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

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10 I Laugh No More Gently the sun's lazy rays shine down upon the crystal white snow, melting it and giving birth to me. At first, I am but a small pool of sparkling water but gradually, day by day, I grow and become filled with a lust to wander. Then one day, my friend Gravity a1'rives, and with a firm push, sends me cascading down the mountain side. Head over heels I tumble down- wards, feeling freedom in my veins, pride in my heart. I am proud of my speed, proud of my freedom, and I laugh as I view the world. I laugh as I easily pass the slow-plodding sheep who waste away their lives eating, sleeping, and strolling in the sun. W'hat do they know of the joys of being a free-running stream? They are confined to their pastures, guided by their masters. Now here,', I cry, as I see a large train come thundering down its track, here is competition! Happily I flow faster and faster as the train looms nearer. But see how it runs from mel I shout defiantly and laughingly watch the mighty monster as it speeds away in another direction. It, too, is enslavedg de- pendent on its track, its fuel and man! Laughing I continue to plunge downwards, happy with my life, my youth, my freedom. But now my youth is past. Now I will join the mighty river. I watch it flow majestically by, and then quietly fall in at its side. I am older now, nobler and quieter, but still free and still laughing. I glide between neat fields care- fully planted by man. I laugh as I see the farmers protecting and watching over their lands as servants to a master. They are bound to their land, burdened by responsibility, a responsibility to their families, the markets, and the world. Fee how they wipe their hot brows and painfully straighten their backs. But I, I have no re- sponsibility. I am free, free from worries, free from any bonds, free to enjoy life I wish. f'How lucky I am, how unfortunate they, I think laughingly, and quietly How on. r I am gently guiding a small ship through the still water at the last edge of day when suddenly a sharp breeze rises above me. I immediately recognize this sign and am filled with excitement. Soon frightening peals of thunder burst upon the threatening sky and jagged lightning flashes tear the black clouds to shreds. The wind howls in tune withathe booming thunder. And in this stormy picture I am part of a huge wave, one among many, that rampage on top of the river. My peak is of white foam, my body inky black, and still I am laughing. I am proud to be able to toss men's ships like feathers in a breeze, proud of my power, proud of my free life. I experience the full sense of my freedom as I hurl myself high into the wind and fall back again on the raging river. I laugh as I think of the farmer tied to his land, the train to its track, the sheep to their pasture. Laughingly I declare, I am free! But now the storm is ended and I reach the ocean. To me this is the crowning glory. To be a part of that great expanse of water, that huge sea of liquid, is something I have long dreamed of. Now I can be free for ever. Quietly, respect- fully, I fiow into the ocean. Suddenly I am pushed violently from the left, the right, from all sides. Annoyed, I fight my way far from shore, but soon my joy begins to fade. There is nothing to see but water and the blazing sun above. There is nothing to do but to be free. I have been here one year, I have seen nothing new, done nothing different. I wander from place to place in this vast ocean like a man lost in a wilderness. I am' free, but I am tired of being free. How much better to be tied down, to have work to do, to have a course to follow, to have responsibility. I laugh no more. CAROL SWINDELL-Grade X The Storm I awoke early that summer morning. The sun, just rising, had outlined, delicately in gold, the whitewashed cottage in the valley below. The morning-glories around the doorway joyously disclosed their baby-blue faces to the silent world, and the dew drops on the lush green grass gave the dawn a silver hue. I felt as a miser might, surveying his precious gold and silver, but, in reality, there was no likeness between nature's soft, colourful glow of beauty and the harsh, glistening splendours of man's riches. To the people of this quiet valley, money was nothing and nature was all. As Apollo continued to drive his glorious chariot across the clear turquoise sky, the house- hold in the whitewashed cottage began to stir. Out in the barn, tall rugged farmer McKay and old Alec checked the horses, while Cary, the maid, inilked the cows. Marcella helped her mother prepare the porridge in the kitchen. Her bright blue eyes were surrounded by long dark lashes while her golden hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck with a blue ribbon, fell gracefully down to her waist, each wavy strand reminding one of a tiny stream as it wends its way through the countryside. Her healthiness was revealed by her pink cheeks, while her tiny tilted nose gave her a saucy air. No children of her age lived near by, and so Marcella's constant and beloved companion was her collie, Sunny-Jim. Soon she appeared and

