Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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24 SAMARA The Nightly Battle Loudly up the stairs came father, Threatening in his tread; Now close that book , he said most sternly, And put yourself to bed . Softly down the stairs went father. Evening paper in his hand, She knows she needs eight hours sleep, I wish she ' d understand! Firmly, up the stairs came father. Determination in his eye. Hand me that book , he said in anger. I did, but could not hide a sigh. Hopefully, I looked at father. Standing at the foot of bed, I only had a few more pages. Then the book would have been read . Gently down the stairs went father, Feehng duty had been done; At last he sat in peace with mother. The nightly battle had been won. Elizabeth Bogue, V B Watching the Friendship Log The moon rose like a pale limpid bubble over the dark velvet sky, cut off only by the occasional tall whispering pine. The silver birch on the shore waved in the cool night air to the rhythm set by the waves lapping against the rocky shore. The friendship log in the fire had almost been reduced to ashes and only the thin trickle of smoke drifted like incense toward the sky. Close to the forest edge, silent and still, and at the end of the grove stood two mighty spruce that guarded with paternal vigilance the hidden paths of the wild deer. The only sounds were the heavy breathing of sleeping campers, the odd crackle of the embers in the fire, and the whispering trees, that had many times before sheltered other campers. My four hour watch was up but there was no need to wake anyone else, because the log was still burning as the sun came over the far- off hills. Joy Beverley Brown, V A Winter Skiing down a mountain trail. Sliding down the hills. Sleigh-riding in the country, Are some of Winter ' s thrills. Making snowmen in the snow. Or skating on a pond, Winter is the season. Of which I am most fond. Diana Radcliff, V B Saturday Afternoon It was approximately twelve thirty on what could be considered any Friday night. As I slowly peeled off my tights, I hstened, for lack of anything else to do, to the babble of the dressing room. Couldn ' t get that combination in the , faded into, My toes are so sore , and See you tomorrow , with a rue- ful laugh whenever anyone walked out the door. I did, and as I reached the street I felt the strange letdown which comes when you have given yourself to something com- pletely and it is nearly finished. I thought of what I would be doing to- morrow night at twelve-thirty, the ballet over, crawhng home mentally and physically weary, having thrown my whole being into a bit of a crowd in Gisele and my first solo while the cast changed for Rhapsody in Blue . Crowds —how I hated being a nameless part of a name- less thing called a crowd. My mind, tired as it was, turned to pleasanter things, solos, my first . . . I arrived home in a happy daze, told my mother I would be rehearsing the next after- noon and went to bed. At one o ' clock on Saturday I walked into the theatre. The street outside was filled with people to whom Saturday afternoon meant a release from the week ' s drudgery, a chance to

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SAMARA 23 drove through the beautiful gardens of the estate where the old lady lived. She greeted them and soon the cart was filled with scream- ing, laughing children. Donald hated chil- dren! He saw the mothers wave good-bye and he heard Mr. Williams tell him to go ahead. Suddenly Donald rebelled. Upon rounding a corner, he started to gallop. Faster, faster, he went. The children were screaming at the top of their lungs. Mr. Wil- liams was yeUing at him to stop. All the mothers and fathers and men employed by the old lady were chasing the cart, trying to stop it and rescue the children. All this noise made Donald think of the Roman chariot race he had been dreaming of back in his field this afternoon. Oh, my! thought Donald, I must win this race, I must! On and on he galloped. Over the beautiful lawns and flower beds he went. The children were still screaming, Mr. Williams still yeUing at him to stop, and the guests still chasi ng after him. After galloping around the estate, Donald was quite tired, so he stopped because he thought he must have won the race by now. Mr. Williams was very cross with Donald. The mothers vowed their children would never ride in a donkey-cart so long as they lived. The old lady banished Mr. Williams from the estate. Poor Mr. Williams was sick, beaten. He knew he would never be able to get another job with his donkey and cart. What would he do? He only had this job and he was an old man. Finally, he decided to sell Donald. Now the man who bought Donald was a cruel man. He made poor Donald pull heavy loads into town, three times a week. The only pleasure he had was taking his master and mistress to the races. He loved to watch the horses galloping around the tracks. One day as he was standing in his place, he felt a great urge to be there, racing with the horses. Sud- denly