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

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. -.--cG-l5 Shoes for Nancy She might go lame or get the blues If she should lack a pair of shoes. Get her sandals? Get her spikes? QThe first are worn by little tykesj. What of satin? What of leather Suitable for any weather? White for summer, black for fall, Tan for anytime at all? Something toeless? Something suede? fThese perhaps in Paris made?j All of these would be too fancy For my darling little Nancy. What of linen? fgood for sportsj Or rubber things of different sorts? Tell me, does she run and play? However does she spend the day? Does she dance half through the night? Or play at cards with all her might? Has she a liking for buckles and bows? Or does she go in for corns on her toes? How about waders right up to the thigh With diamond studs to catch the eye? None of these will do. Of course Nancy is my saddle horse. jane Savage, Grade X. Before the Curtain Goes Up As you tug open the heavy stage door and breeze past the watchful doorman, your head held high, and dancing kit your passport to fairyland in your hand, a feeling of smug superiority assails you. You are a part of this fairyland, part of this wonderful, exciting thing called show business. A familiar thrill of satisfaction runs up and down your spine and you skip down the cement steps two at a time. Down, down you go to the tiny barren cubicles with the glaring electric light bulbs and the ever-lingering odour of grease-paint. There is a certain, special magic about these rooms. Maybe it is the rows and rows of glitter- ing tutus with their stiff, dainty skirts. Maybe it is the pile of shiny pink pointed shoes heaped carelessly in the corner, toes newly darned, rib- bons stil crisp. Perhaps it is the smudgy mirror, the littered dressing tables, strewn with sticks of make-up, jars of cold cream and crumpled tissues. The magic, regardless of its origin, is potent. Once under its spell you are destined to remain under it always. I The theatre is quiet. Quickly you slip out of your coat, tie back your hair with a towel and seat yourself at the cluttered table. The transformation begins. Steadily and diligently you work, The minutes tick past. Sounds of the awakening theatre penetrate your wall of concentration. Dan- cers drift in and out. Have you some extra pins? Oh no! My zipper is broken 3 The transformation progresses. The crowd begins to arrive. Wisps of idle chatter float down from above. My dear, these seats are exquisite! I wonder how much Mrs. Blaine paid for that creation? The members of the orchestra start tuning their beloved instru- ments. The din increases. An air of suppressed excitement fills the theatre. A call boy rushes through the hall, Five minutes, ladies. The first gong sounds. Over your sleek, jewelled head the fluffy tutu slips. Hurriedly two slender feet are thrust into shiny slippers, shaking fingers fumble with the ribbons. One last quick glance at the smudgy mirror-almond shaped eyes, shaded lids, beaded lashes, flawless snow-white comple- xion, glistening netted hair. The house lights are dimmed, a hush falls over the audience. A burst of polite applause for the conductor and then the first soft, sweet strains of the overture descend, Last nervous glance at the tiny good-luck charm tacked above the dresser, last flick of the powder puff over the newly made- up face already shining with perspiration, last silent prayer-then a soft knock at the door and an even softer whisper, You're on, miss. 'Sonja Nelson, Grade XII. On Being Short Some people are inclined to believe there are no advantages in being short. To those especially, I dedicate this story. On the morning of November ninth, Miss Mur- rell-Wright gave five of us the surprise of our lives. Mavis Gossling, Maureen Hunt, joan Gun- ston, Helen Smith and myself were to be pages in the Sadler's Wells Ballet-not because we were good, mind you, but only because we were short! Maureen, Helen and joan had the thrill of car- rying on to the stage the White Cat fDorothea Zaymesj perched on her satin cushion, during the third act of Sleeping Beauty . Then they posed as monkeys behind trees, for Little Red Riding Hood fApri1 Olrichj. Mavis and I, as pages, stood transfixed, as we witnessed Margot Fonteyn do thirty-two jouettes fsome argue thirty-onej in Swan Lake . In the Sleeping Beauty , tingling with excitement, we carried the trains of the King and Queen fArnott Mader and Greta Hambyj throughout the court scene. After each performance, quite a gathering of Balmoralites could be found in our dressingroom. We made -sure that we had the stars' autographs, some of us boasting as many as ten, We were also the proud possessors of Miss Fonteyn's discarded toe shoes and Violetta Elvin's wilted roses, With these treasures in hand, we left the auditorium, five of the happiest shorties one could ever meet. Susan Carnegie, Grade X.

