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

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gg, g g 15 Balmoral Hall BALMORAL CASTLE Balmoral Castle, parish of Crathie and Brae- mar, Aberdeenshire, Scotland, is the private resi- dence of the British Sovereign. It stands nine hundred and twenty-six feet above sea-level on a natural platform that slopes gently down from the base of Craig Gowan to the margin of the salmon- teaming River Dee, which is crossed by a wonder- ful suspension bridge. This castle and the estate were bequeathed to Queen Victoria in 1852 from her husband Albert, Prince Consort, who had ac- quired it through Sir Robert Gordon. It was the Prince Consort who, finding the old castle not sufficiently commodious for the Royal Family erected a new one-at a cost of one hun- dred thousand pounds. The castle was in Scottish Baronial style of architecture in white Crathie granite. The castle consists of two separate blocks of buildings, united by wings. Inside the walls are papered with tartan and the floors are covered with rugs of the Balmoral tartan which the Prince Consort himself designed. At a distance the castle has a strong and imposing appearance, look- ing almost as if it had been hewn out of one huge rock. From the many high turrets, one of which is one hundred feet high, can be seen a command- ing view of the surrounding districts. To the west can be seen Braemar, to the north Glen Gairn, while one mile to the south on the hill Craig Gowan, stand the memorial monuments of Queen Victoria, Albert Prince Consort, Princess Alice and other members of the Royal Family of Great Britain. Nine miles to the west is the railway station of Ballater. Notable people of the Vic- torian Era and a good many of the Edwardian and the Georgian Eras have stepped down on its plat- form as it is the station for Balmoral Castle. DAPHNE HANSON, Grade X South.

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li A GOOD REST With a tired and heavy hand, I lift my pen to write this essay entitled A Good Rest . How wonderful is the word rest ! What calm and peaceful thoughts it brings to mind. But I must not dwell too long on the word rest itself, or I shall not be able to catch my six hours sleep before school tomorrow morning. We are living in a restless age. Thousands of watches on thousands of wrists tick by the busy hours of a busy day. Students in schools and col- leges literally slave over a hard, wooden desk from nine o'clock 'till four o'clock with only a brief recess at noon for lunch. Likewise, patient teach- ers do their best to help them gain knowledge, the ever-present vision of june examinations al- ways before their eyes. Then after the school day is over, a refreshing game is all that is needed to ensure complete exhaustion for the students. Four hours of homework then complete an evening. This unfortunately is just a bare outline of a school day and does not include all the little extras . How wonderful it will be to get into University and work no longer. In all walks of life, people are working them- selves into a state of exhaustion. Office-workers are learning to type faster and faster. Everything is moving at a greater speed, cars, trains, airplanes and atomic bombs are constantly being perfected. People don't walk up escalators any more, they run! A department store on a Saturday afternoon is a perfect example of a tired, rushing mass of humanity. Women browse around the hat counter for several hours in search of apparel for a hun- dred oncoming teas which they don't want to at- tend. Finally, worn and bedraggled they push their way to the door, resolving to make do with the dozen or so hats that they already possess. How foolish it all is! As we follow the crowd out of the store at closing time, we realize that to reach our homes, we need the help of a bus. There we stand and bus after bus goes by. Oh, there's an Academy Road bus coming now. My goodness, it's not going to stop-it's already full. A Stafford bus, an Osborne bus, a Corydon bus, a Stafford bus, a Stafford bus . . . another Stafford bus. I-Iow strange! Finally after approximately three quarters of an hour, an Academy bus does come along. But it is full of tired people and goes by. Oh, well, it is only a short walk home! Tired husbands go home to their wives. The husband envies the wife. How lucky she is to be able to stay in a nice comfortable home all day and do nothing, except perhaps have her mother- in-law in to tea. Little does he realize the num- ber of dishes she has washed, the house cleaning she has done, the big washing she has done, and the two meetings and three teas she has been to that afternoon. If only we could just stop everything for one day, and rest. If only all the business offices, stores, schools and factories could all stop. Could we but see ourselves as a restless, overworked people, per- haps we could slow down our tempo of living. But that day of complete rest will never come on earth. Hospitals, doctors and nurses must carry on. These workers of mercy must always be on duty. And so the busy world goes on, day after day. With a tired and heavy hand, I close my essay, for the clock is ticking faster and faster and I simply must get six hours of sleep before morning. MARY HoPE MCINNIS, Grade XI. F AREWELL I sit and think in our classroom Of a day that will soon be here, When some of us will graduate And others leave school for the year. We'l1 miss our friends and our teachers, Whom we see now from day to day, But we will remember them dearly As we journey along life's way. DoR1s TUCKER, Grade XI. Gail: Late again, Cathy! Cathy: I got up late and only left ten minutes to dress. Gail: I can dress comfortably in that time. Cathy: Yes, I know, but I wash.

