Gordon Bell High School - Purple and Gold Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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GORDON BELL HIGH SCHOOL 11 Tom came struggling to the surface. “Elaine,” he yelled, “Elaine,” but no answer came back to him. “Elaine,” he called again, but there was no reply. In the little house Jean, Tony and Peter sat talking. Midget, the huge Newfoundland dog and their constant companion, dreamed of juicy bones in front of the fire, Peter the Great, a little water spaniel, named after his young master, beside him. Suddenly the great dog started, barked excitedly and ran almost in a frenzy to the door, closely followed by the diminutive Peter. “Let him out quickly Tony, something’s the matter,” said Jean. The door being opened, Midget dashed madly on to the beach. Jean and Peter, snatching hats and coats, followed Midget’s lead, while Peter the Great tore around in circles, adding to the general confusion. “Look,” said Tony, pointing out in the lake, “there’s an overturned boat, let’s hurry.” Tony and his sister clambered into their own boat and Peter the Great bounded in after them. But Midget had taken the way he knew best and was already swimming at top speed to the overturned boat. Coming abreast of it they recognized Tom. “Where’s Elaine?” cried Jean as the almost exhausted boy was hauled to safety. “I don’t know,” panted Tom, “though I’ve yelled myself hoarse,” Tony interrupted with a whoop of delight. “There she is, good old Midge found her.” “Whatever brought you out on such a day” said Jean as Tom and Elaine in dry clothes enjoyed the fire’s heat. So they told her all about it. And Tom finished with: “But if it hadn’t been for old Midge we might have been out there,” pointing to the lake. “Woof,” barked Midge lazily, as if to say, “don’t you think I’ve earned a bone?” Third Prize Decreed by Fate By JACK COWAN I T was in the summer of T7, in a dirty, low-ceilinged, darkened room. A dead silence hung over the group of filthy, shabbily-clad men. Although the day was abnormally hot, every man present was experiencing what is known as a cold perspiration. A hat was being passed around from which each drew a slip of paper. Each man seemed afraid to look at the paper which he had drawn. Then came a short, hoarse cry from a young man who was of a somewhat better appearance. Byron Collet was little more than a boy, although already he was weary of the life which had treated him so unkindly. He had been robbed of both his parents by a fire when he was a very young lad. Then for the next seven years he had been brought up in an orphanage where he had been brutally treated, chiefly because his proud spirit had never bowed to the harsh treatment of the staff. At the age of fifteen he had run away. For the next four years he had spent his time either searching for some kind of employment or trying to hold the small occupation which he had obtained. Fortune, however, did not give him a square deal and at the age of twenty he became so dejected that he resigned himself to the fact that he was a no-good, and so became just a plain every-day “bum.”

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10 GORDON BELL HIGH SCHOOL Second Prize Midge Earns His Bone By RENEE McGINLEY “AH dear,” sighed Elaine, “I wish it would stop raining.” v “As if you are the only one,” grumbled Tom. “Children! Children!” said Martha, the housekeeper. “You musn’t take on so. Don’t you know that this rain was sent ’specially down from Heaven to the poor little plants who have been so thirsty for days. Surely you don’t mind giving up your own pleasures for all the beautiful green things on this earth. Toby! Come here at once, sir”—this addressed to the cat who was busily investigating Martha’s balls of wool. “And—as I was saying, children, think what a poor world this would be, if we all thought only of ourselves. Oh dear,” she exclaimed—“I for¬ got all about the oven”—and rushed out of the room. “I wonder if Martha was born that way,” mused Tom. “Maybe she fell on her head when she was a-” “Tom,” cried Elaine, “you musn’t say such things. Although I have heard that old people go queer as they grow older.” “I c an think of a better word than ‘queer’,” Tom laughed. Tom and Elaine were seated in front of the big fireplace in the old house at Brome Lake. Their parents had gone to the city and were re¬ turning the following week. Dad had jokingly said that he left Elaine and Tom in Martha’s charge, and that she was to be sure that she took care of them. And take care of them Martha did, much to their disgust, for she had vetoed many of their picnicking plans. This particular morn¬ ing they had intended to visit Tony, Peter and Jean, who lived across the lake and who were their best friends. Tom and Elaine planned to row across, but, owing to the rain and wind Martha objected and forbade it despite all their protests. Hence their gloomy morning. It was now 11.30 and the rain showed no sign of abating. A dreary day was in prospect. After lunch, when the dishes had been cleared away and washed, Martha took up her knitting; presently her head drooped, and soon she was sound asleep. “Say,” exclaimed Tom, “what about sneaking out and going to Tony’s, anyway. Martha’s asleep and we can let the gardener know where we’ve gone?’ “I don’t know,” replied Elaine, slowly, “it doesn’t seem fair.” “Well, I don’t want to be cooped up in this house the whole day,” Tom retorted, “and I’m willing to take a chance on a lecture if you are.” “Oh, it’s not that I mind a lecture, but I don’t think it right to go out,” Elaine replied, and then, noting the grimace on her brother’s face— “All right, come on.” “As if I need telling,” said Tom, already making for his cap and coat. Tom and Elaine made their way to their boat and found it safe and sound, though anything but dry. Each grasped an oar and soon they were headed out into the wind-tossed lake. “I wonder if we should have come—it’s so hard to see in this storm,” said Elaine. “Oh, we’ll be all right,” her brother assured her as they rowed on. But Tom’s confident assertion was soon to prove wrong, for while they were still in deep water, though near to their destination, a violent gust of wind and an immense wave struck the boat, at the same time almost capsizing it. Desperately they tried to bring it on an even keel but a second wave completed the damage and they were in the water.

