Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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Dear Henrietta Horseface, The world fell about my ears last night when my boyfriend told me that we were through. The reas- ons he gave were a mixture of ice-cream (which I adore) and green serge. I have never written to a love-lorn column before but seeing your sympathetic face in the newspaper was like seeing a raspberry ice- cream cone in the desert. It happened while we were dancing the Frug and I was happily licking a winter- green ice-cream. It was one of those rare moments of supreme happiness. Suddenly he told me that he not only hates ice-cream but he has never been able to stand the colour green. Henrietta, I can ' t live without ice-cream. It ' s my one security in a shifting changing world, and furthermore, I ' m first! He has found Another from St. Joseph ' s who always wears blue and who has a passion for garlic pizzas! What shall I do? The Wearer of the Green. Dear Wearer, Having pondered your case, it came to me that the answer is to change your brand of ice-cream from wintergreen to pistachio. Dear Henrietta Horseface, I am a boy of fiffteen who luvs grene (prefirabely brite grene) butt my ma says to stay clere of girls who ware grene becuz girls who ware grene becum jelus very eesy. All the gurls I no ware blu and yelow. What can I due? A Grene Luver. Dear Grene Luver, See the above letter (Wearer of the Green). I have yet to see an avid ice-cream eater who is jealous. Her address is Sanctuary , Elmwood School. GEOMETRY Trapezaids and polygons, squares included too, I count among the postulates of which I wish I knew. To establish a fact either directly or not. Depends upon analysis of what I ' m being taught. Now this may seem quite simple to others in my class. But of myself especially, I ' m lucky if I pass, They say a triangle is made up of three sides. And that really depends on where the locus rides. Angles and their measurements present a problem too, Whether acute, obtuse, reflex or complimentary viewed, A gent, Pythagorous by name, invented once a theorem. To puzzle me I am sure, and add to my delerium. P.S.: After careful deductive reasoning of these basic geometric figures I have come to the conclu- sion that I must be a square. Karen Gillies, 5A.

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Dear Henrietta Horseface.... Dear Henrietta Horseface, Do you have a solution for knee-socks whic h refuse to stay up? Knee-socks in Trouble. Dear In Trouble, Years of experience tell me that amputation a t the knee is the only answer. Dear Henrietta Horseface, What is happening to modern morality, Henri- etta? This morning as I looked out of my window I saw a school-girl wearing her tunic at a disgraceful length— it was at least three inches above the knee! Shouldn ' t such conduct be stopped? Horrified Citizen. Dear Horrified, It certainly should be! Regulations state quite clearl ' that all school tunics are to be worn from four to seven inches above the knee! Rest asured, this infraction of the rules will be corrected!

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THE QUARREL The bell clanged, so that Jack entered the class- room late. However, he sensed, as he eyed the master ' s unresponding back, that as yet his presence had not been missed. By means of a circuitous route, Jack had almost gained that which made him indistinguishable from the mass — his seat at his desk. As he moved deftly dow n the last few feet of the aisle his eyes were not w atching for the inevitable; — a protruding foot. Jack stumbled and fell. A few minutes later he fell his hands sting under humiliating cane blows, while his soul felt stripped like a green twig at the pronounce- ment of his doom. He was to forfeit his Saturday outing, and spend the hours serving the most hated and feared man on campus. Not that the Latin master was a cruel man; he wasn ' t, only he tcould make out to the other boys, had you so much as opened a door for him, that you and he were on the very best of terms. Nevertheless, Jack wanted to ignore the possibil- it - that the fatal shoe had not been placed in the aisle accidental!} ' . This resolved, he used the chill that he felt towards his tormentor to extinguish the flame of anger he felt. It had all but died. Then, as the last words of sentence rang abov e his head, Jack ' s ear-backs heard the hint of an en- joying titter from the corner of the foot, and the once dying flame shot blue and hard up his spine. Five minutes, four minutes, ' til the bell would clash the freedom not for the dav. Four more min- utes of an excruitiatingly painful caricature of a wrest- ling match. Jack sat silent and still, moving not a muscle but those in his arm and hand that controlled his index finger. On the strength of this finger Jack felt that his whole future depended. He felt the knuckles twist as the other boy, sitting also motionless at the desk in front renewed the strength in his index finger by a dextrous snap of his wrist. Jack did not notice that his lip was beginning to bleed, or that it was his own teeth that were causing the pain he felt because of it. He felt only a hot, red demolition ball of hate crashing between his temples, and the full ache in his arm that combined with the sharp hurt in his finger. The boy in front had at least stopped tittering. Three minutes, two minutes, one minute; Jack ' s teeth met through his l ip. The finger of the boy in front gave a little; then something wrenched. Thirty seconds, then fifteen; the finger snapped. The two boys retrieved their arms, each placing his own gin- gerly on his lap. Jack took his teeth out of his lip. Five seconds; the bell rings. C ' mon, says Jack, dad ' s a doctor . Oh, thanks, says the boy from the desk in front. He paused. Hey, is your finger allright? Sure, Fm fine . Jack says — he smiled, and the blood poured off his chin. Fleur Wallis, 6M. MY NAME, A GRAIN OF SAND A ' ly name, a grain of sand, A new born snowflake, A drop of rain, a breath of fresh air . . . But wait, you say no, A man is an immortal thing Who hath power of reason and logic With emotion and feeling for his fellow? Does not the wind of time blow away Even the coarsest grains? Does not even the most beautiful snowflake melt? Does not time evaporate the dew of morning? And does not a breath of fresh air turn stagnant being exhaled? No one praises dust and decay nor likes the stench Of rotting flesh. Wind, blow me away, Time fill my place And let my bones lie unmarked Among those of Adam ' s friends. Sandra Carrigan, 6M.