Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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S A A R A 29 pointment. It was a small picture protected by glass, and the reflection of the light made it difficult to see the whole picture at once. As there was always a group of at least twenty standing admiring it I did not see much since I had not yet acquired my present superb height. After walking a couple of miles looking at pictures, I went over to the House of the Impressionists in which used to be the Tennis Court of the well-known Tennis Court Oath. As a last job during working hours I went to the Eiffel Tower. It was a sunny, clear day and I expected to have a very good view. I went all the way up to the top thinking this would be something to boast about, but I shall never be able to do that! I took one look down, grabbed hold of the man standing next to irie— and fainted. When I woke up I was on my way down in the lift and all the other passengers were fussing about me. I went away as full of shame as a wet cat. After a few hours of rest with my feet in the tub, I went out to have dinner and see a ballet, promising myself never again to try to be brave. Thale Gunneng, Form 6 Matric. Why I Like Acting There are many reasons why I like acting, in fact so many that I could not possibly tell you all of them, but I will try to give you a few. First and foremost, I think one of the most wonderful things about acting is the feeling vou experience when you are able to come out of yourself and become a completely different person. You forget that you are whoever you are, that you have said your lines count- less times before, and really make yourself be the character you are portraying. This enables you to let yourself go completely and realiy play it to the hilt . Acting is a most exciting thing. The feel- ing you get just before the curtain goes up of anticipation and nervousness, and some- times just pure stage fright is something you can hardly explain. And then later, after it is all over, and the curtain falls on the last act you get the sensation of accomplishment and of a job well done, a feeling, to my mind, which cannot be surpassed. A very important factor is the part that teamwork plays in producing a good show. An actress cannot act for the personal glory she will receive but must give all she has not only to the audience, but to the other actors and actresses as well. A fatal mistake is to try to outdo the people you are playing with, for if you do, you will never succeed in being a good actress. There are many things which contribute to a play apart from the acting itself. A ' lakeup, costumes, scenery, lighting and countless other details that an audience might easily take for granted are all vitally important. For ex- ample, without makeup and costumes the player would have a very difficult time por- traying different characters. If a young girl were to play the part of an old man without makeup or costume, it would be practically impossible for anyone to decide what she was supposed to be. All these things are a great help to the actress, as well as to the audience. Acting is a combination of hard work and a good deal of fun. Sometimes you find it rather difficult to rouse yourself for a re- hearsal at nine o ' clock on a Saturday morning and when dress rehearsal time rolls around, frayed nerves and exhaustion occasionally produce a few bad moments. But there is al- ways the funny side of things to cheer people up, and backstage calamities, which never fail to happen are often pretty numerous. All in all I agree most heartily with Shake- speare when he says The play ' s the thing . Rosemary Findlay, Form 6 Matric. If I Could Change Places If I could change places with anyone in this vast and immense world whom would I choose? Would that person be a princess, a popular rich young girl or the eldest daughter of a poor Hungarian immigrant. The princess would have everything she wanted plus a great deal she could do very

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28 SAMARA Walk on a Spring Day Spring is here and all along The road, I hear a robin ' s song Of warmth and joy and blooming earth; She sings the song of Nature ' s birth. I ' m walking through the garden now; In the breeze the blossoms bow,— They bend their fragile heads in prayer To thank The One who laid them there. Holly Ryan, Form 5C2. A Day in Paris iMy first day in Paris was perhaps the most memorable one of the twenty I spent there. I woke up full of curiosity, excitement and energy, thinking I could cover any number of museums, cathedrals, streets and parks. My hotel was near the Champs Elysees, and I started out by walking all the way up to the Arc de Triomphe. My great desire then was to cross the Place de I ' Etoile and go up in the Arc. Little did I know what French car drivers are like. I did not know that their greatest sport and pleasure is running over pedestrians. After several breath-taking attempts I successfully reached the middle where the Unknown Soldier ' s Grave is— there are usually flowers on the grave and a fire burns night and day. I took the lift up in the Arc, M ' hich is not very high, but I had an excellent view of the neighbouring blocks and streets, and I could easily see why the square is called the Square of the Star. Coming down I decided to cross the street together with a lady standing near me— and so I did— I walked across slowly and safely; two runover people would make too much mess on the car. Then I walked down to the Place de la Concorde which lies in front of the Tuileries Gardens. On my way, in the adjoining streets I found several fashion houses such as Fath and Dior. After a good look at the Seine I went on up to the Madeleine Church which was built by Napoleon who had