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

Page 20 text:

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.

Page 19 text:

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.

Page 21 text:

- L-- L? OVERHEARD IN A BALMORAL LOCKER It was seven-thirty in the morning. This was a most dreaded time for the occupants of Locker No. Blank. For at this hour the handle of the locker door began to juggle up and down to awaken them. The shorts turned over sleepily and the gym socks tried very hard to get out of the running shoes. The old shorts muttered to the socks to get back where they belonged and promptly went to sleep. At two minutes to nine the owner of Locker No. Blank came dashing in. The old shorts groaned as a heavy metal lunch pail was thrown on top of them. The hook felt a little unsteady as a heavy coat, a blazer, a play costume, and a green balaclava were flung on to it in a matter of sec- onds. Rubbers landed on the running shoes and rudely awakened them. Angry words followed but these the student didn't hear. She was on her way, taking the stairs three at a time. Peace was restored when the blue dancing tunic finally cooled down the ruflied laces of the running shoes. The coat began to tell of its ex- ploits at a party the night before. The green balaclava questioned the truth of some of the coat's statements and a prize fight began. After about half an hour of this, during which all those who possibly could, had climbed to the top shelf of the locker to be out of danger's way, a bell rang. Much noise followed outside the locker. The door suddenly opened. The lunch pail squeaked as it was quickly grabbed, and opened, its contents were speedily demolished. Then it was thrust back and the gym equipment was yanked out, and put on. In went the tunic, and the door once more was slammed shut. Between this time and noon hour, the tunic told all that had happened in the class-room during the morn- ing. That's all you can talk about, yelled the lunch box. Now you've hurt my feelings. I can tell when I'm not appreciated, sobbed the tunic, and the door opened and the student, just as if she had heard all, came and rescued the tunic. Locker No. Blank was just like Grand Central Station. Everyone always seemed to be coming and going. Now in came the gym equipment and out went the lunch box. The gym equipment was nearly in tears, for the student had let herself take one breath and the fastener on the shorts had burst. The lunch box came back empty and hungry. And what happened that afternoon? Well, a small, insignificant bottle of ink at the back of the shelf was jealous of the attention the coat was getting so it removed its cap . . . ah, but the details are too sad to relate. ELAINE PROTHEROE, Grade VIII. DICTIONARY-ITIS I am one of many fortunate people who enjoy consulting the dictionary. I love to start from the A's and progress from there. Although I may get to the word I want quite soon, it is very un- likely, for I am a person who starts out on the right track but gets distracted by other words. Last Wednesday, I was delighted to find that I needed the help of a dictionary. I was looking for the word sincere . I knew the meaning of the word but I wanted to find out from what lan- guage it was derived. Glancing through the A's I saw the word abracadabra . I took a second glance and found that it was a mystical word-a word worn on an amulet to ward off disease. Having found that I was getting nowhere, I decided to hurry on and I skipped to G which was a considerable leap, before I was attracted by the word gargoyle . I gave that up as soon as the explanation contained too many big words. Be- cause time was getting short, I thought that maybe if I made a game of some sort, it would keep my mind on the right path. I turned to the S's and invented a game of seeing how many words I could recognize. This went on until I was sud- denly stirred by finding the word I was looking for in the first place. After finding that it was derived from both French and Latin, I closed the book. SUZANNE FLOOD, Grade VIII. Gail: Miss Hawkes, what is the difference between well and good ? Miss Hawkes: I have noticed that the only time you are good is when you're not well. TERESA THAIN, Grade X North.