Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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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

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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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SAMARA 29 What the Cat Saw I am the cat, and what I saw is a tale which has never been told. But since my mistress has to write a story, she decided to tell my own experience. Why she couldn ' t use one of her own, I really don ' t know, but anyway, here it is. You ' ll have to excuse any exag- gerations, because she, that ' s my mistress, has to make it sound good. I ' ll tell you when something isn ' t exactly right. After all, I ' m telling this story, even though she ' s writing it. It all began one day when I decided to have a snack and began to wander up to the attic. Mice were plentiful there, and my favourite dish happens to be these creatures. No one noticed me as I slunk up the stairs, pausing only to chase a fly or bat a flower in a vase. Life seemed so dull, and to think I was to live at least nine of these so-called lives. This really doesn ' t matter, though, because I do have fun. Back to the subject of those delicious monsters in the attic. At this thought I began to go a little faster. Then before me lay the attic and my snack. Something was different about it all, though. What was it? Oh! someone had taken away my favourite box. Even though it M as full of old newspapers and magazines, it was really quite comfortable. I figured that the search for a new napping place would just have to wait; for, you see, those tiny animals I was drooling for were now right before my eyes. Then the chase began! Knocking over an old chair, a cracked purple vase, which wasn ' t too pleasing to look at, I finally caught my snack. Quite pleasant it was, nice and plump, too. Smack , that did taste good. Oh, oh, there comes mistress; guess she heard the vase fall. It was too late; she was bending over me, scolding me for breaking such a gorgeous antique. Slowly I crept away into a dark corner. The memories of my snack had faded away. Now I was in trouble; this meant being locked up in the kitchen, with no freedom at all. Suddenly, mistress gave a cry of surprise; this made me jump back to my senses. In the midst of the broken chips of the vase lay a beautiful shining round thing. As I found out later, it was an old ring, inherited from my mistress ' s Granny. What ever was done with it I really don ' t mind, because I doubt that I ' ll ever find any more. For, you see, it ' s been a long time since I ' ve been in the attic, either looking for mice, or a comfortable napping spot. For now, I sit upon a satin cushion and I ' m fed shrimps a la carte! Eleanor Patrick, V B The Calf He was a little calf with wobbling legs and a shaking head. He looked rather like a pinto pony with the softest brown eyes. While he was drinking from a pail placed under a running tap his front legs gave way, and he landed on his knees, his head up to his eyes in water. There was a great deal of spluttering, but the little fellow came to and continued to drink from the overflowing pail. He drank for so long that it was almost possible to see his stomach expanding with every gulp. Finally when he was about to explode, he staggered off and fell on his stomach to rest in the shade of the nearest tree. Andrea Rowley, VI Matric The Fight The sun was just sinking behind the purple mountains, when suddenly high on the ridge above, there appeared the magnificent figure of a golden staUion. His coat shone as if made from the rays of the sun. Suddenly, from the forest, there came a shrill challenge and through the trees came the running form of a brown stallion. Rearing high, the golden stallion rose to meet his combatant and the two horses locked themselves together kicking and biting in the life and death struggle of the wild. Finally under constant blows the challenger began to weaken, and with a final rush the golden stallion knocked him to the ground. It was only a matter of seconds be- fore the final spark of life was crushed out. With a triumphant scream the stallion once more rose above his enemy then whirled and was gone. o t ° Sarah Jennings, V B