Broadview High School - Beam Yearbook (Broadview, Saskatchewan Canada)

Page 45 text:

strangely enough, seemed to be that of a female. Not wishing to fight a female that I could not even see, I dropped my rifle and stopped. From out of the jungle stepped a dark-haired, brown-skinned native girl, clad in a red cloth outfit trimmed with flowers. She spoke English and told me that I was on a small island in the South Pacific. She said it was inhabited by no one except her tribe of beautiful native girls. If I was dreaming, I never wanted to be awakened. Unfortunately an American troop ship landed there a week later and I was again in the war. —Dale Laird, Grade XII. WINTER WONDERS A Canadian year would not be complete without the winter season, although it is considerably longer than required. Some mystic and sometimes awesome scenes of this season are the first frost, snow, hoar frost and icicles which contribute much to¬ wards the granduer of winter. First, as quickly as a flash, the first frost cf winter descends upon us. Over night, tree leaves become many different brilliant colors. Rivers, creeks, sloughs and lakes cover up with a smooth, enticing film of crystal clear ice. This thickness increases until finally many sports may be carried out on it. The first frost has been nicknamed Old Jack Frost. Shortly after, a carpet of soft, fluffy-white sncw is dumped on the expanse of our land. With the sun shining on this sheet, a fairy land of diamonds is produced. The weather is nippy, and consequently cheeks are rose-tinged with health, happiness, and vigor. In certain years snow is abundantly piled in drifts and blown about in fierce blizzards. The snow is blown, rolled up into snowmen, and dug in. This soft, billowy disguise is worn by our country for more months of the year than any of the other seasons. Another bewitching scene of winter is hoar frost. Hoar-frost is white frost or frozen dew. With the rise of the sun in the background, a phenomenon is produced which is cherished by people from Europe. This setting reminds them of the fruit blossoms cn trees in their old country. For those who have never seen this contrast, hoar-frost is the exotic jewellery worn by sleeping trees. Of course, like many things, hoar-frost can also be very destructive. Next in line, during a slight rise and fall of temperature, is the icicle. Usually these are circular, pin-point objects so often used for children’s swords and to in¬ scribe writing in the snow. After an extremely warm winter day, icicles may be formed in gigantic proportions by a snappy zero spell of weather. These mammoth icicles make designs worthy of praise from even an architect, because of their original and varied shapes. For the majority, winter is a time of sports, picturesque patterns, and a cooling-off period. —Vivian Brown, Grade X. THE TRUTH ABOUT SANTA Is he, or is he not real? Is he just a figure of ima¬ gination? The answer is yes, but little does it matter. The fact that he has brought happiness and joy to thousands of little children, of all countries, colours, and religions throughout the world, makes him the most well-beloved man ever known. Every nationality has its own name for him, but they all mean the same. He has been known as Chris Cringle, Father Christmas, and Santa Claus. To children he is portrayed as a jolly, little, fat man with rosy cheeks and a nose like a cherry. He is a per¬ son that laughs all the time; he is always happy, but never sad. He is clothed in red and black, with his long white whiskers and hair adding color to his costume. He comes to us in a tiny, heavily-laden sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer; the most famour reindeer, of course, is Rudolph. Out of his big brown bag comes the wonder and excitement which awaits every boy and girl on Christmas mom. Many songs and poems have been written about this jolly, little old fellow, and stories have been told the world over about the wonderful deeds he has done. He has lived, and will live, for many years to come, and he will be known by children forever. —Sherry Carnahan, Grade IX.

Page 44 text:

sitting on the mashed potatoes when he waved his hand at me. I knew he would not hit me because if he did he would ruin the potatoes. I just sat there and polished my glasses and cleaned my fingernails. I could see he was getting angry, and when I looked up there was a flash of green coming toward me. I flew to the right, then to the left and up I went. There was a crash behind me, and when I looked back over my shoulder the potato bow] and the potatoes were lying on the floor. Humans are idiots if you ask me. For example, they build beautiful ceilings, and then walk on the floor. —Blaine Norton, Grade X. DAY IS DONE The sunset was unbelievably beautiful that night. As we sat on the dock over¬ looking the lake, the colours we saw made our hearts thrill inside us. Great shafts of golden light illuminated the lake water till it sparkled like a multi-coloured jewel. As the red circle sank deeper and deeper into the rosy depths of the west, it seemed to set ablaze the fringes of clouds peeping over the silhouetted pines on the lake shore. The space left after the sun descended was like a nest of glowing embers shot with bars of dying flame. The heart of the nest was a deep scarlet, blending into orange, streaked by yellow streamers. Chartruese softened into the deepening blue of the heavens. The lacy clouds were as crocheted embroidery of gold behind the black pines. As the colours softened, they seemed to achieve a fairyland-like quality. We stared, satisfying our souls till night snuffed out the last ember of the sight. Above us, the evening star winked a benediction. —May Edwards, Grade XI. NO DREAM As I swam toward shore pushing my tiny raft, the blue-green water began to feel warmer and warmer lapping against my face. My “raft” was a part of the ship’s deck, which I had found floating near me after the explosion. If there were any survivors besides myself, I could not see them. All that was visible to me was a few pieces of wreckage bobbing in the water and the island which seemed to be miles away. I do not know how long I had been in the water clinging to this all too small raft of wood, but I do know it was late at night when the bomb hit, and now it was almost daylight. I had been lying in my bunk looking up at the bunk above me and thinking how nice it would be to be back in Saskatchewan playing football again. Then I could hear the scream of a jet fighter, the whistle of dropping bombs and chattering of machine gun fire. The boys upstairs with the machine guns and anti-aircraft did not have a chance to do much fighting back. I remember the sergeant telling us to get out of the sleeping quarters and to launch the life-boats. We were on deck carrying our rifles and packs when the ship seemed to break in half and go out from under us. The shelling and gunfire stopped and I can remember no more until I found myself in the water holding a life-saving piece of the deck. I still had my rifle and field pack, so I loaded them on the raft and rested as well as I could in my very wet environment. The ship had long since gone down and everything was quiet save for the lapping of the tiny waves against my raft. I do not know how I found this piece of wood in the night or how I had managed to hold on this long, but now I had to get to shore before the enemy planes came back to check on their night’s work. The island was now only a hundred yards away and soon I was able to walk in the shallow water and push the raft with my rifle butt. I was not sure that I would not be shot down by a sniper on the island, but I was too tired to care. When I reached the dry sand I fell with exhaustion and slept. It must have been almost noon when I awoke, because the sun was high overhead. The first thing I thought of was food. I was so hungry that I could have started eating one of those tall palm trees. I found some inflammable material and built a fire to make coffee. I took “K rations” from my pack and ate half of them. The next thing to do was check my rifle. I had not been shot at as I came ashore, but this did not mean that the enemy were not on this island. I had hopes that someone else had made it to shore from the ship. Twenty-five yards from the shore was the beginning of a thick jungle. This I did not wish to travel through. I decided to follow the beach and try to find someone from the ship, some friendly natives or at least a good place to wait for help to come. The worst that could happen would be to run into a patrol of enemy troops. My Ml carbine was all right and if I did find enemy troops, I would give a good account of myself. Everything was quiet as I walked along the beach. I could not even hear any jungle animals or birds. The sky was a beautiful blue with a few billow white clouds. Suddenly a voice whose owner I could not see, ordered me to stop. The voice,

