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

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The Candlelit Church So many brides have come this way In storied times of yesterday, By candlelight their vows were said 4 A soft sheen haloed each onels head. The warm glow fell on silks and lace And armour in this holy place, Gave golden crowns to those who came To be baptized in His name. The candlelight fell too, on crowds Who homage paid to some in shrouds. So many feet have softly trod By candlelight to come to God. CAROL WALLACE, Grade XI Marietta Marietta, Marietta! a middlefaged woman with grey hair called to a merry child with blue eyes. Come here! Look, Maman, look! the little girl cried, hurrying up to her mother. I've caught a beautiful butterfly ! Ignoring her remark, the lady said, Marietta, be still. All is ready. We leave England tomorrow for France, Papa, and the boys. Marietta stopped admiring the butterfly and excitedly asked, Maman, are we really going at last? Do you think Papa will think me quite a grownfup lady? Of course, ma petite, answered her mother, Madame Norteau, her mind already busily planning the things that had to be done. Run along now and play. Marietta meant everything to Madame Norteau. She was a small ray of sunshine in Madame's grim world of reality. For Madame Norteau had lost her youngest daughter, Colette, and all her relations in the plague. She had sent her husband and small sons to France and safety, but Marietta had refused to leave her mother when she stayed in England to nurse her sister. Now, they were at last leaving for France. That night Marietta could hardly sleep for excitement. She would be going home at last, and be able to see dear Papa and her two brothers, Henri and Francois. Of course she had loved England, but she had been born in France and the French blood was strong in her. A week later, Marietta, Ln a new cape and dress, climbed aboard the coach and they set off for Dover and the boat. As they neared the great city of London, a shadow of gloom fell upon Marietta's happiness. My poor, poor London, she said aloud, they are building you up again. Indeed they were, for after the Great Fire of London, which had done some good by ridding the gpg, gxg X g I3 city of the dreadful plague, King Charles II had decreed that a start was to be made at rebuilding the city. How changed you are becomingfl Marietta sighed, and you will never be the same. What are you mumbling about? asked Madame Norteau. Think of it! We shall soon be in France. Do you have no love for England, Maman? asked Marietta. Cf course, of course, child, answered Madame Norteau, but I was raised in France, and that is where I belong. This only made Marietta feel worse and she sat thoughtfully in the carriage until they arrived at the inn where they would stay while in London. Now Marietta, said Madame Norteau as they left the coach, you may play in the garden until teaftime, but do not wander off because we shall leave immediately after tea. L'Yes, Maman, Marietta said as she skipped off. Only a few more hours left, she said mournf fully to a sparrow who was perched on a branch of a great oak tree, and all I can see of London is this small garden. Chirp, chirp, chattered the sparrow softly as if he were feeling sorry for her. I know what I shall do, said Marietta, I shall walk down the street just a little way. Then, gathering up her skirts primly, she climbed over the fence and was soon walking down the street. What desolation met her eyes! The streets were heaped with cinders and a burnt smell hung in the air. Here and there she could also see carpenters rebuilding. Sadly she walked on. Her London was certainly changing, and yet she could not bear the thought of leaving. Walking still a little way, Marietta stopped aghast. Why, the beautiful cathedral, her cathedral, had been burnt to the ground! Oh, no! said Marietta aloud, Why, Maman used to take me here every Sunday. I can't believe it! But the truth was there and Marietta began to understand the great toll the fire had taken. She felt now that it was better for her to leave London, because the city would no longer be the London she had once known. Already she felt a stranger lost in an unfamiliar world. Perhaps some day, she reflected, some day in the far future, I shall return. Then turning, she ran quickly back to the inn. Marietta! her mother cried. Where have you been? We have been frantic. Are you ready? Yes, Maman, Marietta replied, I am ready. KATHERINE KAUFMANN, Grade VIII

