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

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I6 throwing my bat. In fact everyone has just about given up hope of my ever becoming an Olympian. Even my father has stopped buying me noseplugs, and memberships in the Tennis Club. One of my very old friends the has manfully escorted me to football games and explained the plays to me for yearsj very kindly puts it this way A Kathy d0esn't want to be strong and healthy, she wants to be pale and interesting. KATHERINE FAHLMAN, Grade XI Footsteps If you were to stand on a hill in southern Alberta on a winter's night, you would usually hear very strong winds thrashing through the trees, causing the long, prairie grasses to float in dark, shiny waves over the rolling dry land. Lying in bed on just such an eerie night, I heard a soft padding sound like that of human footsteps, and as I listened, this was followed by a low moaning. As my parents were away, and my sister already asleep, I could not think who could be moving about. I was just telling myself that I had imagined it all when the sudden slamming ofa door made me sit bolt upright. Sitting there motionless, I heard the moaning change to a whistle, and then gradually to a piercing shriek. I could stand the suspense no longer. Cautiously, I moved my left hand to the lightfswitch, and stepped out of bed. Feeling like a prowler, I trailed the footfsteps to my sister's bedroom, and as my eye fell on the windowsill I suddenly felt glad that in my panic I had not wakened her. I almost laughed as I looked at the windows and remembered how often Father had promised to change the loose copper weatherfstripping. Each time the wind came whistling through the cracks it made those irritating noises. I stood and watched the steady flapping of the piece of tinfoil that I had carefully put there myself to stop the rain from seeping through the window casings, and I recognized the soft padding sound that had so clearly been human footsteps. It only remained to go downstairs and lock the back door whose broken latch allowed it to swing open in the wind. I then returned sheepishly to bed and slept peacefully until morning. PAMELA MACCHARLES, Grade IX The Storm Crash! A tree thundered to the ground, the desolate, haunted house creaked and groaned in the tormenting wind. The storm became more violent. Two men and a girl, refugees from the storm, huddled together in a large room that seemed as if it had once been an art gallery. Plaster had fallen from the cracks in the ceiling when branches from overhanging trees had fallen on the roof. The floor creaked with each step. All was quiet in the house except for the turbulent wind that whistled around the sills. Suddenly, through the howling of the wind, foot' steps could be heard coming slowly down the hall. The three people huddled more closely together, terrified, for they had heard that the house was haunted, but had never dared to believe it. The footsteps came closer and closer, pausing occaf sionally, as if the person was listening for something. Finally, the footsteps stopped outside the door. All eyes grew larger with fear as the old door creaked open and a figure, clad in white and carrying a candle, walked slowly in. From the faint glow of the candle, they could distinguish a woman in a long white robe with a hood. The woman's face was deathly white in the candlelight, and there was as odd gleam in her piercing eyes. The figure stared at them until their nerves were on edge. The girl tried to scream, but her throat seemed para' lysed. The Hgure did not move. The candle flickered in the breeze that drifted across the room. The storm outside seemed to become more violent and the thunder crashed like a roll of drums. A cackle broke the stillness of the room. The girl fainted with fright. The two men jumped forward as if to protect her. The woman cackled again, and the men presumed that she was mad. The wick of the candle was slowly beginning to burn down. How long was this crazy nightmare to last? What was she going to do with them? The men saw that the woman's plan was probably to wait until the candle was burnt out and they were left in darkness. What was the rest of the plan? The dull moan of the girl's waking up shattered the horrorfhlled silence. The moans only seemed to coincide with the destructive wind. The men, keeping one eye on the woman, helped her to her feet. The woman's steady stare never wavered, despite the slight disturbance in front of the fire. As if to warn them, though, she took a few more steps towards them. They shrank back nearer to the dying embers of the fire, the men still protecting the girl. One of the men opened his mouth as if to speak, but the terrifying look that the woman gave him, removed all thought of speech from his mind. The three people eyed one another with horror' stricken eyes, and then looked warily at the woman who still stood in front of them, staring. The candle finally flickered out, and spontaneously, the men lunged forward. Out, bellowed the producer jumping up. We'll have to retake that last part again, but We'll have a short rest now and return to the set in about twenty minutes. That's all for now. BERYL HOARB, Grade XI