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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.

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16g Monkey Seeg Monkey No Do I could still hear them, even though I hunched my shoulders and stared grimly at the back wall with its mocking picture of a chartreuse jungle, and caricatures of us doing the most silly things. Remil, carrying the show as usual, sat on 21 high branch, eating peanuts and insulting the crowd. Shisim sat at his side, occasionally delivering a comment. Hey, Sa-ada! Remil called, Come up here. You'll get used to it! I looked at them and blink- ed undecidedly. Please do, Sa-ada, Shisim pleaded in her voice that always made you smile. Well, I would come, but I certainly wasn't performing for those chat- tering humans out there. Look at that big fat man, doesn't he look like Remil? giggled Shisim. I nervously nodded, but Remil was teasing a little boy for more peanuts. A big voice thundered below me and the fat man was offering me a peanut. Dare I? Shisim, giving me a Go on, Sa-ada, urged push which nearly upset me. At that, a great roar went u from the humans. I looked at Shisim were both laughing. and thdv fat man, but they At me? I covered my face with my hands. An- other great roar went up. The fat man didn't have a peanut anymore. He had given it to Remil. 1 You-you horrid big blunderbuss, you awful elephant! I exploded. People's laughing red faces met me again. Miseraible, I ran down and hunched 'again before the mocking chartreuse jungle. Brenda Dougall, Grade IX. The Fascination of the Forbidden Dedicated to all those children who do pull up i Cwith apologies to Columfbusj . . . Push down, don't pull up. The italic word don't attracts us immediately. We are not an 'ornery' race-but in our blood there is a cor- puscle foreign to all but American children. It all began about 1492 when an Italian fellow was told not to sail too far away from Spain, or he would fall off the world. Christopher was not a difficult chap-he just wanted to see how far he could go before he fell off. But he did not fall off! I-Ie sailed to America and there he begat us-a new people-people whose blood contains CC.-Columbus Corpuscles. The addition of CC. to our life stream was, on the whole, a good one. CC. blooded people are more brave, more resolute, more diligent and more adventurous than people without these cor- puscles. However, this supplement producedone dangerous tendency-the tendency to do a don't. Therefore, I am speaking in defence of us who, due to our inheritance, are fascinated by the for- bidden. Don't-itis begins at an early age, and we, Christopher's descendants, cannot control ourselves when we are very young. The don't in every statement draws our attention more surely than the magnet draws the pin. There is in us an al- most insatiable desire to see what will happen, and only under the careful supervision of some- one older, can our first don't tendencies be checked. But, as we grow older, the Columbus corpuscles themselves change. You see, the same blood that originally dared to fall off the world finally flowed into a new port. And other CC. carriers have proven that they too, can eventually find a harbour. In closing may I ask something of my opponents Qworthy and now, I trust enlightenedj and some- thing of my colleagues fgrateful, perhaps?j. You people who have not our corpuscles, have patience with us in our strivings, and assist us. Make your requests positive. And children-be fascinated by the forbidden- but for every don't that you do-find, as Col- umbus did, an America. P.S . . . Don't believe a word of this. Dawna Duncan, Grade XI. Customs She fell back terrified as she opened the door. There, illuminated by the porch light, stood a crowd of marauders. Behind them in the dark- ness she saw more sinister figures grouped about. Out of the black night came shouts and jeers, blood-curdling screams, and other ominous sounds. What is this? she asked herself and glanced fearfully at her husband who quickly came to her side. Together they stood in full sight of the fierce gathering, ready for anything that might happen. The group on the doorstep moved for- ward peering at the frightened couple and gazing about the room. What do you want? asked the man. A short figure in ragged clothes laughed gleefully, as another tattered beggar stamped over to the couple and stared into their eyes. Trick or treat! he warned them as his mates held open the bags they carried. The two bewildered immi- grants began to understand. It was all a joke. Thinking of the bag of oranges in the cupboard she hurried to the kitchen and returned with the bag. Off came the children's masks as the oranges were distributed. There was the boy from next door and the little girl from across the street. just children! Next year they would know of this cus- tom, but it had certainly frightened them this year. Lyn Stephen, Grade IX.