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

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lucky symbol of -his tribe. When a lad, Joe had guarded her with his life. He would set her free in the hot summer evenings when they were camped lin the foothills and catch her in the dawn. She was an albino with large pink eyes, alert ears and a small head proudly placed on powerful shoulders. In the moonlight her lustrous coat shone. Her gleaming muscles rippled beneath her coat as she galloped across the foothills, her creamy tail and mane flowing out benind her. She was wild with freedom. Each year as winter set in he had had to leave 'her and depart for his winter lodgings in the mountains. When spring arived he would be racing down to the foothills to seek the mare. One beautiful spring when he was sixteen he felt nervous. The journey down was breathtaking. On each side of the path the underbrusih was thick. Large trees, with their leafy limbs lifted high, overlapped one another, forming arches. A frightened deer occasionally bounded across their trail. The children picked dainty flowers and wove them into scened garlands. The delicate vio- lets and buttercups were abundant and their fragrance perfumed the mountain air. It was hard work traversing the mountains with their belongings but there was always the anticipation of a soft bed of pine needles or lush grass beneath t-he stars. I looked into Joe's face and blinked away a tear as I saw this face - sad and yet full of eagerness and longing. He continued after a slight pause. He spoke of the mimicking loon and the hooting owl, the gurgling stream and the splash of rainbow trout. On the last stretch, the wood petered out into a rugged trail of jagged rocks and sharp turns. Sheer cliffs fell to the left and the menacing mountain rose to the right. Aval- anches occurred occasionally and when a care- less foot knocked a loose pebble it would be whirled over the edge in a swirl of dust to clatter to its doom. For one second one would remain rigid with fear and then pro- ceed cautiously. It was a rough beauty and soon the hardy tribe would wind its way down the treacherous slopes into the foot- hills to their summer camp. After helping his family to settle in and completing his tasks, he was roaming the valley looking for his mare. She was always there in the ravine awaiting his return. This year, she stood defiantly beneath the old knoted tree, her head lifted proudly. She whinnied softly as Joe patted her rump and she nuzzled at his shirt from which he pro- duced a tasty tidbit. She chewed it hungrily while Joe stood back to gaze at her. She was in the prime of her life. Her muscles twitched and she pawed the earth. Then she was off like the wind. Joe returned often, sometimes to ride her as she no longer ran with the Indian ponies but had joined a wild pack of renegades. Mid-summer, Joe arived with two lumps of sugar for Misty. The ravine was empty and there was no answering whinny to his whistle. He had ridden his own pinto but he was a sluggish pony. Just as he emerged from the ravine he caught sight of Misty racing across the valley towards the mountain trail and in hot pursuit were five riders shoot- ing and terrifying her. On impulse he urged his pinto into a gallop after Misty. He knew vaguely that he must save her but he would never catch her or her pursuers. Misty had begun to climb the treacherous mountain trail closely followed by the riders intent upon their prey. Joe swept past on his fat pony. In 'his eyes I could read the hatred and disgust he held for the five -chasers. I shrank from his stare and became engrossed once more. Misty's hooves scarcely touched the sur- faceg she was a winged Pegasus. Round each bend she swerved haphazardly, but panic and fear had overcome her and freedom was all she desired. Joe rounded a bend and stopped in time to see Misty swerve and leap into the sky's bosom, arched gracefully, mane and tail flowing out majestically and then she swooped earthward over the c1iff's to free- dom beyond. Joe sat shocked and then turned his pony home down the darkening trail. Five white men passed a sulky Indian lad on the trail. They stared at one another for a minute and they understood. The leader mumbled some- thing under his breath and they passed on. Joe rode home that evening, a boy no longer, but a man who must face the world. He stopped, and his eyes full of hatred looked into mine, and then I understood. It was my grandfather, now a man withered and bent with suffering, who had committed the dreadful deed of which he never spoke. And just as Joe saw my comprehension, I saw his smile of forgiveness. ELAINE WADHAM - Form V It took the world a decade, At least ten years to mould Her steadfast soul and body In pain and sorrow and joy. It took the world one day, An hour of despair to place The forlorn and weary look Upon the young girlis face. E. L. after E. J. Pratt DITTE LANSKY - Form VI Tlli1'fC1'n

