Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS It was evening. The moon shone brightly down upon the snow blank- eted fields. The night was silent except for the distant ringing of church bells coming from a tiny Scotch hamlet nestled at the foot of a huge moun- tain. Along the snow-covered road which led to the hamlet, Angus, the minstrel, rode on his donkey, singing a merry ballad. Angus was a lazy, carefree fellow whose only occupation was traveling about the countrv and stopping at the various castles to entertain their lords by singing his ballads, and playing on his bagpipes. He was on his way now to play at Glowrey Castle for the Yule-tide. The lord at the castle had just married an English lady, so Christmas was celebrated for her. Angus now spoke to his donkey, Aye, Thistle, there’ll be a good dinner and coppers a’plenty tonight. Christmas at Glowrey Castle is so profitable! ’Tis a pity the cop- pers don’t come so easily other nights.” Have ye no shame?” a voice called, and a fair-haired lad of fifteen emerged from the darkness. Does not Christmas mean more to you than that?” Impudent lad,” returned the minstrel, what does Christmas mean to you then?” Christmas to me is our Lord’s Day on which everyone should do for others instead of himself.” He added softly, I regret to say that I did na’ do as much this year as I’ve others. My father is dead and mither is ill. My brother is a’takin’ care o’ her. I was only a burden, so I took me pipes and left to seek my fortune. But now since ’tis old McDonald tradition to give a certain amount of money each Christmas to the nearest church for the needy, I sold my pipes. The minstrel stood silently, ashamed, then he said kindly, Show me your strength on the pipes, lad.” Eagerly the young boy grasped the bagpipes and was soon playing a merry Scotch air. He played exceptionally well. Angus realized then the boy’s skill and love of the pipes. Take these old pipes o’ mine,” he said carelessly, I don’t need them any more. Maybe they’ll bring a bit o’ cheer to yer heart,” and, taking a last glance at the pipes he had worked so hard to buy, he left a happy boy and proceeded on his way singing the same ballad, only the spirit of Chri stmas was now in his heart. Ardeen Parkinson, High Eight. Chrismas Eve The moon was hung with icicles ivhite, And stars xvere twinkling that frosty night, When Santa Claus came with his reindeer eight, Dancing and prancing through the gate. The sleigh bells rang through the crispy air; The windows icere lighted with candles’ flare, T he tree shone out with its ornaments bright, And the whole world was happy that glorious night. Margaret McLean, High Eight.

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The Bells T he hells of the church Are soft and low, As they are swinging T o and fro. T he humming of Their constant heat Goes through the windows And into the street. T he night is filled with silence, But the bells go echoing on — Humming, heating, tingling, Until the break of dawn. Some people filled with sorrow — Some people filled with joy — All kneel down in silence ; Even a little hoy. The bells ring in the Christmas, With love, and joy, and cheer, rf Happiness and peace on earth, Throughout the coming year.” Beverly Poole, Low Eight. Eighth Grade Prize.

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THE STAR Around me the snow was swirling frienziedly; the biting cold was piercing through my clothes. Despite the cold, even I, a stranger, could guess that this was Christmas Eve. Nearby, was a cheerful looking house. A wreath was hung on the door; a light was burning within. Tiptoeing up to the window, I peeped in. In one corner stood a Christmas tree loaded with presents and glistening as though a magic wand had caressed it. On the topmost bough was a beautiful star. But as I looked it grew dull, lost its glitter. Why? I turned away, feeling vaguely disappointed. Sadly continuing down the road, I passed other brightly lighted houses but did not stop. Soon I was at the edge of town. There stood a small shack. It held my attention. Drawn by an irresistible impulse, I drew aside the rough burlap sack that was hung at the window. I gasped at the stark poverty of the scene before me. There was no fire on the hearth. In one corner, covered only by an old shawl, lay two sleeping children. On a stool near the hearth sat a woman. Rising, she took from a pocket of her dress two apples. They were evidently her children’s Christ- mas presents. Suddenly I felt unbelievably humble. At this house, though there was no fire on the hearth, there was a stronger fire burning. It was the flame of love, kept alive by sparks of unselfish devotion. Back in the street, I looked about. It was no longer snowing. I was dazzled by the brilliance of a single star that lit up the whole countryside, and seemingly sent its brightest ray straight to the hut I had just left, leaving it bathed in silvery radiance. I caught my breath at such beauty. Audrey Stout, High Eight. Peace on Earth Peace on earth” An angel said Many years ago; U pon a night A star shone bright When Christ was born, you know. Peace on earth ,” An angel said Many years ago, But now this night Men strike and fight, Which brings to them much woe. r Peace on earth,” An angel said Many years ago; Let’s change our strife To love, which might Make peace reign and tear go. Pat Watts, High Eight.