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

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I6 GLORIOUS AND FREE Marta Haun and her mother stood on the deck of the noisy immigrants' ship as it nosed its way into the Halifax harbour. Marta was fourteen, but you would never have known it. She was slight and small, and had blond 'hair and blue eyes. Her mother was blond, too, but she was a sturdier woman. Both bespoke their Latvian ancestry. While the boat was moving into its berth, Marta was busy taking in everything that lay before her. Somehow, she had expected Canada to be different, a sort of milk and honey paradise, instead of this dirty, noisy place which reminded her of European ports she had seen. No matter how unpleasant all the noise and business, Marta wished she were a part of it. She knew she was going to be lonely in this new land, and she told her mother so. Never mind, my child, someday we will belong to all this. Someday we will be real Canadians. In her mind, Marta doubted it, but she kept silent. After much jostling and groaning the boat docked and the passengers gathered up their luggage in preparation for the customs inspections. All the immigrants were herded into a large room, patrolled by three men in blue uniforms. Marta eyed them suspiciously. They were men in uniforms such as these who had taken her young artist father away, that day eight summers ago. For most of her young life, Marta had lived in fear of uniforms. However, the officers did not seem to be bothering themselves too much with the silent people, who sat in awe and fear on the hard wooden benches. An hour they waited, two hours, then suddenly they heard names being called over a loudspeaker system. Indivi- duals and families were called up for inspection of papers and passports. At last the name Haun echoed through the room. Marta and her mother rose and hurried to the officials. As they were examining the baggage, one of the officials motioned to Marta to open the basket she was clutching. Marta shrank back, but he reached out towards it. Reluctantly Marta opened the basket exposing a fat, grey cat. I'm sorry, you can't take that with you. You'll have to leave it here for quarantine. Give it here, please. He raised his voice, and Marta burst into tears. What was this stranger jabbering about? She was frightened, and not knowing what else to do, she handed the basket to her mother, who promptly gave it to the Inspector, as she apolo- gized profusely in French, German, Latvian and English. When they finally left the office, they were taken to the Immigration Hall, where they were kept for three days until they began their train trip to London, Ontario. Mrs. Haun was to do domestic work for a Mrs. Jordan in London. When they boarded the shabby train, Marta looked in wonder at the long cars, and double seats. Never had she seen so much room in a train. It was during this train ride that Marta got her first real glimpse of Canadian life. She looked enviously at the happy children who waved as'the train passed their farm homes. In one station where they stopped, Marta spied a little girl in a gay turquoise dress, and . . . oh, will wonders never cease! 'She had on red slippers, with a tiny strap buckled around her ankle. Marta looked with shame at her thick-soled black boots, which came up above her ankles, and looked overly heavy at the base of her pitifully thin legs. At the end of their journey Marta and her mother had name tags clipped on them, and in the large station-waiting room they were greeted by a kind lady in a grey uniform, who found Mr. jordan for them. He was pleasant looking, but he seemed very shy. Well, here are your new Canadians, Mr. Jordan. Take good care of them, and we'll get in touch with you tomorrow. Mr. jordan helped them into his big, black car, and they rode through the pleasant streets in silence. They pulled up in front of a spacious white clapboard house. Well, Mrs. Haun, this is your new home. Do you think you'll like it? You do speak English, don't you? Ya, I speak it a little. But not so good. Maybe we speak Francais together? Well, my French is not too good, but my wife speaks it fluently. They reached the door then, and a short, plump, rosy-faced woman stood smiling at them. She welcomed them warmly, and ushered them to their rooms upstairs on the third floor. They were pleasant and comfortable, but Marta sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and said softly, Mama, it is so nice. But I do not feel as if I belong in the midst of all this comfort. This was spoken in German, as that was the language she and her mother always used in their conversa- tions. Mrs. Haun looked unhappy at Marta's remark, but she said nothing. Life went along very pleasantly for several months. Marta helped her mother, and played with her pussy, which had been released from quarantine by this time. Then, as if a gun had sounded in her ear, Marta heard Mrs. Jordan say one day that it was high time Marta started school. Marta could not object out loud, but inside a storm boiled up. Canadian children had such lovely clothes, and looked so happy. One could not help but envy them from a distance, but oh!

