Riverbend School for Girls - Vox Fluminis Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

Page 25 text:

Vox Fluminis 23 SCHOOL DAYS THE wind was howling around the corners of the house and the rain was beating its staccato rhythm against the window panes. What a dull day! Nothing to do except sit at home and read a book and do some knitting. Listlessly wandering from one gray room to another, I finally settled down in the library. A cozy fire was burning in the fireplace, and the room looked an ideal spot for day-dreaming. Suddenly a red book attracted my attention. It had been pushed behind the shelf and appeared very dilapi- dated and dog-eared. Retrieving the book, I sat down again and opened it. Riverbend! Yes it was actually a school magazine. Glancing through it brought back memories of rubber boots, the smell of home-made buns, the annoying persistence of alarm- clocks, and all those little pranks which were thought to be so clever at the time. The book dropped to the ground. The first day at school. My parents fairly shoved me in the door, and there I was stranded. I didn't know one girl in the school and I didn't know even the words of the National Anthem. I felt mortified and disgraced for thc rest of the day. After the first month or two at school, I began to develop the habit of day- dreaming. What an art! I had to listen to the teacher, of course, but just enough to know what she was talking about, and all the beautiful dreams I indulged in! All this was stopped, how- ever, when my parents received my report. The rest of the junior grades were spent in awe of the big girls. How clever and pretty they were! One of these older girls happened to kiss me one day, and I stoutly refused to wash my face for a week. You can imagine what my face looked like at the end of the week. Then suddenly I had to leave River- bend and I went away to Montreal, the beautiful city on a mountain, over- looking the St. Lawrence River and the distant hills in the state of New York. Marbles, marbles and more mar- bles. That is the main impression of my school days there. My friends would dig a hole with the heels of their shoes, and then the marbles would plop on the gravel. No, I won. See my marble is closer than yours. Here give it to me. You old meany. I'm not going to play with you any more. Conversations like these were fre- quent and often resulted in sulky moods. Marbles and nature-study. Yes, I think nature-study was almost as im- portant as marbles, but not quite. We took this class in the Chemistry Lab- oratory, that mysterious room of smells and rows of bottles on the shelves. Pollywogs and turtles were our favorite studies--my father always did have a hard time drawing those pollywogs for me. In Grade VIII I came back to Riverbend. The grounds never looked so beautiful, out-of-bounds never so tempting. Yes, I was a boarder. Mid- night feasts were strictly forbidden. However tell-tale crumbs, bottles and lack of appetites were evidence that sometimes this rule was not strictly adhered to. Boarding was a lot of fun! I can remember so plainly the apple- pied beds, the quarrels over the first bath, the joy obtained from a box of candy, the letters from home. My let- ters from home always asked the same question, How much do you weigh? The sudden increase in my weight certainly worried my parents for a time. Latin and Geometry! I never could understand those two subjects. Ge- ometry propositions were memorized backwards and forwards to no avail. I finally decided that maybe I was not a mathematics student. My parents had decided this a long time before. Of course Caesar was just out of date, so why bother about him? The day finally came-Graduation. All I can remember, through a haze of white dresses, is the peculiar feeling I experienced while walking up the aisle of the church. The delicate odour of roses, the booming notes of the band,

Page 24 text:

