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

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!?. cs.- . The Shoe It lay lazily, gently bobbing in the water as the waves rose and fell beneath it. The sole was of rubber, the sugary rub-ber that had had lumps pulled off by grubby little hands. A knotted lace clung to the damp leather, The waves continued to rise and to fall, bringing the voices of the water to the shoe. No, Bud, no luck. How about you? It was the relaxed voice of the Wednesday afternoon fisherman. If I don't bring something home this time, Mother will have me up for failure to support the family. The reply was not toned so seriously as it was phrased. They sure don't bite on these sunny days. I've a notion to haul in that shoe over there. Least I'd have some catch, Well, good luck ! Right-cheerio, Charles, and the waves con- tinued to lap at the shoe. Young voices, more in.erested voices than those of the fishermen were transmitted next by the watery key. You're about the best swimmer, for a girl, that I've seen. Really? Oh, youre just saying that. The waves had waved that phrase before, and now they tinted the tone to the delicate blushing pink. You know, I'm a poet. This frank confession was quite audible and fostered an adoring . . . Really! I-low wonderful! Yes, spoken with that same frankness. What do you write poetry about? Oh, anything . . . do you see that shoe over there? It brings poetry to me and words of rhythm rush from my brain- Oh, shoe: how do you do? In the water Your shade is turning slightly blue, In the water. -And the same waves that had brought these voices to the shoe, carried them away. The water became rough. The once gently nibbling waves began to bite, showing their foam- ing fangs. But still, the voices were carried to the shoe. I wish you hand't made me come -a woman's voice, nervous and unsteady. Everything reminds me . . . Don't remember, jan -pleaded a steadier, masculine voice. just forget . . . and enjoy the ride. The waves brought silence. In innocence the shoe came into sight. Di . . . ck! The waves transmitted the hor- rible cry. It was more an echo of the mournful wail last summer, than companion to the shaking finger, pointing at another shoe. jan, my poor, dear jan. It is only a shoe, just ii shoe-not little Rick's,-oh, jan . . The roar of a motor intervened, Its steadily turning armature sent a pattern of regulated whrres across the water to the shoe. The pace slackened, and voices were silhouetted on the motor's hum. You think you lost it near that buoy? Yes, and I hope it is still there. Dad, it will be, don't you think? Oh, I hope . . A voice, offside, and a trifle sarcastic, Our son has become responsible. Then laughingly it con- tinued, Yes, son, if it hasn't sunk. Oh, I don't think it would, the youth replied with a questioning faith. Then more hopeful again, his voice came, I know we shall find it . . . For a time the waves brought many sounds. Yes! Look! Over there! toned with childish, but earnest excitement. A bewildered voice replied, Oh . . . good. We shall have it in a minutef' Yes, I've almost got it. His voice was expect- ant. Why, Dad, but it's not here, he's gone-Dad, he's gone. What is it boy? You have your shoe? 'No, Dad. Croak. Croak has gone! Oh, the voice was relieved, then comforting . . . Croak will 'be quite safe . . . and you have your shoe. SUB AQUAM . , . a green webbed foot stretch- ed a lazy farewell to its curious sun shade, the shoe. Dawna Duncan, Grade XI. THE SHOE The story indicates promise rather than achievement, being interesting for its style rather than its content. The theme however is somewhat ambitious and needs a surer handling to hc entirely satisfying. I VVonder I wonder how the stars stay up, And why the sun is round, Or why we never tumble off Into the space around. I wonder how our body works, And how names came to be, Or why all camels have big humps, And why there're waves at sea. I think I could keep wondering, For ever and for aye, But now I really must leave off, And put this thing away. R. Lloyd-Davies. Grade VIII.

