Lord Selkirk School - Maroon and Grey Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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GALLANT GISLI (continued) and offspring, all descended from the vehicle, thanked me, and proceeded in the opposite direction, the can of soup sitting idly on the doorstep. Since I first met Gisli, I have seen many people try to make him stop drinking. Not e ven his wife, however, was capable of bringing him to give up liquor. It was rumored by some that Gisli owned a manufacturing unit of his own, although I am not certain that this is true. Nevertheless, to this day, Gisli is often seen under the influence of alchol even when he has not been near the parlor for several days, or when he claims to have bought no liquor. He may be seen any day of the year in a small fishing town on the shores of Lake Winnipeg, sometimes alone, but more frequently on the strong right arm of his loving wife as she sees he gets home safely. In accounting for the title of this sketch I draw your attention to the fact that Webster gives two definitions for gallant : 1) chivalrous, showing courtesy to women. 2) highspirited and brave. The proper choice of meaning in Gisli ' s case I leave to you. SECOND PRIZE FIRST TOBAGGAN RIDE by MYRNA WIESNER 11-10 Here we were, assembled at the corner, a boisterous laughing crowd of teen-agers, all set for an evening ' s fun. This was the first time for most of us. The first time —tobogganing] Traveling by street-car to the park, everyone was very gay—and sillyl There was always that little undercurrent of excitement—of anticipation. What was it going to be like? What was going to happen? Then, a shout] Our destination at last] Tumbling out of the street-car, we felt sure everyone was glad to see us go. But how hard it was to keep still, we thought, dashing madly, helter-skelter, across the road to the club-house for our tickets. Hearing the gay shouts of laughter, nobody was able to keep still. Everyone was hopping...jumping.,..moving, in high anticipation of what was to come] We brushed the snowflakes from our eyelids...dodged the snowballs as they whizzed past our ears. Everyone...everything....was vitally alive] Fairly running to the huge steps, we heard shouts of laughter, squeals of delight— and fear—as toboggans were pushed off the ramp. Trying to scramble up the steps was of no avail. There were so-o many people ahead of us. Too many] Girls made protesting boys haul the toboggans up the ramp beside the steps. Such a long way to the top] But, unexpectedly—miraculously—we were there. Getting packed in our toboggan by the attendants, we giggled, feeling like the sardines in street-car ads, or the so-o round, so-o firm cigarettes—so-o widely adver¬ tised. Everything seemed to happen at the last minute; heads kept bobbing around, mitter got thrown about, and lost, overshoe buckles persisted in coming undone, and kerchiefs chose that moment to become untied. Feet and arms stuck out of the toboggan, like tooth-picks in an olive. Now, all in? Actually ready? No, John, who brought up the rear, was only half-on the toboggan...There!....All set?,.......Actually ready at long last? The climax] Our hearts began to pump madly, as the toboggan was eased gently to the edge. We felt like birds...poised...ready to take flight. Then...quick] A shove, and we were off] Girls ' screams tore the silence—a piercing, delightful curdle, travelling through the night. But we were leaving them be hind..like an echo....as we sped swiftly downward, Now we knew what the L ' shot from guns breakfast ceral was supposed to do...what a circus human cannonball felt like. Down, down, we fairly flew, as if on wings, our speed alway: increasing. ■What new, delightful, thrilling sensations we were experiencing] Wind whipped at our faces—refreshing...cool....cold] Snowflakes slap-slapped at our huddled forms. Great gushes of air rushed and ' roared past, as we whizzed over downward. Snowflakes around was an irridescent blur. Grey shapes were discerned in the semi-darkness. We took great gulps of fresh, cool air, sailing down and downward. ilO

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ESSAY CONTEST FIRST PRISE ESSAY GALLANT GISLI by JIM FERGUSSON 11-10 Gisli Gudmundson was an old fellow I used to know who was quite content to change his overalls once every two months and whose code was, Livd for today and the devil take tomorrow. His little woman , as he called her, was a damsel of enormous proportions who could probably ha e made a fortune if she had joined a sideshow instead of marrying Gisli, but she must have felt her place was by his side, for she seldom let him out of her sight unless he was going off to work. She possessed, however, the strength of two men, and without her guiding hand (and occasionally fist), Gisli would not have trodden the straight and narrow path, but would, . no doubt, have strayed to the local pool hall, where he would have lost the soiled shirt off his back. The Gudmundson estate was located two miles from town on a dirt road and (it must be mentioned at this time) it was not in the best of repair. The yard as well as the house always managed to look as if they had just suffered the effects of a tornado, although GisJ.i ' s wife did her best to keep it looking respectable. Towards the back of the yard loomed mysterious rows of wooden chutes which Gisli proudl referred to as mink pens . How the mink managed to live in these pens is beyond my comprehension. Gisli ' s primary occupation was his mink ranching, but although the mink were fed each day, this was all the attention they ever received from Gisli. The occasional log could be seen propped against the side of a pen in place of a log that had gradually submitted to the ages, for Gisli never attempted to replace such trivial articles as logs. Somewhere in his long list of occupations, however, Bessi had written carpenter . Once, to prove his carpentery skill to his wife, he armed himself with all available tools and set off in search of a job. After several attempts, he was given the task of hanging a door for an old lady. She gave him the instructions and then left to visit a neighbor