Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

Page 32 text:

30 SAMARA Prize-Winning Story in Story Competition McDonald rose heavily from his chair before the old stove and limped across the room to the diminishing pile of wood. Then, laden with two heavy logs, he returned to his position in the chair and, pushing the logs into the fire, leaned back with a sigh of contentment. McDonald was contented. He was, al- though isolated from all civilization, happy to spend his old age in this northern outpost, trapping during the winter and, in the sum- mer, selling his furs. He had been secretly glad when, upon awaking that morning, he had found that he could not go to his traps because of the blizzard that raged outside— the blizzard that blocked the very passage from his door to the wood-shed not thirty feet away. But now he looked at the few meagre logs remaining in the corner of his shack. He remained a few minutes more by the stove, but suddenly realizing that he was falling asleep, he pushed himself up from the chair and hobbled over to his coat. It was only by the exercise of a great deal of determina- tion, and also by reminding himself of the fact that he would freeze if his fire went out, that McDonald decided to brave the storm to fetch the badly-needed logs for the fire. With a last longing look into the room, he thrust open the door, only to be met with a steel- cold blast from the north. And it was with great difficulty that he was able to pull it closed behind him— to preserve what heat there was left in the cabin. Once out in the fury of the storm, he attempted to walk in the direction of the shed, but was beaten back against the door. He was preparing to fight his way through the storm when the awful truth dawned on him. He had left the key to the door inside the cabin! His heart beat faster now, and his breath- ing became more difficult. With trembling hands he tried the handle— and in vain. He threw his weight against the door. Again and again he tried, but to no avail. It had been built to withstand the terrific strain of the wind and could be opened by no mean force. Slowly he made his way around to the side of the cabin, the side where the window was. It was high and small but McDonald in his torment thought of it as a possible entrance to the hut. But upon reaching it he found that he could only touch the bottom of the indentation by jumping. After several frenzied jumps and clawings to reach the window, he fumbled his way around to the door again. His one hope now lay in getting to the shed and lighting a fire there. The snow was deep and the wind swept it with such furious gusts that the shed was now completely hidden. Slowly he worked his way through the drifts in its direction, but the snow made passage almost impossible. He tried to keep walking into the wind as the shed was in that direction, but it seemed to him that the course of the wind kept changing and as a result he now found himself com- pletely lost. Now as his steps faltered, the piercing cold penetrated his clothing. He knew he must keep moving, for to stop would mean certain death. Driving himself onward, he fought desperately to overcome the exhaustion that threatened to draw him into a sleep. Groping through the drifts he finally stumbled and

Page 31 text:

SAMARA 29 ke Slmiuood Ball SOME sage has wisely said Everything comes to him who waits , and this truth has aptly been proved this year, when Elmwood held its first formal dance in ten years. When we re-assembled for another school year in September, the chief plank in the platform of the new officers was An Elm- wood formal . Needless to say, the school body was in unanimous approval, and with such a strong surge of popularity, what could go astray? Months before the great event committees were formed and as the days flew by, the decorating committee began to tear its hair. Then came another more world-shaking ques- tion: I say old thing, have you got a partner? Corridors resounded with the perennial cry, and one disconsolate lass was known to set a new record by ' phoning ten unattached boys in one evening. At last this crisis too was set- tled by the calm, unhysterical officers who re- fused to let this small problem shake them, and rose majestically to meet the occasion, pro- ducing men out of hats, as it were. Finally came D-day: classes were got through by the studious who deigned to at- tend, and somehow 6.00 p.m. arrived. In the boarding school rigid bath schedules were posted by grim-faced monitors, which were carried out (the schedules that is) with hardly any mishaps. Seniors waded through fields of small Juniors who demanded the dubious hon- our of helping(?). In spite of this aid, all the girls were dressed by 9.00, and floated down- stairs with palpitating hearts. The escorts waited below in the hall, and after moving through the receiving line, walked slowly into the ballroom! What a transformation! Horses, ropes and rings were pushed aside, and the hall was instead adorned with trees, tinsel and imitation snow. Girls smiled condescendingly as their escorts stopped at the door, open- mouthed with amazement. Such a spectacle had not been seen before within the portals of Elmwood. As the evening passed, to the haunting strains of Al Costi ' s orchestra, many escorts were heard to murmur that Elmwood had in- deed surpassed itself. Then, all too quickly came 1.00, and as the King was sounded, to the graduating class came the realization that the long-awaited event had finally taken place and all was over! Before With nervous trepidation And anxious preparation And romantic inclination And our ball gowns neatly hooped— After With corsages hanging limply And our poor feet killing— simply, Our sweet faces smeared and pimply. We look absolutely — pooped!

Page 33 text:

SAMARA 31 sank to his knees. It was in vain that he tried to rise, and he fell forward into the soft snow. The following spring a fellow trapper, passing by McDonald ' s cabin, decided to stop in and see him. Receiving no answer to his knock and concluding that the old man had already left to sell his furs, the half-breed started around by the other side of the cabin, but he froze in his tracks. There before him, he saw the figure of a man lying prostrate on the ground. It was old McDonald. The trapper, anxious to search the cabin for possible loot, went over to the door. On finding it locked, he investigated the pockets of the dead man, and extracted from one of them, from a corner where it had been missed by panicky fingers— the key of the cabin! Rhonna Curtis, VB Fry Highly Commended in Story Competition I REMEMBER shc was never considered by us as one of the gang but just as a plain and uninteresting girl who always seemed to keep to herself, although when I think of it now, not through much fault of her own, but more because of our sort of snobbishness. Her freckled face with its expressionless blue eyes, turned-up nose and small tight mouth, was framed by straight brown hair, and wore a rather wistful look as if she wanted to belong but was too shy. Whenever one of us decided to make fun of somebody, she always turned out to be the victim. Maybe it was because we were never afraid of a rebuke from her. It seemed to give us a triumphant and powerful sensation to be able to say anything at her expense and have no fighting back. I can remember my thirteenth birthday when my mother had a party for me. My joy was rather dampened for a moment when I learned that she was being invited, but it didn ' t bother me as long as all the gang could come. During the party, my mother, having dis- covered she was missing, sent me off , much to my disgust, to look for her. I found her kneeling by the radio listening to a piano recital of some kind. I ' ll never forget the change that had come over her; her eyes were a bright blue and her face was flushed— it was the first time I had ever seen her really happy. Soon she was taking piano lessons and it became a great source of amusement at school to say scornfully, She ' s at her music lesson, or else, She can ' t come because she ' s practising She never seemed to mind and soon her indifference began to take the joy out of teasing. Finally she was left alone and it was very seldom we were bothered with her at all. In fact, the only time we ever saw her was in class, where she was by no means an outstanding pupil, but sat in her seat in the front row as quiet as a mouse, and at three- thirty she would rush off to her music lessons. The next thing we heard, she was playing in a small recital being held by her music teacher. As can well be imagined, it certainly caused no great stir among us and it was with much reluctance that I was finally persuaded into attending that recital by my persistent mother who thought it would be nice for her to have a class-mate in the audience. My first thought on realizing there was no way out of it, was to get some of my friends to join me in my misery. After a great deal of argument and bribing with candy, they were forced, much against their wills, to accom- pany me.