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9 Upon her return after her cracked ankle had been set, Kathy hobbled up to the members of the team filled with congratulatory remarks. The girls looked at her thinking, What, no sarcasm? Even Kathy was shocked that she felt no twinge of jeaously. A month later, Kathy's short black hair blew in the wind as she watched the ski team warming- up on the course, high above her. They were well-trained, fit and fast. Kathy hoped with all her heart that they made a good showing against the neighbouring girls' school. She was not jealous of the team members, in fact, she was almost happy that one of them had not been disappointed as she had been. In her attempt to become a member of the ski-team she had failed, but her shell of bitterness had crumbled for ever and the new Kathy Stevens shone through. Switzerland had made this miraculous change in her. Somehow once you see the Alps or set foot on Swiss soil, this wonderful gift is bestowed upon you. It is impossible to define, let us say that it is all part of the mysterious power of the Alps. JOAN SELLERs-Grade X Light in The Dark For the third night in one week Eric Hoeshen and his family were huddled nervously in the corner of their one-roomed apartment They had fied from their home, three days before, in an attempt to evade the Communists. Their one constant prayer had been for God to deliver them from East Germany as a whole family into the zone of West Germany. Koko had convinced them that the plan was conceivable and that it had been risked before. He was a factory worker at the same place as Eric and was a good friend. On into the morning Eric related the plans for the coming evening so that there would be no doubt in the minds of any of them. Koko would meet them in the border field with an identifying signal from his small dim light and would get them safely into West Germany. The Hoeshen family would no longer be living in terror, for at seven-fourteen that night they would escape the security police who had been stalking beneath their one small window in this anti- Communist community at the little village. Eric kept thinking how good it would be to breathe fresh air again, but until the appointed time they must keep hidden, in case the police might find and seize them. Eric should never have de- nounced the Communist movement publicly- he had not realized that it would endanger his family to this degree. Once they were free of the Communist threat, however, he could speak freely. At the appointed time, Eric would lead his wife and three children to the back stairs of the apartment and into the field behind it. From there they would run in fear, never chancing to look behind them, to the Platz where they would have to remain hidden until Koko arrived. The children would find it hard, but they had gone over the plan so thoroughly that there was no evident reason for any difficulty to arise. A series of orders directed noisily from the police outside interrupted Eric-'s thoughts. They had changed their positions and were now patrolling the area behind the apartments, for such plans of escape as the one which was fast approaching. This move indeed altered Eric's plans, for it was six forty-Hve already and he had intended to leave at seven o'ciock. At first he was panic-stricken, but once he had collectefl his thoughts and had begun to stare out of the win- dow, he noticed that the police had left the front street unguarded, in their attempt to patrol the back areas. He realized that if they were going to escape by way of the front street, they would have to leave at once, for it would take longer to reach the Platz by this route. Hurriedly all five scrambled down the old Wooden staircase. When they reached the door- way, they rushed into the open street. Already accustomed to the darkness, they dashed to the end of the street, Marguerite leading. She turned left without hesitation and stumbled through the dark forest, with her family right behind her. They had escaped the police ofiicersg it was ten minutes after seven. They had only five minutes to reach the Platz! Panting and breathless they reached it. It was a quarter past seven. Eric looked expectantly at his watch, and as the minutes ticked by, he wondered if they had missed Koko by being a few minutes late! Where was the light? Oh God, where was the light? At that moment, Marguerite moved to untwist her legg a twig snapped! The officer's silhouette turned and he rushed in their direction. Huddling closer and closer for protection, Eric did not immediately hear the thud to the ground. Presently he looked up and saw the Communist policeman lying not more than ten feet in front of them. Standing over the unconscious body was Koko with his dim white light. The darkness which had prevailed for the past three nights was for a moment lJI'Ok6I1 by the luminous beam. Koko had kept his word, but, like Eric, he too had had to change his plans slightly. For Eric and his family there was a sign of relief, and scurrying behind Koko with his darkenel light they faced the pathway to the free world. ANN MAsoN-Grade XI

