Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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SAMARA 23 MAIL HAVE you seen the morning mail, Sue? Yes Did I get any? No. Did I? I think so. Three cheers! What was the writing hke? Was it in green ink? Where did it come from? Was it from Mother or from HIM? and so it continues day after day. According to the Oxford Dictionary, mail means a number of things; namely, a tax or rent, armour composed of interlaced rings, a public promenade bordered by trees, not to mention a packet of letters. But what does it means to a boarder? It means the suspense of waiting from early morning till late afternoon to find out if the letter did come from HIM or from mother. As Sarah Doudney once said: But the waiting time, my brothers. Is the hardest time of all. The conversation at break mainly consists of wondering out loud that if the letter is from Mother will she say I can have the new dress, or will she send a cheque? At lunch inevitably you turn to your neighbour to enquire whether she was one of the for- tunate ones and if so whether hers was THE letter or not. After lunch a mad rush is made towards your roommate and together you try to decide whether it is from Mother or HIM. As you go into class you are busy calculating the days since the last letter and weighing the pro ' s and con ' s; of course not to mention what that dreamy look during chemistry might mean. Finally the three-thirty bell rings, but will it never be four? The mail is out. What none for me? But Sue said there was. Where is she anyway? Occasionally I make a mistake; then pity me! Susan Kenny, Fry. THE NIGHT BEFORE EXAMS I COLLAPSED upon my bed exhausted, murmuring confusedly, The first steam- ship crossed the Atlantic in 1588 when Queen Elizabeth sailed into Cadiz to singe Hitler ' s moustache, . . . . (a + b) = ut which is to be used with the present sub- junctive. After an hour or two of miserable tossing I turned over and went to sleep. The next thing that I knew was that I was walking down Buena Vista in spring- time. The birds were all singing the same merry little tune and I could distinctly hear the words You ' re going to fail, you ' re going to fail, you ' re going to fail repeated over and over again. The trees were covered with fresh, green French and German dic- tionaries and all the flowers were spread- ing out their calynes so that the amocha on their cordlas might warm their prendopadia in the sun. The sky was full of magic carpets upon which reclined various members of the teaching staff gaily tossing examination papers overboard. fls I walked along I met two august per- sonages of area (a — b) . They appeared to be arguing as to whether it was Julius Caesar or Mr. Churchill who first discovered tobacco. I politely interrupted that I thought it was far more likely to have been Sir Launcelot or Quentin Durwood. No sooner had I spoken than they vanished. However I soon met George Washington, who seeing me about to cross a puddle, whipped off his pullover and laid it before my feet. Voila, m.adame , he said, bowing deeply. Danke schon, I replied in my best Latin. By this time the leaflets had fallen so deep that I took the skis out of my pocket and climbed onto the roof of the streetcar which was waiting at the end of the road. Just as I was preparing to sail downhill a ferocious voice murmured in my ear, The force of gravity compels me to push you off at the velocity of 90 m.p.h. At what point will you reach the ground? There was a sickening thud and I found myself on the floor of my bedroom. Jill Norton, Nightingale.

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22 SAMARA Senior THEY PASS IN THE NIGHT HE is dead now. The war killed him. It killed everybody, this war; if not phy- sically, spiritually. Only last night he was here. He was alive, cracking jokes with me and we were laughing. You could laugh up there, and you felt like it. The misty night air was free from the dust and smoky wounds of London, and made us feel clean inside as it swept across our faces. The wind seemed to carry away with it the sorrows and burdens of the people now lying quietly below us. Waiting. To-night I was alone, and the idle lights looked too large and heavy for only one person to handle. They stand silent, and pointed to the sky as if perpetually searching for something. They looked dead now with no light coming from them. They would come to life again and work as before, but he wouldn ' t. Nothing would bring him back again. I knew him just one night, but by the end I felt I had always known him. I only wish I had. You make friends quickly in a war. There isn ' t time not to, nor can you afford not to. The moon rose and cast weird shadows on its way. I heard someone ascending the ladder and unconsciously turned. They apparently were sending someone to substitute, and to help me. He was young and handsome as Roddy had been, though had obviously never been up here before, by the way he climbed the ladder. Hello, old chap, he said, introducing himself in a carefree v ay. His tone of voice so startled me that I could have hit him. Didn ' t he know why he was here? Didn ' t he know Roddy was dead, and that by morning he might be too, and maybe both of us! He kept on talking in his gay man- ner, and subconsciously I listened. Too bad about Roddy last night wasn ' t it? Cer- tainly was a nice fellow. He ' ll be missed at home all right! No time to think of your best friends now though. That will come after, and when people have time to think again. Section Those few sentences made me feel hope- lessly foolish and selfish inside. Tes, I said finally, it was a shame. Only knew him a few hours, but he must have made a great friend. There was silence for a minute and then I said; I say, Jeff, have you heard this one? I started to go on, but my joke was interrupted by a far distant purr of humming motors, and we switched on the light. Josephine Frazier, Fry. ON BEING CHEERFUL BEFORE BREAKFAST WAS that the bell or wasn ' t it? Oh well! just a couple more seconds of sleep anyway. Next thing I knew the covers had been rudely pulled off and my roommate was in the process of tickling me — oh, how I HATE being tickled! After much violent kicking and complaining I managed to crawl out of bed, only to dis- cover that someone had made off with my washcloth. A few minutes of search re- vealed it tucked away on the floor in the corner of the cupboard. After staggering down the corridor to the bathroom, throwing some water on my face and making an attempt to brush my teeth, I found myself back in my room vainly search- ing for the stocking which had disappeared. A quick glance at the clock and I decided it would have to remain lost while I put on a clean pair. Before it was possible the breakfast bell was ringing. In a mad rush I swept all the curlers and pins out of my hair, dashed a comb through it and went flying down to breakfast, arriving there just on the dot. From utter exhaustion I collapsed on my chair and sank into a lethargy which lasted the entire meal. When next I came to it was to realize that I was being asked to write an essay On Being Cheerful Before Breakfast. Susan Kenny, Fry.

