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

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Someday I 'll Smile They said he had died, But I was with him only yesterday, Surely they had lied! I remember eyes, Blue as a summer sky, twinkling, gay. Our tender good-byes. He'd write me he said As he kissed me farewell, but now I must Write of him.' he's dead. The words mock me now, But in some future hour, Iill think of fun, The trip in the scow, The day at the lake, Or other adventures of the summer And smile for his sake. J UDITH DOWLER - Form VI THE HA UNTING MEI ODY One warm, summer evening an old lady strolled through the park enjoying the quiet. Violet, which was the 1ady's name, loitered on the paths to enjoy the sweet smell of the blooming roses. The crickets chirped con- ten-tedly in the nearby pond. The park was peaceful that evening. She walked on until she came to the fork of the path. Between the -two paths was an old signpost. To the left the sign read, The Fairies' Garden. The other sign pointing to the right path read, t'The Fairies' Palace of Music. Ah, the old bandstand brings back so many memories, she said as she reached it. When I was young the rustic pillars were decked with flowers, she said to herself. The circle held the band and some dancers too, s-he stated. Dreamy waltzes held the people spellbound. Oh those were the days! she exclaimed. Now thewpaint is peeled, the floor too weak to dance on, and the sides broken and ugly. Sadly she whispered, Those days are over! Only sweet memories are left to replace the music and merrimentf' Suddenly the clear sad notes of a violin gently disturbed the silence. Violet, thinking that she imagined it, began to dance to the music with an imaginary partner. Suddenly she stopped. The music was real! Who played the violin? she asked herself. Silence, then a rustle of leaves, and Violet saw an old man hurrying away. She did not see his face as he fled. Puzzled, she walked home, promis- ing to return the next evening. The next evening Violet returned to the old bandstand to find out who had played the violin for her. Did I hear footsteps? she asked herself. Bent double, she concealed herself behind a bush near the bandstand. Strains of beautiful violin music filled the warm air. Now the tune changed from a waltz to 'Beautiful Dreamer. Freddy, she cried, Come to me! Vio1et! he cried. t'Oh, that's our favourite tunej' she said. t'Yes, the tune played at our engagement, he replied, and at our party afterwards here. Freddy, you went to sea and were said to have been shipwrecked near Africa, she cried. Dear, I am back now, for you, for ever. They were married in a month. Now when- ever they have company, Freddy plays the Beautiful Dreamer, the haunting melody. DONNA ROGERS - Form I A BIRD BEGAN T0 SING Mr. Hodges looked at his watch again. It was seven forty-five. The rain poured down, forming small pools of water at his feet. That morning was dreary and Mr. Hodges felt de- pressed. Even the air seemed drab, for a thin, grey fog had settled. Tall, bleak skele- tons of trees towered above the bench where he was sitting. A sigh escaped him. He was tired and the last thing he wanted to do was to go to work. Today he would go to work, tomorrow he would go to work, and for ages after that he would go. His eyes brightened for an instant. Today he would wait for Miss Valour and walk with her to the office. He was sure she liked him, for she smiled at him every morning when he came into the office. Sitting up a little, he tightened his hold on the umbrella. His face darkened as he thought, But what if she doesn't like me? For no one except Miss Valour ever smiled at him. He remembered the time he had heard two other employees talking about him. Mr. Hodges is an awfully quiet chap, re- marked one. It is a wonder he doesn't fade away, laughingly remarked the other. He grew sullen as he remembered. Frown- ing he mused to himself, I do hope she likes me? Just then he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Why, hello Mr. Hodges, a friendly voice said. He looked up, smiling, and said, Hello, are you going to the office? Now where would I be going on a day like this? There is hardly even a bird to be found out in this weather, she said laugh- ingly. Srrenlr

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rodent friend. We deeply feared he was of heathen inclination. Suddenly there was a crash as one of the offering plates fell dur- ing the collection, and we turned around to see the cause of the commotion. But, Tom's reactions were different. Startl-ed by the noise, he wormed his way out of Carol's pocket. He dropped to the floor with a thud. Free he ran, squeaking frantically down the aisle. Too late, Carol realized what had hap- pened. Dismayed and helpless, she looked at us. What could she do? A sharp tap on her shoulder made her turn around to meet the furious eyes of the prefect -in charge. What on earth do you think you're do- ing? she hissed. Carol was speechless. She was saved an ex- planation by the girl's curt command. '!Catch the horrid beast, for heaven's sake! We watched helplessly as poor Carol scrambled down the aisle after Tom. She put the poor animal into her pocket and sat down. The rest of the service was endured in great discomfort. We knew that serious trouble awaited us. The group of girls that returned to the school was a very downcast one. Gone was our enjoyment of the crisp air and clear sunshine. We were all silent and gloomy. Carol was sent up to the Prefects' sitting- room. We sat, awaiting her return. When we heard her running down the stairs, we looked at one another, fingers crossed. Carol's words erased the gloom in the room as the first rays of sunshine clear away the mist after a storm. We can keep himll' We gaped at her unbelievingly. The sharp ring of the dinner-bell cut the silence. Strage to have a common thing like a dinner- bell end such an exciting morning! JENNIFER Weiss - Form II Death Your six white stallions and rich black coach Glide between the gates of fate, Silently stealing through the dark of night Kidnapping weary souls and encouraging hate. Towards the gates they wing their way Judgment passed, they turn each face To the eternal kingdom where love reigns Or to the fiery domain of hell's race. We fear their breath so cola and deadly Which impregnates the very air, For their presence is ever near us Reminding us of our short life, though fair. O Death, linger not upon my threshold! Get thee hence - Thou art too bold. ELAINE WADHAM s r M Y LORD BISHOP On Sunday afternoon, Father appeared with a very important announcement. Children, he said, we are going to have the privilege of entertaining a very dis- tinguished guest in our home on Friday. His nam-e is Bishop Reindorp who is the bishop of Guildford in Surrey, England. Furthermore, he has demanded that all the children be present! Shivers came through us as we listened to these last words. The lbishop had com- manded us to fbe present! As the week passed, all I could think of was our guest who was comfing on Friday for dinner. What was he like? Why had he com- manded us to be present? Perhaps he was comparing Canadian clergy's children to those of English clergy! In my mind, I built up a picture of the bishop. He was a towering figure of over six feet. His hair was a mottled white. His eyes were a cold, steel grey. When they met mine, they seemed to pierce right through me, and I knew that he could tell everything that was going on in my mind. Like many English- men, he carried a cane which he tapped continuously. His voice frightened me. It was hard and cold, and it echoed throughout the house. , As , the Q3 great, . day -grew-5 nearerfrthe figure haunted me. ' Finally the dreaded moment came, when Bishop Reindorp arrived. Mother and Father greeted him warmly and ibrought him in to meet the trembling triibe. When I saw the bishop, I was dumb- founded. All I could do was stare open- mouthed. Is there something the matter, my dear? came the rich voice of the bishop. The family laughed, and I blushed, rea- lizing how ridiculous I must have looked. I stuttered a reply. UN-No, sir, I-I am fine, thank you. When looking at the kind Visage of the bishop which bore a friendly, warm smile and clear, understanding eyes, I had to laugh to myself as I remembered the severe face and steel, grey eyes of my bishop. It was plain to see that my lord adored children, as he sat telilng stories and jokes, his eyes sparkling. Father informed us later that this was the reason for our ordered presence. As the most wonderful evening of my life drew to a close, I breathed a sigh of relief as I thought of how miserable it would have been if Umy bishop had come to visit. JANE HARRISON - Form II

