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

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7 5lGN.6 T5 N -- po-17 CU5 C:---I U12 f y Jimi , li if LIYIEYUIKY M 'E'omorrow's Life It had a black dust-covered jacket and was wedged between two much more in- viting and attractive looking books.. Being a lover of all books, I snatched it from its inconspicuous position and examined the small white letters contrasted with the dis- mal black background. Tomorrow's Life. Sounds damn weird, I mumbled, saunter- ing down the great stone stairway gazing at the mysterious volume. A new book to me is like a life unlived and the anticipation before living it is overwhelming. At last, stretched out on a roll-away bed in my single-room apartment, I began the most curious adventure I have ever exper- ienced. It was a well-written book and inter- ested me intensely from the opening para- graph. After two hours of uninterrupted reading, nothing unusual in my book- worm life, I began to get an extremely peculiar feeling about Carl Steegerson, the main character in the book. The author developed a unique picture of a man, each new detail introduced at a crucial moment, and yet, he left mysteries about the charac- ter strong enough to arouse the reader's curiosity instinctively and to keep his thirst- ing for more knowledge about the strange individual. I had never liked negroes before but the description of this man, even to the last detail of his appearance, appealed to me most unbelievingly. I truly like the fel- H- :vo 22 'S So. E Q5 BEL 'S f'I' B ER: 152 -'T'-i FV 92 :s N U7 2 sc 5 m. ET Q2 With a loud gasp, my mouth fell open and I rudely shoved a young woman aside in my struggle to reach the back of the bus. I had spied my mind's image of Carl Steeger- son gazing demurely out of the side win- dow. The rich tone of his dark skin, smoothed by a life outdoors, the chalky white teeth I knew would be there if he smiled, the ebony black hair, not tightly curled, but waved, the high brow, giving him an arrogant look so rare in darkies, all formed an invaluable part of the figure lur- ing rne to him. Two stops later the man arose, eyeing me suspiciously as my gaze had not left him since I appeared. After his departure, I chided myself for letting a good book catch me in its spell, but I could not help thinking about . . . about Tomor- row's Life. i' f i I flicked the collar of my trench coat up around my neck and lit a cigarette. As I had been reading all evening, the crisp night air was refreshing and my thoughts wan- dreed to the latest adventures of Carl Stee- gerson. How could his wife, about whom he centred his whole existence, be so heart- less as to desert him? Didn't she know that he loved her more than the world? I could not help marvelling at the author's convin- cing style for I was really living the fellow's life with him. Suddenly I was jerked back

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THE PREFECTS Marged Thomas, Maureen Brooks, Jean Hamilton, Joan Sellers, Susan Riley tSports Captainb, Jane Moody, Jane McDiarmid, Carol Albertsen, Joanne Sutherland fHead Girlb, Dorothea Dempster, Linda Leach tSchool Calptainl, Judith Quinn, Irene Huebert, Carol Swindell. OUR NEW UNIFORM 1 9 0 1 - Grandmother wore a blouse and long skirt, and her long hair was neatly tied back with a very large black bow. 1931 - Mother wore a green tunic if she attended Rupert's Land or a grey tunic if her School was Riverbend. 1950 - With the amalgamation, Rupert's Land contributed the style of your present tunic, and Riverbend the colour, but this issue of the magazine contains the last picture of the tunic and introduces our new uniform. 1 9 6 3 f- What could be a more appropriate uniform for Balmoral Hall with its Scottish name, than a kilt? A kilt it is. Iune 1963 My dear Girls, May it be a sunny day on Tuesday, September 10th when I welcome you in your kilt, white blouse, and green blazer. It will be a history-making day in the annals of Balmoral Hall and I extend a special invitation to those Of you who are graduating, to be with us that morning, or to send your greetings if you cannot be present. As the School year draws to an end some of you are already thinking of the holidays ahead, while others are thinking of the approaching examinations. Many of you Seniors are realizing that you have reached the top of the school ladder and must soon step, with confidence I hope, on the lower approaches of a new climb. If Meliora Petens has meant something to you, the road will nearly always be up hill, but you will keep on, and so will we. To you who are leaving I bid God-speed, and to all a very happy summer. Affectionately yours,

