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

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10 By midmorning the cathedrals were filled with the poor folk and the rich, and together they sang the triumph of Christ risen. Among the devout and indifferent, standing with their heads bowed and holding between them a loaf of bread, was Nicholas Saar and his wife, Maria. Once or twice he raised his head slightly to look at her face and when she smiled or nodded in return, he closed his eyes again and moved his lips without speaking. Following the custom of centuries, they now went forward in their turn and laid at the altar the loaf of bread that they had brought to be blessed. This sacred loaf they would take home to share with friends or relatives and any poor folk who might ask. Maria confided to her husband that she would like her mother to receive this loaf, for her mother was too old to come with them, and lay at home alone. It was a short time after the blessing of the bread that he led his wife to their small carriage and started the single mare at a pace fast enough to allow them to reach home by the noon chimes. They exchanged few comments, for the most part their thoughts were their own. At the cross road turning Nicholas suddenly stopped the carriage and reached for the loaf of bread in his wife's lap. He indicated the beggar Ender the cross road marker and was about to step own. Leave that! Whoever that peasant is, this bread is not for him! Leave go I say! But, Maria, called Nicholas, I must give him a piece. Look, the man needs it and your mother will still have some. Do give me a piece, only a small piece. My dear Nicholas, my own mother is waiting at home, and you will deny her this loaf of bread? Maria, you are a hard woman. Will you not give me even a corner? I tell you, I feel I must give this man something. Look at his face, and he is lamed in one leg. Perhaps he is holy, all sufferers are holy on the day that Christ rises! Come, my own good wife, how can you force me so against my conscience? You will rue this Nicholas. Please drive on. In one movement she seized the reins and slapped the mare until it progressed at a rapid trot. Nicholas sat back, then called once more to his wife before they had gone very far. For the sake of heaven, Nicholas, you are persistent! Very well, take this piece, but I am staying here in the carriage. Without another word, Nicholas ran back to the cross roads, but when he reached the spot, he looked about in disbelief. The man had gone. Only a moment ago he stood here, by this marker. There-there is his print. In heaven's name, I must give him this piece of bread. Where has he gone? There was not a further trace of the peasant's whereabouts. The piece of bread lay in Nicholas' hand, small, moist, and somehow bitter. He threw it by the side of the road. At least the birds may eat of it. But the peasant-he looked at us with eyes of pity not given to every man. Perhaps he was indeed holy! O God, what have I done! Why did I delay? Why did I listen to foolish words? You, good wife, how shall I live with you now and with your selfishness? You care for your mother at home and would not deny her a loaf of bread, but for a poor man whose need is greater, for him, on Easter Day, you could not spare a piece! Nicholas did not return to the carriage as he had gone, running, but at a slow walk, from time to time shaking his head as though it were filled with heavy thoughts. Only after they were under way again did his wife dare to speak to him for he looked at her strangely. And was the peasant glad to get the bread, or did he laugh at your charity, my impulsive Nicholas? Neither, Maria. Well then, didn't you give him the bread, Nicholas? No, Maria, I did not. The man had gone and not a sign did he leave. I could not find him, and I returned. And the bread? The birds eat it by the roadside. Here he shook his head once more, slowly, wearily. Ah, but why are you so sad then, Nicholas? And Nicholas looked at his wife with a deep, strange expression in his eyes that she could not understand. Because, Maria, we have cruciied the Christ . 15 that was risen. SIGNE SALZBBRG,-Grade XII Decadence Once he was a man so proud, Always leader of the crowd. Once he was a man so bold, Conquering the unforetold. Once he was a man so great, Never dreaming of his fate. But greed became a parasite, Which fed upon him day and night Until his soul cried out, Be vain, Much wealth is there for you to gain, Be not humble, help not others, No need to treat them as your brothers. Apathy, jealousy, hatred and scorn Pierced his heart, and he died from the thorn. JEAN Lnsun,-Grade XII

