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

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THE TRIAL OF MARGOT AMES Sharon Miller 10-39 The soft July breeze was a gift from heaven after the torturing heat of the afternoon. Margot found the city especially hot after having lived in the country all her life, right near a lake where whe could go for a cooling dip when it got too warm. She didn ' t know how much longer she would be able to last in the city but she knew she would never to able to return to the town where her very presence made people move when she walked by and talk behind her back. It had happened almost a year ago when she was eighteen and fresh out of high school. Funny, she thought, how she always referred to her father ' s death as ' ' it”, as though it was an animal that she lived in fear of instead of an incident in her past. How the town had talked when the coroner announced that her father had died of arsenic poisoning, and not a heart attack like everybody thought. Margot could still remember, only too clearly, what Mr. Jackson, the coroner, had said. Hugh Ames did not die of a heart attack, he died of arsenic poisoning! The wizened old man never took his eyes off Margot ' s face during his whole testimony and the look of suspicion and accusation which they held made her shiver. Everybody knew that Margot had hated her father with a passion, had accused him of murdering her mother when her newly checked brakes had given out on the highway and she sailed over a cliff. Everybody knew that Margot only stayed with her father because she felt it was her duty and could hardly wait till he died so she could go to the city and write. So of course when the town newspaper got wind of this, it left no stone unturned. It cried out that justice had to be done and even went so far as to imply that, It would have been easy for the person who cooked his meals and looked after the sick old man to slip a bit of arsenic into his food. This was the statement which got Margot arrested and this was the statement which got Margot charged with first degree murder in the death of her father, Hugh Ames. When the date of her trial finally rolled around, the courtroom was packed. She was sure that every man or woman who had ever held a grudge against her was sitting out there, ready to testify that she had a violent temper and obviously hated her father, ready to testify that if pushed she was probably capable of murder. This trial, she thought, will show who my real friends in this town are. Apparently Margot had no real friends in the town, because every testimony was against her. They called the coroner to the stand so he could verify his first statement as the cause of death and also as to the time of death. By the end of the day the District Attorney had called half the townspeople to the stand to testify about Margot ' s fierce temper and other pertaining characteristics. And to each one Margot ' s lawyer asked the same question. Do you like Margot Ames? And each time the answer was a flat, No! After two days of a trial where nothing was proved except everyone ' s intense dislike for Margot, the State rested its case, and so did the defense. And after another hour of debate the jury found Margot Ames not guilty of murder in the first degree because of insufficient evidence. With that the courtroom was cleared with whispered conversations echoing throughout, of She was obviously guilty, and She probably paid the jury off! Within four hours Margot was on a train headed for New York and her new life as a professional writer. Now as she sat on a bench in Central Park, she wondered how she could even think of going back to that town full of phonies after it had embarrassed her and treated her like dirt. She laughed a little as she took a little vial out of her purse and read the label. Arsenic! How she had fooled them all!

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TRAPPED Maureen Kendall 8-52 Pollution! Oh! It wasn ' t carbon monoxide, either. The flies and mosquitoes were biting me, the bees were stinging my arms and legs. The rotting wood held many insects to add to my discomfort. The little piece where the wood was cut out of the door was my only source of air. The catalogue on the wall, frail with age, was losing its pages, which were now scattered numerously on the floor. I yelled and screamed. I even tried to break down the door. I passed out and came to several hours later. It was dark. Suudenly, I heard a noise which sounded like a rusty lock. Hurriedly, I pushed on the door to find it opened. Someone rushed by and I followed in pursuit. I just had to find out who it was that locked me in the outhouse. A man ' s reach should exceed his grasp. Or what ' s a heaven for? Should we be content with what we ' ve got. Or should we try for more? Is it wise to try to reach To something far away? Some say yes, some say no. Who ' s right? Nobody can say. I think the failures in life aren ' t those who fall In attempts to reach past the sky. But those who give up before they start, Those who never even try. Laurie Webb 10-47 Joan McFadzean 9-37 Beware, beware, the howling police sirens seemd to scream. Men and women panicked. Children cried pitifully. The world was about to shatter into a million inhuman pieces. Invasion was now reality - not just a whispered word. Was there no escape? They could only hope. . . .

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THE END OF A DAY Brian Clarke 7-22 P-t-t-eet! The shrill whistle broke the calm of the morning. Immediately a streaking bundle of fur responded, chasing the stubborn sheep to the crude pen. It was the start of a new day for the shepherd. The sun had finished its long climb to its place in the clouds, its bright and life-giving rays filtering down to the earth. The old shepherd watched the young dog acting on his whistle commands. He was very tired today. After the long work of herding the sheep into the pen, he and his faithful companion trudged into the shack which was his home. The man lay down on a small bed and closed his eyes, with the dog nearby, resting his head on his paws. Hours passed, and still the shepherd did not stir. The dog moved to the man s side and nudged him, knowing little that his master would not wake again. Time flew on and again and again the dog rose, nudged, and quietly lay down. Then, whining pitifully, he edged to the door, took a last look, and slipped off into the dark of the night. His master was gone. . . . A STRANGE FATE Paddy Toole 7-22 Dr. Bill Smith was tired of being laughed at, so he built a time machine. A scientific genius, his thoughts and discoveries were far ahead of his time. His purpose: to travel back to medieval England, bringing along three common¬ place objects. Inside he stepped, on went the power switch, and suddenly he blacked out. He awoke inside a stone building, a castle no doubt. Then, two guards rushed in. Still struggling, he was placed before the Queen of England. ' Observe, O mighty Queen , chanted Bill, with a flip of my thumb this package will burst into flame , and out came a lighter, as the whole council and the queen burst into laughter Click! Click! Click! What ' s the matter? thought Bill. No fluid, I guess . But then he had a camera. He pointed it toward the queen, but a suspicious guard thrust his spear in the direction of Bill. Startled, Bill dropped the camera, exposing the film. Peals of laughter streamed into Bill ' s ears. But, this next one will knock ' em dead. Out came a radio, and he claimed he would pull music out of the air, but then it occurred to him, No radio stations ! The chief vizeor feared he was making mockery of the throne, but because of his amusing antics, he was ordered to be court jester Fate is strange indeed, for what he attempted to escape had become his very lifeline. PAGE 101