. The average student rushes madly downstairs and lines up in the corridor with the rest of the mob. Lunch over, she goes for a walk, dropping in at the store on the way to buy a chocolate bar. She returns to school and joins in the singing at the piano. At ten minutes past two the average student is seen returning to the classroom for afternoon les- sons. Once more she sits in her average desk and pays average attention to what is going on around her. She wears a sad, weary expression on her face, which is made even sadder and wearier tif that is possiblej by the realization that she must endure a Biology class. Suddenly her interest is aroused. The Biology class is to be spent in the lab, look- ing at things through a microscope. She makes her way with her lab coat over her arm, thinking that perhaps a change of scenery will be invigorat- ing. She is sadly mistaken, for she returns from the lab in worse condition than when she went. It has been too much for her average brain. The thought of Geometry doesn't revive her, and a second History period is the last straw. Four o'clock has come and gone and the aver- age student is putting on her running shoes for a basketball game. What jolly fun! The game is over by live o'clock and at quarter to six she is wending her way toward the bus stop, a huge pile of books in her arms and a bus ticket clenched tightly in her teeth. When at last the bus arrives, it is filled to the door. She only just manages to get inside. Will she never get home? Yes, even- tually she crawls into the house, just in time for dinner for was she perhaps a little late?j Ah! How nice to get some food inside her. She feels she could fall asleep immediately, but there are dishes to be done, and after dishes- homework. Yes, there is always homework, stacks of it every night for this poor, average student. Will the day never end? Oh what heaven to climb into bed and do nothing but sleep, sleep, sle-e-ep. . . . The curtain falls gently on the Drama of the Average Student . SALLY DANGERFIELD, Grade XI. I hear your daughter is a deep student. She's always at the bottom of the class, if that's what you mean.