Elmwood High School - Inscripta Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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The Sources of Education Education, or the taking in of instruction, is a lifetime process. It starts the day we are bairn, and despite what many uninformed people say, ft continues till the day we die. Although the major part of our educat ion consists primarily of tria l and error methods, there are several priceless sources where one re¬ receives training that guide one through different phases of one’s life. When we are born, and for a short time after, we are governed largely by instinct, but as we grow older our intake of knowledge steadily increases. This genera Ily comes from our parents, who, by telling us the do’s and don’ts, by praising and by reprimanding, start to mold our character. Since your mother and father are the most influential people in your early life, they can either make, or break, a personality, depending on the fundamentals they impart to you, their children. Their example is readily perceived by youngsters and will be followed ' much more quickly than verbal instruction. When proper respect, discipline and attitude are attained- one can say the parents have fulfilled their obiigations. While all this learning at home is taking place, a child catches a glimpse of the outside world, a world full of lush green grass, silent snow, monstrous buildings and noise and confusion of civilization. They are either a friend or an enemy, depending entirely on his contact. When he learns the art of speaking, things begin to mean more as words are associated with objects. Here again the parents play an important role as they explain many happenings and temporarily satisfy inquisitive minds. During this time a child learns from his friends how to play, and how to get along front him. ith new experiences that con- Soon, early one morning in September, he walks into a building that will be another home for him, the school. This school will begin to open many new doors for him as he progresses from room, teacher to teacher, year after year. At first he is taught the basic fundamentals of reading, writing; and arithmetic that will expand to cover a variety of subjects. As he grows older this source of learning can be made to appear as a waste of time, or a stepping stone depend¬ ing on parental influence in his earlier years. The first significant books here make their debut, and for the rest of his life he will read page after page of books dealing with a variety of subjects but all adding to his ever increasing wealth of knowledge. In the latter phases of school life, the pupils or classmates, linked with extracurricular activities, teach him how So react to situations that might confront him concern¬ ing the members with the opposite sex. In school he will receive the bulk of his instruction and depending on academic ability the length of time will vary. Outside of our parental and public education, we get a great deal of moral and spiritua l guidance from a particular church with which we are associated. The sources of education can never be listed in their entirety, every experience is another source, and must be taken advantage of if its full value is to be taken. — Dave Zebrasky 10-L

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Morituri We Who Are About To Die The man sits alone in a dimly-lit room, he is very old, he is very tired. He rests unafraid waiting for the Angel of Relief to sever the bonds which bind him to the surly world. He remains alone, thinking of his life gone by, his children have gone, his friends have long since departed. He is alone among his souvenirs and memories. Pensively, he reaches into the drawer of the rickety old table and winces as he realizes how much like himself it really is. Once a strong, handsome utility, now chipped and broken in its final stage of evolution, death. Quickly, almost instantly, he dismisses the thought from his mind and returns to reality in complete sobriety. His hand closes upon a musty, leather-bound album. Cautiously he removes it from its place, taking extreme care not to injure its already ancient cover. Passionately he lifts the volume to his breast and holds it there as though if were a person whom he loves dearly. Again he awakens and places it in his lap. Then opens it with the same care expressed earlier for the pages are wilted and the photgraphs ye I lowed. His gaze falls upon a somewhat discoloured picture and instantaneously his heart flutters, for visaged on it is the shape of a fair and comely woman, quiet in pose yet with eyes of blue which express a deep feeling of love. She wore a high-collared, ruffled, blouse as was the fashion of the age. Her hair, long and golden, was drawn back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Mary, his life, his love, his dreams; she is gone now. Slowly he wipes a tear from his eye and reaches out to turn the page. But he cannot, it is like a trance which she has set upon him from which there is no escape. Suddenly, he is young again. Walking, rather, strutting, down the street in his new suit which possesses a slight bulge in the coat pocket. His hand slips down and his fingers caress the stiff velvet case. Inside is a small golden band made to fit only the most delicate of fingers; Mary ' s. The song birds are barely audible over the pounding that resounds deep inside his chest. The clicking of his heels creates a rhythme with which the whole world seems to fall into step. Abruptly the walk is ended and he is ascending the cobbled casement which leads to the front door. The door¬ bell sounds incredibly loud and yet has a note of reassurance in it. The large oak door swings open and there, like an angle from heaven she stands. Her soft voice beckons him to enter. He stands there speechless as she moves to open the large glass doors which adjoin the sitting room and his heart flutters as she asks him to be seated. She then seats herself across from him. The silence becomes unbearable and he sits there trying to work up his courage. Finally after a long debate with himself, the question is asked and she accepts. His existence is complete, his love no longer has to be hidden. Silently, the old man smiles to himself as he remembers the ensuing moments. Then it is gone and he realizes that it was all a part of his memory which so often, fraudulently, gives to him the impression and feelings of youth. Hostility overwhelms him and he scolds himself for allowing himself to be carried away thus. But with what may an old man live if not with his memories? Again he is overcome by self-pity and surliness towards his surroundings. Then calmness comes again as he realizes that this is but the plan of nature. The old are naturally forgotten, they have led their lives, they have borne their children, they are now but a burden to the young of their race. Noiselessly he closes the book and returns it to its original location, with it he closes the doors to his early ex istence until again he feels a sense of loneliness. The man sits alone in a dimly-lit room, he is very old, he is very tired. He rests unafraid, waiting for the Angel of Relief to sever the bonds which bind him to this surly world.

