Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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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.

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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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SAMARA 31 and you only had to laugh with him and he was content. It was a relief, anyway, that he hadn ' t heard when she and his wife quarrelled. She frowned when she thought of it. What a silly quarrel it was. She had dropped some champagne on her dress and Charles ' wife started to scold her for it. What an indecent way to treat her hostess. Just think of it, to start scolding her hostess! Was that manners? No, certainly not. But she and Charles ' wife had never been very good friends. In fact, it was said about them, or rather whispered, that there was something between them that was really serious. But nobody knew what it was. She got up from the sofa and took down a serpentine from the chandelier. She started tearing it into little pieces that slowly fell to the floor. She could remember Charles ' wife looking at her ironically with her big eyes. She lay down on the sofa again and looked up at the ceiling. She played with the little paper knife that was on the table beside her. She remembered how relieved she had been when she saw that Charles sat with his back to them, not hearing a thing. She felt sorry for him, but he was lucky not to know what sort his wife was. Well, she thought, what ' s the use of thinking of a little, unimportant episode. She looked at the door for a moment, because she thought it moved. But it must have been imagination. She was tired now. It really was tiring to have parties. But— she opened her eyes widely— the door really moved, but slowly, very slowly. She didn ' t hear any steps, so she wondered if it were the draught from the window she had opened. But it couldn ' t be that, because she had closed the door well, so that the lock clicked. It must be one of the servants, she thought. Come in , she said. The door continued to open, very slowly. I ' ll come in , said a voice, just as you want me to . And the owner of the voice came in, did his errand, turned the light off, and went out. And the exit was as quiet as the entrance had been. It was now dark in the room, and one could only surmise the woman on the sofa. The moon shone in through the window, but it was on its guard, not to shine on the sofa, so as not to wake the woman on it. It shone instead on the chandelier that sent prisms in the colour of the rainbow all over the room. But soon the moon was hidden behind clouds, and darkness was as a thick cover that lay on the room. She still lay there on the sofa when the first sunbeams came through the windows. Her dress was around her, wrapping her in grey. The beautiful necklace of silver and turquoises decorated her white throat. Maybe it was a bit tighter than the night before, but it really suited her better. Her shoe had again fallen to the floor, and it lay there like a gaping hole, black and empty. The paper- knife wasn ' t on the table. Where could it be? Of course, it could have fallen to the floor and slid somewhere under the sofa. One of the maids went over the corridor to Madam ' s bedroom. She carried a tray with her breakfast. She was going to congratulate Madam on the successful party yesterday. She admired her, because she could give such lovely parties. But Madam wasn ' t in her bed- room. She hadn ' t even slept in her bed last night. The maid thought for a while. Then she assumed that Madam had fallen asleep on the sofa that she lay down on after the party last night. Poor Madam, she was probably tired. But she had to wake her up. Madam had an important appointment quite early in the day. Quietly she walked down the corridor, with the thick carpet on the floor. The house was so quiet, uncanny somehow. Slowly she opened the door to the sitting-room, in fact, somewhat in the same way as the visitor last night. If Madam had seen it, she might not have liked it. It was extremely unpleasant when doors opened slowly. The maid saw that she had been right. Madam had remained on the sofa. She looked so calm, it really was a pity to wake her. But it had to be done. Quietly she walked over the floor to the sofa. Madam felt unusually cold but no wonder, when she had slept all night with the thin dress on her. But, what was wrong with Madam? She was not at all as usual. But Madam , she cried, What is wrong with Madam? . . .