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

Page 20 text:

18 Then I shall see you later, said Polly and she skipped out of the room with two other girls, joan and Sue, close behind her. Lily hurried over to the package desk. Having found that her flute had come, she went to the music hall to practise. It took about a week for everybody to settle down. A month later, everybody felt that she had been at school for years. As time went by, Polly and her friends grew very curious about Lily. She never went anyf where with the others. There's something awfully odd about her, said Polly one day. Then Joan said, She thinks that she's special, she goes around in a world of her own. Yes, but why doesn't she go to games, and why does she go to the city so often? The girls were determined to find out where Lily disappeared to, and why. Once Sue asked her, Lily, will you go to the games with me on Friday? l'm sorry, I can't,i' was the reply. Oh, said Sue, disappointed that she hadn't found out anything. Are you doing anything on Saturday? she asked. Yes, I have a lesson, answered Lily, and she was gone before Sue could ask her what she had lessons in. Months passed. Lily liked Murphy Hall and was the top of her class, yet something important was missing. She still had no real friend. The girls were friendly enough, but they were losing interest because she never did anything they did. just before the Christmas holidays every dormitory was buzzing with excitement over the examinations and plans for the holidays. On the last day of the term a big party was held, at which some of the girls provided the entertainment. Everybody was there, wearing lovely gowns and fancy jewellery. Near the end of the programme, the Professor of Music rose and addressed the students. It is my pleasure, he began, to introduce a young student who plays in the Symphony Orchestra of Watson City-Miss Lily Mason I Murmurs of surprise rose from the students. Then a hush followed as the curtain drew aside and Lily started to play on her flute. The beautiful notes floated through the room. Lily held her audience in enchantment. Then she stopped and gracefully laid her hands in her lap. The audience broke into thunderous applause. I have never heard anything so beautiful I exclaimed Polly. Why did you not tell us? asked Joan. 'Tm glad you didn't, said Sue. It's much more exciting to find out this way! KATHLEEN CURRY, Grade VII Spring Spring is the loveliest season of all, When the cold winter snow has ceased to fall It is pleasant to feel the fresh spring air, Cheering your spirits, and ruffling your hair. The sun shining down soon melts the snow, And little sprouts peep from the earth below. Scarves and mittens disappear, For it is spring and summer is near. As the snow melts, there are puddles galore, And muddy footprints cover the floor. The sparrows are chirpingg soon birds will sing, For winter is over, and now it is spring. JULIA BERRY, Grade IX 3 These I Love In thoughtful mood, I muse on my loves- The wind through my hair on a hot summer's day, The foam of fresh milk, the sweet smell of hay, A wisp of smoke disappearing above. Ah yes, these I love. The feel of soft fur behind a dog's ear, The threatening thunder as it roars in warning Among happy birds which twitter all morning, As I walk through the woods, the graceful dove. Ah yes, these I love. The damp wet nose of an inquisitive kitten, The family gathering around the hearth, The crackling fire, and rich black earth, A fresh April shower sent from above. Ah yes, these I love. KAREN joNns, Grade XI Handle With Care Laconto Girls' Camp was on the American and Canadian border. The campers had just been there one week, but june and Deborah had been there the summer before, and knew the place well. Let's sneak down to the old creek and go swimming, Deborah suggested. Good idea. I'll take a few oranges in case we get hungry, added June. It was one o'clock. The moon glowed, sending mysterious shadows over hill and wood. The girls crept out of their cabin and set off down the path. After walking about half a mile, Deborah suddenly snatched ,Iune's arm. Listen, she whispered. I A branch snapped a few feet away. Maybe it's our camp leader, whispered june. Her guess was wrong. A heavilyfbuilt man, wearing a dark suit, with a hat pulled over one eye, rushed past, not noticing the girls behind the thick bushes. I wonder what he is doing at this hour in the morning. It looks fishy. Let's follow him, Deborah whispered.

Page 19 text:

