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

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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!

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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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I8 CHURCHILL tClass Essay! Winston Churchill, of English and American parentage, was born prematurely on November 50, 1874, and was thereupon dubbed Young Man in a Hurryf' As a child and through later life, he hated mathematics and Latin, but loved English and French. At the age of seven, he was sent to St. james School. Once in Latin class, his headmaster ordered him to learn to decline mensa. Winnie, in distaste looked at the var- ious cases, until he came to the vocative-mensa- O, table. Not understanding this, he asked the meaning of it. The reply was, that here was the expression that he must use when addressing a table. Young Winston replied that he was not in the habit of addressing tables. The master, wishing to discipline him, caned him. The enraged Winston then snatched the man's hat, and kicked it to pieces. This brought on another caning. A little later, he was expelled from school. Although he could never do mathematics or Latin, he could read a stanza of poetry once or twice, and it was fixed in his memory for ever! For a few years, he was given private lessons. Then he was sent to Harrow, where he just managed to squeeze through the entry exams. At the end of the year, his marks were the lowest in the school. His father, a pacifist, was even more disappointed in him, when he announced his desire to go to Sandhurst, a military college. Win- ston's plans were to become a soldier, and later a politician. His third attempt at the entry exams here brought success, but by only a lucky chance. Once in Sandhurst, he enjoyed himself very much, for he did not need algebra to become a daredevil in a saddle, and he ended up eighth in a class of one hundred and fifty. He then got a commission in the Fourth Hussars, Then his father died. His father had been Chancellor of the Exchequer, and he had died because of the strong opposition he had plus his weak health. From then on, Win- ston Churchill knew his life-work-to 'light against England's enemies within and without. With the Fourth Hussars, he went to India. In one of their battles with the Mamuds, a tribe utterly pestilential in their cruelty, one of his comrades fell as they were retreating down a slope. Churchill leapt down from his horse and tried to carry his friend off. Finding himself surrounded, he took out his revolver. It balked. He snatched an abandoned rifle lying on the ground and fired, twenty, thirty, forty rounds. In the end, Churchill walked down the deserted hill, carrying his friend! He seemed to have a charmed life, as his friends commented, and this charm carried him through several other campaigns in India, in the Soudan, South Africa, and every- where else. Where the thickest fighting was, there was Churchill. During the Boer war, he was captured but later escaped. But, he also knew his worth, for once, as a war correspondent, he wrote a glowing account about- the courage and resolution of Lieutenant Winston Churchill, of the Fourth Hussarsf' When war was over he tried for Parliament. His second attempt got him in, and to raise money, he toured Canada and the United States, giving talks on his adventures. He tried out several of the parties, Liberal, Conservative, Whig, Tory, Labour-he did not care which, as long as he was doing something for England. In 1905, he became Under-Secretary for the Colonies and in this position he won the liking of men of all colour and creeds. In 1908, at the age of 54 he was married and quoting his own words, he mar- ried and lived happily ever after. In 1911 he became first Lord of the Admiralty. He saw the need of making more ships and supplies, for he saw the approaching war. But England's pacifisfts had their way, and though England's navy was pretty well prepared at the outbreak of the war, her army wasn't. In 1915, he was discharged, and so he joined the army again. During the years between the wars, he was rather unpopular. In this time, he wrote and painted and led rather a leisurely life dreaming happily of the day when he would come back. H. G. Wells once wrote of him- Mr, Churchill believes quite naively that he belongs to a peculiar- ly gifted and privileged class of beings -but this was rather unfair, because, although he had his share of egotism, his chief interest was in the welfare of England. Before World 'War II began, as early as 1952, Churchill saw Hi-tler's threat to Europe, and he warned England of it. But, England slept and called him, A fire-eater, doesn't know what he's thinking of, while Hitler went on making his plans to conquer Europe. And, in 1939, England turned panic-stricken to Churchill. With him leading, England followed, and in him, Hitler had met his master. We all know what Churchill accomplished in World War II. But, in the elections after the war, Churchill lost out to Labour. Now he is back there lighting. Mark Twain once called him the perfect man in jest, but this turned out to be a prophecy, for he has come pretty close to being a perfect man. He brought England through the war years, and if anyone is to bring England out of the rut where the Labour Government has put her, it will surely be Winston Churchill! joan Sheppard, Grade XI.