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12 GORDON BELL HIGH SCHOOL Two years ago, when absolutely down and out, Collet had been be¬ friended by some rather rough men, many of whom were foreigners. He was taken to a tenement house in the worst part of the city, where he received lodging in return for his services around a printing-press. He was in the employ of the Reds! About this Collet was indifferent. He had been accused before this of being one; and he was given a living—that was sufficient. He had no good reason to be patriotic—the world had treated him very harshly—although his senses often rebelled against certain prin¬ ciples and acts of these coarse people. So for two years Byron Collet had earned his keep by doing odd jobs. He had had many spells of despondency in which he had thought of ending it all. At first his tasks were not important; but soon the leaders of that group of Communists found that he was to be trusted and, as a result, he was given more weighty duties to perform. Once he had been implicated in a strike in which three people had been killed. After being tried at court, he had been acquitted, due chiefly to a good lawyer and to the fact that it was the first time that he had appeared in court. After this incident he would have left the Communists but for a substantial increase in salary and much persuasive talk. Now, with tingling nerves, he stared unseeingly at the paper which he held in his hand. The other men watched him; some pityingly, some with wide grins on their ugly faces, and others with relief. Then Collet set up a cry: “I won’t, I won’t!” he screamed in a high pitched voice. Two men came up to him and forcibly led him to a small ante-room where he assumed a white-faced sullen silence. Gradually he began to face realities. Fate had chosen him as the killer of many men, women and children, among whom was a royal family. He was to bomb a car of the fast mail train on a bridge the following noon. The words, “I won’t do it, I won’t do it!” keep running through his brain although, when two men came for him, he appeared resigned to the fact that he was going to bomb the train. While he was given his instructions, he appeared to be listening with interest and attention, and his employers thought that everything would go off without a hitch. He was to stand at he end of a bridge. The train would be moving slowly—just starting up after taking on water. He was to have two powerful bombs and as the royal car, the fifth, started over the bridge he was to throw the bomb where he thought most of the occupants were. If possible, he was to throw both bombs. After being carefully guarded all that night and the next morning, he was bundled into a fast-looking car, about eleven o’clock. They could not go all the way by car and were forced to walk across two fields before they came to the bridge. They were half an hour ahead of time. Once more Byron Collet was given explicit instructions and warned that if he made any false move they would be standing behind him with drawn guns . Now the train was seen in the distance, beating down upon them like a bird of ill omen. It stopped to take on water some half mile away. Collet was ordered to conceal himself behind a huge stone seven feet from the track. Shivering like a leaf, Collet stepped up, noticing the turbulant waters of the river far beneath, and wondering if he had anything to live for. Dying screams of men, women and children began to ring in his ears, and then he realized that if the bombs were as powerful as they were supposed to be he, too, would be killed, if not by the explosion, by the flying wreck¬ age. Then a desperate thought came to him. Would it not be better to kill the Communists? But, turning, he noticed that they were too far away, having moved back, and that they were protected by a huge rock. Now the train was approaching again. What should he do? His hands began to work deftly with the bombs, and in a second they were harmless. He at least would not kill anybody, and even to him at this moment life seemed sweet. The train was gaining speed. It was only a hundred yards away. Couldn’t he try to stop it! No, that would be entailing too much risk; he could easily be shot at. The train was nearly even with him. He