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HOW T0 l05E FRIENDS The old saying, 'LA friend in need is a friend indeed, and Friendship is golden, are just fine for many people, but I often wonder what one is to quote if one doesn't want friends. I have yet to see a saying, poem or article on the art of losing friends - an art that is practised more and more each day. Feeling that such a common art should be given due recognition, I inked my feather, so to speak, and decided to write an article on the subject myself. The first major step to be taken is to be able to cling. Don't let your friend out of your sight. Wherever she goes, you go. Act like a vine and do not let go. Haunt her so that the last thing she sees when she goes to bed is you and the first person she sees when she wakes up in the morning is you. Just for added effect, copy her in dress, make-up, hair styles and activities. Stay with her all day, completely monopolizing her time and never take a get lost hint. Most of all, when she makes plans with someone else, get jealous. Be possessive and make a scene. Ac- cuse her of ignoring you. And don't take sec- ond place to anybody or anything. To take another step in the right direction, you must master the technique of smothering your friend with affection, gifts and praise. Lavish her with expensive presents and be sure she knows the cost. Maul her in -public and sulk if she won't play the best friends act and maul you too. Compliment her all the time, even if she is most undeserving of it. Boast about her to everybody. She will ap- preciate the public attention. You may find that some may need more attention than others and you must regulate your flow of tender loving care to fit the personality. If you cannot gossip. you may be a failure. How can you lose a friend if you don't tell all her intimate secrets to someone else? This brings me to what you should tell fher. Open your heart to her and let her know all your problems, secret worries and complaints. Cry on her shoulder often so that she will feel worried. And above all, be funny. Tell things to her all the time that you find particularly amusing and. if she does not laught, remem- ber -- we all cannot have a sense a humor. The last but important step towards losing a friend is to learn the proper method of em- barrassing her in public. Talking and laughing often does the trick ibut it sometimes takes a little more. You can try flirting, talking back to salesclerks, or singing while on the escalator and, if all else fails, shoplifting and getting caught does the trick every time. If all the above steps are taken and you still cannot lose that friend. forget it. You are just too nice. LAURA JOHNSTON - Form IV Tn r'l1'1 The Goclless Na tion Once we stood victorious ,proud, Praised by many an eye and crowdg We were sure, and strong, and wise, We were hated and despised. Honoured by all who served and loved. Cherished as that sacred dove. Strong nations fell into our way, Toppled from their mighty swayg Lords and princes all bowed down Paying homage to our crown, Dutifully the victims yield While we the victor rose. Now we struggle to survive, Now the hornets not the hive, Once unconquered, now we fall Yielding to another Saul, All our honour, love and praise Loom behind us in a haze. Moclcery besets us now, Unwilling we must slowly bow, Now we realize our act, Now we ponder the true fact, That in our time of strength and power God in us had died. JENNIFER COX - Form IV .THE PRICE of FREEDOM ana' MANHOOD I sat and watched Old Joe gently wheez- ing and staring intently into the fireg his sharp eyes piercing the eerie shapes formed by the jaunty crimson flames. He appeared to be enchanted by the crackling sparks and spiralling smoke reflected in his eyes, and yet I knew he was reliving the past. He would inevitably lapse into a favourite tale. The moon had risen, sending her silvery beams darting amongst forbidden recesses re- vealing night's mystery. Glittering stars care- fully sprinkled, illuminated the heavens and so we two sat silhouetted -against the sky. The fire by this time was reduced to glow- ing embers and I rose to add more wood. Glancing about, I noticed the lush meadow in which we had camped and the forbidding forests closing -us in. Close lby, our horses grazed and this seemed to jerk Joe's thoughts back to the present. His bronze face was weather-beaten and his dark eyes glowed with excitement. At first he spoke slowly and softly, but as the story progressed he be-came more involved and his emotions showed through the working of his face. He told of his early boyhood and life of which I knew something and of a magni- ficent mare which had been bred among their ponies and had soon after become a

