North Bay Teachers College - Polaris Yearbook (North Bay, Ontario Canada)

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MY PLACE IT'S ALL WORTHWI-IILE Here the waves come to die-- I think with awe of distance far, Noisily, yet noiseless. That blue mysterious wink, a star. The heat of day The way the seeds grow in the spring Surrounds, suffocates and encloses The beauty found in everything. With the glazed and burdened odours Of blossom and pine. With sighs I think of happy days The pond nearby re-echoes Fulfilling in so many ways. The sounds of life, I think of the joy, the sadness too As the gelatinous amoebae The uncertainty in all I do. Divide and divide . . . Here is time, yet timelessness, I wonder why I carry on, Both gone and unnoticed When my motives all seem gone. By the occasional visitor. Then some happy child, his face a smile, The elements carve the face of the land . . . Suddenly makes it all worthwhile. Only in the future Will it be known E.A. Nicholls-- That the waves seen today Form 8 Have made a difference In my place . Rachel Seguin Form 3 THE MAKING OF A SEAMAN The shipping agent drove me to the Montreal waterfront. We pulled up beside a twenty-thousand-ton freighter. Well, what do you think of her? he enquired. I narrowed my eyes as I examined the grey hull and the white superstructure, attempting to give the impression thatl was appraising the ship with the benefit of years of experience. Not bad, I said. Well, that's your ship. A Norwegian freighter plying the Great Lakes and the Mediterranean. Good luck! I'll need it, I replied. Swinging my kitbag on my back I swaggered up the gangway as I imagined an experienced seaman would swagger. Leaping to the deck, I strode heartily to the nearest sailor. Hi, I am the new man. Where do I go? He didn't smile. Follow me, I'll show you. As I followed him to my quarters I was quaking in my boots, and justifiably too! I had talked my way into and signed up-for a job that demanded skill in tying knots, proficiency in steering and a general knowledge of seamanship. Wretched and lowly landlubber, the only thing I could do proficiently was get seasick when the water got choppy. I threw my kitbag on my bunk, It should prove an interesting trip. I mused. My unsmiling guide decided to be friendly. I'm Iohannsen. he said. I'm Bob Evans, I replied. I am glad to know you. He took me to the mess hall and introduced me to the crew. This is a crazy ship, he confided. There are Swedes, Finns, Norwegians, Germans, Italians and Spaniards on this tub. And now we have a Canadian! Are you Canadian? asked Colombia, who was from Colombia. Yeah, that's right. we'11 call you Canada. HO. K. iv My new name was a signal of good fortune, The weather was beautiful and the lakes were glass-smooth. I never once felt seasick. Every spare moment I referred to my trusty 'Manual of Seamanship' and practised knot-tying. At first I avoided situations that demanded the use of knots and busied myself chipping rust, washing the deck, coiling rope or working in the holds. But I couldn't avoid them all. My hours of clandestine practice paid dividends as I tied a bowline with speedy but studied nonchalance. I dreaded my first turn at the wheel. It was fearful to know that inevitably I would be responsible for the direction of twenty- thousand tons of ship, slipping at ten knots through the water. I studied desperately and discovered that 'port' meant 'left' and 'starboard' meant 'right' in nautical language. One morning while washing the bridge floor, I overheard and committed to memory the mate's commands and observed the helmsman's actions. It didn't look too difficult. 105

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Susan Nicol GOODBYE TO TIM The giant oak cast its massive purple shadow protecting the now shrivelling grass. Cutting its way beneath the shadow slipped the tanned road. Ahead it gradually rose to the crest of a small hill. From this the sun reflected all its strength with a dreadful glare. Through this mass of brilliant yellow two figures appeared. The larger of the two dragged his feet, kicking up great clouds of dust which all but covered the straggling creature behind. Closer, closer, the gap between the coolness of the shadow and the pair closed. Under this protection from the unbearable heat and glare the figures became distinguishable--a small exhausted boy and his aging collie dog. The small face reflected pain as it gazed down into the uplifted brown eyes. l'm sorry we had to walk so far Tim, but we had to get away. Com'on, we'll rest under this tree now. lust look at ya, all caked with dust. People are gonna thinkl never bath ya. Well never mind, just rest now. Together the pair moved to the base of the tree. The boy slumped down and leaned his back against the rough hewn bark. His dog flopped down at his side and lay his drooping head into the small lap. Uncle Andy should 'a never said what he did, Now they'll be sorry. Now we're gone. Don't worry boy, I'll never go back! Well--at lesat not till they promise --the tiny voice quivered, --promise not to shoot you. Anger and frustration rose with sudden gust. The young face showed set lines of determination and rebellion. The once tiny voice rose to a fevered pitch. I won't let them do it! Frail arms flung around the dust caked ruff and the tear stained cheeks disappeared into the mound of fur. There was no response. No flip of the tail, no loving whimper, no flick of the eyebrow. There was nothing. Tim didn't move. He lay still, his quiet head resting in its original position. Realization slowly dawnedg deep, tearing sobs broke forth. Wake up Tim. Please wake up. Oh, Tim, you have to wake up. We have to get going, Com'on boy! The pleas went unanswered. The golden hulk lay still and silent. Gently, very gently, the boy lifted Tim's head and softly laid it in the crushed grass. He slowly rose and dragged himself towards the distant cluster of trees. Shortly he reappeared carrying an armload of wood. Sinking to his knees he began digging with a flat, shovel- like stick. This ritual completed, the boy blinded again by tears stumbled to the side of his beloved dog. Well Tim, he won't shoot you anyways. Here you can sleep in peace and I'll visit you often. The giant oak cast its massive purple shadow protecting the shrivelling grass. Cutting its way beneath the shadow slipped the tanned road, Ahead it gradually rose to the crest of a small hill over which a small figure slumped out of sight. The countryside was still and unchanged except for the small, crude cross which stood beneath the protection of the purple shadowof the giant oak. Karen stood alone, Surrounded by others, Yet somehow -- still alone. Her face, Pinched and white, Held no childish gaiety, Warmth or delight. Any hint of laughter Was hidden behind her sorrow. For she was no one's daughter! She had done this before And would do it again. It was useless Parading with the others Across the floor In front of likely parents. She felt her throat ache. Silently she promised to be good If only someone would take 104 Her for their daughter! THE ORPHAN Form 8 Tears stung her eyes Yet did not fall, While she quietly dreamed For a mama doll, And toys and clothes, And friends and swings, And this and that, So many things -- But most of all A Mom and Dad. She trembled as the tension Mounted -- and broke, When, strangely kind, The Matron's voice Said, Karen -- please stay behind' -- Jane Boorse Form 32

