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

Page 16 text:

I4 Where I'd Like to Live Hare been tm1z5fer1'ed to Bella Bella 110117 flfleet we here the fezztla flop Park only fzerefritiey flop Bring children J'f0,U, So there it was. No more warning than that. In two days we left our secure and peaceful home, our friends and our pussy cat to meet my father and to go on to Bella Bella. Five hundred miles up the coast from Vancou- ver Island lies a small, sleepy, Indian fishing vil- lage, Bella Bella meaning beautiful, beautiful. Of all the places in the world it is here that I would most like to live. Here, a new world was opened to me and I have never forgotten it - the world of the violet sea anemone, a world of bound- less fertility and unsurpassed natural beauty. At the beginning of the war Bella Bella was turned into an air force base. A station and land- ing strip were blasted out of solid rock three miles from the town site. In peace time the white population consists of five people. During the war it rose to about two hundred, all service men and their wives and families. We arrived at the most beautiful time of the year, the late spring. The country was a mass of green. You could not take a step without crush- ing some delicate and fragile fern or mountain flower. Our cottage was right on the ocean. Except for a boat which came up from Vancouver every two weeks, we were completely cut off from civiliza- tion. These boats were the life blood of the tiny settlement. Without them we had nothing- no food, no fresh fruit or vegetables, no milk - nothing. I can remember walking three miles along a board walk, muskeg on either side of me, the pungent moist odour of the jungle-like growth filling my nostrils, the hot noonday sun beating down on my bare head, to meet the boat, to pick up mail, news from home and to buy fresh milk. I can remember, after the long trudge home again, crying because the heat of the sun and the three- day boat trip had soured the milk and I had to wait another two weeks for more. How I de- tested that powdered milk! I learned many things way up there. We had to depend upon ourselves for amusement. There were no shows to wander into when nothing else could be found to do, no tennis courts on which to run off excess energy. There was only the moun- tain, the streams and the ocean. Our rubber boots were our best friends. I distinctly remember how thrilled I was with the first pair and how, the first time I wore them, I walked out in the ocean at high tide and felt the cool, salt water ooze over ,al V' , 4 4 l7 l V I 5 K - I l E' 'f l ' I 3 .,l. ,lp- the tops and down in between my toes. They took three days to dry out and I was furious. I remember the sail boat we had and the little red row-boats and how terrified my mother used to be when she'd look out of the window toward the bay and see my four year old brother and his friends paddling out to the sand bar. The ocean fascinated me, It still does. I used to go down to the beach when the tide was out and wander around on the wet sand watching the small, soft-shelled crab scuttle to safety, pick up the abalone shell I'd find strewn in the sand and gather the tiny porcupine-like sea anemone on the end of a pencil. I was happy here, cut off from everything, revel- ling in natures beauty, running like some kind of shy, young animal. I no longer had to wear black patent leather shoes and stiffly-starched cotton dresses. Overalls and my beloved rubber boots were my everyday clothes. The grown ups were too busy with the business of war to bother with us much. Bella Bella was a number one alarm station. Submarines had been sighted just off the coast. Daddy and the rest of the men were always armed. japanese attack was expected at any mo- ment, but Eric and I and the rest of the children were too young to realize the gravity of the situa- tion. This was our childhood. We had no worries, no cares, no fears. Our days were untroubled from beginning to end. Some day I'll go back to Bella Bella. I'm al- most afraid to, however. Maybe it won't be as perfect as I remember it, now that childhood has passed. Sonja Nelson, Grade XI. iid f rim l - M Inf gmmw

Page 15 text:

