Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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26 The Branksome Slogan Number Seventeen ' ' Number Seventeen; Seventeen next! As the voice rang through the crowded cabin of the lines, a slight, blond man stepped eagerly up to the official ' s desk. He was one of the many Norwegian refugees who were coming over to Canada to start life anew. They were given numbers to make it easier for the officials to check their papers. When he reached the desk the usual questions were asked: ' ' Name. Carl Norburg. Birth place. Bergen, Norway. Destination. Alberta, Canada. May I see your papers, please? While the official looked through his papers. Number Seventeen, alias Car] Norburg, turned and looked out a porthole. The ship had just docked at Queibec. He looked with interest upon the quays bustling with activity and at the old buildings which rose above them. He thought how different it looked from the streets of Bergen, many of which were made impassable by piles of rubble still to be cleared away. He thought of the pictures he had seen of the acres and acres of grain which grew so abundantly on the prairies. Then he pictured the fields surrounding Bergen, bare and desolate, dotted here and there with the rusty remains of war machines — machines which had been used in the war in which he had fought, the war in which he had lost everything that was dear to him, his family and his home. The picture of that terrible day when the Germans came was still very clear in his mind. It had been a bright sunny day. Carl had gotten up as usual to do the chores around the farm. He had been pitching hay down to the cattle in the bam when suddenly his neigh- bour burst in. Carl, quickly! quickly! We must flee! he cried. The Germans are coming and taking all able-bodied men tO ' work in their factories. Get your wife and son, and hurry ! We are going to the mountains ! Carl did not need a second warning. He ran intoi the house and told his wife, Nora, and son, Olaf, what had happened. In ten minutes they had made a bundle of essentials and the three started off quickly across the fields towards the mountains. They were soon joined by other people from the farms near-by.

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The Branksome Slogan 25 his coat. I know, now, that it was this sound which unnerved me. For the first time I felt fear. Who was this man? What was in the mysterious bundle he carried? But I knew nothing could happen in the crowded restaurant. The voice of the radio pierced the haze of my thoughts, . . . still at large. Please watch for this man; he will stop at nothing! Music again. I could feel the man looking at me. ' ' Afraid? he asked quietly. ' ' No, I answered. No, I tried to convince myself, I am not afraid; just uncertain, just uncertain . . . It said he was dangerous . The man across from me was breathing audibly. At last the waiter came. He handed me a menu and left. I Riding Enthusiasts stared at the cardboard, trying to concentrate. This was not normal. Nothing could happen, nothing. The print of the menu danced before my eyes. The radio — someone was turning the dial — the deep voice was heard again. Only snatches of it came through to me. I repeat, the man is tall, dark . . . about forty . . . dangerous killer ... I glanced at the stranger. He was staring at me. I started to hand him the menu. I had to stop his staring ... I had to! The voice of the announcer came back. . . . easily identified, having a large birthmark on the back of his right hand. The rnan across from me was staring at my hand on the menu now — at the huge birthmark on the back of my right hand . . . MARION WALLACE, Form II.

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The Branksome Slogan 27 About halfway up the mountain there was a collection of small caves in which it was decided to live until better shelter could be found. The men took turns in hunting for food. When Carl ' s turn came, he left early in the morning- with two other men. When they returned at night, they were surprised to find no fire burning.. A feel- ing of dread filled Carl ' s heart as he ran towards the cave where Nora and Olaf lived. A soft cry escaped his lips as he gazed into the cave. By the light of the pale moon he could see Nora and Olaf lying on the ground, bullet-holes through their heads. One of the other men who had been with him came to him after inspecting the whole camp. There was not a living person left. The Germans had killed all the women and children and taken away the men. The two surviving men and Carl joined a Guerilla band. Carl stayed with the band for five long years; but as soon as the war was over, he returned to Bergen, and waited there until he could get a passage for Canada. . . . The voice of the official cut in on his thoughts. Silently he re- ceived his passports, picked up the few bags he had and went out onto the deck. There before him was a free country, a country where a man could live his own life without an oppressor. Slowly Number Seventeen shouldered his bags and walked down the gang- plank towards his new home, a home where he could start a new life knowing that he would be among friends until death. Lunch Hour PAT MARRINER, Form 11.