Brandon Collegiate Institute - New Era Yearbook (Brandon, Manitoba Canada)

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14 THE NEW ERA Second Prize Classic Vivienne Greaves Honorable Mention Classic Peggy Wallace The New Era staff sincerely thank the judges of the contests: Miss E. M. McLeish, Art; Mrs. A. H. Foster, Literary; and Mr. R. Ghidoni, Photography. literary Contest First Prize Short Story, Grade X, by Henry Hlady THE OLD GREY MARE I believe the horse that suffers the most abuse, the one that most wise-cracks are made about, is the old grey mare. I must confess that I too was a guilty party to these jokes and jibes until I met an old grey mare. After that meeting I have never uttered one word that would insult a horse of any kind. You ask me why? Well, I’ll tell you. It happened when I was visiting my Uncle on his farm at Castown, Alberta. Uncle and I were leaning on the top rail of his pasture gate watching his horses graze. I notic¬ ed among the horses, an old grey mare.. I didn’t know how old she was, hid she certainly looked as if she would drop dead any time. The hair on her hide was seraggly, thin, worn off in places. Her knees were great knobs of hone that stuck hornily out. Her hoofs were cracked and curled. Her ribs

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THE NEW ERA First Prize Classic—Maurice Ryles

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THE NEW ERA 15 stuck out so that a person had no difficulty to count them. Her mouth was flabby, her ears floppy, and as she moved slowly about she limped badly. Turning to my Uncle who was calmly puffing away on his pipe, l spoke. “Uncle Tom, why are you keep¬ ing that grey horse?” Uncle Tom, after a moment’s hesitation, answered, “Oh, just keepin’ her.” “But look, Uncle,” I said, “She’s ready to drop. Why don’t you put her away, shoot her or some¬ thing?” My Uncle did not reply for quite awhile, and I could see that I had spoken out of turn. I had hurt his feelings. I saw his lips tremble, the cords in his neck vibrate, his eyes become misty, and he held on to his pipe so tightly the knuckles of his hand gleamed white. His puffing became faster and deeper as if he were trying to still some inward emotion. By his actions I knew I had touched a tender spot and I wished that I had not spoken. Presently he spoke, and his voice wasn’t as steady as usual. “That’s Molly, lad,” he said, “going on to thirty-three. Yep, thirty-three, next spring. Thirty- three and six months on the day me and maw celebrate our thirty- third weddin’ anniversary. You see we started life together with love, hope, and a six-month-old colt; the colt was Molly.” He relit his pipe which had gone out, and continued. “We shared our troubles to¬ gether, me, maw, and Molly. Everywhere, we used to go, we went with Molly: to church, to picnics, to celebrations. I rode her to represent King William at an Orange meet here once. She seemed to know it and no horse ever pranced better, lifted its head higher, or looked prouder than Molly did that day. I’ll never for¬ get when me and her went to fetch the doctor, the night Mary was born.. It was raining heavy and had been for some time, and when we got back, with the doc that ravine, in front of the house, was running nigh onto four feet of water, hut Molly never even hesi¬ tated. She just kept on a goin’. She got us acrost. She seemed to know what was happening.” finale was talking calmly now with a faraway look in his eyes; his pipe was out again hut he didn’t seem to notice. “When the children were small,” he continued, “they used to take Molly to go to school. One day they were racing the neighbor’s children home. They approached the railway and Molly stopped and wouldn’t go across of her own accord. About twenty seconds later the express came. I’d of not be¬ lieved it, hut Tom Jackson was there when it happened.” “I remember-” His words were cut short by Aunt Julie calling for him. “I guess I’d better go see what maw wants,” he said, starting for the house. “Uncle Tom,” I called after him. “Yes, lad.” “I’m sorry that I, er, er—” “Forget it, son, no harm done.” He started again for the house and as I gazed at his retreating form, his shock of white hair, gleaming in the sun, I knew he could tell me a lot about why he was letting that mare die of old age. I turned towards the old mare and it seemed to me that her old form took on a different appear¬ ance. I pictured her straight of limb, deep of chest, with her proud head held high and mane and tail