13 whose name was on the Valentine , was bound to be her sweetheart until next February. And, if she had not talked him into marrying her by then, she could have another beau for the next year. I am thinking of instituting this novel system in Winnipeg. It does have its drawbacks, but we would all be assured of escorts for the Graduation Dance! The British conception of St. Valentines Day emigrated to Canada with some of our early set- tlers, but what has happened to St. Valentine's Day in our fair land, I cannot discern or explain. All I know is that every year since I was six I have been sending and receiving penny Valentines, with no signatures on them. Such a waste of money! I am not too enthusiastic about returning to a day of mourning, but I am all for returning to a Roman spring festival. If we followed my sug- gestion, we would have a week-long holiday and gambol about in City Park, with hot-house roses adorning our long tresses. Also, to protect our tender little feet, we would wear fur sandals. Ah well, I must rush out and buy this year's supply of penny Valentines. If I don't send any, I might not receive any, and that would be tragic! joan Davidson, Grade XI. Hands An arm is resting on a table- a thick, muscu- lar arm-strong from heavy work, and constant labour-and at the end of it-a hand. With one glance at this hand, one can tell that the own- er is a poor labourer. The knuckles are large and protruding, the nails at the end of stubby fingers are clipped short, and are black. The skin is rough and red, cut and scarred from constant exposure to wind and sun, flying coal chunks and biting wire. The tendons are large and rippling, surging with strength. A child reaches with delight for a balloon. The chubby fingers fumble with it, drop it, and grab it up again, pressing softly into the soft rubber. These are small, fat hands, with dimples where there should be knuckles, and lines like thin brace- lets around the wrists. They are grubby, but clean in their innocence and inexperience. Smoke curls from the end of a cigarette in an ivory holder held casually but expertly between long slender fingers. The nails are tapered, mani- cured with care, and brightly polished. The skin on this hand is smooth and white, smelling slightly of flowers and telling the world of the work it has escaped. There is something odd, yet marvellous in these hands. Although they are the most outer part of the body, thought reaches them almost before it shows on the face. Fingers tremble over ivory keys, then slowly gain confidence as they move deftly over them-rapidly, then slowly, produc- ing notes that are painfully sweet, then startlingly harsh. A tense hand grips a smooth white throat. It trembles also, but trembles because it is so tense. The fingers tighten slowly and the strength pours from them until they relax, hot and wet. A friendly hand grips another, and love, sympathy, and sin- cerity are recognized by both persons, though not a word is said. Swift but sure and clear lines are stroked on a canvas, the expert fingers guiding their tool, until all the artist's thoughts and feel- ings are transmitted to the canvas. Surely hands are one of the most strange and wonderful works of the Creator. The poor work- man's strong hands, the childs chubby hand slip- ping trustfully into yours, the social butterfly's manicured hands, the artists, the musicians, the murderers-all tell of the work they do or do not do- the things they create or destroy. Nora Anne Richards, Grade XI. Through the Nylons on the Bathrod Parting fawn-coloured gossamer From the everyday world I go. fFirst testing my way cautiously With the tip of my big toe.j Seeking cover in denser foliage, I slip through like a woodland deer. .QBut in 15 denier and 51 gauge There is no dense, just sheer. j Into snowy whiteness I step, Whiteness as smooth as marble. fMaking sure I don't slip On a product of Procter and Gamblej Ambitiously I scourge myself Until my senses glow and tingle. QThen suddenly panic grips As too much hot with cold doth minglej Stillness-when I stop the deluge. The warm waters I again embrace. fBut silence has betrayed the gurgle From leaking plug I must replacej All is calm and peaceful, The moments swiftly fly. fUntil I'm gripped in agony Of soap-got-in-the-eye.j Mary-Kaye Simpkinson, Grade X.

Page 17 text:

15 Palm Trees and Flamingoes Jeremiah McLauf awoke that morning with a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt hot and as he raised his arm to rub his face, he realized that his nightgown was soaked with per- spiration. He wondered if he were sick-if he had neglected his glass of hot milk before he had gone to bed-and then he remembered! All through the night he had tossed and turned with a horrible dream. He, Jeremiah McLauf, had suddenly, and for no reason at all, turned from a meek, quiet, honest and dependable Christian man - a man who was as inoffensive and as pure as anyone could hope to be- into a loud, bois- terous, and eccentric crook! And worst of all, a crook who wore a tie, with-horrors of horrors- a quite indecent girl painted boldly against a back-ground of palm leaves and pink flamingoes! The very thought of it turned his face red with shame! Making an effort to forget such a shock- ing thing, he swung his white legs out of bed, felt for his slippers, and padded to the window to shut it. Somehow, as he looked out on the peace- ful street, with its steady traffic, the stop-lights blinking at regular intervals as always, and the people walking methodically along the sidewalk in a constant flowing stream, this familiar scene made Jeremiah more serene again. Jeremiah McLauf owned his own grocery store. He had bought it after years of careful and methodical saving. His was not what one might call a big store, but it was clean, well-run, with fair prices, and never, never, could one find any items on his shelves that had been there more than a week. Every night after he had locked the door, and pulled the blinds, he care- fully went through his books, tallying his ac- counts, and making careful uniform little checks, fwith nice conservative blue inkj, at the end of every complete list, Today, as he moved quietly around his little store in his white apron, he looked, to the casual passer-by, like a happy and contented man at peace with the world. But the more observant person would notice that as Mr. McLauf was add- ing up a cheque, or cutting slices of ham, his face would water, would though Jeremiah was struggling to put the remem- brance of his fitful night out of his mind, the vision of that tie, with its flamingoes and dis- graceful girl, kept jumping before his eyes, so that he could not help stumbling over his feet, and went around the counters mumbling inco- herently. In fact, he grew so agitated that at noon he shut up the store ten minutes early, and took a quick walk down-town to quiet his nerves. suddenly get very red, his eyes would- and he would have to turn around and be seized by a coughing-spell. For al- He was on the main street, when suddenly, something caught his eye-a flash of pink. He glanced into a store window, but kept on walk- ing. Then something clicked, and he stopped as if someone had suddenly pulled some string which was attached to him. He turned his head, hardly daring to look, afraid that it really was what he thought it was. And it was! The tie- there it was on a tie-rack, knotted into a huge knot-the tie of Jeremiah's dream! His eyes bulged, his hand passed over his damp forehead, and he wondered if it were another dream. But it wasn't, for he could feel the heat from his face as it was pushed, pushed, forced from the very core of his chest. He moved closer to the tie- opposite to it. Another man was staring out at him, a man with wide eyes-a man wearing the gaudy tie! Suddenly the strangers eyes began to glisten, to narrow, his hanging jaw tightened, and his slack mouth straightened into a thin sharp line. There was a look of cunning devilry in his eyes. Frightened, Jeremiah began to move away but the stranger moved too, and the tie dislocated itself from the strangers neck and stood on the rack as before. Then it occurred to Jeremiah Mc- Lauf that the tie had never moved at all, that the stranger was himself! The whole bottom seemed to drop from his stomach, and everything spun around till it all stopped with a crash and he found himself leaning on the side of the building. Trying to straighten himself out, Jeremiah stag- gered back to the store, to start afternoon business. If Jeremiah McLauf's customers thought that he had behaved oddly in the morning, they were now certain that they were dealing with a lunatic. His once orderly writing was illegible as he scribbled out their bills. His fingers kept wander- ing nervously through his once immaculate thin- ning hair, and he kept thinking of that villainous face that had gazed at him mockingly from the store window. He had almost looked like a crook! Why, a crook .rfole things! And a shudder passed through Jeremiah's body-a deep shudder which started at his hairline and ran down his body- and yet-a deep longing began to possess him, a frantic longing, a longing that began in a mere wish, and ended in an intense desire. Again he closed his shop early! When ten o'clock came, it was pitch black, and most respectable people were in their homes. But on the main street, a suspicious-looking char- acter lingered in the doorway of a small shop. He stepped out into the street, looked both ways, and raised his arm, bringing it down swiftly upon the glass window. There was a sound of splinter- ing, cracking glass, then the pound, pound of feet as he raced up the street. He was wearing a very ordinary mackintosh topped by a very ordi- nary hat. He flung the hat into a gutter, tore the