22 Vox Fluminis terrible shock to his Poor mother- such a loyal English woman and so proud of her son's achievements. Ah! oui, mad'moiselle, agreed he: companion, The other son, is he serv- ing his country also? Yes, Londiff is in the R. A. F. They joined up as soon as war broke out, you know. It is a pity, is it not, that this young Franzel had to die? Such an intelligent young man, mad'moiselle. I remember, Pierre, when I went to two concerts given by Franzel Burkett in Paris last spring. It was at the Con- servatory of Music. A charming per- sonage! I say again, his mother is such a fine English Woman and so proud to think that her dear sons were fighting for England. Ah, it is a shame, there will be more of this. Sandra Hopper and Richard Charles- ton waited at the London Station for their train which was leaving for the West coast that evening. I do hope we can get out of this mess before it's too late, Richard said as they walked up and down the plat- form in the cold night air. You hope! I've just got to be in New York on October fifteenth for the wedding. Why, Jane wouldn't know what to do without me! Sandra ex- claimed. Well, she may have to learn. Weill have to go through a lot of red tape to get out of the country. An inquisitive lot, the English, aren't they? Boy, paper please- Any news? asked Sandra to make conversation. Not much, replied Richard, Forty- five sailors drowned-poor devils. One of them was Franzel Burkett. Remem- ber him? He was in New York a couple of years ago. Quite a lad. Says here that his mother was pretty proud of him-why would they put that in? People could gather that if they had any brains. They knew you were going to read it, Dick. No, but seriously, I suppose his mother was all broken up about it but then whose mother wouldn't be? asked Richard. 'fIt's just showing the people what may happen to them. It's a gentle warning. That poor lady has probably lost her one joy in life. She loved him and his music, you know. Maybe-say, did you bring the camera? Good! Our train won't be here for another five minutes. Let's go and grab a cup of coffee and get warm. This wind is cold. On the same evening in a small, cozy livingroom beside a fire there sat an old lady. There was silence except for the creak of her rocking chair and the click of her knitting needles as she worked. On the mantel, there were two pictures, one of a young boy in an Airforce uniform and another of a boy in the Navy. The old lady's gaze fell there and she paused in her work to let her mind rest upon the two. Her face wrinkled into a sweet and aged smile, and then she turned her head to gaze fondly upon the piano which brought stirring memories to mind, memories of a boy who had played for her during the evenings as she sat by the fire, knitting. She sighed-it seemed to be a sigh of relief-and put down her knitting. She brought out a letter, opened it, and read, and as she read she mur- mured the words- It is best that he go now. It is best that he go like this. God forgive him. Then she leaned forward and set a corner of the paper in the flames. With a smile on her aged face she watched the words burn one by one. Franzel Burkett, agent of the Ger- man Secret Society. Betty Dowler, Grade XI, Douglas Hallj .1. Barbara Hunt: My father thought I was expelled last night. Lorraine Ingram: How's that? Barbara Hunt: I took some books home.

Page 26 text:

24 Vox Fluminis and the crowds of people all formed a background. I was one of the few who returned the next year to take Grade XII. What fun the three of us had in the Red House! It is true that sometimes classes were forgotten, sometimes we did not do our work. Maybe that is why I enjoyed the last year of my schooling the most. I do not think that was the reason, however. It must have been because I liked the work better, and that probably meant that we did not do only the work that the curricu- lum required. What fun it all was! Tears there were, too, and how bitterly I wept at the tender age of ten, when I learned that my favorite doll was broken, and that I could not take it back to school! Those funny haircuts, the little short ones, and the darkest shades of nail polish. Oh dear, I seem to be falling asleep. Remember the cake we made in cooking class-and-the--- Yes, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, the fire had died down and the ashes were falling gently. What was I thinking about? Oh yes, Riverbend- the school near the bend of the river, and above it the sea-gulls' shrill cries. Marjorie Kehm, Grade XII, Garry Hall. BRAIN FANCIES I I think my mind is a workshop with different little cells in it. There are tiny fairies living in these cells. They are like owls which are awake all night and asleep most of the day. Joan Carruthers, Grade VI, York House. II My mind, I think, could be a lovely place to store information, but my teacher says to me, Joy, your mind is like a sieve. And maybe so! Joy Knox, Grade V, Nelson House. III I always think of my brain as being a small box. In the box there are little compartments. In each there are papers on which are written my thoughts. Sometimes I forget the combination. That's when I can't remember things. Sometimes I don't close the door securely, and the papers blow away. Then I have to get new ones and lock them up again. Each new thought is typewritten onto paper as soon as it enters the box. Sometimes they are written incorrectly, and then I have to rewrite them. Sheila Smith, ' Grade VI, Garry Hall. IV I think of my brain as being round. In it are two little men. There are in the middle of the floor two hoops run- ning parallel. On these are thousands of little papers. When I think, a note is written on the paper. During an examination, my little men flip the pages to the right note. Sometimes my little men get lazy and then I don't remember things. Sometimes they get mischievous and I do stupid things at wrong times. Some- times they get sleepy, then I do, too. Sometimes they are brighter and flip more quickly, but sometimes they go slowly. ' This is what I think of my brain. Julia Ann Harris, Grade V, Douglas Hall. -.. .1--1-1 THE CHRIST CHILD Then upon a Christmas clear Was born the Christ Child, small and dear, Beside Him His gentle mother lay, He was bedded on soft sweet hay. Wise Men coming from lands afar Had begun to follow the Eastern Star That led them to where He lay Abedded in the soft sweet hay. On this Christmas day . Where our King so holy lay Kings and shepherds came To honor His great name. Mary Mathers, Grade VI, Douglas Hall.