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12 Breakfast was tasteless, and tears streamed into the empty coffee cup, but Elaine had faith, for there were still ten hours until midnight. Noisily a telephone jangled, and she raced to answer the call. It was only the maid asking if she could take the day off. Suddenly Elaine brightened and dashed to her bedroom. Twenty minutes later she emerged, a radiant, spotless angel, beaming in an Alicefblue dress with her hair brushed back to the nape of her soft neck. A picture indeed, as she stood hesitating at the foot of the stairs! The hours passed swiftly and at last the mailf man came. Trembling visibly, Elaine fingered through the mail-a bill, a post card from her sister, another bill, a letter, and at last, a parcel. She glanced at the upper leftfhand corner but saw no return address. Her heart stopped beating as she tore off layers of paper only to find a brooch from her aunt. Terrified at the thought, she sat down on the couch and cried softly. Wouldn't he even remember their anniversary? Had she dressed up for a disappointment? No! Surely she must trust him! It was still only three in the afternoon and it was still the glorious day. But as the minutes passed indifferently, each succeeding tick told her more plainly that there was no use waiting. Slowly and deliberately she peeled off her dress and climbed into the nutfbrown robe which he had given her for Christmas. Yes, it was midnight, and as the chimes pealed from the grandfatherfclock she realized that it was too late and her fifth wedding anniversary was all over. To think he had not even written to her, sent her flowers, or even a telegram! Disgusted now, she stared at the large photograph of their wedding where they stood, hand in hand, faces beaming at the rosy future. Traitor! She strode angrily to the picture, picked it up, and flung it across the room, not caring if she ever saw it again. But she did not care too little to notice that where the picture had stood, now lay a dainty white tissue' wrapped package. She stepped closer. Beside it lay a note. - To my dear Elaine, it read. After having lived with you for Eve wonderful years, I know you as well as I do my favourite book. I know your many charms, and I know your fiery temper. Yes, I know, too, why you found this note, and how you found it. You see, I often forget things, and I knew that ifI didn't do it this way I would probably forget even our anniversary. So I found this little gift, and put it here because I knew you would find it. Oh, I don't mind if the lamp is broken, but I still bet that our picture isn't even bent. Elaine, can you ever forgive me? . . . What follows is not to be written, but wearing her lovely watch, Elaine will always remember how the hours ticked away until it was too late F but yet not too late, for her Bfth anniversary! SIGNE SALZBERG, Grade IX Red Red is a strong and powerful colour. It can portray happiness, sadness, mystery, and even distress. There is the red that chases the yellow and pink in a dying sunset, and casts a warm, friendly glow of peace over the world. Such colourful peace can inspire the lucky ones to thank the Lord for their good fortune, and the unlucky ones to pray for a better future. There is the faint reddish tint that crosses a young girl's face at a wellfmeant compliment, or at the mention of her idol's name. There is the felicitous red that makes its way into the hearts of many at the sight of a happy boy flying down a skiftrail in a bright red sweater with healthy, glowing cheeks to match. This picture is enough to make anyone gay, and ready to appreciate life at its best. There is the frightening red that penetrates our minds with a bright flash and an accompanying whine. It is the blinking ambulance that drives panic into some hearts and relief into others. It is one of the reds signifying life and death. There is the rich, flowing red blood that keeps us alive. It is a vital colour, and wellfknown to all. Its presence signifies life to the ill person, or death to the soldier shot down in a battle. There is the warm red found in the symbol of the famous Red Cross which signifies hope and aid to the suffering, occasioned by pestilence, floods, fires and epidemics. There is the cold, revolutionary red shown in flags belonging to the anarchist groups throughout the world who do not believe in a lasting peace. There is the radiant, glowing red of a robin's breast as it joyfully announces the coming of spring, the new season that puts hope into the hearts of everyone. There is the mysterious red of the hearthffire that brings warmth and relaxation to all and which one finds impossible to resist when the tongues of flame beckon one to rest and to peace. These are the reds that are known the world overg the reds found in grand mansions and lowly shacksg on open fields and crowded streets, by proud people and humble folksg in times of war and in times of peace. Red may be just a little word but it is a colour rich in meaning and significant in the lives of all. SUE MACK, Grade XI