a great love for classic architecture. In comparison with the outside with its beautiful columns I found the inside rather dark and empty. But an organ concert was just being held; it was the most beautiful organ music I have ever heard. I sat in the church longer than I had intended, and coming out in the sunshine I found it was nearly time for lunch. The streets were crowded with people, bicycles and cars. People of all ages, shapes, colours and languages were filling the side- walks. There were luxuriously dressed people, poorly dressed people, neat little schoolgirls with white hats and gloves and sloppily dres- sed so-called artists. All along the sidewalks there were cafes where people were drinking everything from water to absinthe. I sat down at the famous Cafe de la Paris which is opposite the Opera House. After great difficulties I got what I wanted; a coke. In France it is not coke but cokka-cola . Looking at the Opera House I found it larg e and impressive with its beautiful win- dows flanked by columns and its green cop- per roof. In front of it there is a large square in the middle of which are entrances to the subway and, beside them, stands where old women were selling flowers and papers and shouting to the passers-by. Policemen were waving their arms, blowing their whistles and quar- reling with each other and with the drivers of cars that had just crashed and were blocking the traffic. I soon learned that you cannot live in Paris without seeing at least one collision a day. After lunch I went to the Louvre, which is the old Tuileries Palace in which lived the king at the time of the Revolution. I at once set off in the direction of Venus and A4ona Lisa. I found Venus as beautiful and perfect as I had been told, but Mona Lisa was a disap-

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30 S A A4 A R A well without. She would have her fine home, delicious food, beautiful clothes and probably a very happy family relationship. But would it be the same kind of life that a young girl at my age, and of my family, and station in life would have? There would never be any privacy in her life. Every move she made would be noticed and commented on. She would never have any freedom to do the little things she had always dreamed of doing. Her life would be dedicated to her country and her people, and they must be put before her selfish desires. No, I would not give up my life of freedom and happiness for a demand- ing impersonal existence. As for the popular rich young girl, she, too, could have anything she wanted,— good schools, fabulous trips, and many friends. But there would always be the striving to stay popular, the friends who might be undesir- able characters, having been given the free- dom to do whatever pleases them, regardless of the inconveniences and unhappiness of others. Her home might be one of constant quarrels and bitterness as are many of the very wealthy homes of today. Would she be content and happy with what she had, or would she always want more? She would probably have one tight little clique of friends who always saw just themselves, and were snobbishly conscious of outsiders or newcomers. There would not be the excite- ment of meeting new people every day and learning more about them; the interest one gets from judging a person ' s character or as- certaining the type of individual he may be. There would be no enjoyment in having everything one wanted because there would be nothing to look forward to, no goal to set for oneself, whether great or small. I would not be in her shoes for anything in this world. Take the daughter of an immigrant. That girl would have nothing, but she would be happy just working at making a home and friends in her new country. She would at last have a small feeling of security, having rid herself of fears of the great oppressor. Just the feeling of freedom would make her con- tent with her lot and she would strive to start anew and build a worthwhile life for herself and her family. Yet there would still be those inner fears remaining from her former life, the hardships of rebuilding her life and the feeling of not quite belonging. Lastly, would I change places with you? No, I think not. You may be the happiest, most contented person in all the world, but so am I. I have a happy home, friends, a feeling of security, and a sense of belonging, and most of all— a lot of fun. I would not change places with anyone in the world. Sue Belcourt, Form 6 Matric. An Evening in Spain In a city in Spain the shops close for siesta time. The siesta is important. Everyone must rest to prepare for a gay Spanish even- ing. Now, by a Spanish evening I want you to think of an evening that lasts until about three-thirty in the morning. Why not come along and see what is is like? The streets become filled with lively Spaniards in their brightly coloured clothes. The store windows gaily reflect the flashing red and blue neon lights and the striking red umbrellas of the busy sidewalk cafes. The voices of the happy people mix in the air and float up into the penthouses of the wealthy senoras who also depart, smartly arrayed, into the crowded streets. The care- taker soon locks the huge wooden door of the deserted apartments, but the fact that the caretaker has done so, and that they do not have keys to get in by themselves does not concern the Spaniards. The cafes busily serve steaming, oily Spanish delights and penetrating cheap wine. From the cafes people file to the theatres to watch vivacious Spanish senoritas dance, their gay, red skirts, accented by polka dots and white flounces, swirling. The clapping cas- tanets and stamping heels, mingled with the shouts of ole from the enthusiastic audience, add to the gaiety of the evening. Out to the grand streets again, past the