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

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18 Vox Fluminis had ever done before. The flowers gave off a sweeter scent and the bluebells rang so very clearly in. the fresh, still air, while the ocean's roll was even more wonderful as it beat upon the shore. Martin went alone to the station be- cause he wanted to keep the memory of his mother and father standing in the gateway covered with climbing roses, until he came home and could stand beside them looking back on the tur- moil and unhappiness of war. For the first few days away from home Martin felt his loneliness very keenly, but gradually the changes of his new life gave him other things to think of and he found new friends and new interests. When The Courageous put to sea Martin wrote each week to his mother and father telling them all that hap- pened to him. He liked the navy im- mensely and became interested in navigation, which he studied whenever he got the opportunityf The other sub- lieutenants were all young boys about Martin's age and in the evenings they would sit and talk together or play games in the officers' cabin. For the first few weeks they saw no action and were all very disappointed. Dr. and Mrs. Ashmen continued to re- ceive cheery letters from their son, and sent him large parcels of food and clothing every week. Then one day a ,submarine was sighted off the port bow of H.M.S. Courageous The action alarm was sounded and Martin took his position on the bridge, relaying messages from the captain to the engine room. The machine guns spluttered relent- lessly and several depth charges were released. The submarine opened fire and one shot struck the port engine room, throwing the engines out of con- trol. A fire started in the cabins below deck next to the engine rooms and a few of the men were trapped in the burning blaze. Another shot found its mark in the stern of the ship and the order was given to lower the lifeboats. Martin, disobeying the order, dashed below decks in an endeavor to save some of the engine crew. Grasping an axe beside one of the doors he slashed through the wooden door and dragged one of the nearest men outside. Two others, still able to walk, although they were blinded with smoke, stumbled out, while Martin went back for the last man. Unable to find him, Martin called after his shipmates, but they were al- ready on deck. The fire was spreading rapidly and by the time Martin re-ached the companionway he was trapped. Gasping for breath, half-smothered by the smoke, he staggered along and lay in a crumpled heap on the bottom step. Gradually the bright flames cast by the burning ship were seen no more on the dim horizon, and the Courage- ous, sank far below the surface, never again to sail the seas. A few days later, in a beautiful garden by the seashore, a woman sat watching the birds flying above the ocean and listening to the drowsy hum of the bees. A maid, in clear white uniform brought out a tray with a pot of tea and carried under her arm the afternoon mail. The tray she set down on a table bene-ath the apple trees, and the mail she politely handed to the woman. A smile spread over the woman's face as she took up the first letter and recognized her son's writing. Eagerly she opened it, and read and re-read it, happily smiling all the while. It was not until afterwards that she noticed a telegram at the bottom of the pile of letters. Cold fear clutched at her heart and her face was no longer smiling. With trembling hands she tore open the envelope, and only then did she learn the truth. All these months she had known that this would happen sometime and now at last it had come. Through misty tears she saw the leaves on the trees were changing color, and were falling softly to the ground. How strange, she thought, I had not realized until now that autumn is coming and old blossoms are fading. Blossoms were fading and gone, and her son., Martin, was gone too. Gone forever. But is not the world a garden, full of the choices-t fiowers of earth, and Martin then, is he not too a blossom? In time all the

