Hugh John Macdonald School - Searchlight Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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COMPOSITIONS By Elsie Sader 9-13 23 Compositions! That -word brings a shiver to my spine. To make me write a composition is one of the worst punishments that a teacher could inflict upon a pupil such as me. There are a lot of other things that I could do to pay for my crime but no! They always have to hand out a few sheets for a composition. First, I have to find a topic. Of all the wide selections, I cannot find any that is suitable at this dismal moment. After finally deciding to write upon the easiest topic, I have to find a topic sentence for the first paragraph. Alas! I can think of no such sentence, and so I write the paragraph bitterly hoping that the teachers might by chance find a topic sentence. By this time I can foretell the future far enough to see that I f 11 have the same trouble through the whole stupid composition and naturally I do. When I finally hand the composition in, I usually get it back to do over again and so I sit down to try painfully to make the best of my ability! THE TRUE APT OF BAKING By Sandra Dolberg 9-13 One rainy Saturday afternoon, having nothing to do, I finally decided to bake a cake. My mother and sister had just left for the afternoon, and I would have a little peace and quiet for a while. I leafed through a recipe book until I found what I was looking for. I creamed the butter, not noticing the piece of paper I had failed to remove. After rescuing the paper, I con¬ tinued. I set the oven at the suggested temperature, and greased the pans. I sifted and measured the dry ingredients accurately (I thought. In a matter of about ten minutes I had the batter mixed up and the cake ■was reader to go into the oven. When the bell rang, I put the cake in the oven and hoped for the best. I had just started to clean the sink, containing dishes, mixing bowls, and countless other gadgets, when the ' phone rang. It was my friend. Blank Blank, who had just heard some juicy gossip and hastened to pass it on. We gabbed on and on; I had completely forgotten about the cake in the oven. All of a sudden there was a horrible smell, like that of burning rubber. Horrors! My cakel It w as too late. The cake was burned to a crisp, and had fallen in, I felt so miserable that I could have cried. Why did this have to happen to me? I always have bad luck with the culinary arts. When my mother came home I was still cleaning the kitchen. After a few hours of ridicule at my expense, everything was unusually normal. Next day I planned on making another cake. This time I used a cake mix that was guaranteed to be easy enough for a child to make. I can prove differently! I just wasn ' t meant to be a good cook!

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THE STORY CF MUSIC By Sheila Fossaner Rm. 7-10 24 The music we hear today we take for granted. We do not think back to the great people who made it possible for us to hear, play and sing the lovely music. By that I don’t mean Jazz . I mean the beautiful classical melodies by great artists. The composers who wrote beautiful music did not live a prosperous life. They lived in little rooms and some just lived in attics with barely enough to eat. But inside of these great men was genius, great genius. They spent most, if not all their time, composing. They had a piano in their room at which they spent a lot of tine. They worked very hard and endured many hardships. Even when they sold their music, they barely got any money. People of today enjoy fine music in many ways - music at symphonies. Opera and Concerts. On the air there is music to everyone’s satisfaction. Children start practising music at an early age. They take part in musical con certs everywhere. Music is the language of all the people in the world. MY FIRST RIDE IN AN ELEVATOR By Rita Harju 0-11 The first time I rode in an elevator was quite an experience to me. As I lived in the country most of the time, I had not had the experience of riding in an elevator. Of course, I had heard of the big boxes that go up and down in great, big buildings, but I couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like to be in one of them. One day I had a toothache. That, of course, meant that I had to go to the city. The dentist’s office was in one of those five-story buildings. Inside this building there was an elevator as well as the stairs. Of course I didn’t actually go into the elevator and go up in it, but walked up the stairs right up to the fifth floor. There the dentist waited for me with his machines and things. After a long half-hour of drilling and filling, I finally got out of there with the words, Come again next week . So he wasn’t through with my teeth yet, and I had to come here again. I ran down the stairs and got out of the building as fast as I could. Next week a friend of mine came to the dentist with me, Why did she have to come to laugh at me? I asked myself over and over again. When we reached the building my friend asked me to go up in the elevator. That’s when semething exploded inside of me and I got so scared that all I could stutter was O-o-o- K-k-k . The great iron doors slid closed and I had the feeling of being in a prison. My friend pressed a button and suddenly I felt going up slowly. As I went up I wondered whether God knew I was coming or not, I seemed to have butterflies in my stomach and I think I looked quite pale, but I think my friend mistook it for fear of seeing the dentist. After about an hour in the dentist’s office, we went into the elevator and now I was paler than before as I had the feeling of dropping slowly into the dark hole that was under us. Even though we got out of the elevator all rightl did not think I would go into ai elevator very willingly after that. I did though, and I liked it too.