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

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A Forest Fire Weary as I was from hunting on that autumn day, sleep fell upon everything but me. Endlessly my eyes searched the opposite banks of the lake. How could I rest, while knowing my companion might be alive and suffering within the devil-like fires which raged across the forests near the shores of the lake. The blaze grew, but the spark of hope within my heart weakened. The shrieking winds sent flames high into the heavens, to join the stars in their infernal dance across the skies. Huge trees swayed fiercely before toppling to the ground with a crash. The bushes along the ground crackled in reply. As the fire moved closer to the shore, it flung its hand out across the lake, not succeeding in reaching my side. The waters of the lake frothed fiercely upon meeting the scornful fire, and sent smoky mists into the sky. Slight breezes blew towards me carrying the scent of burnt meat. Could this tomb enclose the life of my faithful companion? Just then, a huge fiery creature dove into the lake. The water sizzled about it. I dashed forth shouting, Teddy! Teddy! He swam as though pursued by Death. I heard him yelp for help. Alive, the beast was--but, it was not Teddy. Out of the water had sprung his ever-lasting friend, his dog. Pat Kozoriz 10-28 Opening Night I walked stiffly down the centre aisle feeling uncomfortable in my stiff collar and new suit. My stomach was squashed against my ribs; my entire body was taut; my eyes were squinting into the glare of the roving spotlights, but mechanically I moved on. My first night! Mr. Benson whispered his final advice to me from the owner ' s box in the front row. Put your stuff across with pride, son, he said. With this thought fixed in my mind I turned and faced the crowd, feeling the hot glare from their stares. My tongue was balled against my tonsils; I could scarcely breathe, but I had to say my lines. I hesi¬ tated while the nausea shook my frame; then I opened my mouth, cleared my throat, and the words flowed out, Peanuts, Popcorn, get ' em before the show starts. Jim Baker 12-1

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The Stranger I walked slowly towards the lecture hall. Glancing down at my watch, I noticed that it was seven-thirty. The lecture would start at eight. Upon entering the huge auditorium, I decided to sit in a back- row seat. I picked up a program from the seat next to me and began to read it. Apparently this lecture was going to be about battles fought by Canadians, during the Second World War. People were beginning to enter the hall. After ten minutes the onslaught of men and women re¬ lented but a few sporadic groups rushed in at the last minute. The curtains were drawn back and in the middle of the stage stood the lecturer. A young man suddenly appeared from the wing of the platform and introduced the lecturer. Dr. Braicken, to the audience. In a loud and booming voice Dr. Braicken said: We Canadians can justly be proud of the soldiers who fought for our great nation dur¬ ing the Second World War. They have won glory and prestige for Canada. I listened intently to his speech and digested it eagerly. After half an hour has passed, I realized that I was being overfed. To make matters worse there was no dessert; humour was scarce but four- syllable words were abundant. While gazing about the auditorium I noticed a man standing in the doorway of the side exit. He seemed to be different from the other people there. In dress he was different. This man wore a dull dingy overcoat and shabby trousers. His face was weather-beaten; he had a parchment-like skin. His forehead was hideously wrinkled and it held a continual frown. The eyes of this man were deeply set in their sockets and the huge dark eye brows produced a horrifying effect. Beads of perspiration appeared on his face as stray rays of light pene¬ trated the dark corner of the exit. This man ' s face revealed the silent, subtle turmoil that possessed his mind. As his speech was drawing to a close. Dr. Braicken ' s eyes fell upon this desolate fellow, whom he instantly recognized as an old war¬ time buddy. The lecturer gestured to his old friend and the desolate man walked slowly to the stage. Dr. Braicken shouted proudly: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Bob Helton, one of the best fighter pilots the Canadian Air Force has ever had. During the Second World War this man shot down over twenty Nazi Fighter Planes! A deafening applause arose from the audience. As Bob Helton stood in the centre of the stage I knew that pride did not grip his mind, for shame and regret were too deeply rooted in his soul. Murray Trudell 10-28

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The Necessity of Bringing the Right Book To Class When a student does not bring the proper books to class, he is either of a forgetful nature or an indolent disposition, or both. Perhaps the psycho¬ logical motive behind this lapse of memory was a hidden hatred for the sub¬ ject and an unconscious desire to evade it at all costs. Or perhaps the teacher of the subject states his instructions ambiguously and this leads to confusion and indicision on the part of the pupil. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that one must bring the right books to class, and for several reasons. The most important is that the wrong book, or no book at all, hampers the students ' scholastic progress, and this forgetfulness can have very painful consequences. The teacher, if he be of a choleric temperment, loses his patience and the other students are annoyed at having their work interrupted. On the whole, a number of unpleasant situations can arise and it is really much wiser to bring the right book. Erica Koenig 12-7 Stage Fright It was Friday, the twenty-fourth of May, 1965. Right at this moment throughout the province, people were dragging themselves out of bed. The eight o ' clock whistles announced the start of a new day. For one man, this was to be the most tedious, drawn out day he would ever spend. To meet our friend , we must travel to the provincial prison. He can be found pacing the floor in his cell, thinking of that ' special attention he was going to receive at five o ' clock on this quiet Friday. His cell block was completely empty, and the only sound in the area was the beat of his foot¬ steps. This harsh noise seemed to increase as he continued his ritual. Lunch was brought, but he refused to eat. Mouth dry and stomach queasy, he continued his pacing throughout the entire day. Finally, he heard the clinking of keys and the approaching footsteps of the guard. He mutt ered, Oh God! My time has come. Silently he stepped from his cell and proceeded to wend his way through a series of halls, a guard on either side. A hundred yards away was that door! Once he passed through it--.! The blood rushed to his head and beads of sweat covered his body as the door swung open. In front of him was the warden, surrounded by news reporters. A hush fell over the group as the warden moved forward to speak. Well , John, after fifty-seven years, you are finally free. Orton Harrison 12-1 The Touch I see him coming Slim and sun-bronzed My tall and tender one His warm brown eyes on me Melting me, holding me. Drowning me in their mysterious depths Our fingers intertwine The touch tells all No need to speak My world is right, he loves me still. Anonymous