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, JE THE CONSERVATIVES ARE IN fClass Essayl In British post-war elections, Prime Minister Winston Churchill and his Conservative Party were defeated with a large majority, by Mr. Attlee's Labour Party. Grateful for victory but nursing prewar grievances against the Tories and the upper classes, the majority of the British turned away from Churchill to the brave new world of Socialism. But that world, hopefully launched, gradually became water-logged and hopelessly bogged down in economic and social problems. The Labour Party found it increasingly difficult to solve these problems. For one thing they were becoming more complex each day, and for another, Labour was losing its best leaders, such as Ernest Bevin who died, and 'Sir Stafford Cripps, who wore himself out. Prime Minister Attlee, himself, was badgered by Tories in front of him, by crises and muddle around him, and by Aneurin Bevan on his flank. Churchill, trying to oust Labour during the national mix-up, last year, was narrowly defeated. Two weeks ago he was nar- rowly victorious. Within twenty-four hours of his return to power, Mr. Churchill had chosen the key men in his cabinet. As he had done during World War II, he kept for himselt the portfolio belonging to the Minister of Defence. To his trusted deputy -Sir Anthony Eden, he gave the office of For- eign Secretary. Sir Anthony Eden was also created deputy Prime Minister and Leader of the House of Commons. Richard Butler was made Chan- cellor of the Exchequer, Lord Ismay,--Secretary for Commonwealth Relations, Oliver Lyttleton,- Colonial Secretary. Sir Walter Monckton was made Minister of Labour, and to Sir David Max- well-Fyfe, a Scot, Churchill assigned the post of Home Secretary and also Minister for Welsh Affairs. Such hard-headed competent Conserva- tive administration as Churchill deputies now offer Britain, should bolster her tottering finances at home and strengthen her relations abroad. Tory policy has long stressed the necessity of a sound economy, It has been announced that once more, drastic measures must be taken in order to meet Britainis economic crisis. It is believed that Churchill intends to decrease the value of the pound one more degree. However, no changes in economic policy are expected as yet, because Churchill is planning a meeting with United States Officials in which he will probably try to work out some trade arrangement more permanent and constructive than just a straight loan. It is also said' that when 'Churchill meets President Truman in january, they will discuss possibilities of Chur- chill's arranging a talk with joseph Stalin, also Churchill wants the United States to play some part in the Middle East crisis. It is hoped that these Anglo-American conferences will promote more harmony between the two countries. What the Conservative Government really wants is an examination of the whole world picture, in order to give Britain a chance to get back on her own feet. Thus we see that the Conservatives have not only to better their position in England, but more important still, to get Britain on a strong economic basis, and to iron out 'mer many problems having to do with foreign relations. Whether Prime Mini- ster Churchill and his Tory Government will succeed in the great task that lies before them, remains to be seen. Perhaps we can feel somewhat optimistic about the matter after reading what Churchill told a group of Britons in Abbey House two weeks ago. He said, There lies before us now a difficult time, a hard time. I have no hesitation in saying that I've seen worse and had to face worse. But I do not doubt we shall come through, because we shall use not only our party forces, but a growing sense of the need to put Britain back in her place-a need which burns in 'the hearts of men far beyond these shores. Cathy Young, Grade XI. MM N0 LABOUR, N0 BREAD The deep red sun sank below the horizon. A caravan moved slowly across the sandy desert. It carried many rich things from the markets of the Far East. The silence of the twilight was dis- turbed only by the moaning of the rusty wheels. Suddenly the dense atmosphere was pierced by loud blood-curdling cries. Horses' hooves thundered across the plain. Dark sinister forms shot out of the shadows with their long swords raised. It was all over in a minute. The merchants had been spared their lives but their caravan had been looted and every costly thing stolen. i The robbers rode away defiantly. Their leader, Mourfir, a bold bedouin, rode on his fiery little desert mare Keshia. She too was pleased with their escapade. Her large eyes glowed with satis- faction and she proudly tossed her black mane in the breeze. The same night the thieves divided their loot. Tomorrow they would go to Bagdad. In Bagdad they would sell their riches. But now they must sleep. Allah, the merciful, had been very good to them that day. Dorothy Richardson, Grade VIII.

