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

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15 The Art Gallery A light blue carpet on the stairs, And serious young folk everywhere, Searching with eager childish faces, Standing rigidly in their places, Rows and rows of beautiful work, Explained in detail by a tiresome clerk. I went up the stairs between them all, Strange and frightened and shy and small, But as I entered the gallery door, I saw something I had never seen before, The sun streaming through the window in the hall, Proving God's art, the most beautiful of all. CATHERINE HAMILTON-Grade VII The Hour Glass There are millions of them all confined to one large space. Each one is uniquely different in its similarity to all the others. Each one is only con- cerned with itself. Each is oblivious ofthe others, yet its position and activities depend on the others. The same force acts on all of them. It pulls them until it can pull them no longer. The ones in front block the paths of the others. Yet if they fall, so do the ones behind them. They are drawn to their inevitable fate. They are sucked into nothingness. They must fall. Yet others run to this same fate. One draws the others, and the others draw each one. When they dissolve into the darkness of the narrow path, they are gone. They appear again on the other side but which are the ones that were seen to disappear? They are there, but where are they? They are engulfed, surrounded and buried by the others. What difference does it make? What is one from another? What does it matter? Those may have been beautiful, interesting, different, but they were just a few in a million. Some may have entered the chasms in shadow and come out of it in all glory to reflect a ray of light in an eye and please the indolent brain that commands the eye. But these did not please the brain when they were in darkness. Each one lands on the bottom surrounded by different ones, or in the middle or on top. What does it matter? It is just one in a million. Its fate is in the hands of something greater than itself. With one movement, all of these may be dis- turbedg they are forced to rush, teem, pull, and break the stillness of the others. They must go because there is no end until they all lie in stillness at the bottom again. They lie only to be dis- turbed. Then they come alive again. When each one passed, it took with it the moment it needed in the passing. But what does this matter? There are endless moments to pass. Endless moments unless someone should smash the container. Then what becomes of them? What becomes of the millions? What becomes of each grain of sand, or life? Bu'r'rY NIC'HCJL-fil'2lfl9 XII Q1 C33 23 C33 'S' 'S' JA in tiff? ig c..is.1aefl., .ig ,io ig BEFOR5 -rm: G-FMS fi? IL Ijillf. tif? A f 7258 QQ fry Gi I' ,f ' iihggii. ii gwfx? ivi L' i 'ifj I X-lb f 'N .20 S9 Jffiieqg 9 Q ,gs- FIFTER D B. Nichol The Sacrifice A large tear rolled down Marianne's taut face when she discovered that she could not move. Vividly the accident came back to her mind. Marianne and her brother Jamie had been driving down Campion Avenue when the truck struck them broadsideg the steering wheel crushed her legs, paralysing them. Having lost con- sciousness, she remembered nothing but the im- pact of the truck against their Volkswagen. With her straggly blond hair spread over the pillow, and her eyes wandering vaguely around the room, she wondered frantically where she was and what had happened to Jamie. Angry with the thought of being in bed, the normally energetic sixteen-year-old struggled to pull herself upright. Finding herself surprisingly weak, she fell back. Why, she thought, feeling annoyed, isn't anyone here? Almost as if someone had heard her, a crisp white figure came softly into the room.

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14 Teresa The broom dragged across the floor, and gathered the particles of dust that had been swirled through the window by the daily rush of traffic. Teresa threw the broom down with disgust. She turned and looked hopelessly at her sister, but all she saw was a vague form reclining on the couch, and from somewhere a movie magazine protruded. The head of some unusual creature was thrust up from behind the book. A pair of black eyes glared offendedly at her, and her sister rose and stamped off to her room to remove her curlers. Teresa glanced at the clock. It was exactly ten-two hours before lunch. At lunch time, her mother would arrive to take over. Take over what? All her mother would do would be to take off her shoes, complain how terribly crowded it was down town, and sit down to relax. Then she would direct her glances towards Teresa with such pitiful eyes, begging for assistance, that Teresa would smile understandingly and prepare lunch. But it was so monotonous, so dull for a twelve- year-old girl. Teresa turned her large gray eyes towards her sister's room with annoyance. Her mind wan- dered over plots and settings of dreadful events that might happen to her sister. Finally Teresa's thoughts came down to earth. If I weren't here she'd have to help, instead of getting ready for dates, she thought schemingly. The dust swept up by the broom gradually began to settle again. The broom itself lay where it had been dropped. The front door was open, revealing the merging traffic and choking fumes. Teresa had left. She paused uncertainly on the street corner. Her sharp eyes glanced quickly about her, taking in the curious sights. Her small slender nose smelt the delicious aromas from the bakery. A breeze flicked her long, black hair and the endS of her pale blue dress. The ribbon which held back her hair had been hastily tied and it drooped over her forehead. A broad smile appeared on her thin lips. Down the road was the factory, and Jack would be there. He would listen to her troubles, he always did. Jack and his wife, Marion, were always ready to give her their advice. She stepped carefully across the street and turned the corner, her heavy black shoes beating rhythmically. If she hurried, she would be just in time to see Jack during his coffee break. She entered the factory and as she approached the workers, they greeted her with enthusiasm. Her eyes passed over them quickly. Where's Jack? she asked. He's sick-fever or something, replied one of the men. Her concern for Jack overruled her disap- pointment. She knew he would lose his day's pay. When she came to the factory to see them, he often talked about how important his pay was to them. Marion assisted Jack's income by sewing splendid dresses for wealthy ladies. Once when Teresa visited Marion she found her working on a most beautiful dress. As curiosity drew her forward, Teresa noticed the dainty laces and the delicate stitches entwined throughout the ma- terial. Marion noticed her interest in the dress and promised Teresa one, though not quite so grand. The dress was to be any colour or style Teresa wanted. What colour would she like? There were some pretty dresses in the department store, perhaps she could get ideas there. She bade the workers goodbye, and set off in the direction of Rodger's Department Store. Soon the store loomed over her. She entered, and worked straight towards the dress depart- ment. A young girl about the same age as Teresa was admiring one of the dresses. Teresa gazed thoughtfully at her, noticing how well dressed she was. Quite suddenly a woman appeared, dragging an unfortunate lad behind her. Come on, Shirley, we have to go home now, said the lady. The young girl looked up at her mother. Would you buy me a new dress to wear on my birthday? she asked. No, snapped the mother, you don't need a new dress. Hurry, we've got to go. But, mother, she pleaded. No, and she grabbed the girl by the wrist Please, begged the girl. Be quiet! shouted the mother, and all eyes turned on her. Flushed and angry, she left the scene as quickly as possible with her two children. Teresa shuddered. Her own mother would never shout at her like that, especially not in public. Teresa was thankful for the fact that she had a kind mother who praised her often, and never was angry with her-not even at home. Home! Lunch! Who would make lunch? Teresa dashed down the aisle, out of the store and down the street. Before she knew it, she was facing a small yellow house with pale green windows. The door was open, and Teresa sprinted up the steps. She closed the door, picked up the broom, and put it in the closet. She glanced at the clock. It was fifteen minutes to twelve. She began to prepare lunch. ELIZABETH WEBSTER-Grade IX