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24 SAMARA ELMWOOD ' S DAY T seven-thirty it is said, The Elmwood girls get out of bed. With one eye open, one eye not; Down dimly lighted hall they trot; Though rather slowly I ' m afraid Cause they are sleepy — as I said. However, much to one ' s surprise, They come to mess with open eyes. ' Tis very hard to make a bed As neat as Elmwood girls, it ' s said, Or have the speed with which they do, The Elmwood chores that are not few. fl few more bells ring later on, Then to the hall for prayers and song. Then off to classes where the brain Is always wracked through heat and strain; Though ' tis not so with Elmwood girls. Their heads are clear like shining pearls! There ' s Latin, French, and English too, Plus History, spares and drill to do — Along comes break, they file outside To roam the court-yard far and v ide. But now that spring is nearly here, They walk in slush up to the ear. flt lunch Miss Mills must ring the bell, And say to talk and not to yell. When tapioca pudding ' s brought. There are excuses vainly sought. But these protests are all in vain. They shall have this next week again. Then finally at half past three, There is a shout; a loud whoo-pee! This is the day girl ' s guick depart, fls out the schoolroom door they dart. fllas the boarders left inside, flwait the coming of the tide Of mail that everyone does hope. Will come to them, or cause to mope. However after all is read, And words of joy and sorrow said. The avalanche of girls go up To change their clothes in time to sup. Of course they have to study next, And so gaze blankly at the text. But finally they give up the deed, fls washing hair seems to impede. When ten p.m. at last is found, Throughout the house there ' s not a sound. Rnd finally when the moon is high, You may see Sue go floating by. Rt seven-thirty it is said. The Elmwood girls get out of bed. Josephine Frazier, Fry, SOUVENIRS DES LACS ITALIENS C ' ETAIT une vie ou, pour se coucher on avait une vue d ' un lac, de la salle de bain on pouvait comptempler Monte Rosa, de la cuisine les camelias, pour les repas on avait a pleine portee des monasteres au clair de lune pour toute la vie le soleil! Oui, je me souviendrai toujours, je I ' es- pere de ces lacs calmes et tranguilles abrites par les hautes collines gui forment la frange des Alpes. Le lac Majeur est celui que j ' ai connu le mieux. Nous habitions au commence- ment a Suna dans une vieille maison batie par un eleve de Galilee dont le jardin n ' etait qu ' une masse de camelias roses et blancs et d ' azalees mauves. A cote de la maison il y avait un petit sentier qui montait dans les collines; etant petite c ' etait ma grande joie d ' y faire de longues promenades. Errant dans les champs ou poussaient milles genres de fleurs, je m ' amusais a ramasser des glands pour en faire des jouets bizarres. Je me souviens du mais dore qui pendait des poutres, des gros cailloux ronds gui bril- laient apres une averse. . . .des feuilles seches qui craquaient sous les pieds et de la fumee bleuatre. . . . Au debut de I ' automne quand les raisins tombaient en enormes grappes de leurs branches qui pendaient en guirlandes d ' ar- bre en arbre, j ' aimais voir les paysans faire les vendanges. Le torse nu dans d ' immenses cuves toutes rougies par le vin, les hommes pietinaient les fruits murs; le vin jaillissait en une cascade pourpre baignant les jambes du paysan. Le va et vient, le brouhaha du dialecte italien, le paysage, les arbres, c ' etait tout cela que j ' aimais. (la suite, page 30.)