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

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13 SENIOR GYMNASTICS The Most Precious Gift Along the road trudged a tired little fellow. His sandy hair flopped across his forehead, hiding brown sparkling eyes. Frost nipped his rosy cheeks until they shone like polished apples. Purple lips cracked in the cold as he whistled a broken tune. The snow was sailing softly down as the boy plodded homeward. He reached the stone fence and hopped over. Now he was home. Impatiently he kicked the frozen doorg once, twice, and then it opened. When he was inside, a housemother hung his snowy clothes beside the fireplace. From his pocket Gerry pulled a tiny packet wrapped in brown paper. Cautiously he tore it open and revealed a blue box. Then he lifted the lid and gazed inside. Beneath a handful of crumpled white tissue paper lay a green ring. Carefully he lifted his treasure from the box and held it in his hand. Gerry was pleased with his shopping. He had spent all afterf noon looking for a special gift. It had to be a very special gift because it was for a very special person. Gerry's face beamed. Tuesday had to like it. She just had to. Evening seemed a long time in coming. Faded blue clouds were just beginning to disappear from sight. The frosty air carried voices of distant carollers. Somewhere one could hear the deep rich tone of church bells. It was Christmas Eve. Gerry pressed his nose against the icy window. It was growing dark and he could hardly see now. Tuesday would soon be here. He hoped she would hurry for the housemother would be calling him for bed shortly. As he waited by the window, Gerry thought of what a wonderful friend he had in Tuesday. He had not many friends. He had not even a mother or father. He had spent the eight years of his life in many different Homes and welfare institutions. People never seemed to bother with him and they never seemed to care. Gerry longed desperately for somebody whom he could truly call his friend. He wanted somebody who would listen to him, who would believe in him, who would love him. He thought he had found that person in Tuesday. He was glad that she was a Counsellor here. She understood him and she seemed to like him. Tuesday never lost her temper, she never shouted, and she never said an unkind word. Even when Gerry was naughty, he knew that Tuesday still liked him. Perhaps she did not approve of some of his behaviour, but she still liked him. She could always see things through and she always came out smiling. Suddenly a knock sounded and Gerry raced for the door. She had come, just as she had promised, and Gerry was happy. He led her into the front room and crawled under the Christmas tree. There he found his neatly wrapped package. Eagerly he thrust it into her hands. Open it, won't you, please?,' he asked. Itls a present I bought for you. Tuesday was astonished. She knew Gerry had only a small allowance and she never dreamed of his buying her a Christmas gift. Slowly she unfolded the bright red gift wrapping. Now she could see the tiny blue box. She lifted the lid and a green ring revealed itself. Put it on your finger, said Gerry, put it on that finger. Tears trickled down her kindly face. l'Do you like it? murmured Gerry, do you really like it? I hoped you would, and I did try so very hard and . . . lt's beautiful, Gerry, she said, just beautiful. I don't mean because it's expensive or because it's made of precious stone. 'LBut it was kind of expensivef, stammered Gerry, I gave my whole allowance for it.

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12 Yes, he replied without thinking, but then he paused and reflected. I had a strange dream. I came into money-quite a bit of it, and took a trip to England. I visited my old school, Wicksford, while I was there. Time went back to when I was a schoolboy, playing our old pranks with the other fellows. Here he chuckled over something he remembered. Good old Charlie jones got the punishment, as usual. Then, he sighed, I grew up. A bell rang, and it seemed to be time for me to leave. A chill wind blew from a door, and a dark corridor loomed in front of me. I stepped forward, and it closed around me. I walked again, but suddenly the floor wasn't there. I fell through the darkness, down and down. Then, of course, I woke up. I believe it will come true, he added with conviction. My dreams always have in the past. For instance, when . . Yes, Mr. Ross, said his housekeeper, and withdrew into the kitchen. She had heard the story before, and had no wish to deal with the supernatural at that early hour. When Ross left the brown brick house, he strode purposefully past the budding hedges and soon was seated on a big green bus labelled, Downtown . Absorbed in his thoughts, he did not at first notice the man in the faded grey trenchcoat who was staring awkwardly at him. When their eyes met, the stranger pushed his way toward Ross, and mumbled something as he pulled his wallet from his pocket. Strange, thought Ross with a little alarm, until he remembered the man's face, and an old unpaid debt. Not wishing to embarrass the man, he took the money. The man muttered a few civilities about the weather, and lurched to the back of the bus. At noon Ross walked up the steps and into a small brick building that housed a long established men's club. As he was having lunch, a friend ushered in a small man with a familiar, friendly face to his table. Do you know . . . he began. Charlie jones! cried Ross. I'd know your face anywhere. Why, I dreamed about you last night! The other friend was lost in the reminisf cences of good old Wicksfordn that followed. After several vain attempts to change the conversaf tion, he left, and ate in gloomy silence at another table. In spite of his haste to get back to his office, for he was half an hour late, Ross began musing on his dream as he walked along the street. It must come true, he thought, my dreams have in the past. By George! It is coming true. I came into some money this morning on the bus. Talking to good old Charlie was almost like being at Wicksford. Wait until I tell my housekeeper! He gloated over the idea of proving to his doubting house' keeper that dreams come true. What about the rest of the dream? He remembered it too, as he ascended the dark, twist' ing stairway to his office, glancing over his shoulder and expecting at any moment to be struck down by a dreadful calamity. Nothing unusual happened, but the dream was not soon forgotten. After work he caught his bus and became so absorbed in an evening paper that he rode several blocks past his stop. Walking alone on the dark, shadowy street, he thought of the dream again. The wind moaned through the knotty trees, and they cast weird, dancing phantoms in his path. In spite or himself, he shuddered as he turned into a small corridorflike lane between two apartment houses. He began to whistle softly. Suddenly a dark figure sprang from the gloom. The man approached Ross slowly, but his features became no clearer because his collar was turned high, and his hat pulled down over his eyes. He stopped and waited. Have you got a match? Ross stood still. A thousand thoughts raced to his mind. He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a matchbook. The stranger put his large hand forward and took it from him. The other hand went to his pocket. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and walked on. PATRICIA MCMAHON, Grade X Mother and Child And while she ran, the harsh green sage Reached up from 'neath the cold, white snow To prick and scratch her tiny calloused feet That, blue with stinging cold, were numb to feel The pierce, and only in her heart she bore The fear and pain. Meanwhile, The hovel shuddered in the biting wind That knifed the thin dirt walls and blew Upon a writhing form enveloped in the dark. The woman's face was worn and tight with time And pain, and from her trembling lips escaped A prayer to God. The wind grew still, but all too late To help the quiet child whose tiny frozen face Was upturned towards the darkened sky. The tiny footprints, dimpling the fresh cold snow, Ended where her little body lay. Her mother's tortured pain had given way To endless sleep, and both would rest In peace, with God, together. LYNNE ANDERSON, Grade XI

