Port Hope High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Port Hope, Ontario Canada)

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cavern but the sun and the wind blew the grains of crystal across the cavern until soon there was no more: the desert had swallowed up all that was man and all that remained was of God. Grade 13 Jack Schoon THE PRISONER Derrick rolled over. His eyes opened slightly. A brilliant shaft of sunlight burned into his head. Quickly he buried his face in the pillows and tried to sleep again. n To-day, he thought, Why to-day? Why not to-morrow, or the day after? Why not yesterday? Blessed sleep cut off his questions. His head ached continu¬ ally from the rank air and his body was stiff and sore because of the brutal beat¬ ings he had received at the hands of his jailers. In the beginning he had learned to sleep because there was nothing else to do. Now he was glad that he could sleep because it was his only escape from reality. At least, when he slept he was ob¬ livious to the world around him. Several hours later he awoke again. This time there was no escape. He was too restless to lie still so he stood up and moved to the tiny, barred window that was his only link with the outside. There was a hard knot in the pit ofhis stomach. He was hungry, but he couldn ' t eat the slop that had been left for his breakfast. His last meal and he couldn ' t eat it. Outside sunlight twinkled merrily on the thin crust which covered the soft snow on the ground. In the distance he could see a huge expanse of trees. They were perhaps a mile away. A few months and then it would be spring. Derrick could imagine the tiny green leaflets that would soon be growing on the trees. He could see the brilliant flowers and hear the happy calls of the birds. Why did he have to die ? There were tears in his eyes as he turned away from the window. He didn ' t want to die. He was too young to die. There was so much of life to look forward to. But there was nothing ahead of him. Not anymore. He, Derrick Elmer Rob¬ inson, had been sentenced to death by a puppet court, deep in Nazi Germany. They had called him a spy, but he was wearing his R.A.F. uniform. He wasn ' t a spy, but he hadn ' t even been given a chance to defend himself. Death before the firing squad , the judge had bellowed at him. To-day he was to die. Does it hurt? he wondered. Strange, nobody had thought to tell him. What was it like to stand and face those guns? Well, he ' d soon know, but he ' d never re¬ member. Perhaps that was just as well. It might hurt terribly, but then, one can never really remember pain. This thought was no comfort, and he buried his face in his hands as he sat on the edge of the hard bed. This was something that happened to other people. It could never happen to him. Yet he was waiting for death. How many nice letters of condolence had he written to wives and mothers of his friends? There were so many. He hoped that someone would write to Helen. She would appreciate it so! What if no one told her that he had been a wonderful buddy? Why hadn ' t he bothered to make more frie¬ nds? Surely there would be someone who would go to see her. How many bereaved relatives had they visited together? He ' d never kept count, there were so many. Some of them would surely help to console Helen. He and Helen had always been so close. As small c h i 1 d r e n they had played together. They had always known that they would get married. There was never any question of that. Sometimes now it was as if she was standing there beside him. He felt a bond between them. It was as if he knew when she was thinking about him. What about the kid? His name was Ian. He was seven years old now, just getting to be a pal. He ' d miss his Dad. He and Derrick would get up to get her in 58