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ll stood clad in her blue gingham dress, framed in the doorway by the blue morning-glories on the white walls of the cottage, while, in the back- ground, the sun peeped through the purple heather-covered hills. The picture was broken. as she skipped up the pathway, Sunny-Jim by her side, and passed through the white wooden gate. For a while she was lost from sight, but eventually I saw her making her way up the steep stony path to my cottage. Slightly breathless, she soon appeared on my doorstep, and I cheerfully wel- comed her. I remarked on the beauty of the day, and she replied: Yes, Sunny-Jim and I are going to follow the singing stream, across the wooden bridge and into the Fairies dell. She left soon after, and I watched her as she skipped jauntily down the hill and disappeared round a bend into the mossy forest. I spent most of the morning busy in my garden, and it was not until late in the morning that I noticed the fast moving clouds approaching the valley. The appearance of the huge rolling puffy purply-black clouds made me feel appre- hensive. As noon approached the air became heavier and the sky darker. The cool morning air was now hot and damp, and the clouds expanded like a huge black balloon ready to burst. A low rumble, a flash across the sky, and finally the roar of huge drops of rain drumming on the roof. That will clear the air, I thought, trying to be cheerful, and continued to read my book. I wa.s soon interrupted by a frantic knock at the door. On opening it, I found myself looking into the agitated face of Mrs. McKay. Brushing past me and into the room, she began to stammer, Marcella has not come home! I told her I would come. Quickly I grabbed my coat and hat and, with the anxious Mrs. McKay at my elbow. ran down to her house. Men had gathered from the neighbourhood to search for the child. I watched farmer McKay, his brow slightly creased and his deep blue eyes troubled, arranging the parties, while his wife stood unhappily in the middle of the kitchen wringing her hands. I.eaving the friendly fire in the kitchen, we soon stepped out into the blustery wet darkness. The rubbing of mackintoshes and the squelching of boots began to irritate me as we walked. Farmer McKay walked at the front, silent, yet determined. I wondered if he shared my appre- hensive and depressed feelings and, for his sake, I hoped he did not. We looked like a troop of soldiers returning from ai lost battle, but our battle was still ahead. Reaching the woods, we quickly separated into our groups. As we crossed the wooden bridge, I suddenly stopped- across the wooden bridge and into the fairies dell, I thought. How could I have forgotten? Jim,l' I said turning to my neighbour, where would you go to find a fairies dell? Good I.ord, what do you want to know that for? he exclaimed irritably. No, I mean this seriously, I said. That is where Marcella told me she was going. A look of understanding crossed his face and he began to think. Follow me, he said and we plunged through the tangle of wet branches. Splash, squelch, drip, drip-would it ever stop? Suddenly we emerged from the foliage into a clearing. In the middle of a circle of old oak trees stood one great oak, and in the hollow of its trunk huddled Marcella close beside Sunny-Jim. She did not see us but sat, entranced, watching the sky. Marcellal I cried running to her. I tore off my coat, wrapping it around her. Finally I looked down at her puzzled face. What are you doing? I asked. I was watching the funny faces the clouds were making, she said merrily, and Sunny-Jim was keeping me warm. I shook my head and smiled. We got her home safely, and next morning, happy as ever, she appeared at the doorway. The golden rays of the sun fell softly on her face, and on the face of the dog beside her. There was a clatter of pails as Cary, the maid, entered the barn, while outside, farmer McKay forked the hay, and nervous little Mrs. McKay fed the geese. The sun surveyed the little scene and happily beamed his approval, as he rose above the purple heather-covered hills into the clear turquoise sky. Dorm DEMPSTER'-Gl'8d6 XI To Helen Helen, thy beauty is to me I.ike those symbolic ships or tides, That gently, o'er the troubled sea, The weary, wayward student guides To where her harbour hides. On desperate seas, for countless hours, Thy placid face dispels our fears, Thy quiet challenge gives us powers Bythe wisdom that is yours, And the comfort that is ours. I.ol in yon opening pantry door With cheerful smile we see thee stand, Our captain's tray within thy hand! I thank you, as I leave the ship You partly manned. N. J. B. after E. A. P.