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

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13 Had what? we asked in amazement. Mumps! replied Miss Tobie. My father, who is a doctor, soon confirmed her diagnosis. For the next month the shop was quarantined. During this time we found that this Mr. Snapper did not own the Snapper Super Sales Stores, but his uncle did. Mr. Snapper Senior was expected to come to Ripplebrook any day. Tim, as we soon called Mr. Snapper Junior, had been sent to Ripplebrook to look over the prospective building sights. Shortly after the quarantine was over, Mr. Snapper Senior, came to Ripplebrook. He was a big man with a red face and white hair and mousf tache, and he had a hot temper. He immediately asked Tim if he had done anything about having Miss Tobie's shop demolished. Tim answered, No, I haven't. I have had mumpsf' Mumps! shouted his uncle. To soothe his temper, I handed him a dish of Miss Tobie's toffee and, as everyone did when they ate Miss Tobie's toffee, he reached for more and more. After he had finished it all, he said, Marvellous! Best I've ever tasted. We could market this. Buy the exclusive recipe. Miss Tobie would sell it, I'm sure. I wouldn't advise her to do that E broke in Tim, who by this time was on Miss Tobie's side. I advise her to let Snappers manufacture the toffee on a large scalewbut to demand that she herself should stay here as she has always done to carry on her own business. Excellent idea V' continued his uncle. 'iPeople can come here to see Miss Tobie's toffee made. Yes, my boy, you've got a good business headf' Then, to crown it all, Miss Tobie was able to buy the shop from Mr. Snapper with the money she got from releasing the recipe, and there was no danger of her having to move. MERYL ARNOTT, Grade IX. Intermediate Literary Competition Prize Short Story One Unwritten Letter Christina was sprawled across the yellow bed' spread, fingering a little wool dog absentfmindedly. Her brother had stuffed it into her already heavily laden arms as she was boarding the train for college. To remind you of Scamperf' he had said with an embarrassed grin. Now Scamper, her brother, and her family were sixtyfseven miles away. Christina was here in the dormitory between classes, with the sun streaming in and splashing a big golden patch around her. Usually, when life looked black, her quick sense of humour would come to her rescue, but today it was I'iOt so, and her grey eyes were sad. i L OUR NEW SUMMER UNIFORM

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12 dearly, though, and they loved him. He vowed that some day he would be very strong and tall and beautiful, then he would be very close to those he loved. The sun was sanguine and warm. As its rays travelled to the peaceful earth, they seemed to gather beauty, for once they gently touched the petals of the tender orange blossoms, they seemed to sink in and make the blossoms glow with radiant beauty. But one tree was more beautiful than all the rest. It grew alone in the middle of an open field. It stood proudly, reaching to the sun with long slender arms, each one heavily garf mented in thousands of fragrant blossoms. In return, the sun's rays made a beautiful halo around it as he smiled down on his friend. NANCY EATON, Grade X My Many Loves I love the trackless whiteness of the snow, The coral of a lily on a plain, The waters tumbling to a lake below, I love a hidden sheltered brook that's formed From rivulets of falling summer raing And reindeer moss with glowing fruits adorned. I love the birch so pale with winter's bleach, The melodies of gay and joyful birds, A straying butterfly, a tidefswept beach, The gold and scarlet flame of autumn leaves, The waving ferns when carelessly disturbed, The ivy, and the bark to which it cleaves. I love the wind on lonely mountain trails, Its echoes and its distant lulling cry That whispers through the forests and the vales. From smallest shoot to highest leaves above, I love all in the seasons passing by- In Nature I have found my many loves. MARGARET Kos1NsKI, Grade XI Miss Tobie's Toffee Miss Tobie was about seventyftwo years old. She was the kindest, most generous person we knew. She wore black buttoned boots, an alpaca skirt, a highfnecked blouse, and a snowy apron. A pair of steelfrimmed glasses hid her twinkling eyes. Her white hair was tied back in a bun. She rented a small shop in which she sold the most delicious toffee you have ever tasted. It melted in your mouth. Ever since we could remember, my brother, Ben, and I had been allowed to serve in her shop in the village of Ripplebrook where we lived. Cardwell was the nearest town. It was full of houses and had miles of road lined with factories and stores and it was growing so fast we expected it to gobble up Ripplebrook any day. One day we went into Miss Tobie's shop to find her sitting in a chair, with a letter in her hand, crying. It came as a surprise to us because we had never seen her anything but brisk and cheerful. She then told us that her landlord had recently died and that his heirs, knowing that Cardwell was expanding rapidly, had sold all the property, including the shop. Miss Tobie would have bought the shop herself if she had had enough money, but the toffee business didn't make much pro5t. And where would Miss Tobie go? She had a cousin in Manchester and one in London, but we knew she would never be happy there after Ripplebrook. It made it even worse when we found out who had bought the shop-Mr. Snapper. We had nothing against him personally and we hadn't even met him, but we thought he had enough stores in the British Isles without having Miss Tobie's. Besides, they all gleamed with cream paint and chromium, even on the wettest days. If we could only get hold of Mr. Snapper, I said, and could show him just how perfect Miss Tobie's shop is, he would see that it would ruin Ripplebrook to have a big creamyfcoloured building stuck in it. Ben said that he supposed Mr. Snapper was hidden behind rows of desks and that no one could get near him. In the end it was Ben who found him. One day when Ben was out for a walk he saw a man leaning against the bridge. He had his head in his hand, nursing it as though it hurt. Ben stopped to say, Hello, as most people do in Ripplebrook, but he didn't ask what was the matter. Then they continued to talk about everyone and everything. Ben was just about to say goodbye, when a uni' formed chauffeur drove up and said, Are you ready, Mr. Snapper? loudly enough for Ben to hear. This was enough for him. May I show you something, sir? he asked. Well, replied the stranger, I am by no means in the mood to go sightseeing, but all right, if it isn't far away. After Mr. Snapper had dismissed his chauffeur, Ben took him straight to Miss Tobie's shop and all the way there he raved about how beautiful it was and what a shame it would be if someone came along and destroyed it in order to put up one of those modern stores. Then Ben took Mr. Snapper inside to find Miss Tobie and me talking. Ben introduced us. If Ben had been wondering how Miss Tobie would greet Mr. Snapper, he should have known that she would welcome him and ask him to sit down. All this time Mr. Snapper had been groaning and nursing his cheek, which looked swollen. When Miss Tobie saw this, she immediately com' manded him to lie down on the couch. When he objected she said, Nonsense, I'll nurse you. You two, pointing at us, have all had it, I know because I sent you some toffeef'