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IQ C. E ,. G.- - THE PLAY'S THE THING To me, there is nothing more enjoyable than the production, preparation, and presentation of a play, and for the past few years, I have had the pleasure of acting in a number of delightful school plays. As soon as the short period of de- pression following the results of Christmas exam- inations is over, a new feeling seems to emerge in the school. Then, we realize that it is time to think about our annual presentation of class plays. For a few days, the peace of the Cornish Branch of the Winnipeg Public Library is disturbed by excited girls in search of books containing all the plays that have ever been written. Then, argu- ments ensue as to which play should be chosen, but at last the Perfect Play is found. Then a director must be chosen. Girls must be appointed to look after properties, costumes, and make-up. And last, but certainly not least, the cast must be chosen. How well I remember trying out for a part several years ago. The director shoved a copy of the play into my hand and ordered me to begin reading at once. I opened the book, and in a gruff English voice began to read. Suddenly, the director shouted. NOP No! A thousand times no! You're sup- posed to be a woman ! With a slightly red face, I carefully raised my octave or two and began again. The voice an choosing of a cast certainly must be an exasper- ating job for the director! After all this has been accomplished, we are so exhausted that we feel we cannot go on, and there is usually a rest period of a week or two before we gain the strength needed to commence rehearsals. Immediately, problems arise. There is not live minutes in the entire school week when the whole cast can get together for a rehearsal. Slowly the difficult weeks pass. All parts are learn- ed, and the play improves and then gets worse again at various intervals. The date is set for the performance and the days slip by unnoticed. Then, one day, you walk into the school gym, and there, straight in front of you is a peculiar- looking piece of apparatus. Upon inquiry, you learn that it is called a stage. The complete dress rehearsal takes place the next day, and everything that could possibly go wrong generally goes wrong. According to a poll conducted among a group of famous actors, this is a very good sign. They say it means that the final performance will be perfect. What a consolation this is! After a sleepless night, the great day dawns. Most of breakfast, a portion of lunch, and a great deal of dinner is left untouched. Suddenly, and without warning the evening comes. And there you are, standing in the wings with shaking knees and chattering teeth. The director then comes back- stage to tell you that the sound of chattering teeth is quite audible out in front where the audience is assembling, and that you'd better try to be quiet. The lights dim, and a hush settles over the audience. Then . . . it is time, and you walk out on the stage. Above you are the glaring, white lights. In front of you are thousands of terrify- ing eyes, two of them in each terrifying face. Oh, dear, you have become so fascinated with these eyes, that you have forgotten to speak your lines. Then, in a Hash, you remember, and you are ab- sorbed in a little story of which you are a part. The most important thing for you to do now is to live that part for the enjoyment of your audi- ence. After it is over the sweet sound of applause is like the sun coming out in all its brilliant glory after a storm. It is hard work, but it is certainly worth it for the wonderful feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment which you derive from taking part in a play. MARY HOPE MCINNIS, Grade XI. NOSTALGIA FOR THE FARM O! to be back on the farm again, Back where the corn stands high, Back where the bales of greenish hay Are piled till they reach the sky. The sun seems to shine more brightly, The moon has a softer glow. The days seem longer, warmer, And gone are the memories of snow. The sweet country air seems fresher, It helps you to feel alive, The people are more friendly And everything seems to thrive. O! to be back on the farm again, Where threshers and balers roar, Where tractors are lumbering heavily- I long to return once more. FRANCES MACFARLAND, Grade X North.