Suddenly she pointed. Dad,'l she faltered, haven't we passed that red rock before? Giving a closer look, the others realized that Linda was right. Really, jim! Aunt Sarah cried. First you tried to drown usg now you've got us lost! Sarah, Dad replied evenly, I've had just about enough of you. Itxs your fault weire in this mess. Anyhow, this is no time to argue. Why, why-'l Aunt Sarah's spluttering was cut off by Mother. Hush!l' she said. There is something moving in those bushes. just as Mother pointed, with a trembling hand, to a clump of bushes several yards away, a small spotted head peered out from under it. Flip! cried Linda, running to her pet. Isn't that a big, frightening animal? asked Dad, smiling at Mother. He seemed greatly ref lieved. He must have wriggled out of his collar. What say we follow him home? Late in the afternoon of the day after the picnic , Linda stepped outside the back door to feed Flip. She sat on the steps and watched, enjoying the peaceful sunshine. Aunt Sarah had left on the morning train. 'lMom, she called, letting the screen door bang behind her as she refentered the house, are my slimfjims clean? I want to wear them to the beachfpartyf' PATRICIA McMAHoN, Grade IX Growing Up It is quite strange just how time flew So long ago when I was two The thin white bars about my crib And picture stories on my bib. Noddy, a brown bear I still adore Was given to me when I was four. I was five when school began, And off I set with school bag tan. At six-it hardly seems the truth- A flower girl I was for Ruth. The next year, and this with hesitation, I had the tonsil operation. At eight, class president I became Which at first I thought a gameg The literary competition at ten I won- I found writing poetry was great fun. I waited long and then did gloat When I saw my first tweed riding coatg Beige, brown, and yellow, extremely gay, And wrapped up for my twelfth birthday. Life so far has been good to me, But beyond the present I cannot see. If all goes well, I wish, I hope To use a doctor's stethoscope. JOAN SELLERS, Grade VII Musicians Would you like to be a musician And play the organ or flute? Would you like to be a musician And give all the horns a toot? Would you like to be a musician And play the trumpet or harp? Would you like to be a musician And play tunes which sound like the lark? Would you like to be a musician And play the oboe or tuba? Would you like to be a musician And play in France or Cuba? Would you like to be a musician And play the lute or cello? Would you like to be a musician And play notes both round and mellow? I'd love to be a musician Sing songs that sound like the larkg I'd make music for all to hear From morning until it was dark. CHERYL HOWAT, GradeVII .W L .WTF -,.. , - , .lwiklgv 1 ' 1 . , , i I l A JUNIOR SINGING CLASS WITH MRS. BIRSE Lily and Her Flute Lily Mason looked out of the taxi cab window. She gave a little sigh. How she wished she were back at home! In front of her was Murphy Hall, the new school she was to attend. Hi, said a welcoming voice, I am your roomf mate, Polly. Come on down to the store. No, thanks, later, maybe. I want to go to the parcel desk. 17

Page 21 text:

19 The girls followed the man, now noticing a paper bag clutched under his arm. Maybe he is a smuggler, carrying precious stones over the border, Deborah suddenly said. Isn't this exciting ! added June. The man approached an old shack from which smoke curled lazily through a piece of metal pipe which served as a chimney. After the man had entered the hut, the girls crouched against the wall, straining to hear the conversation of two obviously angered men. I can't go on carrying this over the border all the time. You ought to pay me more, one man argued. Look, the other said roughly, I pay you more than enough. You never get here on time, anyway. You'd better speak to joe about it, he is boss. I will ! was the reply. Hey! Be careful. If you drop it, Bill, I won't pay you at all! one man shouted. It's too hot, I tell you ! Bill protested. Oh, stop complaining. just be here with the next lot at six. The door opened with a loud creak and then was slammed. The girls hid themselves just in time. Let's go back to camp and tell our camp leader. We might get a reward for capturing famous smugglers, said June excitedly. They ran back to camp and related their adf venture to a sleepy counsellor. All right, girls, we will go there now, and settle this matter. I doubt if these are dangerous men, but just in case, we will take Mr. Thomas, the old Mountief' Mr. Thomas was a kindly soul, always ready to help the campers in their troubles. When he had heard the story, he set off to gather a group of his buddies, stopping only to arm himself with his old rifle, Josephine. Yep, I never go anywhere without good old Josie, he boasted. The party arrived at the shack just as the sun crept over the horizon. Mr. Thomas ordered his pals to surround the place quietly, and told the girls to take refuge behind the trees. After a while, a figure appeared, carrying anf other paper bag, and entered the hut. Mr. Thomas waited a moment, then walked boldly to the shack and went inside. Hand it over, boys ! he bellowed. The men spun round in astonishment and faced the old Mountie, but seeing Josephine pointing at them, they held out the package without a word. Mr. Thomas ordered one of his men to empty the contents carefully on to the floor. The two captives exchanged a quick glance as the old fellow creaked to his knees. In tense silence, he tipped out one thermos bottle, two hardfboiled eggs and 9' Sandwich' GAIL LoNo, Grade VIII The Things I Love The things I love are myriad- The exotic tone of chinese bells, The foreign sounds of a tongue which tells To me nothing, my mohair rug, The smooth 'fine lines of a pottery jug, Walking alone in the misty gloom By the sea at night, my room, With books and music, my father's tweeds, Waking up, and my mother's beads As they click together, running up A hill, my light blue china cup .... Yes, the things I love are myriad. SHIRLEY DoNALDsoN, Grade XI . .R 1 JA . BASKETBALL GAME IN PROGRESS