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16 Where am I? Marianne cried indignantly. What is this place? You're in a hospital, was the gentle reply. You've had a nasty experience. My legs, Marianne demanded, why won't they move? I'll get Doctor Harrison, the nurse said sympathetically. Why won't anyone tell me? Marianne wondered as the nurse left. She could hear the sure voice of the doctor outside her door. Jamie is fine, he explained, nothing to worry about. But, Marianne, he hesitated, won't be able to walk again without an operation. Won't walk again! She choked unbelievingly. How will I ever face my friends? Why, o why did this have to happen to me? Well, hello, young lady, and how are you feeling today? Feeling! Feeling! How can you ask me how I feel when you know? 'Never walk again,' you said. No need to feel sorry for yourself, he said firmly. There are lots of girls who will never be able to have an operation to walk. Think of them, and consider yourself lucky. Luckyl huh! she mumbled. It will be a long, hard fight but you can get to that wheelchair in no time. These thoughts reeled through her mind. Wheelchair! Lucky! Never walk again! and she fought back the tears. For three months no one could budge Mari- anne from her bed. Friends and family alike had an icy reception. One day, a fifteen-year-old girl with the tiniest limbs and warmest face ever seen was wheeled in. I don't want any visitors! Marianne snapped. Oh, I think you'll want this one, the nurse twinkled back. Marianne snatched one quick look and in- stantly every sympathetic instinct in her arose. Just the sight of this merry-eyed girl made her lose all interest in herself. From that moment Joy and Marianne were fast friends. Joy came every day and Marianne drew quickly out of her shell It was six months before she had her first trip in the wheelchair. This no longer meant confinement, but just the opposite. She was out of her room for the first time in nearly a year, and this was the final step before the operation which would enable her to walk once more. Her parents had saved every cent and the whole family had given all that was possible towards the operation. How will I ever pay them back?', she said one day to Joy, who would never walk again. Just the look on your face at your first step will be all the reward they'll want, was Joy's reply. Marianne pondered. My Hrst step! Just another month and my first step. I.eft with this comforting thought, she was alarmed when Jamie walked into the room, looking haggard. Jamie, what is it? Her heart leaped with the question. Slowly he poured out the story of their fatherls serious attack during the night. She could picture the pain on her father's face as he was carried out to the ambulance, and the look of shock on her mother's face as she suffered with her husband. He was in the operating room now and Marianne knew that all the money would go for her father's operation. Of course he will have the money, she said, proud to be able to give it to save her father- After all, if I've waited for one year, I can certainly wait a little longer. She reassured Jamie and when he left, she lay back and thought of the struggles of the past year with a calmness and tranquility which she had never known. She was glad to make the sacrifice, and would have done it a thousand times over to save a life. NANCY SMITH-Grade X The Best Place To Live Bah! not even running water in the place, grumbled city-bred Alan Barker as, cold and sleepy, he stamped through the only room of the ranger station in the Kootenays. He had been perfectly happy in his job at the Forest Con- servation Office, but he had been chosen to replace old Jim Walker who had been the ranger for twenty years. He had been told that if he did not like this new job, he could return as soon as they found another man. Since they were so short-handed, this might take some time. For Alan that could not be soon enough for he was obviously already bored with his new job al- though he had been there only twenty-four hours. And so it was that Alan was not in the sunniest of tempers as he stalked down the path to the spring in the grey light of a cool September dawn. The birds were up before him and two jays announced his coming with loud screeches. Noisy pests, muttered Alan.