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gg gg ,gg I7 To be flung in among them! Wihy, it was more than anyone should be asked to bear! Nevertheless, Marta was marched off to school the next day, and put into a Grade Five class because during the past five or six years she had had nothing but a rather sketchy type of educa- tion. Also, the principal thought this unhappy- looking child would get along better with younger, more tolerant children. As she entered the bright room full of laugh- ing, talking children, Marta could feel herself blush, right from the top of her severely-pigtailed head to the soles of her thick boots, which had been carefully polished for the occasion. In her right hand she clutched a shiny new red pencil that Mr. Jordan had given her that morning. The fingers of her other hand were closed tightly around a rolled-up exercise book, filled with more clean white paper than Marta had ever seen in one place before. Miss Murphy, the smiling teacher, came towards her, hoping fervently that her face did not betray the feeling of utter pity that she felt for this spotlessly clean but much patched little figure. She took Marta by the hand, and led her to a back seat. Then she held up her hand for silence. Children, this is Marta. She is one of our new Canadians. You must help make her feel that she belongs here with us. Marta thought, again, that she could never belong to this country. She was too different from these other children. However, it was not up to her to say anything, so she sat patiently through that day, and through the days that followed and lengthened into weeks. She understood very little of what was being said, but one word she had known right from the beginning was panto- mime, The class were putting on Aladdin's Lamp in a few weeks, and everyone was busy rehearsing or painting scenery for it. One day Marta stayed late at school to tidy out her desk. The children were painting back- drops for the pantomime, and Marta stood watching them for a while, in silence. Then, without realizing it, she burst out with, That is good, but you have not enough ,red and black. My father painted some scenes like that. If you let me show you . . She stopped herself, aghast at her boldness. They would think her rude, or they would laugh at her. There was silence in the room, because everyone was startled to hear anything from this silent little girl. Miss Murphy came quickly to the rescue. Well, give Marta your brush, Janet. Come, Marta, and show us what you mean. Marta advanced reluctantly, and took the brush, which she dipped into the large jar of red paint. A dab of red here, perhaps outline this in black . . . there, it looked better already. Marta was overcome by her shyness then and she put down the brush and started towards the door. She found her way blocked by a short little dark-haired girl, whom Marta had heard Miss Murphy call Margaret. Don t go now Marta. If you really have to leave, maybe you could come early tomorrow morning and help us?!' Marta nodded, and Margaret went on. You live in Mrs. jordanis house, don't you? I know where it is. I'll call for you at a quarter after eight. O.K.? Again Marta nodded, and backed out of the room, beaming all the way. Once outside the school, she started to skip, and then to run. She ran all the way home. She Hung open the gate, danced up the walk, flew up the steps and raced oreathlessly in through the open door. Mama, she cried. Mama, where are you, Oh, Mama, listen to me. I belong now, to Cana- da, and to the school, just like Miss Murphy and the other childrenf, It had been so long since Mrs. Haun had heard her daughter laugh that she mistook her shouts for crying. She rushed downstairs, but halted as she heard what it was all about and saw the breathless, happy little figure framed in the doorway. Beyond her she saw not just a path and a garden and a gate, but all of the wonderful, free Canada, beckoning to her child, offering her security and happiness and a future. What else could anyone want? Especially a newcomer, who had no right to expect anything at all from Canada, as far as Mrs. Haun could see, except the privilege of living there. Mrs. Haun smiled, and then she spoke slowly. I'm glad you belong, Marta. Canada is as they sing, glorious and free. And it is up to you to make Canada a better place for your having lived in it. Marta listened, then smiled, and turned back to the garden. Her mother heard her a few minutes later, under the kitchen window. Now, fat pussy, I want to tell you some- thing. I belong to Canada, and it is glorious and free. I don't quite know what that means but . . . Pussy! Don't go to sleep! Listen to me. I must make Canada a better place for my having lived in it. D0n't you understand? Don't you care? I belong! ,Ioan Davidson, Grade X. MRS. MCEWEN: Wfhat is the most important thing about the Mississippi River? MYRTLE: Water!