Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

Page 30 text:

28 SAMARA The Storm It was a few minutes past noon. The water lay still in an uneasy calm. Then, like a child awaiting his first snowfall of the season, it began to grow impatient. Small angry ripples began to form and then rapidly they de- veloped into turbulent waves. The water began to swell and it htoked as if it w ould break loose from the invisible bonds that held it in place. The waves were crowned with white-caps which appeared to be mocking the murky waters with twisted grins. The crashing noise made by the waves was like an orchestra with- out a conductor in which all the instruments were playing as loudly as possible. Suddenly the waters began to tire of their sport and diminished quickly into small sleepy ripples which lapped gently against the shore. Peace had returned and once again the ocean slept. Brigid Martland, 6M. The Longest Day I Can Remember The year is 2050. I have just been sent up by the Royal Canadian Air Force Time Machine Division, so here I am, floating out over the gigantic map of hundrdes of yeai ' s ago and the not too distant past. In 1961 I can see the first struggling efl: ' orts of the Russians and the Americans to try to put one human being on the moon. How silly can you get! The moon ' s only a short distance away from us! Now we have settlements in Mars, Venus, Saturn, and a small colony on the Sun. Oh well, struggling young scientists will be like that! 1920 was really a fabulous time it seems. The Charleston looked like fun, but it must have taken an awful lot of energy to do it for very long. I love the dresses they wore, with all the fringes on them. They were the rage again quite a while ago, I believe, in 1983. 1890 seemed to be a time when children had to be very well disciplined. The high- buttoned shoes and starched white collars really looked smart though. Suddenly my time machine jerked or some- thing and I went back a while longer. I saw some poor man with his head in a wooden contraption. I left before I saw anything, but I can guess what happened. I saw colourful gypsies in their caravans, noisy markets in tiny villages, men ploughing their rich, brown fields, and many other in- teresting things, as I flew over this wide map of history. It was so interesting that I just hated to leave, but when the small purple button next to me banged the chime which signified I must leave, I was not really too sorry to go. I guess I ' m just an old homebody. The day seemed long because I went so far back into history, but if I ' m ever called to do it again, I think I would. Would you? Debbie Duval, 5C. Christmas One thing we can be sure of on Christmas Day is a full-scale battle between the turkey and my father, with odds on the turkey. Father plans the attack first by sharpening his sword. Next he surveys the property and picks the quickest and easiest way through, so he thinks. However, the turkey is a wise bird and keeps himself in good shape— full of sinews. The sword is plunged into the enemy but it recoils from the tough mass it hits. Father strikes again and yet again, but alas, the sword is blunt. It is sharpened to an extremely fine point. After several attacks and retreats— a victory! One drumstick is Hfted carefully from the platter and placed on the plate by a beam- ing head of the family. Judith Carter, 5A. Pride What is pride? According to the dictionary it is in- ordinate self-esteem or a high and overweening opinion of one ' s own qualities, attainments or estate . One man defined it as a pleasure

Page 29 text:

SAMARA 27 However will I find some words that link, And are the proper words to fit the rhyme? But all the words that come to mind in time Are always ones that are not de rigueur, But rather ones that poets would abjure. I therefore wish upon my lucky star That these sad days and nights are very far, Or never, when my task is to compose A poem; for I much prefer the prose. Sheila A ' IacTavish, 6M. A Display of Fireworks The night was dark and silent. There was no breeze and none of the sounds of nature that are common to the ear. The mountain was quiet, much too quiet. In the small village, at the foot of this gigantic mound of rock, the villagers were going about their way, as usual, laughing, sing- ing and fighting, some of them having con- sumed too much liquor. None of them seemed to notice the peculiar silence that had fallen on the mountain, and why should they?— for it was Saturday night and they had all just been paid and their work was over for the week. They were making the best of it, as they always did on Saturday night. Even the little children, who were usually in bed at this time on week days, were running in the streets, laughing and playing with balls and games. Suddenly there was a rumble, like the sound of far-away thunder. The villagers all looked up from what they were doing. Why, it was too lovely an evening for a storm and there were no dark clouds in the evening sky. Many thoughts must have raced through their minds at that mo- ment. Then, as if their minds were all com- bined, everyone ' s eyes rose with a searching glance to the mountain. The dirty, blackish smoke which rose every day was not there any more! A red crimson mass of flame had taken its place. The villagers, all terrified, turned and ran for their homes, but before many of the people reached them another rumble came, another and then another. It was on this third rumble that the hot pit of molten rock blew up. Scalding hot boulders and pieces of rock went hurtling hundreds of feet into the sky. Hot lava was spurting in all directions. The mountain had split in three places and these places formed enormous cracks stretching from base to peak of this fiery pit. The molten lava came flowing through these cracks like water running full speed from a tap, smothering the whole village. An enormous flame had now risen from the steaming pit, fifty times as big as the crimson mass seen before by the villagers. This flame was shooting sparks so high that they were lost into the night. The village that had once been so gay and carefree was now gone— smothere d by a red-hot blanket, almost as if it were sheltered from all the cold and dark of the night, lying still, as it would for years to come. But the old mountain would still be there, cracked as it was, waiting, waiting for another time to ruin and destroy, for the elements of the earth are very unreliable. Caroline Massey, 5A A Queer Name This is a true story of how Canada ' s big, famous copper mine in A-lanitoba was named. The name of the great mining town is Flin- Flon. Today many minerals such as copper, zinc, cadmium, gold and other rare metals are produced there. This story takes place around the time of the first world war. It is about some prospectors who came upon an old trapper ' s cabin. In the cabin, among other things, they found a cheap paper-back novel entitled the ' Sunless City ' . One of the characters in the novel was a man called Flinotin Flonneroy who had discovered a treasure. The prospectors took turns reading the book, and when they had discussed it, they thought it might be a good omen, so they de- cided to search for gold nearby. They were successful, as we know, and the town that grew up where the gold and copper was found was called Flin-Flon, a shortened form of Flinotin Flonneroy. Kit McMeans, 4A.

Page 31 text:

S A Ad A R A 29 arising from man ' s thinking too highly of him- self , while another thought of it as an es- tablished conviction of one ' s own paramount worth in some particular respect . This, of course, is all very true, but to me pride is something more— something I can ' t quite explain or understand. Often, while in a pensive mood, I have pondered whether pride is good or evil, and, after much deliberation, 1 have decided that it can be both. Pride is something that keeps us from apologizing to a friend after doing something wrong and hurting the other ' s feelings. There- fore, pride can cause pain and unhappiness. This is what was meant by Elizabeth Morrow when she said: My friend and I have built a wall Between us thick and wide: The stones of it are laid in scorn And plastered high with pride. But, naturally, this is not the only type of pride. I am sure that we have all been told at one time or another to take pride in our ap- pearance . This does not mean that we should feel superior simply because we may have longer eyelashes or a better figure than some- one else, but to keep ourselves tidy and respectable in appearance. Some people are proud of themselves be- cause they were born with white skin, or their great-grandfather was a famous statesman. This is not true pride, but conceit and narrow- mindedness. People can be justly proud of themselves only when they have accomplished something worth-while by themselves, not when an ancestor did it. Many misunderstand what pride is. They think that it is snobbish- ness and conceit, while it is nothing of the sort. When a job is well done it is only natural to feel proud and satisfied and I can see no sin in this. Each and every one of us has pride, whether we admit it or not. If there were no such thing as pride, what kind of people would we be? I think the answer is that we would be weak- minded, unsatisfied and ashamed of all our accomplishments and belongings. By this I do not mean that we should look down our noses at people less fortunate than ourselves, but that we should realize our good and bad qualities. At all times we should remember that pride goes before a fall and that none of us is in- fallible. In fact, the Bible says: Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. Through pride we gain self-confidence, which helps us in every way to better our personalities. If we take pride in our work, when a mistake is made we are all the more anxious to correct it. Therefore, pride can be a virtue as well as a sin. I think Alexander Pope was only par tially correct when he said: Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man ' s erring judgment and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. Dorian Ellis, 5C. Ghosts I Should Like to Meet Most people nowadays say there are no such things as ghosts. But they ' re wrong. Of course there are ghosts; very interesting ones too. I ' d love to meet a ghost— not just any ghost but one that had background and personality. For instance, I ' d like to meet Marie Antoinette, the last French queen. Beautiful, ill-fated and the pampered bride of a charming, spineless king, her story would be one to hear. The first hand story of one of the bloodiest and most famous of all revolutions, the Reign of Terror , would be fascinating, especially if told by one of its direct causes. For Marie Antoinette, lovely as she was, certainly was the irrationally extravagant woman who, to pay for her fabulous clothes, jewels and whims, necessitated the raising of taxes, causing the poor people of Paris to be brought down to the level of starvation. But she died a miserable death at the hand of another famous lady, Madame le Guillotine.