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I4 Deserted All is still. The streets, broken and cluttered with rubble, give back an ominous silence. The bleak outline of a bombfshattered building is silhouetted cold and sinister, in the dying sun. Suddenly, that terrifying silence is broken! A thin, tremulous wail simmers through the air and a small shadow moves beneath the shell of a building. Large, haunted eyes search the cold, deserted street, while a thin voice utters a wail of anguish only to die to a faint whisper. He is a mere shadow - his tiny form, hunger' torn, bruised and cut, wasted away almost to nothing. He stumbles along, clutching his dirty, torn, teddy bear for warmth and comfort. His face, streaked with tear stains, is covered with dirt. He staggers and falls to the ground and his body shakes with deep sobs. His teddy bear is crushed beneath him. His anguished sobs decrease until once more there is silence. As the last rays of the setting sun fade into the pale, watery moonlight, a tiny, inert form can be seen with one ear of a teddy bear showing beside him. He has been left at a time of disaster- deserted! SHELAGH KELSBY, GradeXI The White Lady of Gofton The lights of Gofton Manor shimmered in front of me as my carriage wound up the long driveway. At times they seemed to flicker and disappear as the wind whipped the driving rain into a watery curtain. A welcome glow of light pierced the darkness as my host, Lord Gofton, opened the door to greet me. He led me into a large panelled library, where the cheery warmth of a roaring fire soon dispelled the dampness and gloom of my dreary journey. You are determined to go through with it? asked Lord Gofton. Our White Lady has unnerved more than one brave man, you know. I nodded. I have never believed in ghosts, and though I don't doubt that you and the others did see something, I feel sure there is a logical explanaf tion for it.'i Lord Gofton shrugged his shoulders in resignaf tion. Very well then, he said, it's late, and though I don't expect you to get much sleep, I'll show you to the haunted room. Holding a candle high above his head, Lord Gofton led the way up the wide, central staircase, then down a long corridor at the end of which was a heavy, baize door. Here he stopped, and turning, handed me the candle. I needn't go any farther with you, he said, in fact, to be truthful, this is as far as I want to go. You smile! Well, I can only say that I hope you will still be smiling in the morning. Now I wish you a good night. Behind the heavy door a narrow flight of stairs brought me to the haunted room. Some of my courage had begun to ebb. The faint light of the candle barely reached the walls of the room, so that the huge fourfposter bed seemed to disappear into unknown darkness. Eerie shadows from the flickering candle did nothing to reassure me, and I shivered, even though the room itself was warm. I lay down on the bed without undressing, placing the revolver, which I felt would discourage any ghost, on a table beside the bed. Outside, the storm seemed to heighten. Rain lashed against the window, and the wind howled and shrieked around the gables and chimneys of the old house. Finally I dozed off into a fitful sleep. It may have been minutes later, it may have been hours M- I will never know - that I was awakened by a light tapping noise. Sitting up, I reached for the revolver and looked around me. There was nothing. The blackness of the room seemed almost thick enough to feel. Then my blood ran cold, for there against the wall in a far corner of the room, was the figure of a woman dressed in white, seeming to sway with a terrible movement towards the bed. In a trance, I watched it, but suddenly I sprang back to life again. Picking up the revolver, I wildly began firing at the approaching igure- once, twice, but still it seemed to come on. In a frenzy I emptied the revolver and flung it at my assailant, but she still seemed to advance, silent and menacing. just as I heard a loud crash, I must have fainted from sheer terror. When I regained consciousness, the mysterious figure had vanished. Sinking back into the pillow I fell into a sleep of deep exhaustion. The next morning I was up early thinking that a walk in the brilliant sunshine might remove some of the terror which still hung upon me. It happened that I passed beside the wing of the house where the haunted room was located. There on the ground lay the halves of a giant oak which apparently had been struck by lightning during the previous night's storm. As I gazed at it, I suddenly realized that the branches of the fallen tree formed the perfect outline of a woman's figure! Gofton Manor would never more be bothered by the White Lady. BARBARA WRENSHALL, Grade IX