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

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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

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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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The Alien World of Sport I have always looked upon any object which remotely resembled a ball with suspicion and complete distrust, and regarded physical education teachers as my mortal enemies. I am definitely the indoor typefmy nose freezes on toboganning parties and my feet hurt on nature hikes. The thought of anything more strenuous than tiddlyf winks makes me wish I were going to the dentist instead. I have never heard the urgent call of the great outdoors, and never expect to. Besides, I hate fish, I loathe pork and beans, and I always drop the coffee thermos. These I suspect are the reasons I am never invited on pack trips any more. My first painful brush with the athletic world occurred at the age of six, when my young life was blighted by the gift of a pair of skates. Already I knew what this meantsafter all hadn't I been through it all before with my kicldyfcar and my little red tricycle? Even the fact that Barbara Ann Scott's autograph graced the blades was little consolation. Well, skates in hand, father and I set out for the rink and my first skating lesson. The events of the afternoon were too painful to relate and nothing much was done about my skating career for several years. Then - one fateful day when I was eight, father decided that it was high time I joined the skating club. We dug out my Barbara Annsu but they were too small, so we bought a new pair. These came with a personal letter from Sonja Henie and had red pomfpoms on the laces. I shall never forget my poor instructor! Never has a man tried so hard to teach someone her edges with such heartbreaking results. He spent hours, desperation in his voice and sweat on I5 his brow, trying to show me how to do shoot the duck without looking like the Dying Swan , or rather the dead swan. I think he was one of the kindest people I ever knew, he even endangered his excellent reputation as a teacher by allowing me to skate in his carnivals. I finally persuaded him to persuade my parents that there was no hope for me, and I gleefully put the silver blades away forever. My family are great horseflovers and with much help, encouragement, and an abundance of dire threats from my father I have somehow managed to become a fairly proficient equestrienne. But none of this came about without a great deal of torture, patience, and blood, sweat and tears on the part of father, myself4 and the horse. My hrst riding experience was gained on a fat welsh pony named jiggs, who looks like Winston Churchill from behind when he is wearing his stable coat. Needless to say, Jiggs and I have never become fast friends. I-Ie would stand for hours on my foot staring blandly off into the wild blue yonder while the little pig that went to market was being driven slowly, like a spike into the earth. My golfing also leaves much to be desired although I am improving. Last time I made it in thirtyfsix and I did even better on the second hole. My only attempt at skiing was the eventful occasion when I sailed down Hunterls I-Iill, a non' descript peak with an elevation of approximately twentyffive feet, and crashed into the proverbial tree at the bottom. And, much to my joy, it has been agreed that it would be endangering the lives of innocent people to allow me to go on playing baseball. This momentous decision was reached after I had broken my third catcherls nose by 5. - 32 i- OUR STAFF