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14 Tuesday went on. I meant that the visible surface piece of stone isn't rare and precious, but something buried beneath it is. Don't you see the way it glitters and sparkles in its own special way? Not the way a diamond sparkles and glows on a rich woman's linger. That kind of treasure isn't so very hard to find, and it doesn't mean anything. No money could ever buy a jewel like this one, and one like it is worth more than all the diamonds in the world. Gosh Gerry broke in, do you mean I really got a bargain? Well, I didnit exactly mean that, laughed Tuesday. I meant that it's not really the gift that counts, but the thought in giving. Every time you give a gift you give a part of yourself. just because a gift is expensive doesn't make it mean any more. Do you remember what the most precious gift of all was to Jesus? No, yawned Gerry, what was it? Well amongst the line of wealthy merchants who had come to bestow on him many rich gifts of gold and silver, stood a poor peasant woman. She was dressed in a shabby cloak and she had no shoes or stockings on her feet. In her turn she dropped a single coin into the plate. When asked what was the most precious gift of all, Jesus pointed to the poor woman and said, 'Her gift was greater than all the rest, you see, she gave all she had.' Perhaps you can't understand all of what I've tried to say, said Tuesday, but maybe now you know that I did mean it quite sincerely when I said that your gift had great beauty. And then they looked down at the ring. Tuesday was right. It did glisten and it did sparkle and its warmth filled the whole room. Gerry flung his arms around Tuesday's neck. You're my very best friend, he said, my bestest, bestest, friend. JEAN LESLIE,-Grade XII FOR 'THC Diff 798Lf-7 59-A., V.:-5,94 Qf Q Asa, f irfcorvo IHINWC' 1 Hoon I on A :noon uv vow! IN vous 1' 4 1-142511016 'YOUTH 5 rom-icq ON voua um: SUZANNE EVANS Time Passes Slowly The clock in my bedroom ticked slowly onward, I thought it would never stop. Outside, cold Evening brought with her Rain who gently tapped at my windowfpane. How boring it was to have nothing to do. My grandfparents and an aunt had just arrived in London, England, and we were staying in an old hotel where elderly ladies and gentlemen hobbled around in a painful manner. The permanent residents grumbled amongst themselves at meal times and never stopped muttering. We had decided to stay in this hotel for the experience of studying English people and customs. Afternoon tea was something to which I looked forward. Here, small cakes and delicious cookies were served with tea. The old ladies sat near together and conversed about the latest gossip. That afternoon at tea a big, black, furry cat with large green eyes had approached me and gently caressed my legs. When I picked him up, he purred smoothly like a new motor. As I petted him, I gave him my small share of cake. From across the room I could hear loud whisper' ing. I caught a stately woman's hoarse whisper, Today's children are never taught manners! Imagine that child picking up a filthy cat and feeding it! With my head high in the air, I arose from my throne, holding the beautiful animal firmly under my arm, and into the sunny garden we went. I played with the gentle creature only a short time for he had spotted his lady'love and leapt after her. But that was this afternoon, I thoughtg what can I do now? I went downstairs to the sitting room, a gloomy room with the darkfgreen velvet curtains drawn and oldffashioned furniture scattered here and there. Over in a corner stood a television set. That would keep me company for some of the time! An old man with slight traces of hair on his small head, walked in. His wife waddled after him and comfortably sat down on a huge couch, placing a cushion behind her back so as to help her sore bones. After I had watched television for some time, the picture started flickering and the movie rolled over and over. Automatically I got up and moved towards the set to turn the knob and adjust the view. From behind me a man's quivering voice shouted, Stop immediately, young lady! What do you think you are doing? I was . . I commenced, but found myself cut short. Are you trying to ruin the television? You know perfectly well that you can't put it right. Get back to your seat ! he instructed. I walked back to my place, trying to keep my temper. He started to turn several knobs in an attempt to set a clear picture, but this was hopeless, and the picture grew steadily worse. He switched off the machine. Really! The management ought to buy a new one, this one is quite obsolete. His wife and he departed and I wondered what I should do next. I decided to explore the dark hotel. Walking back to my room, I started on my explorations,