Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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SAMARA 29 ning, all week. They will not know that I went to eleven stores looking for a special chartreuse paint that I wanted for the distant meadows in the backdrop. Nor will they know that the net curtains on the drawing- room window belong in the stage manager ' s kitchen, or that they are precariously fastened up with scotch tape. Everyone is moving around me on tiptoes. It is almost pitch dark backstage, except for the cracks of light that shine in from the lighted stage. I wonder if I have forgotten to put any of the props on the prop table ' . No, I do not think so. The second act is al- most over. Yes, it will be only a moment now before we can turn the lights on backstage, and I can patch up someone ' s make-up. This is only his second time on stage, and he is very nervous. One thing I like about working backstage is the oneness of purpose that everyone has. We are all working towards the same goal, to put on a good show. Everyone will work his fingers to the bone to achieve this. There is a terrible uproar going on around me, as the stage crew change the set, and the actors discuss the responsiveness of the audi- ence. Everything has gone without a hitch. Old, pompous, snobby Mrs. Robertson was sitting in the front giggling with enjoyment. Yes, it was going to be a great success. And just think, I am part of t his whole thing, only a little part, but a necessary one. I am a little cog in a big wheel. Perhaps that is why I get that special feeling when I work backstage. Everyone ' s feelings affect those of all around them; whatever I do will make a difference to the next person. Oh, the audi- ence is applauding, the house lights are on; the actors go home, I go to my home, too. The theatre is empty. Jennifer Woollcombe, 6 U Fire The bitter winter wind blew the freshly fallen snow around us, but the heat of the fire penetrated the air. A once beautiful house was now being razed to the ground. A large crowd stood around the flaming house anxiously watching. The shingles were flying into the air as though they were pop- corn just starting to pop. Falling bricks and boards came crashing down and a loud explo- sion indicated that the furnace had just blown As I stood shivering in my shoes, since I was clad only in my dressing gown, I watched the beautiful dream house burning into ashes. This was the house which my father had waited for so long, and now we had it, but in ashes. The last I remember was seeing part of the house foundation crumble to the ground, and when I awoke I was in my bed. It was all a dream. Sandra Drew , V C The Four Subjects of Failure (With apologies to Shakespeare and As You Like It ) All the schools are jails And all the girls and teachers merely in-mates; They have their good marks and their bad. One pupil in her time fails many tests— The lowest often thirty! At first the Spanish- Taught by Seiiorita young and gay. Then the age-old History, With battles and their modern counter-parts. Learning monarchs taught by bearded scholar, Longing only for an arm chair. Next the Physics veiled in formulas— With sundry potions— known alone by Wizards ' fertile brains! Last the Latin— full of strange verbs And mildewed sundry wars Taught by magister harassed by glowing dreams of glory Seeking the bubble of success, even in The face of certain failures! This ends the inmates ' schooling In mere oblivion, Their failures numbering four. Sans hopes, sans dreams, sans promise, Sans everything!! Victoria Brain, V B

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28 SAMARA said but you had patience to speak to me slowly. During the week-end at Mont Tremblant I discovered and enjoyed mountain life, the pleasures of skiing, but chiefly the happiness to know you better. Before I finish, let me thank you very much, Mrs. Graham, teachers and all the girls for your charming welcome. I am very happy to hve with you in your beautiful country. Colette Muuls, VI M Description Standing on the crest of the hill and look- ing at the surrounding country, I realized for the first time how extremely beautiful our ranch really was. The neat white-washed log buildings with their red roofs and large cor- rals lay in a valley bordered by precipitous bush-clad hills. Now, as I looked up the twi- light-covered valley towards the west, I saw the multi-coloured rays of the sunset spread across the horizon. Beyond the ranch, several palomino horses outhned against the darkness of the trees, looked strangely ghostlike as they moved along toward the creek where they watered each evening. Turning once more, I watched a full red moon make its way over the hills up into the sky. Suddenly, a mourn- ful howl rent the air, and a lone coyote ap- peared silhouetted against the moon. Night had come once more in the west. Frances Wood, V A Something To Remember It was a cool frosty October evening and I was walking aimlessly down a narrow coun- try path. Where it led I knew not and cared not so long as I could outwalk my problems on it. I was meandering along when suddenly in front of me there was the quaintest church I have ever seen. It seemed almost like a shrine alone there in the wilderness. As I walked towards it, I noticed that in spite of its crudely hewn stone exterior it had very beautiful stained glass windows. The church, being dimly lighted inside, lit up the windows