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

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SARAH AND THE NIGHT It was two o'clock in the morning, and Miss Sarah Toopingham was asleep in bed in her little apartment, as any proper, law-abiding person should be. Her day had been pleasant and un- eventful, like all her other days, and she had had a pleasant evening reading the church periodical news. Perhaps now she was having a nice dream about the forthcoming Ladies' Aid Society tea at which she was to give an exhibit of her crocheted tea-cosies. The clock in the hall ticked endlessly on. Suddenly the silence was shattered by a pierc- ing shriek, followed by running footsteps clatter- ing somewhere overhead-then a crash. Again there was dead silence. Miss Toopingham's dream had now shifted from a tea party to a bombing raid, and presently she began to wake up, with a vague sense of confusion. It was just then that there was another scream-this time followed by several more shrieks and the sound of a great deal of running about on the upper floor. Miss Toop- ingham was now fully awake. Her first impulse might have been to pull the bedclothes over her head, but our Sarah was not altogether a cowardly woman and her curiosity began to get the better of her, so she rolled out of bed, Qif a woman of her quality could be said to rollj, put on her bed- room slippers, cautiously opened the door, and advanced bravely into the hall. She was just about to mount the stairs, when there was a most ter- rifying shout of a man's voice and a muflled ex- plosion like a pistol shot. Miss Toopingham, now completely unnerved, gathered up her night dress above her knees and fled back to her own rooms where she dashed insanely to the telephone, dialled a number, and began to gibber, between gasps, something about house . . . falling down, thieves and murder',. After that she sat bolt upright in her rocking chair, tensely awaiting the police. The noises upstairs had calmed down a bit by this time, with only an occasional thump being heard now and again. Then all of a sudden there was the sound of a door opening and a great rush of sound issued forth - shrieking, shouting, scuffling . . . and something else. Miss Toop- ingham gave a start. That other sound was laugh- ing, or was it singing, or both? Yes, the mystery had at last solved itself, with embarrassing results for Sarah Toopingham. The entire police force would arrive any minute to settle not a murder or a theft, but her landlord's birthday party! ANN JENNINGS, Grade X North. A . I7 THE GOLF BALL The tee is placed, The ball is set, The player takes his stance. Now for a long And easy swing, He must not lift his glance. The follow through, That powerful stroke, The ball wings into flight, Breaks through the air Like shot from gun, And now is gone from sight. JOEY ADAMSON, Grade X North. MY FRIEND THE CAT I have always been very fond of cats, but the one I thought was the most exceptional, was a cat called Tinker. He was a very snobbish pure-bred Persian, and he wouldn't associate with other cats. He had always been pampered by his mistress and refused to touch anything except the thickest cream and red salmon. During the war when it was impossible always to get these two items, he would nearly starve. Instead of lapping his cream up, he dipped his paw in and licked the cream off his paw. He had many tricks and some were funny and some were cute. His mistress had bought him a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and she would put these on his nose, and he would sit on his hind paws and hold the newspaper in front of him with his front paws as if he were reading it. He was never put out like other cats, but when his mistress went for a drive in the car, she put him in the back seat with a shawl around him and a bonnet on his head and the glasses on his eyes. He also could play a wonderful game of base- ball. He would sit on his hind paws, and when his mistress threw the ball, he would hit it with his paw. Sometimes he could catch it with his paws. He finally died at the age of twenty-one Ccat's agej, or about ninety Qman's agej, but we all remember what a smart cat he was. MARY TUCKWELL, Grade VIII.

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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.

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UL s A BOARDER'S UTOPIA This is the story of a dream that I had before I entered a boarding school. Before you become a boarder, you must have had a dream of what it would be like to be one. Well, the dream is over for me now, so I don't suppose it will hurt if I tell you what I once dreamt. I'll start with the bedrooms. I dreamt of walking down a long carpeted hall past doors upon doors until I came to Room 13-my lucky number! This, said the house mother, is to be shared by you and another girl. I pushed open the door, and there was a lovely room! It con- tained twin beds with matching dressers, two desks, book shelves, a radio, a record player, and two big arm chairs. Off the room was a tiny, private bath. In an alcove over by the big bay windows, was a piano. I was so pleased with my room that I could scarcely wait to see what the rest of the school would be like. just then a pre- fect came in and offered to help me unpack and then we proceeded on a tour of the school. The prefect took me down the long hall up which I had previously walked so shakily, and then down a flight of stairs into another hall. I was led into the cafeteria dining-room. On the other side of the hall was a canteen. The prefect then took me outside to the boarders' chief delight, a swimming pool. After I had seen the grounds, the prefect asked me in to the canteen to have a coke. There she told me what we could do. This is what she said. The weekends are from Friday at four o'clock until Monday at nine o'clock. We can go out three nights a week on special dates until eleven o'clock. The lights may be put out anytime before twelve o'clock. We are allowed to wear slacks to the cafeteria and in or on leaving the school, if desired. Last of all, there are no bells buzzing. I asked her how we could possibly know when to get up, and when to eat. The prefect replied, A record player playing jive music does the trick. It makes us hopf' If you plan to be a boarder, please do not expect all these things. After all, it was only a dream of a Boarder's Utopia. BETTIE MAE TOWNSEND, Grade X North. AN ATTEMPT Oh dear! Oh dear! I've racked my brain, To write a poem, but all in vain. I think that I shall never be A famous name in poetry. I've used my brain to no avail, I'd better find some words or fail. The line's too short, should be extended, I think it's time this poem ended. p And so the rhymes I leave to you, And bid you all a fair adieu. LORNA CRAIG, Grade X North. A THRILLING TRIP We reached the wicket, and purchased our tickets. The dumpy little man at the gate tore them in two, and handed us our stubs. My heart was beating wildly and my knees were very wobbly, but I knew I must go through with it now. I glanced about, and seeing all my fellow passengers heading in a group towards the circular machine, I took my friend's hand and dragged her towards the place of our doom. We found our places, and firmly settled ourselves. The little man threw a quick glance our way, and smiled reassuringly. We began to move, slowly at first, and then a little more quickly. Soon we were zooming around at an uncanny speed. Our ears felt funny, and our bodies felt oddly light. I suppose we were far away then, because I began to hear strange music, which grew louder. All about me I saw strange blotches of colour. Soon, to my immeasurable relief, we began to slow down. Several small children had started to cry, and my stomach felt oddly unsettled. The coloured blotches began to take the shape of people, and the haunting music grew softer. Gradually we came to a stop, and I was never so glad to set my feet on the ground in all my life. I looked about at my fellow travellers, and saw a variety of ex- pressions on their faces. Most of them were slightly green. I walked unsteadily towards the gate, feeling a little sorry that my journey was over. Ah well, we can have another ride on the merry-go-round tomorrow. JOAN DAVIDSON, Grade IX.