Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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28 THE VOYAGE UR 0 SHORT STORY 0 The Intruder by ALBERT INIBLANII OR TNVO DAYS a terrific gale had been lashing the North Atlantic, sweep- ing down from the north to the Straits of Belle Isle. In the distance a great Arctic owl flew heavily along, worn out from flying since he had been blown out to sea the day before, hundreds of miles to the northward. For an instant he seemed to glide motionless, as though his energy was spent and he was going to sink down into the icy waters below, then recovering he quickened his pace, as if for the first time he had discerned the barren coast of Labrador, far away on his right. It was nearly dusk when he finally winged his way over the shore and alighted in a large cedar, a little way inland. Tired out he fell asleep. It was night when the great snowy visitor awakened and viewed his unfamiliar surroundings through famished eyes. He stared around for some time at the strange green world, unable to comprehend the change that had come over his snowy home. Then realizing his hunger, he glided down from the cedar and seized an unsuspecting mouse in his talons. One mouse, how' ever, was hardly sufficient for the huge owl, and only served to whet his appetite to a dangerous degreeg hence, mounting on snowy pinions, he glided over the silent woods. Suddenly a great bundle of sticks in a treeftop attracted his attention and he wheeled around and glided over to it. It proved to be a nest and sitting on some eggs was a large bird with a long, snakey neck and spearflike bill. The heron, for so it proved to be, uttered a hoarse cry and before the owl realized it, that spearflike bill pierced his shoulder and ploughed through the downy feathers to the bone. Mad with pain and hunger the owl mounted into the air and drove at the heron with talons outspread. The heron was quick and lunged out with her snakey neck but the owl, quicker yet, swerved aside and dug his talons into the heron's neck, cutting through the bird's jugular vein. Then, with great rending strokes of his hooked beak, the great owl began to devour the luckless bird. Gorging himself on female heron, the Arctic owl failed to keep a sharp look out and did not see the heron's mate, flying with neck outstretched to the nest. The owl did not turn till he heard a rush of wings and an angry hiss as the male heron rushed at him to avenge the death of his mate. Too late he raised his dangerous hooked beak. Before he could spring into the air, the heron's bill caught him and struck deep through his breast to his heart. He fell back into the nest-dead, with the blood fast dyeing his snowy plumage. His body grew cold, cold like the Arctic, and the wind ruffled his feathers like a flurry of snow. The intruder was gone.

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'TH E VOYAGE UR 0 POETRY 0 Who Am I? ' by E. IDNYSCIIUK Think back through History's cycles And see how the world has changed: Think of the Romans, and the Spartans, And the wars that they have waged. We call them ancient, barbaric: They killed with sword and spear, But what of our modern armies That kill with fire: from fear. The men of our modern armies Havent a chance for their lives, They leave behind in apparent safety Their children, their homes, and their But there is no safety now, From the terror of war and of strifeg For, as soon as your back is turned, You may fall down dead, from a knife A knife in your back, or a bullet Will send you to your glory, And you may lie in your grave While others just read your story. Different as the night is from day, For this man that died in glory, Died like a rat, at bay. And what of the men that lead us? Not in the front, but from behind: They stay back, in warmth and safety, While we fight, for we are blind. The Bible says that the evil must die, But 'tis the righteous that perish: For they are ones who save the evil, To stumble, to fight, and kill to the fi But who am I in the sea of humanity 7 wive But the story that's written is different' 1 nish. 0 To write of the world and its blunders. Who am I to love and to cherish- Only a bubble that waits and wonders.

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THE VOYAGE UR 29 0 STORY 0 0nce in the Life of Every Student by EINVABD G. IVIACK owARDs THE END or THE FIRST SEMESTER at Walla Walla College the ex- citement that prevailed found itself not without reason. Only two short days were left before the autumn hop and dates of any description were not in abundance. Slowly realizing this, I decided to get busy and investigate my prospects. After having spent nearly two dollars on telephone calls I concluded that there was a bad slump on the date market. Finally in despair I went to see my old friend Sam Baker. Although Sam was a pudgy, little fellow he seemed to have a way with the girls. Sure, he said, when I approached him on the subject, Why didn't you ask me sooner? I've got just the girl for you. She's a friend of my sister's and really a swell kid at heart. Say, that's fine, boy, you're certainly a life saver. But wait a minute, how about a description of her and what's her name? I'd better call her up right away and get this thing settled. Oh that's simple, her name's Cookie, she's about my height, blonde and quite popular. just call Podunk four, two hundred and ask for Cookie, Cookie Webster. By the time I reached the phone booth it was rather late and somewhere between fifteen and twenty studes had beat me to it, After an hour had passed it was almost my turn. The suspense was rather nerve racking, I was nervous as a young kitten when it was my turn to use the phone. Before commencing I assured myself everything would be alright at any rate I read her name at least four times to the telephone operator and then tried to put my quarter in the nickel slot. Seconds passed which seemed like hours before I fully realized I was speaking to Cookies mother and not Cookie. h'Oh, I'm awfully sorry to have pulled you out of bed, Mrs. Webster. I mean I'm sorry I didn't pull you out sooner, that is . . . of course . . . has your daughter got a mother? No, no is your daughters mother home? Oh you'll get Cookie right away. Well that's too bad . . . it's fine. No I didn't mean the weather. It wasn't long before my prospective date answered the phone and what a beautiful voice that girl had. I swallowed my gum and managed to say hello a few times without any results. Hello, is that you. Cookie? Oh it is, well that's too bad. I'm Roger Buchanan, a friend of Sam Bakers What do you mean you never heard of him, he's got a sister or something, who knows you. Well that's fine, now we're through the preliminaries how would you like to come to the fall dance with me? Yeh this Friday. Fine! I'll call for you at eightfthirty, soflongf' Eightfthirty was approaching a little too fast to suit my convenience and to make matters worse it was one of those formal affairs. As is to be expected I forgot my white tie and then lost my studs under the bed. The final blow came when my pal, Rus Lloyd, informed me he had promised his girl a