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8 to reality, for under the nearest lamppost a dark figure lingered, head lowered, staring fixedly at the rough pavement. As I neared the lamppost, my heart stopped beating momentarily as I stared in terror at the face so familiar to my thoughts with a damp curl of raven black hair sticking to the lined forehead. The face, calm and unruffled be- fore, was now a wall, holding back pent-up grief and sorrow. I watched his facial fea- tures tighten and then erupt in fury when, with a swift movement which startled me, the eerie figure flung to the pavement a tiny object that he clutched in his dark fingers, and then, turning, disappeared into the sha- dows of a worn and decrepit building. The object spun on the uneven surface, whirled around, and rolled to within a few inches of my motionless feet. I dropped my eyes and stared blankly at the gold wedding ring. W 'A' 'A' The bus swerved, reeled, hit the curb, and, with a blast of air escaping from the left front tire, collapsed heavily, completely demolishing one entire side of the vehicle. I turned the page. The last few paragraphs completed the story of Carl Steegerson, re- lating his painless death as a passenger on the fatal side of the bus. Of course I knew my spontaneous fear was preposterous, but my liking for the handsome darkie, the cause of my anguish, overpowered my sane judgement. I could not obliterate his face imprinted on my mind. 'k i' 'lr I climbed the great stone stairway with the black book under my arm. Suddenly, on impulse, I turned and craned my neck to see the Greyhound bus which had stopped opposite the libarary. My eyes scanned rapidly the distinctively different heads a- long the window. Not a familiar face. Dis- missing my fears as superstitious absurdity, I turned but wheeled about again to con- firm my fleeting glimpse of a dark man running toward the bus. I opened my mouth to shout, but no sound came and I help- lessly watched the image of Carl Steeger- son step onto the bus, panting, but smiling at his good fortune in catching it. The sink- ing feeling in my stomach was hard to explain, and, as my gaze followed the ve- hicle into the perils of fastamoving traffic, I wondered . . . about Tomorrow's Life. SUSAN RILEY-Grade XI Award-winning Story-Senior Literary Competition Peace Peace can be the lapping of waves at sunset, The waving grass in a mountain meadow, Or the close darkness and stars of night, A walk through a wood in fall With leaves fluttering . . . Peace reigns in the ruins of Delphi, Where cypress trees whisper, The donkey bells tinkle, And the water trickles down through rocks. And the majesty of stone stands unconquered: But true peace Lies within the heart. J AN E' MOODY-Grade XI Award-Winning Poem -Senior Literary Competition Under the Brooklyn Sun The Brooklyn sun seems to favour Cres- centville Drive. Perhaps this is because this wooded drive is the better district of town, for its rays certainly never slant down into the shabby houses of Hudson Street. In this dark gloomy section of the town lived the Waldens. They were not quite so fortunate as their namesakes on Crescent- ville Drive: instead of living in a leisurely way in a grey colonial mansion, they spilled over in a two room home: this Mrs. Wailden wore, not a blue shantung suit from Saks, but a clean cotton dress, scrambled for in Handy Andy's basement sale. The lives of these two families were in a different mould. In fact they had only two things in common: each had a nine-year-old son, Iohnny-and each had to suffer a precious loss this Mon- day morning. Why? Why? First give me one good reason, demanded Iohnny in the most fre- quent tone of voice. He turned angrily to the negro maid who was preparing the cheese souffle for lunch. Beth-Mom will be home soon, eh? In time to stop them, won't she? asked Iohnny, suggesting rather a command than a question. Yes-and-stop- bothering-me, was the curt answer. Her request was futile, for Iohnny called to her attention to the doorbell. Beth let in two men wearing clean white jackets. They stopped politely in the front hall to remove their hats and then outlined their job briefly. They were not inexperienced and knew that their task must be done quickly. They found the whimpering beagle in a dark corner of the basement. His dark