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

Page 17 text:

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.

Page 16 text:

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,

Page 18 text:

16 'iBut you have something to live for-life itself, Isaid. You can't kill yourself! Why don't you face up to your troubles, instead of running away from them? I guess I haven't the courage, he remarked sadly. I haven't the courage to face people now that my reputation is gone. But you could make a fresh start. It might be difficult, but you're a clever man, you could do it. There was silence for a moment as if he were considering this possibility. I suppose it's feasible, but I would rather not discuss it any longer, he said, sounding a little less depressed. A clock in a church tower tolled two olclock. Mr. Van Dorn turned tome. Good night, and thank you, he said. Good night, sir, and good luck, I called as he strode away across the bridge. I stood where I was for about half an hour, thinking of this strange encounter. Then I noticed that the fog was lifting and a clear, starry sky appearing. It was going to be a beautiful night. I felt my walk had done me good. My head had cleared and I felt I could go home and sleep well. I started walking off the bridge, and before leaving, gazed out over the water once again. The moon shone, making a path of light across the glassy water. Suddenly I saw in that path, floating on the surface of the water, a black homburg hat. JUDITH KNIGHT,-Grade X The Wooden Horse The time is night and all is calm and still- In that fair city, Troy, atop the hill, The tired, triumphant warriors are abed, The watchmen slumbering, for the Greeks have fled Leaving a token of esteem. To win the gods' forgiveness and redeem Great Troy. 7 That night, the Greeks awoke in their hideout Without a sound, preparing for the bout By sharpening swords and saying prayers to Mai's. They moved out stealthily beneath the stars, Hoping that they would gain their rights, Taken from them in other fights With Troy. The Trojans, unprepared, were easy prey, The Greeks victorious, killing all the day, Showed no mercy, and, appearing pleased, Slaughtered Paris, and great Helen seized, Who was the reason for that wooden horse Which had brought death and much remorse To Troy. CAROLINE DAMERELL,-'Grade XI The Call of Spring Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins were a quiet couple, living in a small cottage in the country, and enjoy' ing the simple things of life. Mrs. Hawkins, a sweet, kind woman, spent her days looking after their little home, while Mr. Hawkins drove a bus, just a ramshackle bus with which he picked up the school children and a few grownups. He was no longer young, but, once in a long while, he yearned to do something different. He suppressed this desire, however, and went on doing the same thing, day after day. One beautiful spring morning he started out as usual, kissed his wife, took his lunchfbox, and off he went. There was a difference this morning, it was spring, and he had that feeling again. He walked to the bus depot, stepped into his bus, and started on his old familiar route. Several people got into the bus, and then the school children with their laughter and gaietyg this was what made life worthwhile, the children. They always made him feel better. He looked up, and could see the school, but before he reached it, the thing happened. He turned the wheel and was off down a little trail, through the fields, around the lake, up hill and down. The grownups looked startled, and thought he had lost his senses, but the children laughed with glee. On and on he went as if driven by a higher power, and soon everyone was enjoying the little spree. The grownfups were thinking how long it was since they had noticed the blue of the sky, the crocuses, the sweet songs of birds. They did not even notice the bus stop, and Mr. Hawkins get out, followed by the children. He stood for a moment, with a rapt look on his face, then stopped to pick flowers. The children helped him, and soon they were back, arms full of flowers, Blling the bus with the breath of spring. All too soon they were back on the main high' way. After he had deposited his passengers safely, he turned towards home, feeling ashamed of his childish whim, and worried about his job. Next morning he was called into the manager's office. Mr. Murdock looked at him sternly and said, Well, what have you to say for yourself? Mr. Hawkins looked dejectedly at the floor, and said, Nothing, sir, I just felt the need to do some' thing different, I'm sorry. Mr. Murdock's expression changed to one of amusement. Don't feel sorry, Hawkins. . We have been besieged by phone calls, asking why we don't have a regular sightfseeing bus, and that's just what we are going to have-with you in charge. if DARLBNB PETHICK,-Grade VIII Prizefwirming Story- Intermediate Literary Competition