while Gisli banged and hammered at the door frame. Imagine her horror on finding, when she returned, that her panel door had been hung so that it opened in the wrong direction. Needless to say, Gisli was called back to make some adjustments, and as he trudged home for his supper that night, he owed never to dabble in the fine art of carpentry again. Still another of Gisli ' s pastimes was fishing, because he had becomd the owner of a rather dilapidated outboard motor. One summer evening, he put the nets in his boat and putted out to a good fishing spot. After setting out his nets, Gisli decided to test his motor ' s ability and he gave it the gun . It was his misfortune at this point to run across the net of another close-shore fisherman, causing the destruction of both the net and the motor. After a serious debate with himself, Gisli decided to go back to mink farming. My first personal contacts with Gisli came when he began to deal with the store at which I was working. So large were some of his grocery orders that it was necessary for me to drive out to his home without any other orders on the truck. Once, however, a telephone message was received from him for one can of soup—to be rushed immediately out for dinner. It had been raining all week, and as I approached the Gudmundson property, I noted that the ditch contained over a foot of muddy water. Since Gisli had never constructed a bridge over the ditch to drive through it was the only way to deliver the tin of soup. With a roar and a spinning of wheels the trucK slid in. Climbed through, and jumped out of the ditch. As soon as the wheels gained the dry ground once more, the Gudmundsons rushed from the house, took the soup, and then, Gisli acting as spokesman advanced to me saying, Now that you ' re here, would you give us a lift across the meat? Without waiting for a reply, the whole family boarded the truck,and for a second time I attempted to ford the stream. With racing engine accompanied by the shouts of excited children, the truck sliced into the water, throning a terrifac stream of muck into the air on each side, but finally the other shore hove into view and the truck emerged, panting. At this point, Gisli, his wife 39

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FIRST TOBOGGAN RIDE (continued) Then, quickl A sickening, scared feeling! The inevitable, warned-about bump! Our stomachs churned and turned over as one. Our hearts skipped a beat. We drew in our breaths, tensed our bodies, simultaneously. ,,r e poised, suspended for a microscopic instant, then sped downward once again. But, was Johnny still with us? Yes, still there, and hanging on now tighter than anyone else....Heaves of relief, then on again, until... Slowing down, now. Forms beginning to take shape....trees, and bushes.Slower still.t en.we stopped! What a mad unscrambling of arms and legs! What twistings and tanglings! Every¬ one rolled over...one....two....out! Surely that so-Saiall-looking toboggan hadn ' t transported all of us? Strangely enough, it had! Then, for a more practical side, we took stock. Only a comb lost...a mitten. What no arms and legs? So,stiff as boards, we began ti.e long tramp back up the hills. We felt as cramped as if we had been sitting for years! In spite of the snowfights and laughter, we began to shiver, feeling the intense cold, now. The boys took turns pulling the toboggan, as we tramped past before-unnoticed trees and bushes. Suddenly, the realization of the beauty of the starry night came upon us. Snow crunched underfoot. Trillions of star s shone, diamond-like, in a broad, black-velvet sky. Trees stood straight and still as sentinels. ns we approached the club-house, lights reflected on the snow, sparkling like precious jewels. e heard a jumble of gaiety and music... smelled the tingling aroma of hot coffee and hot dogs. Cold..tired...hungry, we made a last, final run to the club-house for a rest, hot food, and later, perhaps another toboggan ride. But the same thrill again? Never! Those delightful sensations are experienced only on the first toboggan ride! TnIRD PRIZE GOD ' S COUNTRY by HRYaN JOHNSTON a thin cover of mist envelops the placid waters, while in the east a glowing ball of fire slowly, ever so slowly, illuminates the heavens. Suddenly the white haze vanishes. Piercing the calm, a buzzing outboard bounds across the lake, casting into the air a blanket of spray, its wake unfolding into myriads of miniature crests. Once again, all is quiet. Periodically, the marsh cry of a solitary canvas- back resounds as it lazily flaps across the blue, dipping outstretched wings and skipping the surface. Then silence. as old Sol habitually climbs in the firmament, divers craft appear, and then disappear, threading their course among the secluded islands, an arrogant yacht, its trim prow butting the wind-tossed whitecaps, majestically cruises towards the fish¬ ing grounds. Now an indescribable vessel emerges timidly from the shadow of shelter¬ ing spruce, fearful lest its grown-up brother should view its clumsy lines and awkward motion. Darting like a guided shaft, a canoe noiselessly parts the crystal waters, while a flashing paddle rises, and falls. Mid-day. Voices echo back and forth, while swimmers penetrate cool, alluring depths, an angler patiently awaits the realization of a dream, his line hissing through the air and sinking into the deep with a muffled splash, a spotted fawn furtivel y seeks the lake ' s edge, now bounding into the protective shelter of spruce and hemlock. Unexpectedly, a new face appears. Like a monarch, bushy tail held high in defiance, a small black and white striped fellow struts fearlessly along the spongy lakeland path, n red-headed woodpecker, inquiring after the evening meal, diligently drums out his singular rhythm on a decayed tree trunk. Rat-a-tat-a-tat, uat-a-tat-a-tat . Occasionally he stops, and cocking his noble head to one side, listens intently to the echoing response, as though absorbed in improving the note. And gradually, the day wanes. Slowly, ever so slowly, a glowing ball of fire begins to sink into the west, transforming the heavens into a blaze of yellows and reds. Dropping to a whisper,