Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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SAMARA 27 what it was. He used soft oils and painted in such a way that everything blended or stayed in definite lines to bring out the main characteristics. He had deep blue eyes and soft pink cheeks. The gold chain almost glistened as though it were real when the sun streamed through the nearby window and shone on the painting in all its glory. The background was painted as a dream or fairy tale. It was almost as though he were sitting in front of another painting in which the trees blended hazily with the pale sky and the old English cottages with thatched roofs were half melted into the earth. Although I have not seen it for three years, the vivid picture still lies firmly in my mind. I have never forgotten it. Caroline Grant, 6 Matric Bravery Into the flame of battle they went, Those horses, one hundred and three— Into the flame of hot desire Their allies no more to see. Oh, to be back in the stable so calm, Back to the homeland so free. Back with Topsy and Ginger and Jack, Back to the land by the sea. But they must go on For their jobs had been given, And they must not flinch For on they were driven. Never more would the stable Their happy neigh hear; Never more with the hounds Would they hunt down a deer. Back they have gone From whence they had come; The last dash is over The last sprint ' s been run. But their ghosts shall live on. Those brave hundred and three, For they have gone back To the land by the sea. Sarah Jennings, 5C Crossword Puzzle (By Franny Drury) Across Down 1. Part of the hand 2. Article 3. Sudden sharp pull 4. Prefix for again 5. Preposition meaning a 5. Suitable, having a place tendency to 8. Players of Scottish musi- 6. Beverage cal instrument 7. Mark up, soil 11. Everything 8. Flat stretches of land 13. Baby ' s thanks 9. What banks are for 14. Fear or wonder 10. Conducted 16. To wander 12. Affection 18. Ardent, keen 15. Fermented drink 19. Compete with 17. Personal pronoun 20. Wrong-doing by Bible 18. . . . white ... a sheet 21. Low marshy land, in 21. Fourth note in scale England 22. See 22 across 22. Part of verb to be 23. Circulate 24. Final profit 25. Can be bad for the eyes 26. Thin cord 27. See 17 down 28. Prefix meaning out of 29. An alternative 30. To rip 31. Section of hospital Looking for Something Where is the spring? Where has it gone— The birds, the flowers, the breezes calm, The sunshine beating warmly down. The dandelion with its golden crown. The blossoms, buds that should be here. Why don ' t they now begin to appear? But we have wind, and snow and sleet Which turn to slush beneath our feet; The groundhog from his hole can ' t get. Its iced-up entrance is solid yet. But let ' s be patient while we freeze And pull our tunics beneath our knees. Rona Brodie, 5C

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26 SAMARA Senior lten aA4f Sectian The Bat It was mid-night. Restlessly I lay awake in my little bed, looking up into space, into darkness, waiting for sleep to come. Outside the cool night breezes of summer were beginning to softly murmur— to whistle their way through the swaying pines. Then it happened! At first, it was a mere scratching on tentest. Probably a mouse , I said, pulling the covers up a little farther. Then the scratching grew louder, closer. There was one tiny squeak, and suddenly the air became alive with the swishing, swirling sound of the bat hysterically plunging through the inky-black room. With the realization it was trapped, the bat began to tack . Back and forth it zinged ; one minute here— thud, the next minute there— plop. Would it hit me? I shuddered at such a night-marish thought. For ten minutes, with the length of five long hours, I listened, my heart throbbing harder with each hit ; suddenly I recalled that bats went to the light. Cautiously I reached out and opened the door; a light was burning in the hall. With a hissing sound it burst forth— to what it joyously thought freedom. I slammed the door; now for sleep. Sandra Billings, 6 Upper The Date Forgotten She fell back terrified as she opened the door. The black-bearded pirate who stood before her would be enough to frighten any- one. His dress was not extraordinary for a pirate. Beginning at his huge black boots with thick cuffs her eye moved upwards and over the dirt-stained dungarees held up by a jewelled belt. It travelled on to the blue silk shirt and then to the red scarf which gave him a dashing air. Above this she noticed in his left ear a golden earring. His eyes were like black beads set deeply in his handsome face. His head was covered with a three-cornered hat that held a trailing plume. With his hands on his hips he said to the frightened woman, I ' ve come to take you away with me, for Barbara Kennedy, 5 A ' tis Hallowe ' en . Portrait of a Grandfather It was three years ago when I saw what I would call one of the most beautiful paintings ever done of an old man. It is not that I have seen so many paintings of old men that I say this, but