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9 Late one night, during Passover week, four days after jesus had passed into the Holy City for the last time, a young Jewess was admitted to Androcolos' tent in the hills, and introduced herself as Hera, daughter of BethfZebel. Androcolos was scornful at first, partly because he could not believe that she had come to help him, and partly to hide his feelings towards this lovely girl. Eventually she managed to convince him of her sincerity and then told him of two incidents which she had witnessed. The first was that her father had had a warrant for the Greek's arrest issued on the charge of treason. The second was that during the evening Christ had been seized by soldiers and taken to Pilate to be tried. Androcolos, angered and alarmed, started for Jerusalem with Hera. They reached the city by dawn, circled its wall, and when they reached the north gate at the third hour, they were greeted by a strange sight. Thousands of people were gathered to the south of Golgotha, and from some people coming back towards the city, the two learned that the soldiers were crucifying the Christ. All was overj the cause was lost! In the evening, when His Body had been taken from the crude wooden cross, Androcolos returned to his encampment in the hills and Hera to her own home, each of them to ponder the Master's teachf ings and to try to reason for himself the meaning of this tragic death. Three days later, walking alone along the roads to the south of the city, Androcolos came upon a messenger hurrying from Jerusalem with the joyful news, Christ is risen today! Suddenly, as if it were a light dawning on him, the Greek found the answers to all the questions which had pursued him for so long. Whom should he tell about his marvellous discovery? Whom but she who, a short time ago, had shared his disappointment and despair. He was admitted to the house of BethfZebel and brazenly, impatiently demanded audience with the daughter of the household. Hera herself came and led him into a room furnished so splendidly as to impress almost anyone, anyone except Androcolos, who had been raised on the principle of respect for spiritual possessions only. When the two were alone, he turned slowly to her in the afternoon sun which streamed in the window, placed his strong hands on her shoulders and said breathlessly and low, Hera, we have won. She was obviously puzzled. Don't you understand? he asked. Your father no longer has grounds to arrest me, and still we have won. I wanted a revolution and I got one. I had visualized a magnificent battle against the Romans with the Hebrew people victorious. Instead, we have defeated the Romans with our minds and souls. Christ has risen from the dead, so surely God is with us. We have won a victory over mind and death, and compared with those, Rome is only a minor enemy. You see, they have only Caesar, but we have Godin juniru HARRIS, Grade XI Prizefwirming StoryASenior Literary Competition Fame I saw the star in early youth- A lovely thing, beckoning to me From so great a distance That I watched it with uneasiness, Until desire o'ercame my fear, And my footstep turned in its direction. I travelled after it, over barren deserts, And blizzardfplagued mountains: Through dark glades in silent mists enveloped. Pain, Misery and Terror were my sole companions- My childhood friends left far behind. Nor looked I back when they became obscure And faded as a dream into the early morn. In adulthood, with a metallic will, wellftempered by experience, And a heart equally hardened from sacrificing Those things precious to itselfeall Pity dissolved in ruthlessness, and love in ambition, I pressed unwavering towards my goal. In age I heeded not torn feet or dimming eye, For my star throbbed and burned more brightly than before When it had first consumed my soul, But now it shone within my grasp . . . I hesitated . . . then reached and took it in my trembling hands. The warmth of that great moment filled my spirit with such fleeting joy! Dear God! It trickled through my fingers and fell softly To the ground beside my feet. Louisa MCKBNTY, Grade XI Prizefwinriing Poem4Senior Literary Competition A Piece of Bread In the ancient city of Tallinn in Estonia, the heavy bells had been silent for two days. On the third day, before the sun had risen, before even the earliest worshipper had passed in the street, one by one the bells of the churches across the whole city began their joyful chorus and they pealed with a melodious ring that carried far along the cobbled streets, over the city walls, and out into the country' side. The Easter morning sun was beginning to disperse the fog and cold, and small, brown, twittering birds swooped from tower to tower.

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ll A Flame Flickers Smoke filtered through the smouldering ruins of the recently bombed city. In a matter of hours a wide area had been converted from industrious households, busy streets, and boisterous play' grounds, into a sombre morgue of charred timber above which skeleton walls jutted occasionally. The artificial light faded as the last fire choked and died. Dark clouds moved sluggishly over the tragic scene. The moon threw its cold Engers of white light in playful mockery of the lifeless piles. All was quiet except for the occasional crunch of timbers as they fell. In one charred section a black hole was formed by a roof clinging to one remaining wall. Here a frail young mother took shelter. Deep sobs wracked her body. Again the dreaded sound broke the silence. The steady, haunting drone of bombers increased as they returned. The woman clutched her limp and lifeless child desperately. Her reason for living no longer existed. Her entire family had perished in the merciless onslaught. She alone had survived, saving just one of her many children. This child now lay void of life, in her bosom. For her, solitude was unbearable. Her only desire now was to die. Although her body was uninjured, her soul was maimed. The fires had consumed her hopes and dreams, and she held in her arms the ashes, her child. She wrapped the shabby black lace shawl more tightly around herself and the child. Her gaily-coloured dress was covered with ash. Her paiilk complexion seemed almost black in the fading ig t. The monotonous roar was broken by explosions which made the earth tremble as the murderers attacked again. The whole country was a seething turmoil, corrupted within itself. The dark planes appeared like vultures, picking clean the flesh from the great city's bones by destroying her factories, hospitals, and more of her homes. They peppered the buildings with their poisonous black eggs, each cane lighting the dark city with crimson tongues of ame. Long after the enemy had abandoned its siege, the fires continued to burn. Gradually they died, one by one. When the cold grey fingers of dawn crept into the city, the woman was lying in the rubble pref pared to die. Suddenly, the child stirred! Unbelieving, the mother remained motionless. Gradually the move' ments grew stronger. Faint cries of hunger came forth. Recovering from her astonishment, the mother wrapped her son in her black lace shawl. Her dark eyes flashed with fire. Life had been restored! Her only thought now was to find food for her child. Somewhere in this deadened city she must find something for her son to eat so that he might live. Gathering all her strength, she staggered to her feet, holding the child tenderly. She emerged from the dark enclosure, and surveyed the surroundings. Black smudges stained her cheeks and forehead. Stray hairs lay matted on her face. Her tattered rags clung to her body. She picked her way through the ruins. She went in search of food. BETTY Nici-IOL,-Grade X One to T wenty-one Youthftime- When bottles, rattles, carriages and dolls, Up we go fun and down we go falls, Learning to eat with a fork and a knife, Clutter your life With joy. Growing-up time- When kittens, ponies, forests and food Seem to take care of your every mood. Climbing up trees and running down stairs, Fill your affairs With fun. Changingftime- When mothers, fathers, girlffriends and boys Open new doors when you throw out your toys. Going to parties and riding in cars, Man, it's like Mars . . . Way out! Adolescentftime- When fashions, formals, sunftans and men, Doing your homework just now and then, Following fads and doting on Rick . . . Life is a kick For sure! Adultftime-- When diamonds, furs, flowers and beauxg Travelling to Europe-anything goes. You soon meet the one and then settle down, Wearing your crown Ofjoy. NANCY ANN EATON,-Grade XI P'rizefWinning Poem-Senior Literary Competition Dreams Come True William Ross dropped his morning paper and let a knife clatter on his plate. A plump woman with steaming toast and a silver coffeefpot appeared through the swinging door. Good morning, Mr. Ross, she said. Did you sleep well ?S9