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

Page 25 text:

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.

Page 24 text:

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

Page 26 text:

? VT W 5 as On 9 DRIFTING silently downwards, they came in a long procession. Some were like fairy wings, thin as gossam- er, others, wisps of mist, with little pin-prick lights twinkling in them. Many were beautiful, with smooth shapes and soft colors. One was awhirl with murky mauves and moon- stones. Here, a wee elfin shape skip- ped in and out of the wierdly moving troop, there, a moon-beam goblin pranced in rhythm with its fellow monsters. Gruesome forms of green slime quiv- ered and shivered, under and through all the other beautiful, stately and mysterious beings. Some had red sequins glimmering in their backs, others, purple and green lights as if from nowhere. Many large, grotesque horrors with misshapen figures, and hollows deep as fiery fathoms flared around them. F , ' 1' no EW S .xi l S Ffh 6 QQ X Every once in a while one dropped out, floated up, up away, toward the back of the moon, and vanished. There seemed always to be a whispering of sweet violins, together with the distant droning of a million bees. This ghostly procession gave one the feeling of uncertainty and mystery. 011 and on they came, in a never-ending stream. Dawn was breaking and be- ginning to light the eastern sky. The mysterious dreams were fading, as stars do towards dawn. Suddenly the sun burst over the horizon. All that was left, a mist cling- ing to the pine needles on the floor of the wood, swaying to and fro with the breeze. Slowly it floated up, up and away into the firmament. So did the dreams go to other places to give more people visions of the mysteries of subconscious thought. June L. McCrae, Grade XII, Garry Hall. X . X a L5 X,