Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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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

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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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SAMARA 31 illuminated fountains with mists of water enshrouding the golden figurines, the people stroll, or the more wealthy, in their thin woollen shawls, rattle in the antiquated black and red taxis to the night clubs. They stop at the Florida in the centre of a majestic park dotted with rushing fountains and spot- lights. Inside they are shown to a marble- topped table in a large round room with green vines creeping up the walls. Their eyes follow the vines to the roof which thev find is the starry sky. They see the dance floor elevate to their level and watch some more enhvening, rhythmic Spanish dancing. At the same time let us follow others who pile into taxis and go down dark streets untfl they reach brightly lit gypsy caves. Unlike most gypsies these are wealthy, as they make money dancing for the tourists. They lead the tourists into small cloisters covered by a trellis with vines from which hang clusters of grapes. The gypsies are infinitely happy and flash their teeth at the bewildered newcomers who watch them dance as gracefully as pro- fessionals amidst the stamping of feet and clapping of hands. Now at three thir ty in the morning, all, whether strolling, visiting the night clubs or gypsy caves, come home tired and happy. Oh! Oh! They have no keys and the care- taker is asleep! Never mind, for they are not troubled. They clap their hands and stamp sticks, and after a few breathless moments hear the tap of a stick in reply. Soon an old man comes limping up the street with all the keys of every building in the district on a ring, and unlocks the door of the building. Thus ends a contented, perfect Spanish evening. Esther Prudham, Form 6 Upper. A Transformed World When snow comes drifting down, covering the hills and fields like a mysterious veil it reminds me of a strange but beautiful fairy- land. The light snowfall of the night before trims rooftops, trees, and shrubs with a filmy lace. Silvery icicles hang from the frosty eave- troughs like icy spears. Along the lane, large spruces sparkle like giant Christmas trees sprinkled with diamond dust. The road is a thin white ribbon covered with a blanket of feathery snow. This enchantingly beautiful scene fills me with wonder as 1 stand looking out on a world that has been transformed overnight. Katherinf, Connolly, Form 5C 1. The Forgotten Dead Remembrance Day is a tragic day,— a day of sorrowful recalling of loved ones. These heroes, the forgotten dead for whom we mourn, are they really to be pitied? Who were the dead? They were men and women hke you and me. They felt pleasure and pain; they sinned and sorrowed; they were petty and angry, loving and kind. The old man went to war. But what did war mean to him? Why, he was alive again, young again, and needed. He was shot through the head. Terrible, you say. Was it? He was saved from a rheumatic old age! The youth went to war. He died and lives forever as one of the forgotten dead . What did he sacrifice? A life of hated toil, on a farm already too small, was his loss. But what of the average man, the family man? He gave up his life, but after all he had lived. His death had a meaning. Does not the tragedy remain here on earth in the lives shattered by the absence of the dead? These are the families, the toilers, the survivers who must struggle on. The broken- hearted widow, the sorrowing mother must struggle to keep body and soul together. These are the ones who deserve our tears. The dead are cared for, at rest, hallowed and loved. What they might not have attain- ed in life they have attained in death. Their spirit has become immortal, eternal. They are heroes forever. Is it then so bad to die a soldier ' s death? Sheena Ewing, Form 6 Upper.