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

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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,

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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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15 following the old, red, hall carpet which led me to the top of an unused staircase. Nearby stood a door ajar. I peeped into the obscure room which was a bathroom, in poor condition. I descended the stairs. At the foot of the ancient staircase, I found an old piano whose keys were yellow and partly broken. This would surely be my best friend! I started to play softly as I dug into the depths of my mind for memorized pieces. I played more and more loudly as I gained confidence. From the top of the stairs a woman's highf pitched voice rang out, piercing my melody. Stop that noise at once! Humbly I shrank away from my companion as my hopes were dashed to pieces like a ship at sea which, in a fog, has blindly ended on some deadly rocks. I watched my clock as it slowly ticked on. GAIL LONG, Grade IX The Storm The lightning flashed and the thunder roared, The rain came down and down it poured, The wild wind whipped the trembling trees, And forced the bushes to their knees, A veil of stormfclouds hid the sky Once blue, now black, with their deep dye. A crash, a flare, and then a peace, And then again, its powers unleashed, The storm gave vent to mighty rage, The hills, the hollows, vales, it flayedg It pounced on leaves and drove them down Into the soaking, shaking ground, It worried flowers, then let them lieg With hardened heart, it watched them die, It swelled the waters of the stream, Where they had lain in pensive dream, They frothed and foamed, and, troubled, swept Between the banks where they were kept. It tore the branches from the trees To fling them far across the leasg The fields of wheat which in the sun Had softly waved, were everyone Outfflattenedg and the storm raged on. But soon the dark stormfclouds were gone, The shrieks became a whistling sigh, The sun shone through the fresh-washed sky, The creeks and groans of battered trees Changed to notes of softer keys, Then came the final drops of rain, But these were of a gentler strain. The countryside lay sore and torn Because of what had passed-The Storm. MARGARET Kosmsxi, Grade XII The Hat It was a cold, dark night. The fog rolled in slowly and heavily from the ocean. Far out, I heard the muffled sound of foghorns as the last boats crept slowly into the harbour for the night. Through the heavy, dark fog, I saw the blurred light on the Statue of Liberty as I stood on Brooklyn Bridge. I heard the water of the East River splash' ing against the shore far below me. The time, I supposed, was about one o'clock in the morning. I had had trouble sleeping so I had decided to go for a walk to clear my head. As I gazed into the blackness, I heard footsteps approach' ing the bridge. They came closer and soon I could discern the figure of a man walking along the side' walk towards me. He passed me and stopped a few feet further on. Out for some fresh air? I asked. Yes, I couldn't sleep, he replied. He stared forlornly into the fog, not even glancf ing my way. He kept gazing into space as if in a daze. I noticed that he was very well dressed and looked distinguished. He had a small gray moustache and goatee, and wore an expensive' looking trench coat and a black homburg. He was about sixty and obviously wealthy. Same reason I'm here, said I. Got some' thing on your mind? Yes, as a matter of fact, I have, something very serious. Care to talk about it? I asked. Well ,... have you ever thought of. . . of . . . killing yourself? Killing myself? Heavens no! Why should you even think of it? I inquired, rather startled. I guess you don't know me. My name is Arthur Van Dorn. Van Dorn . . . of course! You're the man who . . . Yes, I'm the man who just lost every penny on the stock market. Then I realized why he was dressed so well and why he talked of suicide. A few days before I had read about him in the paper. I worked all my life for what I had, and now, 'Poof!', it's gone. He snapped his fingers as he spoke. Have you ever thought what death would be like? Quick, painless, death? No, I can't say I have. Personally, I think it would be terrible! Leaving all your friends and family . . I have no friends, no close ones. They are all just business acquaintances. No family either, no one would mourn at my funeral, he said dismally. I guess I shouldn't be saying all this to you. It must sound strange to someone who has something to live for.