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two creatures had no objection to the treatment they were to undergo. Mugs needed a good rest. Four weeks of being fed with the kind of food he had always dreamed of! Also. things had been getting a little too hot around No. 10 lately and he welcomed the chance of being treated royally by humans. Not many rats ever found themselves in such a position. I may not have mentioned it, but Abednego was a hen-pecked mouse. His wife Arabella, along with all his social engagements, gave him little time in which to write his Analysis of the Psy- chological Effect Mice Have Upon Elephants. He considered his cage to be a perfect private study where he could become a recluse for four weeks. A well ordered routine aided him in his work. Rising early in the morning he would do a few push-ups then climb to the top of his cage and do a few hang downs by his tail. After a good breakfast he would get to work. His only inter- ruption through tbe whole day was when he was weighed by the white-coated humans, but be took pride in the way his line graph on the cage climb- ed each day. Mugs took no interest in his graph. Perhaps this could be attributed to his failing eyesight for he was already showing the signs of Vitamin A deficiency. Soon he couldn't make out the name of Sleezy Slim's late gun moll in the crime comic on the bottom of his cage. Poor Mugs was sinking into a sad state! He couldn't understand why he, living in luxury, was wasting away, while that mousy book-worm in the next cage was gain- ing in health and vigour. One day in about the third week, he was lying listlessly on the bottom of his cage when he sud- denly began to suspect-candy, cake and pop! He resolved to go on a hunger strike with the hope of dying. That evening as he lay with his eyes closed, preparing himself for the prospect of death, delicious odours from the next cage drifted past his nostrils. Dragging himself, he followed his nose and with hunger-glazed eyes looked up beseech- ingly at Abednego. Now Abednego was not a snob, and although he knew this rat to be a rather rough character, he did not hesitate to help a fellow in distress. Quickly he dipped a piece of his whole wheat bread into milk, tied his tail around it, and by this means, passed it through the small wire mesh to Mugs. .For three days he continued these unselfish acts ot mercy and gradually Mugs regained his strength. Abednego chuckled when he noticed the baffle- ment of the white-coated humans as Mugs' line graph began to climb. Finally these humans dis- li iii. , 1 'l' 'J 6 ,U 4? X x gn 1 4? 3.4, X- X r . 53 :5 i -Q -A Lf' li. liii-liziialstrii covered the little fund traHir between the two cages. They seemed to be salished with the way Mugs had performed during the last three weeks and so relented and gave him a proper diet. Life began again for Mugs. Besides a physical change, he underwent a great mental and spiritual reformation. Aibednego became his ideal and from him he learned of the better, nobler things of life. At the end of the four weeks, the two friends were parted. Abednego went back to Arabella proudly carrying his newly completed book and satisfied that he had done his share for the ad- vancement of science. Mugs went back to the sewers, but not back to his old ways. Instead he returned as a missionary, proudly wearing a white collar. Soon be became known throughout No, 10 as Fighting Father Rat. Mary-Kaye Simpkinson, Grade XI. Swzior Lilerfiry Cwzfpelilmzf Prize Slmzy Delightfully handled! Abednego is the embodiment of grave dignity, while Fighting Father Rat aroztses cur unqualified admiration! The touch is light and the humour wr-ll sustained throughout the story.

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gg ggggggrgg g g g I3 BLTXRNP Any other time Twinkletoes McThistle:horn was a friend of mine, but tonight at dinner she sat silently on my shoulder. I didn't notice, though, for I was diverting my friends gaze from my two brothers, who, par excellence, were conducting the usual show at their end of the table for her bene- fit. Then Twinkletoes' impatient foot tapped my shoulder. Let's be bad, she suggested eagerly. I'm eating, I replied. Silence ensued. All right, she exclaimed, then I'll give your mother the BLTXRNP! What's that? I asked indifferently. It makes you do what you've always wanted to do-your secret desire, she explained excitedly. Intriguing, I returned, shrugging my shoul- ders, My mischievous friend then fluttered down sulkily. Then here goes, she called rather carelessly. It is hard to describe but mother, a young moth- er, rose from the table in a flowing blue gown, and, to the strain of an appropriate Strauss Waltz, began to dance around and around on the arm of a gallant Frenchman. I glanced sympathetically toward dad, who had a very dark, red face. As Twinkletoes advanced on dad, I made a lunge at her. Atbove the sound of music and laughter I heard a horse's shrill whinny. My youngest broth- er, in full mounties' regalia, was directing imag- inary troops across the living-room carpet. Thank you so much for the meal, but we must be getting alongf' This was a calm voice at my back. I turned to see a vaguely familiar woman departing out the door with a child in her arms, and at least four more clinging to her skirt. With a cry of wonder I ran once more to the dining-room, but my last hope had vanished. The chuckling, stooped man with an armful of test-tubes and chemistry books was my brother. Twinkletoes McThistlethorn sat triumphantly in the crook of his arm. Now it's your turn, she grinned maliciously. The protestations of the horse and the waltz seem- ed to crescendo in my ears as I cried, No, don't come near me! Stop! I found it hard to adjust myself at purrist-I mean first, but meow-I mean now, I find my claws and speed very handy when I am hungry. Do you know, this afternoon I ate my first mouse. I love washing my black hair with my rough tongue. Meow! Brenda Dougall, Grade IX. Intermediate Lilemry C om pelilion Prize Slorj' Reaching for My Star Diamonds glittering in the Heavens, Wondrous jewels that brighten the grey Earth Speak to me every night. It is they that penetrate my soul Causing me to aspire to many things Far beyond my reach. Yet never shall I cease attempting To achieve the greatest glories on this earth Though they may fall far from my grasp. One star is my aim, my hope, And when I attain this star, my way of life, I shall make my goal and rise. The night shall come I know in later years When the dazzling spectacle of the celestial bodies Will be within my view. Then shall I look down and see Courageous youth on the grey globe below Reaching for the stars above. Izllermedifzle Lifemrjf C om pelifiwz Prize Poem Joanne Wilson, Grade VIII. Evening It was evening, the sun was just sinking beyond the far west horizon. The mountains which a few minutes before had been a crimson and gold were now a deep purple shade. The sky in the west was orange tinting to crimson. At the far east the sky was deep blue. The insects had begun to come out and a nightingale had begun to sing. Everywhere it was calm and peaceful. A rabbit came hopping by on its way to bed. A fox came slinking by on its nightly prowl. In the woods close by an owl hooted and was answered by another on the other side. A trout splashed in the lake below. Slowly the sun sank beyond the horizon. Soon nature was all asleep. A chilly breeze rustled the tall pines. God's children were asleep. Susan Dickinson, Grade VII.