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

Page 10 text:

8 F I Q SIGNS T5 fy --ictxi-76-474 Q U11 5 0 lf lf Llffftfllfy N' In Need Gimme that one there, demanded an un- shaven man, pointing to a magazine with a suggeshve coven Deborah looked away in disgust. She glanced impatiently at her uncle who was buying her ticket home. She disliked having to wait alone in places such as this. She took a seat and waited for him. Twenty minutes later he came with the dcket I'm sorry I couldn't get you a roomette. You'll have to sleep in a berth and sit in the day coach,H he said. HBut IRQ :dways had a roonmtmdn she replied indignantly. I'm sorry, but that was the best I could do, he answered. Still annoyed, she followed her uncle, who was carrying her suitcases, to the train. Once on the train Deborah relaxed. She was glad to be going home even if it was only back to high school. Beside her, an elderly woman busied herself by casting on stitches. An hour later the train made a short stop. Here, a man of about thirty-five entered the car and took the seat opposite her. There was something odd about him. A few minutes later, Deborah realized what it was. He kept his hands in lus pockets! 'The conductor came to ta ke his ticket, and when the man handed it to him, Deborah's stomach turned. For, instead of a hand, at the end of his short stubby arm were two malformed fingers. He held the ticket between them. Deborah closed her eyes and tied to think of sonuwhing eke, but she could not. HIIowf horrHieV' Phe thought.'UFhat poor man must be all alone in the world. No one '13 55 BQ. 0- 20 4 Sm 'm : '15 Q-:1 vm 5? ww 84+ 5 SF' U' SDH zz- 95 : wr UQ O O Q- 5 CD UI U2 5 970'U O D9f ' ofgromgsziv'-:DT 'H2avg0Q2 'Q-5271 cv- 26,84 Q, lb 7 - .QC ggm ei E Emaass S Eagpmmggsoi Gym 0 vm Goa Wim W MCD W'QD ,-3 H05 v-'-4gaOOOO9,,cD Nm mwo WED me 5695 awww? :w5'mo9 DEQ.. OW. OCv4Of 'c+ 105253317080 gf- CD S: 13 SLD ., u-5 C'Y 1 eagzvszsigegze 3:05. QQUJDO,-,UZ a.'gW::EC:g-Q5 gag gzip? OCUUQ:-'4 o D H - In B ga5PT'CDl'D4-D ?o awww EWU H 'GQUUE' U1 CDCD cubs: fb o '14Cr 'Od-OQ-mpfogpc games-mp' 23 :- cf U- if-GEQUQQUECEF QQENE mtfpns '-1 !97,.,-1-CD0q,.f.U797 Q1-+fa12+E3de O3' 2::'pf+,-,I-iE.93,g:v gg99UQm !Pl:5mQCD mDo?2Foowm 55532733 :5 'D'O: O.QdfD'UQ2 2 95335 CD an 335' lm gwnm embmowb 4 mg, D g-pgs CD er- CD'-'sUqBme,,IIT' oil-P m :S'fD W Q Ugg nv E5Q,::.-US 55' gmc-5: ' CQ-m:',5'-S m SOZLOCEQ morgan Nofbv-1 B mCmQ2m c-v- '.... D9 S2Q'fa5'w'sf UQWHB O KHQJZSUE rgdmigdr NwE7'o Q-Hmmm? CPOQ-lc-'CD ago' N-Ori. O 239552 - C gq -s mg3oUE'l?-I D p97S:g-'U tb'-iD . evil- QEE 5 E33 25 g?E,EmE,qO-ggj-me cn 5149-D fDg3-2 ,.,'.ZT',E,'1fDD QM- cop,.9,5--Qhgcugicn 3:52-4+f' 14, mg mmdmo SD- 5-f-s Q4 0 U' Swag Uv me B W Q 'UCDQ CD55 ygpgfao' 035305 i, :1'fDUQL-+3 Q- U2 so Q9-'ca :S . gg 'S' 5,5D:-200 gwdimg Q mm mcg? W P H24 '-s O ga: e ,ga sa SACEQQCS, s:-as-I Fm MKOHOO 'Fm O 9' agar' 20 mm Q, 99 4 5' I-I Q CD .. .UHB CD sig -3 aes sa C4457 ev- gpbvp, 4-Pg-D SUI v-4 SCp mm C., o '-f ...O cb O Us o N F gg--.55 Q.. gdgg :Q Img' an Q-'B' Em 2 2 523 ea aim H sm M Q W 2 9 U 'D' O r--I ,1 . S314 O sim we 'Q Q4 U1 gg-1.90 D.. U-no 5:1 Q52 2' Sono. 533 as fr:- - CD93 ia. CD C, ev- EQ-O +118 2144-T'mo. www.: mF?Qg :JZ gi 2.1: cor-T fn Hg '55 FQ: 14- 31+ f mr TU a Q E in 5 59 ... Wg 5 D UQ 2:5 E' gg- ? 65' cu SL., Fr 3 25' '4 FEW

Page 9 text:

7 Balmoral Hall, June, 1961. ,IUBILATE My dear Girls, My conversations with you are usually to counsel, to encourage, to stimulate, to calm, and often to reprove, but this, my final conversation, is to praise you. I am full of praise for the way you have accepted the situations that have arisen during this year of building. We won't forget this year. Boarders, do you remember packing up and leaving the Red House? And then remember that busy noon hour when everyone helped to move the remainder of the furniture to the lawn outside the White House? We moved out with light hearted abandon, but we shared several moments of sadness as the old Red House was demolished so ruthlessly, and as those lovely birch trees one by one were felled. We Won't forget this year. The Kindergarten was moved to the Art Room and the Art to the Common Room, and that didn't make it easy for after- lunch recreation or for the Art students. The drawing-room disappeared and that spoiled the rendez-vous area for some and the music hours and the recitals for others, but you have been remarkably understanding. We won't forget this year with bunk beds in the drawing-room, bunk beds in the Kindergarten, bunk beds in the Boarders' Sitting-Room, no real clothes cupboards-in fact no space anywhere. And yet I heard you happily greeting each other after the Easter Holiday-greeting each other, and glad to be back for the summer term despite the difficulties, and I watched you and I praised you. We Won't forget this year with water over the driveway, and cement mixers and mud outside, and inside, bunk beds, crowded rooms, a line-up for baths in the residence, art in the Common Room, and cold lunch wherever a spot could be found. But you have survived in a most praise- worthy manner, and I commend you. My very best wishes go with you all for a happy summer, and I can assure those of you who are graduating this June, and who will not benefit by our wider facilities, that we will welcome you when- ever you can visit us. After our Opening Assembly on Thursday, September 7th, there will be a tour of the new building for all Old Girls, and later, an invitation to the official Opening. No, we won't forget this year, but you who are returning in September will find many exciting surprises to welcome you and a host of challenging opportunities. Until then, happy holidays! Yours affectionately, as

Page 11 text:

9 The train approached Edmonton near noon. She was anxious to get home. She wondered who would be there to meet her. She could see the familiar oil derricks clustered on the outskirts of the city. When the train began to slow down, she hastily collected her belongings. As she stepped down from the car she surveyed the station, looking for a familiar face, but failed to see one. On the platform she passed a young woman of about thirty and her two children. Their anxious faces examined every emerging passenger. Deborah was on her way into the building when she heard loud exclamations of joy from behind her. She turned and saw the man who had sat across from her in the arms of the anxious young woman. Tears of joy shone on her cheeks and the children danced up and down at their feet. From behind her she heard a station attendant mention to another, You'd think it was a famous star they were meeting! Then over the loudspeaker came an announce- ment. Will Miss Deborah Elgin please call at the information desk. When she did so, she was given a telegram reading, I've been delayed at the hairdresser. Take a taxi. Mother. BETTY N1cHoL-Grade XI Prize-winning Story-Senior Literary Competition Water Mr. Madison felt smug. That was a smart plan, to say the least, that he had thought up. It was strange, in fact, that no one else had thought of it. Mr. Madison planned to travel in a three-hundred-mile radius around San Fran- cisco, finding all the water holes in that area, and buying the land around them. Then he could sit back and watch the settlers' money roll in when they paid through the teeth as he said, to drink his water. Mr. Madison had been making business ventures like this all his life. Since he had come to San Francisco, however, he had had no deals , and so he had spent his time gambling. This deal was a good one, though, and would, he hoped, set him up for life. There was only one drawback-he had been travelling for a day and a half, he had no water with him, and not being used to travel in the desert, he could find none . . . Hank Err was worried. He had been travel- ling for years-all his life as a matter of fact- and he had never seen a place like this before. All he could see and had seen for the past one and a half days was sand and stones, no cactus, no animals, just sand and stone. The last time he had eaten was the day he had stolen the bread from an old dame's place in New Mexico. He could barely walk. After all the things he had done, the robberies, the double crosses and especially the murders, it seemed ironic that he should die this way . . . alone in a desert. He did not even have a gun, not his gun with the seventy-nine notches on the belt, or any one else's gun. To live such a wild, cruel life and then die alone amidst peace and quiet was terror to him. If he could get some water-any water- he could get out of this trap, but he could find none . . . Frank Hawkins was happy and proud. His little wife and baby were beside him, and there he was, almost in San Francisco. They had come faithfully to him from Liverpool, and travelled with him all the way from Boston. Now they were in their land of milk and honey . He wondered, though, why his wife had not asked for water. She must have known there was none left in the wagon, for she silently agreed with a smile when he said he was going to scout ahead to find the shortest route. Perhaps she knew he was really going for water. He should have told her, but it did not seem fair to worry her when they were almost at their destination. The thought of death he put out of his head, for surely God would not let that happen after all the distance they had travelled. He searched des- perately for water, the love for his family pushing him on, but could find none . . . There are many skeletons in the California desert, but three in particular. One is lying just outside the property of a wealthy grape-grower. It is lying, slightly covered by the sand, on the other side of a fence which surrounds the grape grower's swimming pool filled with water. The house is a product of wealth . . . just the type Mr. Madison might have liked had he lived in this century. Another skeleton can be found in the alley behind an old gambling hall in a ghost town. It was reputed to be the worst hall of its kind, and according to history, the citizens' com- mittee came and closed the place, packed their be- longings and left the place the way it stands today. Perhaps Hank would have enjoyed the hall . . . if he had lived. The third skeleton lies under the ground. It is covered with rich green grass and a headstone which reads, Here lies Frank Hawkins, beloved husband of Martha Hawkins and beloved father of Mary, Jack, Robert, William and Judith Hawkins, beloved friend of the city of San Francisco. Here lies the type of man who will make the west a golden land of milk and honey. 1829-1880. NANCY ANN EATON--Grade XII A Nightmare The Mayor's house stood high upon a cliff silhouetted against the moon. Inside, the Ere refiected a golden hue on the walls and furniture, and on the dark face of a young girl, who was pensively gazing into its flames. Restlessly, she moved to the window and looked down upon the beach with the waves