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the morning and let Helen sleep late. Together they would eat breakfast and then they would walk to the big school which Ian disliked so. If he walked along he al¬ ways managed to be late no matter how early he started off. If only he could see the kid just once more. ' ’Helen please don ' t let him forget me. Back home they would be getting ready for Christmas. It was only a week away. People would be buying gifts and getting ready to play Santa Claus for the children. Once he had been Santa. How he ' d loved to see the kid ' s eyes light up as he gave each one a small toy. He ' d wanted to do it again sometime. The other pilots in his squadron would be having parties. There would be pl¬ enty of liquor and talk and laughter. If only he could laugh, just once more, but there was nothing to laugh at. Here he was, locked in a cold, bleak cell. He was hungry and unhappy, and so very much alone. He had only one cigarette to his name. He was waiting for a Christmas that would never come. The sound of a key in the lock caused him to jump to his feet. It had finally come. Resolutely he marched out of his cell and down the corridor. The other prisoners stood s i 1 e n11 y at the doors of their cells, a mark of respect paid to every doomed man. If only they would sing or talk or do something it would be so much easier, but they only stood and watched. The mile walk was too short. He wanted to walk on and on forever. On the way he smoked his one cigarette. He kept it as long as possible, partly because it was his last, and partly because he was shaking so. Why me, God? Why me? All too soon the escort of ten soldiers came to a halt. A huge, ugly sergeant grabbed him roughly and pulled him up to a tree. Harsh cords bound his hands behind him. With a start he realized that he was in those woods which he had longed to see. A shallow grave had been dug beside him. Fire . He crumpled to the ground and lay still. In London, Helen Robinson woke up suddenly. Something was wrong. Derrick was dead now. She knew, without being told, that he was dead. Before she had always felt a bond linking them together. That was gone now. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was gone. A few tears trickled down her face. She mustn ' t cry. Quickly she got up and threw on hei old, pink housecoat. In the kitchen she had only to turn up the gas and put on the coffee. Then she went to wake Ian. She couldn ' t let him be late for school again. Cathy Raynor THE RIGHT IMPRESSION Grade 10 Bob Banting was feeling extra good, for this morning he was going to open the law practice he had waited so long for. Bob was fairly tall, about twenty-five years old and had a good sense of humour which combined with a pleasant person¬ ality had won him the admiration of many friends. Walking down the main street, whistling and tipping his hat to the ladies, Bob was the envy of all pedestrians he passed. As he reached his office building he entered it and his pace eagerly quickened. At the door of his office he paused, set down his briefcase and undid the lower button of his overcoat so that he could search for his key. Unlocking the door he entered. Inside he paused for a second time to once more look over the office of which he was so proud. After removing his coat and hat he walked slowly around the office and then settled himself behind the new walnut desk and proceeded to wait for his first client. 59

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Bob was thinking how lucky he had been to secure such an impressive office for such a reasonable rent. Yes sir, he-what was that? Someone had just entered the outer office. His first client. Hastily Bob grabbed and scattered the contents of his briefcase all over his desk. Then he picked up the phone and started to give what he considered to be impressive legal advice to the imaginary person on the other end of the line. When his client entered, Bob signalled him to wait and continued his conversation. At length he replaced the receiver and spun around in his chair. With his arms folded on his desk and a smug smile on his face he said M What can I do for you?” ’’Nothing, ” the man replied, but I may be able to help you. I am from the Northern Telephone Company and I came to hook up your phone. ’’ John Fowler Grade 9 AN EXCITING ENCOUNTER It was Hallowe ' en, the most horrid time of the year. It was evening. The day had been fine, and now a tinge of frost lent a zest to the autumn air. The sun shot blood-red streaks across the sky as three friends and I chatted together in the roadway and plotted a long-anticipated revenge on mean Mr. Smith, a stern old- timer who lived down the road from me. As all the clocks struck ten, four shadows silently entered Mr. Smith ' s barn. A wagon load of wheat was in there ready to be taken to town next morning to be sold. We plotted for a moment and started unloading the wagon. We untied the bags of wheat and emptied it all over the floor of the barn. Mr. Smith and his family were in bed sleeping, but strange noises coming from the direction of the barn and an occasional growl from the dog had awakened Mr. Smith. Curious, he decided to investigate. Hurriedly slipping into his trou¬ sers and a coat, he crept silently, with a shotgun in one hand, and a lantern in the other, to the barn. Finding a crack through which he could catch a glimpse of what he supposed might be thieves, he saw us at work. We all chuckled as the last bag was emptied. Our job had been completed, so we sat down and rested and laughed over our prank. But just then the barn door creaked on its rusty hinges; we rose to see the stern eyes of mean Farmer Smith glaring at us. Our first impulse was to run, but the farmer could distin¬ gui sh our identities in the lantern light and then too, he had a gun. Silently he approached us. Well, he said, you young scampers have worked hard tonight, but your work isn ' t completed yet. He told us to bag all the wheat and put it back on the wagon. It was about one A.M. when we finished putting the wheat on the wagon. I had never been so tired in all my life. After that night my friends and I never did anything bad, and I never will. Margaret Byers. ESSAYS Grade 13 RESTORATION AND PRESERVATION Workers of the w o r 1 d , unite, you have n o th i n g to lose but your chains ! What an inspiration these words, written by Karl Marx, must have been to thou¬ sands of oppressed people. Yet these very words, the keys to Communism, have deceived thousands. True, the workers of the world may have lost their chains 60