Churchill High School - Victory Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

Page 100 text:

The Small Boy by SUSAN NOSWORTHY The small boy sits by himself — all alone, He has no friends; he has no home; He goes to school when he can — where he can, For there’s no one who’ll lend him a helping hand. He has no friends with whom to work or play; He sits by himself — day after day; He smiles at the fella ' s as they pass him on the walk, But he finds they do not answer — with him they will not talk. He lives in a world that is bleak and hostile; No one wants to listen; no one cares to smile; For the small boy is different — he ' s black instead of white, And now he’s learned his lesson — survival means to fight. 4 Frank Friesen Murder in the Mountains The rain whipped down on the windshield of the Chevy , as it sped recklessly down the narrow moun¬ tain road. The woman behind the wheel was hysterical with fright as she raced down the twisting road. Suddenly there was no response to the steering wheel, and the car, out of control, flew off the edge of the cliff into the gorge below. All rhat was left was flaming wreckage. The silence of the next morning was shattered by the sound bf a motorbike coming up the road. The girl on the bike was Sandra Cartwright, daughter of the chemical magnate, J. J. Cartwright. She had come to investigate the reason for her mother ' s absence after a long awaited meeting between her mother and her father. She had tried to reconcile their differences since their legal separa¬ tion two years before. Due to the court ' s decision to give custody of the child to the mother, her father held an undying hatred for his former wife, and tve let this be known. Had her father finally got his revenge against her mother? This was the question that crossed Sandra ' s mind as she approached her destination. Sandra arrived at her father ' s mountain mansion about five o ' clock in the afternoon, and was cordially greeted by her father. They ate supper together and then chatted for a while like two friends who had not seen each other for a long time. Finally Sandra brought the dis¬ cussion around to her mother. Father, demanded Sandra, where is mother? I know she came up here last night, but for what reason I know not. I do know, however, that you sent her a note saying that you wished to see her immediately. What have I done, you say, ber father calmly re¬ plied, but with a sneer on his lips, “I have done nothing. I sent her no note, and I certainly did not want to see her. But, it is getting late and you must be tired. We will discuss this again in the morning. The butler will show you to your room.” The butler led Sandra through the dark upstairs pas¬ sages to her room. Just as she entered the room, he spoke. If you hear any sounds during the night, do not be alarmed.” Finding some bedclothes in the closet, Sandra was soon asleep. Suddenly, the air shook with the piercing sound of a human, screaming in agony. This was fol¬ lowed by the sound of a scuffle. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Silence! Nerve-shattering, never-ending silence reigned supremely over the night. Sandra strained her ears for any sound of the aftermath, as she peered blindly into the darkness. She groped for a lightswitch, but could find none. Gathering courage, she heft her room and ventured downstairs. Slowly, she made her way down the hall towards her father ' s den. Suddenly the wall beside ber opened and her father ' s mangled body fell to the floor. She started towards it, but stopped when she saw a large hunched figure behind him. It tried to grab her, but she avoided its lunge. She fled into the den and locked the door. The creature soon forced the door open, and came into the room grinning as though it had just captured its prey. Everything it touched as it made its way towards Sandra, reeked of its vile odour. In panic, Sandra broke the pane of glass in the window with her hand and climbed through the broken■ glass. Blood-stained, she ran towards her motorbike. Sbe finally started it after many fruitless attempts. By that time, the creature appeared outside. Sandra started moving away, but it blocked her path. Too shocked to turn the wheel, Sandra continued on her collision course. The animal was momentarily stunned by the impact and did not pursue. Unaware of this, how¬ ever, Sandra sped down the trail in the dead of night. There was no moon and all was black. The wheel of the motorbike hit a large rock and Sandra was thrown over the abyss. The transquillity of the next morning was only shattered by a lone car driving up to the house. The police had come to investigate the disappearance of a mother and a daughter. No one greeted them. They found the broken glass, the blood, and the broken door. The police were baffled. Everyone was baffled, and the case, unsolved, was put into the files. PAGE 98

Page 99 text:

Pause For Relief I made myself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances and planned my next move. I decided that shifting my position might help the situation. As discreetly as possible, I inched my way up the back of the chair. In doing so I found temporary relief, but once again I felt that nagging sensation. What could I do? My blood began to rise and my brow was clammy to the touch. I pressed my hands together in agony, but to no avail. I was desperate now; social etiquette did not matter. I excused myself as hurriedly as possible, fleeing to the seclusion of my room, saying to myself: “One bliss for which There is no match. Is when you itch To up and scratch—” (with apologies to Ogden Nash) Michele Brown Leonieta Haag No Greater Love Helen, the young missionary ' s wife, stood before the doorway of their tiny hut at the edge of the clearing. From the village came the sound of the beating drums and the native ' s mon¬ otonous chanting. For over a year and a half now, she and her husband, Bill, had been steadily labouring among these natives in the dense tropical jungle of Guatamala. Often she had been discouraged; often she had been downhearted; often she had felt it was all in vain. But tonight, as the last streaks of red disappeared from the sky above, her heart was again filled with sorrow, filled with pity as she heard the steady beat of the drum. These natives were lost! Yet Christ had so loved every one of them, that he had born their sins and. had died for them. She was here to tell them of this great love. Unless she did that, the natives would be eternally lost! Across the clearing a shadow moved. Then from out of the trees, stepped a native woman. “Bwana, Bwana! please come! My boy, he sick — he very sick! You come? Yes?” Helen recognized the woman as the wife of Chief Meravaibo. “But your husband! What will he say?” she questioned anxiously. “He no like. But bwana! Come. Hurry!” Chief Meravaibo had been a great stumbling block for the young missionaries. Although he did not prohibit Bill and her from working, he had not much further use for them. The other natives listened but Chief Meravaibo had a great influence. The natives reasoned, If the chief is good enough without the white man ' s influence, so are we!” “Yet” thought Helen, maybe the sickness of the chief’s son might open an opportunity”. Alright, Helen answered to the pleading woman as she hurried to the hut to collect her medicine bag and say farewell to her husband. At the chief ' s hut Helen found the young warrior writhing in agony. It was malaria. After giving him a dose of penicillin and making him more comfortable, she breathed a prayer for him and left. The epidemic spread. For the next three days and nights the missionaries worked steadily, caring for the many who had been stricken. Then on the third night as they were snatching a few hours of what remained for a much-needed rest, Helen woke to find her little baby daughtr painfully crying. She was smitten with the disease they had been trying to combat. Quickly she went to her medicine bag. Then she remembered. She had given the last dose of medicine to one of the natives. She and Bill sat up all night beside their little daughter’s bed but alas! Before morning dawned, the baby died. That day as Bill was making his daily rounds with his Bible under his arm, the Chief summoned him. So you better quit. What God have you got if he let your girl die? I guess he doesn ' t hear prayer. Ha! Ha!” The Chief’s wife, as she heard this, rushed out and cried in her native tongue: “Meravaibo, this man’s child had to die because of you and your tribe. For three days the missionaries have been giving medicine to your son and the others to stop them from dying. Then when their little baby was stricken with the disease they had no medicine left for their very own child!” The chief was silent. Bill continued, Chief Meravaibo, God once did something even greater. Long ago, he sent his only son to earth to bear all our sins. He loved you so much he even died for you to save you from eternal death and to provide for youeternal life. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. Surely there could be no greater love than this! PAGE 97

Page 101 text:

y ‘2 f ± JUfsM wm j i