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THE HORSELESS CARRIAGE The sun beat down on the dusty gravel road which led through town. The crowd which 'had gathered was hot and unco-mfort- able although a fresh, perfumed breeze cool- ed the air. The swish of long skirts along the wooden sidewalks was scarcely audible above the laughter of children. It was early twen- tieth century, and horse-drawn carriages were tethered at every availalble post. After all, this was the first time in years that there had been a competition, ia race, in the quaint, sleepy Tethertown. Everyone was excited. 'I'll wager two dollars on the horse and carriage, offered an elderly shopkeeper. 'tl shall double that amount for the car, replied his fat, domineering wife, giving her husband a sharp poke in the ribs with her elbow. In front of the post office at the end of town stood a chestnut mare, harnessed to a light buggy. A plump, elderly man, in a t-op hat and dark suit, stroked the horse's n e c k fondly and chuckled. Give in, son, the gentleman laughed. You don't have a chance! Mr. Lyndale's son stood nearby, polishing the already brilliant chrome bumper on his car. It was la small car with large, thin wheels and high, uncomfortable seats. She's my pride and joy, Harold Lyndale answered, patting the windshield. Her for- mer owner assured me that she would never fail me. Why, he was almost in tears when I took her away. Again Mr. Lyndale chuckled. Will the contestants please get ready, an announcer bellowed from his seat neanby. A fair young lady picked up her skirts and trotted lightly to her husband. She wore a beautiful pastel pink dress land a large, wide- brimmed hat decked with frills and flowers. Are you sure this monster isn't danger- ous, Harold? she asked, drawing in her flowing skirt. Harold kissed his wife gently on the cheek. On your mark! called the announcer. Harold ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair and adjusted his large, comical goggles. Get set! LSGOYY7 He turned and gave his car a firm, swift crank. A blast of stale air exploded from the back of the car. His father's horse, startled, 1 0'l!l'fCCIl reared and -bolted. The carriage sped into the distance with only Mr. Lyndale's coat-tails visible, flapping in the cloud of dust. Harold cranked anxiously. What a time for his car to fail him! He could feel the mocking eyes of the crowd 'watching him. He glanced around. He saw bright, shiny faces peering at him from long lines along the street, and grinning at him from above. I'l1 catch up! he shouted shaking his fist at the cloud of dust rolling in front of him. He cranked again. His grease-smeared fingers slipped over the handle, and left a large black smear across the gleaming bum- per. Would he ever forget the day he had bought his car home? He had driven up the road in triumph. Dogs had barked, and chil- dren had run along-side. His wife had dashed out to meet him, ther face beaming. Then came the shattering blow! Having sighted the tin can as he called it, his father had burst into gales of laughter, and had had to be helped -into the house. Then, to make matters worse, he had challenged his son to a race with his horse and carriage. If the car won, there fwas a hands-ome money prize. If it lost, as he now felt it was sure to, the car was to be sold. Harold cranked again,.. as. .ifxhe fwere knocking down his opponent. A loud blast, and the car began to chug, and shook vio- lently. He hopped over the door, and smoothed his fuzzy moustache -with this black, grimy hands. Then he pushed the gear stick forward. What a jolt he got! He lurched down the road. On either side, the crowd snickered softly, and ladies hid their smiling faces be- hind their lacy lparasols. The simple, white- washed fences passed in endless lines beside him. Even the small, two-storey 'houses seemed to lean forward in wonder. He pas- sed all the tiny shops which cluttered Main Street, and came to open country with the dazzling yellow mustard fields. He must have travelled about two miles before he saw the finish line. There stood his father gloating, grinning triumphantly, and giving his winning mare a carrot. lt was such a nice car, Harold sighed, feeling very abashed as he putted slowly across the line. Bouquets of flowers fluttered about him. From playful children's hands shot brightly coloured streamers. All around him birds sang and insects hummed. Harold felt gay, although the streamers were not for him, but his father.