Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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SAMARA 27 The Golden Age Most people, despite the misfortunes of this world, have at least one period in their lives that they can look back upon with something more than the usual fond recol- lections. These days seemed to be full of happiness, with no worries, no discontent, no responsibilities, just carefree happiness. This period could, in fact, be called their Golden Age. My own Golden Age seems to me to have been from the time I was five years old until I was about ten. Before I was five I was incapable of being happy and after I became ten the moments of complete happiness dwindled. Perhaps I should say at this stage that what I mean by happiness is not the glowing excited happiness that comes when somebody has just told you that you passed an exam you thought you had failed, or that your uncle has left you a million dollars with which to do what you want. No, rather it is that state of contentedness that comes when no strong emotions of unhappiness or happi- ness possess you. Puring my golden years the time-con- suming tasks such as school work, chores around the house and all the other unavoid- able responsibilities that everybody must take on with advanced age had not put in an appearance. I with my friends of the same age could spend long hours learning the supposedly useless arts of climbing trees, building snow forts and making ditches in the spring. But if they were of no use, think how much peacefulness and fun they brought. Think of being able to spend hours draining a puddle that did not need to be drained! There was also much time wasted, if you could call it that, when I watched, fascinated, the work my mother did around the house. In those days one could accept, unquestioned, the hours of effort that Mother spent in look- ing after the family. During that golden age also was the time that I could draw a terrible picture and proudly show it to someone or unselfcon- sciously put my skirt on backwards. The art of being unselfconscious about such things at all times is lost later and then learned again painfully as one becomes what the experts call sophisticated . Thus I recall these times with pleasure, and think how lovely it would be to go back to that oblivious state. Then I think of the new pleasures and the new interests and also the new privileges that go with being older, and I am content. Sally Trueman, VI Upper Gypsies Here come the gypsies skipping by, In colours bright as a summer sky. With ragged children tagging along. Knowing nothing ' bout right nor wrong. Mangy dogs and scrawny cats Who ' ve never slept on fireside mats, Run along behind the carts Ne ' er afraid of wooded parts. Steadily on the horses plod. Leaving imprints in the sod. The only time they stop to rest Is when the birds flock home to nest. The caravans all green and gold Hide many a secret yet untold. Underneath these roving homes Hang pots and pans an ' ol ' chicken bones. At night one sees the campfire ' s light. And hears a song that ' s bright. But ne ' er is there a brawling throng Which makes things all go wrong. Their caravans of green and gold. The dogs and cats which children hold. Are disappeared before the morn For gypsies rise at the break of dawn. There go the gypsies far away Clothed in many colours gay, And as the sun sets in the sky We see no gypsies trooping by. Jane Rowley, VC I

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26 SAMARA beauty spot of the hills . What about Zuhab? He runs his own tourist guide agency in Damascus. It is a flourishing business and Zuhab sits back, but he instructs his guides to take the tourists to see Zuhab ' s Cadisha . As for Zuhab ' s family? Through his fame, the father, Shamman, received an excellent job and retains it still. As for the lucky charm? Zuhab still wears it and thanks it for his success. Now, my good reader, I hope you under- stand why I am a little inclined to believe in fairy godmothers. Esther Prudham, VI Matric The Man in the Library He stood in the middle of the floor in the vast dark room of the library. He was tall and thin but bent. His head was pulled in between his shoulders as if he were afraid the walls covered with books would close in on him. His suit was threadbare and baggy at the knees and elbows. It had once been navy blue, but many years of wear among dusty books had faded it to a dull grey. He had a big beak-like nose on which a pair of horn- rimmed glasses were perched. His cheeks were hollow and of a yellow colour. But his eyes, seeming very big through the thick glasses, had a keen glance. He looked around at the walls, paused a moment to think, and then looked through all his pockets for something. At last he pulled out a piece of paper, read what was written on it and walked over to the astronomy books. Helena von Numers, VI Matric My Dog When school is done I walk my dog To give him exercise; And in return he shows his love With soulful, upturned eyes. They say the dog is man ' s best friend. He ' ll comfort and defend; Without our dogs what would we be? We ' d be at our wits ' end. Martha Rodger, VC II Faith The wind rustled softly through the pines and the birds chirped