Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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SAMARA 29 us were the wide silver sands bordering the blue rushing waves of the Caribbean. We wasted no time in dashing into the high waves. The relentless heat of the equatorial sun had lessened. Only the bright orange and purple shades of the sunset cast light. For the first time in my life I tried riding the board . This was slightly tapered at one end. The rider lay on the board and went into shore on top of a gigantic breaker. The first three times were a great success. However, as I was preparing to ride a fourth tremendous wave, it caught me before I was correctly on the board and took me for quite a spill. I remember being carried completely under the wave and scraping my stomach along the rippled sand. I must have swallowed at least a gallon of salt water; then the board came riding over me, hitting my head with a hard blow! Someone grabed me and pulled me out. After a few minutes of rest on the beach I was able to catch my breath again. We jumped into the little red Singer and drove back to the hotel. It had gotten dark and hardly a sound could be heard except the lull of the ocean-rollers in the distance. The evening had begun peacefully and had thus ended peacefully. Denise Karr, 5 A The Lily When walking in the garden, ' Twas at the eventide, I came upon a lily. The whitest I espied. I looked and lo, it opened To drink the faUing dew; It seemed lonely in that garden, And I was lonely too. So I smiled down at that lily As the day came to an end. And when I left that garden, I just knew I had a friend. Beverley Brown, 6 Matric On Being Demoted (Apologies to Shakespeare) Double, double toil and trouble We sit and boil while prefects bubble. Floor of splinters— bloomers rent, Back to humility, authority spent. No more yelling up the stairs. No more giving marks in prayers; Here we sit on laurels lost Reputations tempest-tossed. Here the pins of merit given To you, for whom we ' ve so (ahem) striven. Ex-Monitors of 6 Matric On Being a Teenager In the opinion of most adults, the golden years of our lives are those when we are teenagers. Of course, in some ways they are the most difiicult, but it is the time when we learn to appreciate the good things in life without the worries that come in later years. Suddenly Shakespeare is not so dry and we find ourselves venturing away from Humpty- Dumpty to read the books our parents read. We teenagers today are living in a scientific age where things are advancing quickly. Over- night we switch from moccasins to stilts and our pale faces turn into Pond ' s angel faces . Perhaps when we are nine we look forward to the day we can change from bobby socks to silks. When we finally arrive at that stage, we find that silk and nylon stockings have the nasty habit of running and that the act of making ourselves look older does not appeal to us, and we long for the days when we wore bobby socks; but such is life. A wonderful convenience our parents sometimes possess is the now seemingly neces- sary car. I am sure, though, our parents wish at times that such an invention did not exist. Of course, to us teenagers it is the most wonderful thing that ever happened, though it can be a cause of misery if there is a large dent in the side of the car to be accounted for, or if the gas tank registers empty when two hours previously it read full . Grandfather ' s

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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

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30 SAMARA clock is a problem, too, for it has the habit of striking midnight on time even though we may be late. Dad, we may be sure, will greet us with a few words to the effect of restricted use of the car in future and a few grumbles about the irresponsibility of the younger generation. We naturally have plenty of homework to do, plenty of exams for which to study, but all in all being a teenager is wonderful and we should make the best of it. Esther Prudham, 5 A Spring in the South It was late afternoon, and spring had come early to the South. The sun slanted down in the garden, throwing a gleaming light on the dogwood trees that were solid masses of white against the background of the new green. The sunset was a really red one which seemed to be telling the world that tomorrow would be a beautiful, wonderful day like the day now so nearly finished. Now that it was setting into a blush of crimson behind the hills across the river, the warmth of the April day was ebbing into a balmy chill. Spring had come early this year with warm quick rains and a sudden blossoming of pink peach blossoms. The dogwood trees studded the dark river swamp and the far-off hills. Already the plowing was nearly finished. The moist hungry earth waiting for the cotton seeds showed pink on the sandy tops of the furrows. The white-washed brick plantation house stood on a rise overlooking the fields, negro cabins and gardens. Suddenly came the sound of hooves, the jingling of harness chains and the laughter of negro voices as they came in from the fields. Inside the house was the click of china and the rattle of silver as the table was laid for supper. The outside of the house was bathed in the last rays of the departing sunlight. The wind rushed through the trees and the white curtains fluttered in the breeze. The approach to the house was beautiful. The dark cedars set in an archway above the drive. In the half light the dark trees were black against the pastel sky. It was a wonderfully pleasant land of white houses, plowed fields waiting for the white of the cotton, and slow peaceful rivers. Spring had come again. And soon, so would another day. Sue Belcourt, 5B Tlie Door Opened Slowly The smoke from her cigarette floated in the air and mixed with the tulle in her dress, so that she was wrapped in a cloud of grey. One of her shoes had fallen on the floor when she lay down on the sofa, and it lay there so that the bottom was turned toward the ceiling. Her red toe-nails showed through her thin stockings, one of which had a short run. She had had a red ribbon in her hair, but she had taken it off, and it lay on the pillow beside her. She wondered if they still were going to tidy up a bit tonight. In that case, she was going to send them away, because she wanted to be alone. She thought of the party. She had pre- pared it carefully, and it had been a success, her guests had enjoyed themselves, and she had enjoyed herself. She had a beautifully set table and flower decorations everywhere. She had had her dress made especially for this event and was proud of it, because it really suited her. She had put on her silver necklace, the silver necklace with the turquoises, that was so tight around her neck. The last glance she had caught of herself in the mirror gave her a certain feeling of security. She was going to enjoy herself, she thought. She was pleased with herself and her house. She was a brilliant hostess where she sat at one of the short ends of the table. She could chat about everything. She was clever and could give quick answers. After dinner, spirits were high, and her guests began to dance. Everybody danced, except Charles, of course, because he was so deaf. She felt sorry for Charles, who was so deaf. But in spite of that, he was very entertaining, because he talked to you about nice things.