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Vox Fluminis 17 !..l'l'E.I AI l FALLEN BLOSSOMS IT WAS a simple little cottage, with slender roses entwining themselves around the heavy oaken. door, and yet there was that look about it which made you suppose it was built just for the family who lived in it. They were simple folk too, kind and very sweet as were the roses which gave a delicate scent into the summer air and which ever stretched their climbing stems until they finally succeeded in covering the whole front of the house, emerging in mystic splendour under the eaves. Autumn, summer, winter or spring, no matter what the season or weather, the sun always seemed to be reflected in the sparkling glass windows, which gave the impression of twinkling eyes so bright they were. The cottage stood in a garden full of beautiful flowers, with green sloping lawns and stone-flagged paths. At the foot of one of these winding paths there stood a wooden gate which had a familiar screech to it, at least it was familiar to the occupants of the house, and which opened out o-nto a large expanse of sand. Beyond that the sing- ing waves of the ocean flung foam- crested spray far up the beach. The cottage was called the Golden Flute because in summer whe-n the wind was low the bees would gather around the multi-colo-red blossoms and their hum- ming and the faint tinkle of the blue- bells-if you listened very closely you could sometimes hear the bluebells ring--sounded so very-like a Golden Flute. When the war commenced in other parts of the world it was still far from the little cottage of the Golden Flute, and yet as the war drums rolled louder the family living there were not wholly free from the sorrow of it. The Ashmens, as the owners of the cottage were called, had a son, Martin. Martin was a tall lad, very slender with clear cut features and grey-blue eyes. His hair was dark like his mothers and he had her voice and the same sweet smile. From his father, who was a distinguished surgeon, Martin got his height and humorous, laughing eyes. When Martin was young he always wanted to be a doctor and when he grew up he decided to study medicine. At eighteen, Martin went to the University at Edinburgh, where he studied for two years. Then came the fatal year of war when everyones life was changed and when thousands of men, women and children were being mercilessly killed and tortured in the awful terror and cruelty of war. Martin began to think of joining up as all his friends around him began joining the navy, army or air force. After talking it over with his parents it was decided that he should enlist in the navy, since he knew quite a bit about boats and was interested in them. Martin then took eight months of officers training course, after which he emerged as a full-fledged sub-lieutenant in the Royal Naval Reserves. He was then given a month's leave before reporting for active duty. The month was spent at home with his mother and father and sometimes when his father was out on a case, he and his mother would wander down to the sea shore and watch the rolling waves and the seagulls flying high above them as they used to when Mar- tin was a child. Each day was a treasured memory in Martin's mind, yet each day brought him closer to the time of parting. Eventually the day of leave-taking arrived and Martin went for a last stroll round the garden where he had spent his childhood days. Strangely enough everything seemed so much more beautiful then, than it

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Vox Fluminis 19 blossoms fade, and fall, but in their place, there grows an even greater flower, more delicately moulded, and more perfect, with a more exquisite scent, to give into the cool summer air. And so in Martin's place will grow another flower next year, and so the world goes on and on and the garden change-s, yielding new fruits in spring to take the place of autumns fallen blossoms. Peggy Auld, Grade XI, Garry Hall. .1u LIZA JANE Now Liza Jane am a leetle girl, She leeve by de reever bank, An' dan fo' hour she watch seem swirl, Weeth her dog whose name am Hank. Her mama tell her she gonna fall In de reever one dese day, But Liza Jane she naver care, An' dese ees wha' she say: Mama I weel be a'right, I ain't a chil' no mo'. Y An' after dat she ron away Down to de reever shore. An sure enough she start to fall An' lan' right on de breenk, Oh, den she start to wail an' call, De breenk begun to sink. But Hank he drag her to de shore, Her beatin' she had earned, She promised to go dere no mo', Her lesson she had learned. June Baker, Grade VII, Nelson Hall. .,..,. , A COMPARISON THE MORNING was calm and beauti- ful. Joy was everywhere from the new green plants to the caroling sky- lark. The sun rose higher in the clear blue, and the glistening dew-drops dried, watering the flesh green buds. Although everything was joyous this morning, clouds had gathered in the west. They lashed each other, deepen- ing in color until they became ominous shades of black, green, and yellow. They blotted out the sun, and so the world became dark. It waited for an instant, and then a terrifying rod of blue lightning ripped the clouds asunder, joined quickly with a bullet- like clap of thunder. The rain came down in blinding sheets, blurring out all view of the drenched earth. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm slid grumblingly off to the east, with only an occasional rumble of thunder. The sun pushed its way out, just as if nothing had happened, and a beautiful rainbow arched its delicate way across the receding clouds. Life is like this. Childhood is joyous, it prepares us for the oncoming test. or the storm. When the storm is past, we are left clean and unafraid. No matter how black the surging clouds may have looked, no matter how diliicult our trials may have seemed, we have sur- mounted them all. And now at the end we look peacefully back on the soft grey behind us, made beautiful and glowing with the rainbow of success. Barbara McLean, Grade VII, York Hall. l1. . HOAR FROST HOAR FROST is Mother Nature's lace. She uses it to trim the trees in wintertime. It is white and crisp and looks like myriads of little white ruffled ballet skirts. When the sun shines on it, it glistens like tiny diamonds do. It seems to be holding its breath for fear some small puff of wind would knock it off its twig and cause it to lose its small part in life's great ballet. If, on a sunny day, one looks up through frosted trees into the bluest of skies, one can see a faint tipping of rose and gold on the edge of each hoary flake. Each separate flake looks like a pair of angel's wings, folded as though the angels were in prayer. Perhaps each is thanking the Maker for fashioning all such small things so perfectly. Ellen Kinneard, Grade X, York Hall.