Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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30 SAMARA Another ghost, this time a twentieth cen- tury ghost, who would be interesting to run into on a dark, wild night, is Adolf Hitler. He was indirectly responsible for an unaccountable number of miUions of deaths through another whim, to rule the world. But credit must be given to Hitler for the way in which he rose from a poor farm boy to a man who overran about half of Europe in pursuit of his ambi- tions. But I would really like to meet a ghost who was filmy white and had bony hands, in a dark haunted house. The wind would be blow- ing, making a loose shutter bang back and forth creating a deathly echo. My dream ghost would float through a wall and with a blood curdling scream I would tear out of the house, never to return— just as they do in books. Caroline Nicholson, 5B. Making a Dime Go a Long Way One morning three years ago, I opened my eyes slowly, due to the strong sun streaming in my window. I remembered that today was the day I got my allowance. At this time I did not think ten cents was nearly enough money, but it did get me through the week once in a while. This week I decided to try and get more out of my dime than usual. Starting down the street I met my friend, Julie, with her new doll. Looking at the doll I suddenly fell in love with her, and I asked Julie if she would like my dime for her doll. At the time we did not know the value of money, and Julie said it would be all I ' ight if I took good care of the doll. 1 thanked her and taking the doll in my arms, walked down the street smiling happily. As I went past the Junkyard, I saw a small white kitten sitting on a clump of grass. I hoped that someone had left it there because he did not want it. An idea of making another exchange struck me. I kissed the doll, and sat her on a mattress. I picked up the kitten, and walked home. After that I thought that I ' d made a dime go a long way. VicKi Sainsbury, 4B. Doomsday It was seven o ' clock. She had only an hour. An hour until doomsday. She began pacing up and down nervously. Her stomach was not feeling its best as she had hardly a bite to eat all day. She realized she must get a hold of herself. Others had done it before her and had lived through it. It would only last a few hours and then she could return to her cozy bed which looked more inviting than ever at that moment. Seven-thirty— another half-hour. Her throat felt dry. Perhaps she was becoming sick and would not be able to go through with it. Then suddenly there was a ring at the door. She heard footsteps coming slowly up the stairs. Then a voice cried out— Susan, he ' s here. She took a deep breath and walked downstairs, feeling like a condemned prisoner going to execution. It was her first date! Margot Toller, 6M. The Road at Night I was told never to go near the road at night. Of course, when a child is told not to do a thing, she immediately has the desire to do it. I am a typical child. The night was warm as I started out on my explorations. A gentle breeze whispered to the trees, who shook their branches with laughter. Upon the dew-tipped grass the moon cast its image. Crickets chirped monotonously and an occasional grumph was heard from a disgruntled frog. Feeling the eeriness of the road as I walked along, I began to whistle rather tunelessly. My whistling, however, contrasted awkwardly with the silence of the road, so I stopped. At once I heard a small tinkling of a bell and the distant rumble of wheels. Quickly I darted behind a hedge. The scene before me was one of enchant- ment. A fairy caravan was being pulled by a little bay pony, who pranced gaily and shook his head as he pulled the caravan down the lane.

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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.

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SAMARA 31 Millions of tiny fireflies flitted around and rainbow-winged fairies danced merrily around the pony and tickled his ears. The driver was a grey squirrel, who had a bandana tied like a gypsy and played a mouth- organ, which, as they drew nearer, I noticed was made of a honeycomb. From this minute instrument gay music filled the air. Suddenly a firefly landed on the pony ' s nose. I was reminded of Rudolph the Red- Nosed Reindeer , and I laughed at the comical sight. The spell was broken! The little folk, un- aware of my presence, immediately disap- peared. The fireflies extinguished themselves. The caravan, flying down the road, left behind the haunting echo Naughty child! Naughty wicked child! ringing in my ears. I was so filled with remorse that I vowed never to go on the road at night again. JiNTY Knowling, 5B. It Never Rains But It Pours Gerry Austin was an unsuccessful author. He had written hundreds of short stores but they had not as yet, been accepted by any publisher. Gerry was philosophical about it and kept sending them to different publishers, saying some day they will wise up and know talent when they see it . Meanwhile he was living in a cheap, cold, uncomfortable rooming house. He existed on sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and supper. At the present he was working on his latest big novel. He was confident that it would be published and then he would be a great success. His sister came in every evening to type it for him and put it in a plastic binder for safe- keeping. One Tuesday morning, Gerry was sitting in the library working when he became con- scious of a man standing behind him. He recognized him as Victor S. Bennet, the famous and wealthy publisher. He said that he had read what Gerry had written and liked it so if the rest was just as good he would undertake to publish it. Only one month later the book was pub- lished and a week later it was a best seller. As soon as his novel made the headlines, publishers from all over demanded that they be allowed to publish his stories. He received eighty-seven letters in one week, and, as Gerry said happily it never rains but it pours . Anne Chaplin, 4A. I Read It When I Was Very Young I read it when I was very young. To be precise it was eleven years ago. It was given to me for my birthday by my uncle. It was quite a small book covered in red leather and the edges were ornamented with a design in gold. The pages, I remember, were quite thin, the writing of medium size. Now and again there was a sketch in black and white illustrat- ing a line in the story. I used to read a chapter a day. Some at school, some at home. At night, my mother read a paragraph or two to me before I went to sleep. I enjoyed every word written in the book. Every character came to life and I felt that each one was my friend. Since I was small I have read this book quite a number of times. Each time something is discovered which re- mained untouched before. Some underlying meaning becomes clear or one is able to read between the lines and discover the mind of the writer. Once this can be done all sorts of possibilities are opened up in the story. Motives are thought out and proved; each event in the story really means something now. This book gave much to me when I was small. It gave me a love of animals and their ways, and a love of the beauty of nature. It taught me to understand right from wrong and to show kindness and love to my enemies. The author was Kenneth Grahame, the book, ' The Wind in the Willows ' . I read it first when I was very young. Judith Carter, 5 A.