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

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22 Vox Flufminis which he sat, on the fourth wall. It would be a homelike place in peace- time, he thought. Plain, but homelike. He went through the door by the cupboard into the next room. It was a bedroom of sorts-probably the farm- er's own. There was a large bed, a chair, a clear space on the wall with nails in it-presumably for clothes-a washstand-The washstand! He walk- ed towards it. Yes!-there was a violin leaning against it. He snatched it up eagerly-lovingly. He had not held one for over a year. There must be a bow someplace near . . . no, not by the wash- stand-not on the chair. He ran into the kitchen-no, not there, where? There had been a trap door in the bed- room with a ladder leaning through the opening. Up it he climbed, the violin still under his arm. A loft. Probably the children slept here. The bow was lying on a little table stand- ing beneath a skylight. He perched on the table, and drew the bow experimentally across the strings. It was very out of tune, of course-and very dusty. He took out his pocket handkerchief, and cleaned it off. Ten minutes later he had it tuned as well as he could. He played a few bars of the Horst Wessel song, then stopped angrily. Not tonight. This was the time for Beethoven-or Brahms -or, best of all, Schubert. He looked above through the broken panes of glass in the skylight. The sky was lit with stars - myriads of diamonds. twinkling in a velvet eternity. What was that song of Schubert's? Du bist die Ruhg der Friede mild - my peace thou art, thou art my rest. He played it over softly on the violin. His hands had grown stiff, and he began halting- ly. Yet, the song had a wild beauty- Schubert's immortal notes rang through the Russian night. The stars shone silently in the sky. Dies Augenzelt von deinem Glanz, allein es hellt, O fiill es ganz. a'i The song-the violin--the night-all made him think of Vienna--the Vienna that he loved. His father had taken him and his brother, Karl, there with him, when they had been very small. He, a solemn, imaginative little boy, had become enchanted with the gaiety -the laughter-and, most of all, the music, in that place, where, more than anywhere else, musicians meet. His father, seeing that he had talent, had given him a violin, and had sent him to good teachers. He had pro- gressed rapidly, and had dreamed of the time when he could return to Vienna-a musician. He and his brother, however, true to the Von Rheimer tradition, had been enrolled in a military academy when they were twelve. A musical career was impossible. In 1940, on the road to Russia, his company had passed through Vienna. The city was black in the night-there was no longer laughter, nor music- and the streets were patrolled by skulking Nazi storm-troopers. The con- trast had been sickening. That was one of the reasons why he hated war so-it killed music-and laughter, and here. in Pussia, it killed the fields of grain-it marred the beauty of the landscape-it drowned out the song of the birds--it killed the song in people's hearts. There was another reason-a personal one. He re- sented anything military. His father, one of Hitler's earliest followers, had been but a name in his home for many years-the Party was always first with him. Then, too, his mother had joined the Women's Secret Service ten years ago. Kurt had been fourteen at the time-a boy of fourteen-with his home broken up because of a military regime. Ah, yes, war was cruel. It was in- human. His brother gone-his best friend gone .... He laid the violin down quietly, and stared up at the stars. Du bist die Ruhf'-My perfect peace. Yes, peace was what he needed-but was there perfect peace?-was-there-perfect- peace? P E A C E. Peace in the sky- Peace in the farmhouse-Peace in the silence. Soon-pehaps it this very spot, there would be another battle. The night would be marred-the velvet sky would be marred and broken - by shells-by battle smoke-by blood. The peace-the silence-would die. No birds would sing - no people would laugh