Page 46 text:

THE SCHOOL DAY OF JOHN Q. DOLITTLE John’s school day usually begins at 9.05 (he is always late). He saunters into the classroom and lets himself fall into his chair. Ten minutes later, he is ready to go to work. The first subject of the day is French. Now, as the only thing that interests John in France is Bridgit Barbot, he doesn’t do very well. John usually finishes his sleep he had to interrupt by coming to school, in French class. Next comes science. After his nap, John is refreshed and ready to go! Of course, he isn’t ready to work, but he is ready to have some fun. Out comes his arsenal, con¬ sisting of two boxes (which once contained geometry sets) full of miscellaneous weapons. A few of them are: compass, several tacks, several erasers and pieces of chalk, three or four elastics, and a good supply of paper wads. His aim is excellent, and he is able to hit anyone in the room. Science is one of John’s more enjoyable classes. When the recess bell gees, John is the first one out of the room. In his mad dash to the door innocent pupils are sent sprawling. And, of course, he is the last in when recess is over. After recess comes either composition or literature. In John’s opinion they are a bore. They are made especially boring because John has nothing to do. The teacher won’t let his “fool around,” and naturally he doesn’t do any work. By this time John is getting hungry. But, he still has one period to go, that is algebra. He usually manages to pass algebra at exam time, but these “flukes” don’t come from any hard work. In elementary school he used to be able to add, but algebra is a little harder so he has almost given up. The long awaited bell rings, and John is away. He crashes through the lunch crowd that is coming in, takes a short cut across the gym floor, and then saunters home. Of course, John arrives back at school late. It is now time for the geometry period. He takes out his arsenal again and begins a full scale war with the boys on the other side of the room. Social Studies class now comes around. For John this is another rest restricted period. He finds it very boring if he can’t play, and since he has no desire to work, John takes his afternoon nap. Often this nap is interrupted by the teacher very rudely suggesting that John had better remain after school. Afternoon recess is a repeat performance of the morning recess. The last period of the day is Latin. John is much too lazy to take Latin, so this gives him a spare period. Most of the boys congregate at the back and fight, throw desks, chairs, and running shoes, much to the frustration of the Latin teacher. Finally, the last bell rings. But, John’s school day is not over yet. Everyday, without fail, he has a detention to serve. He has his own favorite seat in the de¬ tention room, and it is almost like home. Detention over, with a sigh and a yawn, John leaves the school, and another day is over. -—Donald Perrie, Grade X. OWNING A T.V. SET Owning a T.V. set is not all it is “cracked” up to be. In fact, at times, it is an absolute nuisance. There are few, if any, educational programs being telecast and the rest is ninety-nine per cent trash. The “humerous” programs usually end up looking pretty sick to all those but the feeble minded who have no perception of the finer arts. When one of these better programs comes on, the set is usually shut off with the comment, “Who wants to watch that junk?”, never thinking they might enjoy it if they gave it a chance. T.V. could become an important media of learning if used for learning. It softens their bodies and minds. They become pale and wan with no ambition, initiative or imagination. Are these the kind of people we want to lead our nation? Certainly not! What we want are streng, healthy, intelligent people who will do their utmost for their chosen fields of labor. How can we become this by sitting before a twenty-one inch, flickering image of trash? We can’t! T.V. should be revived for the education and betterment of our people, not the destruction. The telecasting hours should be cut down so people would go out and amuse themselves and develop strong bodies and minds. If something is not changed, we will practically cease to exist other than before our T.V. sets. If that is our future, I do not wish to be part of it. —Cathie Anderson, Grade IX.