happily. Before the rain the air was heavy and oppressive, without movement. The birds waited expectantly, uttering only a few necessary chirps. The ground lay dry and cracked. All the country- side waited and prayed. The drought which had lasted for over two months was coming to an end, at least so everyone and everything hoped. The crops which had been planted so long before were dried and withered. If rain did not come soon they would be ruined. If only the rain would come and relieve the terrible pressure in the hot, humid air. The word rain was on every farmer ' s lips, the topic of all conversation. Then one August day, the farmers awoke and failed to see the hateful, hot, blistering sun shining so unmercifully on their poor withered crops. All they could see were dark, threatening but oh-so welcome clouds. All day they waited and prayed for relief from this drought which threatened their very lives. The air grew more oppressive as the hours ticked by: nine o ' clock, ten, eleven, twelve, one, two, three, four o ' clock. Finally at five o ' clock they began to give up all hope. But suddenly the thunder rolled, lightning streaked through the grey sky, and the heavens opened, pouring forth what had been prayed for day and night. It lasted for two soHd, heavenly hours. At seven o ' clock the sun broke through, but this time the farmers did not curse it, they welcomed it. As the Angelus rang out, everyone sank to his knees and thanked his God for what he had sent. The grass was greener; the crops seemed to lose their withered look; flowers opened out and at last there was no more worry or anxiety. Rain had come. Life would start anew. These farmers had faith. They knew that their God would not fail them if they be- lieved, trusted and prayed. Susan Belcourt V A

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28 SAMARA How the Lark Got Its Song Deep in the Rocky Mountains of Canada lies a valley. This isn ' t just an ordinary valley. It has the high mountains all around it and on its floor shimmers a lake. By day the water reflects the colours that are so lovely and the blue, blue sky. By night it holds an ominous shadow but only until the moon rises and the stars come out. There is a meadow on the valley floor as well. The tall grasses are dotted by an odd red poppy or a wild tiger lily. Why do I call this an unordinary valley? It has all the qualities that any other might have, but to make it difl erent, it holds a secret. One day the wind in the trees told it to me. There was a time long ago when the earth was inhabited only by the animals, fish and birds. Each of these creatures had a voice and some sort of song which it could sing. All, that is, except the lark family. Conditions for larks in this valley were ideal. There was water to drink and to bathe in, much room to fly about in, and many other birds for com- pany. Aiany of these winged creatures chose to build their nests in the grass or trees. There was a section on the meadow set aside for larks especially and there was one happy fam- ily with many children which lived on Lark ' s lane. The youngest of the family was a boy named Flip. As you can imagine, he was a rascal. He loved to play tricks on all the other animals and found life very wonderful and so much fun. That was until the night of the great concert rolled around. This concert was held on the shores of the lake and every animal came. Some came from the high slopes; the fish rose from the deep underwater caves of the lake and even King Eagle came down from his lofty perch. There was great con- fusion all that day. While feasts were laid out, strange noises could be heard from every nook and cranny. These sounds, as you may have already guessed, were the tuning up exercises And so the evening came on. The sun set, twilight fell, and the moon rose. The moon seemed to have put on his brightest light for the occasion. The singing began. The old mama bears loved to sit in a group, put back their heads, rock to and fro, and harmonize. Little FHp was feeling the gaiety, but was perhaps a little sad too. You must remember that he didn ' t have a song. As the voices rose, the rhythm chang- ed; the peak of the music was reached. It was twelve o ' clock, the witching hour. A black shadow crossed the moon. Little Flip got very excited. He hopped up and down, then he beat his wings and rose to investigate that cloud, but it soon passed and the music grew softer. Flip began to sail downward but he was halted in mid-air. What could have stopped him? He was in the path of an echo. Flip was so surprised that his jaw dropped open. All of a sudden he felt a terrible jolt. The echo had gone into his mouth. He swal- lowed hard but the lump stuck in his throat. As the singing stopped he fell head over heels to the ground. He went over to the crowd that had been watching him, opened his mouth and out came the most beautiful sound. He could sing, and as he sang all the other larks joined in. The singing swelled as all of the creatures sang with them to praise God until the dawn made them aware that they were tired. All M ' ent to their homes while Flip just tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep, a tired but happy little lark. Barbara Kennedy, VI Matric