because there, in a picture, lay the whole character of a fine old gentleman. The painting was a large and massive one bordered by a delicately carved and painted gold-leaf frame. It hung proudly on a pale cream wall and overlooked the first landing on the staircase which was covered with a soft but deep red carpet. He was a distinguished old soul and there was absolutely no doubt about it. There he sat in a leather-backed chair surrounded by mahogany and with a contented look of peace and happiness on his face. He had settled com- fortably in his chair with a pipe in one hand and a half closed book in the other. He had a high forehead with a receding hair line and his hair was as white as snow. There was some- thing that told me he must have been a wise old gentleman and full of charm. Whether it was the cheerful wrinkles cornering each eye, or the deep dimples and shadows in his face or maybe even the one deep dimple in his chin— I don ' t know, but there was such a definite look of wisdom there, that one couldn ' t mistake it. Even a small child could see the charm stemming from the twinkle in his big wide eyes. In fact, I should say every- thing about him was charming. He was wear- ing an English tweed suit and a brown buckskin waistcoat. A gold watch chain could just be seen leading from one pocket to another. Perhaps the painter ' s wonderful and expert choice of colour was what made that painting

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28 SAMARA Agatha Ragles It was Christmas so the hustle and bustle of shopping had begun. Carols were being sung and the air was filled with the general Christmas confusion. But there was one person who was not happy, who did not feel the sweet happiness that people feel when Christ- mas is near. It was a little girl named Agatha; Agatha Ragles , the street urchins would yell at her and Agatha would try hard not to let them see her tears that ran down her red cheeks. She hated the name Agatha; it was a name given to her by the foster father. Agatha had no parents of her own; they were dead, she could not remember them. Sometimes she thought it would be nice to have a father and a mother, a little sister or brother, and to be able to sit around a hot fire while fascinating stories were being read to her— not the sort Frank, the meat seller in the market place, told her. She shuddered to think of them. Poor Agatha, she was sure Pedro, her foster father, would not give her a doll that she so dearly wanted for Christmas. Oh well, thought Agatha, and she pulled her rags more closely round her and pushed her cold feet under a pile of junk that Pedro sold. Business was not very thriving. Dobbin, the horse, snorted as if he were trying to say, Let ' s move to another corner and try our luck there. Poor Agatha. Where was Pedro? She was freezing, and if they started moving, her circulation would start again. Ah Pedro, was that not he running towards her? Yes, it was. And what was he waving, something shiny? It looked like a silver dollar, but no, that couldn ' t be it. Agatha had only seen one in her life, and that had belonged to Frank, who was rich in the eyes of poor Agatha. A silver dollar! Now Pedro could buy some wood to patch up their wagon and Agatha could buy the doll in Mrs. Gruenther ' s toy shop for fifteen cents, and they could have a Merry Christmas in the old rooming house without the landlady complaining that they hadn ' t their month ' s rent. Oh, Happy, Happy Christmas. Now the bells rang loud in Agatha ' s little heart. Elizabeth Groos, 5 C Crucify ! The day was nigh, the hour came, When voices rose in loud acclaim, And mobs drew menacingly near- All wrapped in wrath and curious fear- Around a figure strongly bound. Whose head, with piercing thorns, was crowned. Whose face was gentle, calm and brave, Tender and mild, that sought to crave Forgiveness for all who little knew The wrong that they would shortly do. He followed upright in their wake. And reached the priests all robed in hate, Who mocked Him and accusingly Rebuked Him for all He claimed to be. While fiercely rose the murderous cry, Crucify! Crucify! He stumbled as He bore the weight Of that great symbol of His fate. And so He rose to that high land Where soon the cross would upright stand; Where He would bear both pain and death Praying for strength in every breath, Praying for pardon for those who stood by Scourging Him, wanting Him soon to die; Then with a last prayer. His spirit commended To the care of His Father; and so His life ended. A nocturnal darkness than gathered around. The wind rose both screaming and singing in sound. Sharp lightning, deep thunder in the silence appeared. While dark ugly clouds with their anger revered; The people all wailed and were filled with great dread At the realization of Him who was dead. And an echoing murmur still whispered high, Crucify! Crucify! Gillian Neville, 6 Matric An Incident in Barbados The little Red Devil followed the narrow palm-arched road, rounded the last bend and finally brought us to a stop. Directly ahead of