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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

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l7 The Massacre The Indians had surrounded the settlement and were shooting their flaming arrows over the high walls of the Selkirk Fortress. The soldiers, their uniforms torn and coated with dust, fought with every ounce of strength they possessed. It was their wives and their children who cringed in the shelter below, frightened of approaching death. The women, their faces streaked with tears, closed their eyes in earnest prayer to God. They prayed for their husbands, they prayed for the whimpering children at their sides, and last of all, they prayed for themselves, that they might have courage to face the future. These were brave men and women, pioneers who opened a gateway for us today. The Indians, screaming from the sturdy backs of their painted ponies, thought only of revenge against these whitemen who had invaded their country. They felt no pity for the courageous people within the walls they were trying desf perately to burn. Around and around they circled, never ceasing their war cries. At last, they could see the sign which meant victory for them. There, behind the strong oak walls was a thin wisp of smoke trickling into the clear blue sky. They retreated to a distant hill before making their final attack. Silhouetted against the horizon, their black hair whipped by the wind, they were a strangelyfbeautiful sight. A toss of a black head carrying a feathered headdress was a signal which sent them whooping once more toward the burning fortress. Faster and faster they rode, their horses' tails and manes streaming behind them, as they attacked the besieged fort. While this victorious feeling was rapidly spread' ing outside the fortress, inside it was pitiful. Horses neighed, dogs barked, and children hysterf ically cried. The women. their calmness not altogether lost, comforted their children as best they could, and then raced quickly to help extinf guish the fire. The soldiers, who were not wounded or dead, loaded and reloaded their muskets, firing continuously. The 'tire was out of control now, and panic seized all except the dead. Hopelessly the people milled like crazed sheep, uncertain as to what to do. The air was suffocating as the clothing of men, women, children, and even the hides of the animals were turning to ashes. Many had already perished in the merciless fire, and many more were yet to die. For two days the Indians continued to circle the once solid fortress, chanting weird songs to their gods. Only a few burnt skulls and metal objects could be distinguished among the warm, black ashes. The Indians had gained their revenge. johnny Terhune closed his history text with tearfhlled eyes. How different had been his idea of life among the early settlers before he had read this sad, true tale. He had pictured sunny days without school, a pony to ride, and a mother not continually reminding him to wash behind his ears. Perhaps all was not so carefree in the pioneer days. Yes, Johnny Terhune was glad that he lived in the twentieth century. KAREN JONES, Grade IX EXCHANGES The Editors wish to acknowledge the following exchanges: ALMAFILIAN fffffffffffff Alma College, St. Thomas, Ontario BISHOP STRACHAN SCHOOL MAGAZINE f f The Bishop Strachan School, Toronto, Ontario THE BRANKSOME SLOGAN fffffff Branlqsome Hall, Toronto, Ontario THE VICTORY ffffffffffff Churchill High School, Winnipeg THE CROFTONIAN f f f f f Crofton House School, Vancouver, B.C. SAMARA fffff f f Elmwood, Ottawa, Ontario PURPLE AND GOLD f f f f Gordon Bell High School, Winnipeg LUDEMUS fffff f f Havergal College, Toronto, Ontario PER ANNOS ffff f f King's Hall, Compton, PEZ. THE MORETONIAN f f f f Moreton Hall, Weston Rhyri, Oswestry, Shrops. THE TALLOW DIP f f f f Netherwood School, Rothesay, NB. VOX COLLEGII fffff'ff f f Ontario Ladies' College, Whitby, Ontario BLEATINGS fff-fffff f f St. Agnes School, Albany, NT. ST. HELEN'S SCHOOL MAGAZINE f f f f St. Helerfs School, Dunham, PQ2. THE EAGLE fffffffff f f St. john'sfRavenscourt, Fort Garry, Manitoba PIBROCH fff'ff'fff f f Strathallan, Hamilton, Ontario TRIC TICS ffffffffff f ' United College, Winnipeg WESTON SCHOOL MAGAZINE f f f f Weston School, Westmount, Montreal, PEL THE YORK HOUSE CHRONICLE f f f f York House School, Vancouver, B.C.