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The dreaded order came. Canada, you're on the wheel! A jolt of fear blasted me from head to toe. As I desperately scrambled for my scattered wits, I realized with a numbing horror that we were passing through the Welland Canal. It seemed only three feet wide! Canada, get up on the bridge! O.K. I said. I'm going. Stumbling as if in a trance I climbed up to the bridge, muttering to myself, Starboard is right, port is left. I stepped behind the wheel, I clamped my sweating hands to the spokes and gazed down the canal. That narrow, water-filled, V-shaped notch of concrete appeared to be scarcely wide enough for a rowboat, Then I noticed a freighter heading toward us. I stifled a cry in my throat. My body was rigid. Sweat ran into my eyes. This was a nightmare! Port a little, ordered the Captain. I hesitated, my mind clicked over, Port is left. I nudged the wheel over to the left. Port a little more, repeated the Captain. I nudged the wheel slightly more to the left. Steady on said the Captain. Holding the wheel to port for a few seconds I let it slip back to the centre position. I was intensely aware of the ponderous bulk of the ship beneath me, of the black massive hull of the oncoming freighter and the rapidly diminishing distance between them. With powerful concentration I absorbed the Captain's quietly-spoken commands and translated them into movements of the wheel. The black ship loomed like a mountain on our port bow. In one psychedelically-clear moment, I was aware of her white superstructure and red decks I could see the men on her bridge and the crew working on her deck. With a rush of swirling water she swept past us. A wave of relief swept over me. For the first time I realized that I was drenched with sweat. I began to relax. Starboard a little, intoned the Captain. I I snapped back to concentration and remained that way for the next hour as the ship wended her slow route along the canal and out into open lake. I was relieved from duty at the wheel and I staggered aft. How was it, Canada? asked Iohannsen. Not bad, I replied. Stumbling into my cabin I collapsed exhausted on my bunk. Six weeks. later, having completed all our Great Lake calls, we sailed out of Quebec city and headed for the Atlantic. I was proud, and why not? I was confident on the wheel, I could tie superlative knots, I could even speak a little Norwegian. But aren't you worried about being seasick? you may ask. Not this mariner, I reply as I feel the salt-tinged breeze ruffling my fledgeling beard, I have four boxes of seasick pills. Robert Evans Form 5 YOUR PUPILS MIGHT HAVE B, A, 'S IN CHEATING It is final exam time, and thirty-five students in the classroom are hard at work on their exam papers. From the front you, the teacher scan the room looking for wandering eyes. But the only movement is the normal shifting and fidgeting of tense, concentrating youngsters. Now let's take a closer look at these seemingly innocent gestures. The boy at the front row stares at his paper and drums his fingers meditatively. Another bites his lower lip, tugs at his left ear, writes on his paper, then scratches his head as he considers what he has written. A student wearing a hearing aid stares up at the ceiling, resting his hand against his bad ear. A young lady coughs and reaches into her purse for a sheet of tissue. In the second row a student is leaning back in his seat, deep in thought, his pencil idly poised in front of him. Next to him is a young man writing hurriedly, glancing at his watch to see how much time he has left. Yes, it is an industrious and innocent scene, marred by only one factg each of those six youngsters is cheating as hard as he can. The oldest and most common method of cheating, as you might already know, is simply to peek at the neighbour's paper. It's a primitive system, but it is used by the old pros, who feel it makes up in safety what it lacks in effectiveness, and by the novice or 'panic' cheater. Most of the other cheating techniques it seems to me, depend in one way or another on a piece of paper, or the like, crammed with notes. All the different methods of using this piece of paper indicate that some students will attempt to hide knowledge on any part of the body except the brain. These range from simple pieces of paper to modern electronic devices. You may have used or seen some of the following devices: writing facts on the palm of the hand, arm or wrist and covering the writing with a shirt sleeve or a bandageg or pasting long strips of paper under rulers or similar materials needed for examination purposes. And what is the simplest hiding place of all? The old reliable shirt pocket, where one can see a piece of paper and what is written on it just by looking down. Girls sometimes employ similar methods using areas of their persons which a teacher would not check without thinking twice -- and probably not even then. 106