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A Little Rescue Before Breakfast Mitchell looked out at the foam crested swells. It’s going to blow tonight,” he said to himself. He didn’t like it when it stormed. The small mine-sweeper he was on could bounce like a cork in a sea like this, and that meant that over half of the ship s company would be sick and trying to stay as far away as possible from the foul air of the would lie in their bunks and pray that it wouldn’t last long. mess decks. Those that were too sick to move That was about all he disliked about storms. When the storm was at its height, sometimes he would go to the wheelhouse and watch the swells sweep over the forecastle of the one hundred and forty foot vessel, lift the bow out of the water and send it twenty or thirty degrees off course. The helmsman would curse and spin the wheel furiously as he fought vainly to get closer to the true course before the officer of the watch discovered how far he was off. It seemed that no sooner did the ship begin to respond to its rudder, when the swell would pass aft and the screws, which were momentarily out of the water, would dig in and send the ship twenty or thirty degrees in the opposite direction. He didn’t envy the helmsman then, who stood his watch in the wheelhouse for four hours, taking the wheel every other half hour. Once he had taken over for a few minutes and in that short space, he could feel the heaviness of his arms as he struggled at the helm. The sky was darkening rapidly now and in the half-light he could see the crests lengthen, as the increasing velocity of the wind drove them almost parallel to the surface of the sea. In the shelter of the gun sponson, Mitchell could feel the ship pitch and lurch. Below and behind him he could see the light from the engine-room control booth. He glanced at his watch; in thirty minutes he’d be down there. That was the only place on board he’d rather be than the wheelhouse. He had to admit that the extra man on his watch eased a lot of Strain. It meant he would only spend two hours in the engine room. He got out of his sheltered corner, waited for a break in the spray and made a dash for the accommodation hatch. In the cafeteria a few men were bravely sitting holding mugs of coffee and occasionally dodged sliding objects which hadn’t been stowed. He looked at the new coffee urn bracketed firmly to the bulkhead and a picture of another urn came to mind. In a sea almost like the one they were in now, the braver of the crew were sitting around breezing,” when without warning the urn broke loose, skidded the length of the table, crashed into the water cooler and sprayed its scalding contents on the men who were not fast enough to get out of the way. There had been one serious injury. The man closest had caught the full weight of the urn on his forearm which broke under the shock. The rest of the men were scalded to varying degrees, none seriously. He listened to the conversation of the men as he prepared his coffee prior to closing up on watch in the engine room. The senior man of the mess was saying in a manner which (as Mitchell thought, was typical of the senior hands) was designed to frighten the younger men, and instill a feeling of pending disaster in them. That was the time when old Jenkins, the cook, went out to dump his gash” and the 0” float broke loose and took him over the side with it.” He spent two hours on that thing and when they got him off he was bow-legged from ridin’ it like a horse.” There were rumbles of laughter as the younger men tried but failed to see the humour in this sort of experience. As far as they were concerned there wasn ' t anything funny about being out in this sea which threatened to explode their stomachs with every heave. Mitchell saw Dunbar coming towards him, swaying and lurching as he tried to counteract the pitching of the deck. Dunbar was the closet man to Mitchell, in a world where any display of affection was taken as a show of questionable tendencies. He was about the best seaman aboard and many times Mitchell had heard of his prowess as a helmsman. Dunbar had just been relieved and Mitchell could see the shadows of fatigue around his eyes. He sat down heavily. Got a smoke?” he asked, and Mitchell produced his cigarettes. He patted each of his pockets find the matches he never carried. an effort to Got a match? Mitchell’s lighter was already out. Dunbar inhaled deeply, exhaled, then dragged again. Thanks,” he said, I’m beat, that wheel is murder in this weather. When I hit my bunk nothing’s gonna wake me up.” You ' re lucky,” said Mitchell, I ' m just starting to earn my keep. The two men parted, Dunbar disappearing down the forward hatch and Mitchell, carefully balancing his coffee, moved aft to the engine room. After an uneventful two hours, Simpson, Mitchell’s watch-mate appeared, tired and pale looking. It’s all yours,” Mitchell greeted him, giving his seat to the new arrival.