so they alone stood out, and the grey stones were part of the dreary grey of the evening. As I stood there looking at the windows in quiet amazement, a clear high voice rang out from inside the church; it was singing part of The Messiah . Then as I walked slowly toward it, I noticed that the doors of the church were open, and I found myself walking in. The first thing I saw was the altar with its gold cross. Just below there was a basket of beau- tiful wild flowers. I looked slowly around and saw the pews, the pulpit, the organ. The presence of God was certainly in this humble country church. Minutes later I left the church and resumed my walking. This time it was not an aimless walk but a brisk and energetic one. My mind was quite at ease and all my problems solved. Rosemary Findlay, V C Working Backstage Working backstage has always given me a special sort of feeling. It is hard to say just what sort of feeling it is, but I suspect that excitement is at the bottom of it. Anyway, it is a very good feeling. Perhaps one of the actresses will tell you that she experiences something wonderful when she is on stage, under the lights, leading the audience deep into their own imaginations. Probably she does. I do not know. I just work backstage. But this is not my feeling. However, the actress and I both have one thing in common; we both get the same ting- ling of excitement and nervousness as the pro- ducer, with every one of his emotions at highest pitch, quietly and meaningfully whis- pers, Curtain going up! For him it is a big night, too. Out in the darkness, beyond the heavy plush curtains, hundreds of unknown souls are sitting ready to be carried away to far-distant lands. But they will be critical, too. We will soon know if they are pleased with the sets we have been working on, far into each eve-

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30 SAMARA Dear Elmwood: A message from la Belle Suisse . In answer to a very nice letter from Mrs. Gra- ham, in which she asked me to give you my impressions of Brillantmont, I am about to produce my first contribution to Samara —here goes! Brillantmont is really three schools, Pierre Grise, the Villa and the Chateau. Pierre Grise is a finishing school for girls over eighteen. The villa is known as Ecole Menage , domes- tic science to you, and I am at the Chateau which is much like Elmwood, in that one studies general subjects with the accent on French. The school is located in Lausanne on Lake Geneva. Lausanne is a beautiful city, which is built on three levels. Brillantmont is situ- ated on the highest and therefore is provided with a magnificent view, right across the lake to the French shore. This view is particu- larly lovely when one sees the coloured lights of the town of Evian shining across the water. Before going further with my description of the school,, I must confess that Switzerland with its good food and French atmosphere has produced a number of changes in me. First, I must admit to having put on 10 kilos mostly in the wrong places! I also consider myself practically bilingual, but I am sure Mme. Krupka would not agree! Now back to the school. There are about one hundred and five girls here with just about the normal number of characters . But all of them are very sweet and I have made many very good friends. As in most of the schools in Switzerland, Brillantmont girls come from almost every country in the world, except Switzerland. In fact they come from more than twenty-five different countries. There is an enormous variety of sports. In the winter term there are naturally both skat- ing and skiing. The school owns a ski chalet up in Villars, where many of the girls go in two v eek relays. There is room in the chalet for only fourteen girls, so life is very free and there are only two hours of study each day. One takes ski lessons in the morning and in the afternoon skates or skis again. While in Lausanne almost once every week the girls are taken up to the mountains by bus for a day ' s skiing, which is great fun! On other after- noons there is skating. In the summer term there are even more sports. There are four tennis courts on which we play every after- noon and there is a tennis professional on the staff. We also have an extremely well trained basketball team and quite a few matches lined up for the summer term. Along with the ten- nis and basket-ball, there is riding, swimming and ping-pong. All these are carried on dur- ing the two hours every afternoon especially put aside for sports. The one thing that has impressed me most with the arrival of spring is the magnificence of the gardens which are filled to capacity with every kind of flower imaginable. At the moment the four huge magnolia trees are all in bud and you have never seen anything more beautiful. In addition to the beautiful flowers, Brillantmont is provided with vegetables from its own gardens. Thus there are always plenty of fresh vegetables. But really Brillantmont on the whole is not so different from Elmwood, and although I adore it and have made many good friends, I am looking forward to returning to Elm- wood next Christmas. Andrea Rowley Writing Poetry I was told to write a verse. With words of enduring kind. But all my lines are far too terse— Besides they can ' t be rhymed! So here I sit with dreams in head, With thoughts once more a-wandering. Oh, dear! I wish that I were dead So I could stop this pondering! V. Brain, V B