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Do you mind if I join you? he asked earnestly. Of course not, she replied. They walked together for a while, each thinking about different things. I certainly hope Mr. Grenville is in a good mood today, said Miss Valour after a long silence. Mr. Grenville was the manager. He was a large man and loved to talk, especi- ally about himself. He loved to tell others how he had worked himself to the top. Suddenly a car came to an abrupt halt by the curb, spraying Mr. Hodges with water. Would you like a lift? Mr. Grenville asked Miss Valour, coldly ignoring Mr. Hodges. No, thank you, Mr. Grenville, replied Miss Valour pleasantly. Mr. Grenville's face flushed with irritation and his manner became menacing. Are you sure? he said, and opened the car door. Mr. Hodge's face became pale as he waited. Yes, thanksg we prefer to walk, he heard Miss Valour say. Mr. Grenville eyed the two, shut the car door noisily, and drove off. Mr. Hodges though to himself, She did not want a ride, even though it is raining! He looked at her and they both smiled. At that moment it seemed that the rain stopped, the fog lifted, and a bird began to sing. ANN TOWNSEND - Form III Spiders These are my friends, these spindly spiders, Eminent enemies, excellent hiders, Is it they who of pests my bedroom do rid. These silent stalkers, I watched where they hid. In wispy webs where ants are threshing, And floundering flies are caught in the meshing, This fly-catching friend is feeding the birds. In cocoons of silk his dinner he girds. With treacherous teeth sunk deep into flesh, The deep scarlet blood on their limbs is fresh. They waste not their time when waiting to kill, I watched every scene from my window sill. In cobwebby corners where hide the small fishers I seem to be their only well-wishers, For if mopping maids walk into a thread Of unseen stickiness-Swish! The spider is dead. ELIZABETH HAWORTH - Form I Eighteen YOUNG HUNTER Well, Peter, would you like to go? his father inquired absently. Do you really mean it, Dad? Peter cried eagerly. I certainly do, his father said. I think fourteen is old enough to go on a hunting trip. With the discussion ended, Mr. Martin settled -back into his deep, comfortable chair. The curls of smoke from his pipe almost looked as if they were being inhaled 'by the mounted grizzly bear head above A moose and several deer heads with magnifi- cent, antlers were hanging on either side of the huge trophy. A skilled taxidermi-st had prepared them, and their life-like counten- ances gave the room an eerie atmosphere. Peter, returning to his book, On Safari, was lying stretched out on the rug -in front of the fire. The flames crackled merrily on the hearth, casting a red glow on his intent face. His attention was drawn to the swirling mass of flame, and as he gazed into it, his imagina- tion took possession of him. He saw himself on the African veldt, aiming a large elephant gun at a crouching tiger. His finger squeezed the trigger, the huge beast dropped, and he was lifted on to the shoulders of a grateful tribe. In the next few days Peter's brain teemed with plans for the trip. After much deliber- ation he chose a place to hang the head of the deer he was going to shoot. He was deter- mined to have as many trophies to be proud of as his father had. A deer or two th-is season . . . perhaps a grizzly when he became more experienced. That would certainly give him a good start. Already he could visualize the plaques mounted on the wall! To his sur- prise and delight, his father presented him with a gun of his own. Faithfully every morn- ing he went out to practise. How absolutely mortifying it would be if he missed the game on the trip! Peter was sure his father would never again take him along if he made a blunder like that! The day of the trip dawned clear and cold in the November sky. The trees, bared of their leaves, stood stark and grey. Peter and his father, loaded with equipment, set off into the woods. The snapping of twigs and crunch- ing of leaves broke the stilhiess of the forest as they trudged on their way. Then, approach- ing deer country, they became more cautious, and spoke only in whispers. p One morning, while they were stalking the woods searching for deer tracks, Mr. Martin stopped suddenly, motioning to Peter to do