to the coachman ' s great surprise, Don- ald summoned all the strength he had and broke loose from the shafts. He galloped onto the track and started to run alongside the race horses. Poor Donald was nipped and kicked as he ran along. One very large horse stepped on his foot. The crowd was yelling and men were running everywhere, trying to catch him. They had long whips. Donald was finally led off the track to his master. The man was so cross that he picked up a big bull- whip and just as he was about to strike poor Donald, Mr. Williams ran up. Oh, please leave Donald alone; he has always wanted to be a race horse, but I do not think he will want to be one after what has happened. May I buy him back.? Sure, take him; I do not want such a dreadful beast near me again; take him away! Begone! said the cruel man, as he strode away. Donald then realized that being a race horse was not quite as he had dreamed. He decided that being a donkey was good enough for him. He went along obediently with his old master. Mr. Williams seemed to realize that Donald was at last content to be a donkey. If you ever pass through the town where Donald lives, do go to one of the bazaars or dog shows. There you will see a contented little donkey with a gaudy-looking ribbon tied around his neck. He will be puUing a brightly -painted cart full of children with a wrinkled old man driving it. That contented little old donkey who used to dream of being a race horse is Donald. Susan Belcourt, V C Snow Snow, snow everywhere, On the ground and in the air. Decking roof tops all in white. Falling through the starry night. But when the warm spring days arrive, And everything seems so alive. The snow will be no longer here. It ' s gone again for another year. Myrma Badham, V B

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SAMARA 25 relax and be free; to me it was the most im- portant and exciting afternoon of the week. The theatre was softly dark, huge and enveloping. At the far end I saw the stage; different lights flickered over it and echoing noises came to my ears. Stage settings were being raised, lowered and pushed into place. I slipped into a seat and watched. The manager came out of the wings and talked to the carpenter who was raising some steps to the floor. A man came through and put Gisele ' s gravestone down. Two company boys came in and, using the tombstone as a barre, practised batterie as they read Gisele ' s inscription on the tomb. The incongruity of the woodlike scene and the lounging men struck me. I stood up and walked down the side aisle to the Green Room. The dark exciting at- mosphere changed to a bright, noisy and slightly tawdry one. Tutus were hanging at impossible angles from every projection in sight. I started to change; most of the girls were already in costume for the first act. A voice floated downstairs, First act, Gisele, please , and a stampede charged silently up in answer. I went up a minute later and stood in the wings, Hmbering up as I waited. Our music began. I rose on points and ghded on stage. The soft, warm, welcoming lights surrounded me and I became part of the crowd. I like ballet and anyway it is a novel way to spend Saturday afternoon. Anonymous, VI M Elmwood dans I ' attente du bal annuel C ' est la semaine qui precede la danse. Quelle horreur! Personne ne salt quel gargon inviter. Toutes les pensionnaires veulent se servir du telephone a la fois. Mrs. Davis en devient foUe et les pauvres gar ons d ' Ashburv sont harceles tous les jours par des jeunes filles agitees demandant: Voulez-vous aller a la danse avec moi? lis n ' ont pas la moindre chance d ' y echapper. lis sont lies par I ' hon- neur et la politesse de repondre Oui, merci . Durant la semaine, a table, dans les corri- dors, dans les chambres, partout on cntend Avec qui iras-tu? et la reponse: Je ne sais pas, ou Je ne te le dirai pas . Les pauvres professeurs ne peuvent pas enseigner, car personne ne les ecoute. C ' est terrible! Mais enfin quand vient la nuit fatale, tout est oublie et Ton s ' y amuse foUement. Jane Mulholland, 6 U The Daffodil— Our Emhlem The strong green stem supports a cup of gold. And, stately it stands in a field of green Proud to be part of the world. Proud of its beauty, Proud of its life. And we? We know it as our emblem Green and gold! And, stately we stand. The school our stem— The school our cup of gold. And proud we are of our chance to grow As strong as the green As pure as the gold. M. LiNDLEY Taylor, 6 M A Letter Home Dear Dad, How if every little thing at the hou$e. Hope you are keeping well? I fufpect you could have gueffed the text of thi$ letter wa$ about my impecuniou$ pofition. Well Dad! I hope my report ha$ fuited you. Your$ $incerely, Norman. Dear NOrman: I am sorry to see you are doing NOthing about your school work. I was NOt too pleased with your last NOte but by letters one can NOt judge one ' s son. I trust in the future to see Notable improvement in your studies or NOthing will be done about impecunious position. Yours sincerely. Dad. Beverley Brown, V A