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Vox Fluminis 21 wwf RETREAT RUTSSIANS preparing to attack. Fifty tanks. Blow up vehicles. Attempt retreat across Don. Three trucks. Twenty grey-clad sol- diers. Two machine guns. Four rounds of ammunition. Three hand grenades. Attempt retreat across Don. Motors buzzing. Three grey trucks alongside of each other. The sound of men running. A blinding flash. The earth shaking. Eighteen men. Two hand grenades. Schneider's company ready, Sir? An emergency group of tanks and heavy arms had been formed to lead the German column for the break through. Down the road towards the Don they fought through ceaseless Russian attacks. In miserable cold they moved back, sleeping on roads when they could-living in the hope that the bridge had not been destroyed. At last, the Don! The bridge was still there! Across it they retreated, blowing it up after them. The Russians still pushed ahead .... November twenty-seventh. The Ger- mans were three miles beyond the Russians .... Four hours halt on the road. Major Schneider killed in the last clash, Sir. Ten men left. Von Rheimer in command, Sir. Wearily he picked his way through the sprawling men. Some were asleep all ready, he noticed. He would not be able to sleep. He had no desire to sleep. He needed quietness - peace. But not the peace of sleep. He looked about for some place where he could be alone for a time. The men were all crowded together: in among the tanks. The ground was bare - any trees had long ago been hewn down. There was no place -- except a deserted farmhouse, some five hundred yards away. Dare he risk it? . . . He darted out towards it through the dusk. Von Rheimer in command, Sir? The door, hanging crazily open on its one hinge, was banging in the wind. He crept through, and closed it care- fully after him. Three and one half hours of solitude. At last, a little peace. He looked about him. It was almost dark-too dark to see anything clearly. He felt in his pocket for his flashlight. Gone, of course. The last clash had been terrible. But, he must have some matches somewhere. Yes, here they were. He struck one, and looked around the room. It was thick with dust and obviously had not been lived in for some time. It was the ordinary kind of farmhouse kitchen-the place where you cook and eat-and sit. In one corner there was an old iron stove, and beside it, a table. Over there . . . the match went out. Best not to strike another, he thought. Not sup- posed to show light. 'Von Rheimer in command, Sir., He groped his way over to a chair he had seen in one corner, and sat down on it heavily. Van Rheimer in command, Sir. Von Reimer in com- mand, Sir.!! The words sounded end- lessly in his ears. Of what was Von Rheimer in command?-Von Rheimer the pacifist in command of a company. Kurt von Rheimer, who was not even in control of himself. Kurt von Rheim- er who ran away from his column to be alone. Kurt von Rheimer, who - he buried his head in his hands, and sat there sobbing quietly for a few moments. Then he nervously lit a cigarette. Luxury. His eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness, now, and he could make out some of the objects standing in the room. Yes, there was a stove-a table-a large basin above it --to wash the dishes in, likely. Such poverty! . . . Yet, in Germany. . . . He continued in his scrutiny. There was a large cupboard above the stove- dishes, probably-and beside it, a door leading into another room. Across from him, another chair, and a shabby sofa stood dejectedly. The door, a window beside it, and the chair on

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Vox F luminis 23 here again. No violin would play here again. Du bist die Ruh! Half an hour. Half an hour!-then-retreat-- Retreat to what?-not to peace-but to battle-savage battle-cruelty-noise. . . . He shuddered. Half an hour. Something snapped in his brain-one hand grenade! He ran to the trap door -down the ladder-out into the night. Du bist die Ruiz! Hand grenate! HAND GRENADE! All sleeping. All silent. He crept over to a tank. Hand grenate! He snatched it and ran back. All crowded together-herded together like a bunch of animals. Perfect peace. He hum- med the song silently under his breath to give himself courage. Now! . . . pin out . . . he threw the grenade into their midst, and flung himself to the ground. The whole earth shook. There was a blinding light-one horrible, peace- rending explosion. Then silence - silence. I Kurt lay still. He was wounded un- bearably in the back. Von Rheimer in command, Sir, he mimicked. Von Rheimer in command - of perfect peace. He slowly raised himself, and then dragged his body almost back to the house. Exhausted-suffering-he lay there, under the stars. No, that peace would not b-e broken again. He smiled crookedly. Du bist die Ruhli' he breathed, and then lay still. . . . The last strains of an old violin whispered in the peace, and rose up to the stars through the night. Then all was silent. Pat Bernard, Grade XI, Douglas Hall. Clear light that on my soul doth shine, still let it shine for thee alone. - LITTLE BLACK SAMBO Little Black Sambo one day Went out in the forest to play, Mother Sambo said, What's gone to dat head? Youse father done said the best place for youse to be is right in dat bed. But Little Black Sambo no heed did he PHY, To what his mother was trying to say. Ise been all right, Little Sambo he said, If Mr. Bear gets youse wish youse was dead, And then you'll be happy to gets to dat bed. He walked for a while Maybe even a mile, Then sat down on a log, The trees were all round Some low on the ground As he dreamed there 'long a bog. In his dream it did seem He saw Mr. Bear look at him square As he dreamed his dream on the log. Then Little Black Sambo began to run Not even looking behind, Til he saw Mrs. Sambo sitting right in the sun That was he delighted to find, Oh Mamma Sambo I'se comin' back, 'Tll neve' go der no moh. But into bed he quickly did hop And stayed there you may be sure. June Baker, Grade VI, Nelson House. ...1..ll -11 A WISH I wish I was a sailor, And I'd sail to sea, 'When I came home again Oh, what a welcome then would be. I'd sail across the seven seas, And have a lot of fun, But I'd be back and safe abed, At the setting of the sun. Diane Johnson, Grade IV, York Hall. ,i....l SPRING The spring is coming, never fear, Bluebirds soon will be here, In spite of all the snow and cold, Spring is always so Very bold. Susanne Chester, Grade II, Douglas Hall.