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14 For the first time in three days, Christy brought herself to face her heartfrending problem. When had it all begun? Five years ago, she thought. She was twelve, playing on a swing in the little park down the street. The wind on her face made her feel deliciously cool in spite of the hot afternoon sun. She swung higher and higher, straining to touch a clump of leaves on the elm tree in front. Once, her foot fell short about three inches, then it was barely one-maybe next time. She became aware that someone was watching from below. She put down her feet and they slid over the sand with a grating sound, making a grey cloud of dust rise. When the swing had slowed down sufficiently, she jumped off and turned. She found herself looking into a pair of big, dark eyes. Hullo, she said after a minute. My name's Christy McMillan. Did you want to swing? My name's May Ellen. We can take turns, was the shy reply. May Ellen was thinner and shorter than Christy. She wore a faded blue dress that was a little too small in spite of her thinness. She had big, very white teeth, and when she smiled, her whole face seemed to light up. Two hours later they walked back to Christy's house. She wanted to show May Ellen her mother whom she thought very pretty and wise, and of whom she was very proud. Mrs. McMillan met them at the door. Mummy, this is May Ellen. She . . Christy suddenly knew that something was wrong. How do you do, said her mother in icy tones. When May Ellen had gone, Mrs. McMillan came into Christy's room. Dear, she began, falteringly, I haven't seen your friend Susan for a long time. Why don't you invite her to the movies next Saturday? Cr maybe Esther, orlu May Ellen and I were going to have a picnic in the park on Saturday-if it's all right. It is, isn't it? Well, yes-but I really think . . Mrs. McMillan sat down on the bed beside Christy, and took both Christy's hands in her own. It's just that . . . well . . . May Ellen is probably a very nice child, but in all due respect- well, I think you're old enough to understand. No, I don't understand ! Christy cried, yank' ing her hands away, and she stumbled downstairs and out the door. May Ellen was a negro. Christy realized that she was just beginning to understand many things about her mother, and about life in general. Christy and May Ellen saw each other conf stantly, but Christy never took her back to her house again. Her mother and she had frequent discussions on the subject, and gradually the friendship became strained. Christy began to avoid her. One day, May Ellen met Christy outside of school. We're moving away, Christy-up to Canada. Pa is getting a better job. But we might be able to come for a visit in a couple of years or so, after Pa is settled. You'll write, won't you? Christy was ashamed of the relief she felt. Of course I'll write, she said. Somehow there wasn't much time for writing and her letters were written at longer and longer intervals until, three years later, a certain Canadian address never appeared on any of her envelopes. Two days before Christy was to leave for University, she and five friends were walking along the street. It was a warm August evening. The air smelled sweet, and all was wonderful- until a low voice spoke almost into her ear. 'iHullo, Christy. She turned to the speaker slowly, her heart in her throat. May Ellen stood alone in the shadow of the building. She was still too thin, but beautiful nevertheless. Her full lips were slightly parted, showing those big, white teeth. Her large, dark eyes mirrored happiness, and then confusion, as Christy's own eyes dropped. There was a breathless hush over the entire crowd. Christy turned and walked slowly away, the others following silently. Friend of yours? someone asked. No, just someone I met along the way, Christy replied, but her voice trembled. She turned in at her gate, glad that no one could see the tears that were threatening to overflow. She knew her heart would never let her forget the wrong she had done one of the sincerest friends she could ever have. Now at college she knew the only way she could ease her conscience would be to write a long apologetic letter in which she could pour out her true feelings. But she also knew that May Ellen was bewildered, and hurt, and would never understand. The bell rang, jarring Christy into the present. With a sigh, she rose, gathered her books, and left the room, with a letter written in her heart that would never be written on paper. Louisa MCKBNTY, Grade X Variations on the Theme of Silence How would we react if we were suddenly transported from a world of noise, song, and laughter, and sound, to one of incomprehensible silence-one where there would be no drop of sound to ring its circles through the ear and mind? Would we ignore it, be startled by it, learn to live with it, or hate it? Perhaps we might come across a shellfstrewn seafshore and see the waves roll up the beaches and retreat one moment, then heave into the air and