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

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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.

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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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Ma . -. as B The Scar It was a dull, dreary night, and as Pamela lay in her cozy bed, she could hear the lapping of the waves on the cold barren beach, and the rhythm- ical pattern of the rain pattering on the roof of the cottage. She was all alone and the rustle of the poplar leaves along with the dreariness of the Cold night whispered evil. Pamela's imagination wandered from weird crea- tures to even more weird objects. Forcing herself to think of more pleasant things, she finally settled down, and drifted off into a deep sleep, Sometime during the night she was awakened by knocks on the front door. At hrst she thought it was just the rain on the roof, as she had heard all evening, but again she heard three distinct knocks. After wait- ing for quite a long time, she realized that her parents still were not home, and thinking that someone might desperately need help, she ran quickly to the door. There, standing on the door- step, was a little old lady, wearing a black shawl, iglilllili 'i l lf' me f b i ig i P' 26' ig- , ll 4 'l 1 -I ,i e l ' .Zhi ll it l s I 5, Til I i llfl f I i i4f fM,, mn11a 1l fffv l1fAA which was tightly drawn around her. More notice- able than her minute size, was the T-shaped scar which she had over her left eye. Without waiting, she pushed past the girl, dropped into a chair, and asked, 'Have you a boat? Quite astonished the child said that they had, and it was out on the beach. Without another word the old woman scurried out of the cottage and ran, forcing her way through the driving rain, down to the beach. But, cried Pamela, you had better not take it because- Before she could finish the sentence the old lady was pushing the boat off into the tur- bulent waters. Helplessly Pamela stood with the door ajar, and above the roar of the waves she heard some of the words that the old woman shrieked. Take care my child! If anything should hap- pen to me this night-will be sorry-youebut. Within a year you will lose the use of your legs, and stay-the rest of-life. Troubled about what the woman had said, Pam- ela crawled back into bed, and prayed that nothing would happen, Morning soon arrived accompanied by the merry sunshine, her mother's cheery voice, and the gay chirps from Cheeco their budgie. Before break- fast Pamela went out into the kitchen, and feeling quite relieved that her past experience was only a dream, she started to tell her mother all about the weird old woman, with the dreadful scar. Before she could finish, her father called and asked if she would run down to the store and buy him a pair of shoe laces. Saying that she would complete the story later, Pam skipped off down the road to the general store. When she arrived, she noticed that there was a great commotion down on the beach and the peo- ple were madly talking and some carrying blankets. Curious, Pamela ran down to see what had hap- pened. No one knew exactly what had taken place, but they did know that someone had drowned. Whether it was a male or female no one knew, for no one dare look. Pamela looked over at the picnic table where the body had been placed, and covered. At once her eyes fell upon a black piece of cloth that hung below the blanket. With her heart beating like a drum inside her, she walk- ed slowly to the table, and after closing her eyes tightly. her shaking hands reached for the cover. After drawing back the quilt, she slowly raised her eyelids, and there on the ghostly white face was the T-shaped scar above her left eye. There lay the woman whom she had seen last night, in what she had thought was a dream! Then Pamela re- membered what the old woman had shrieked at her as she rocked about in the waves. If anything should happen to me this night. -something had happened- Within a year you will lose the use of your legs -How many more days-one, two, ten, fifty-would she be able to walk, run, and play as any other child could? With this thought lingering in her subconscious, Pamela faced the rest of her doomed days. Diana Duncan, Grade XI. THE SCAR A well-organized story with good word-manipulation! A fine contrast is drawn between the carefree Pamela and the little, old, burdened woman. The climax itself is well-handled, creat- ing suspense and a vague uneasiness in the mind of the reader.