Sir Adam Beck Secondary School - Lacedaemon Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

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Yes, Moses, let him go on, I said. Frommes surveyed the room, looking carefully at each of us, until his gaze fell upon Mr. Todal who was in a slight trance caused from gazing at the reflection of the fire in the window. Fred Todal was an odd little man with frizzy, grey hair and a thick, droopy moustache. I had often seen him, toddling down the street on winter mornings, placing his cane in front of him and taking a step, then, with a snappy hop-skip-and-jump he would gain a few yards until he had reached h is destination . I noticed Frommes staring at him and gave Fred a nudge with my elbow . Erherm, yes, an anachronism, well I see, he said quickly. It is not an anachronism, Mr. Todal, said Frommes. In fact, it is something far more fantastic than that. Mr. Gleener formed a strange look on his face and stumbled out of the room holding his enormous stomach. Startling news, or for that matter, any news, always affected him in an odd way. Go on Wendel, he may be gone for hours, I chortled. Very well, but first allow me to fetch something from my room, said Wendel, wisking down the dark hallway. Mr. Squab looked at us. I wonder what he ' s got? A new sculpture no doubt, grumbled Mr. Smith, a little disappointed. Wendel was always turning out little artistic creations in his spare time but I doubted if he had called the meeting for that sole purpose . Mr . Todal began telling us of a sculpture he had once seen in a museum which actually glowed in the dark without the aid of electricity, but his anecdote was cut short when Frommes re-entered the room, carrying a small wooden box, del- icately carved with a hinged top. This he placed on a small antique table in the centre of the room. He took a shaded lamp from another table and placed it beside the box. I drew up a large padded stool and sat down . Tomal nervously fidgeted in his chair as we all awaited Frommes ' next words . With a smile, he reached out and gently pulled back the lid. Mr. Smith looked in and raised his eyebrows. I told you it would be a statue. Tomal was right; it seemed only to be a very small statue, pinkish-orange in colour. Then, the more I stared, the more it appeared to be a moving little man . It moved! I saw it move! I cried. So did I , added Mr . Todal . That little man is a I ive ! With that, the fat little man, quite alive indeed, hopped over the edge of the box and stood on the table looking at us. His pear-shaped body, short little legs, and broad, beaming smile appeared so amusing that we all broke into uncontrolable fits of jubilant laughter. Mr. Gleener, who had just walked into the room, viewed this awesome spectacle with his eyes and mouth wide open, and within seconds, was bustling out again, his great belly bouncing with each step . The little man jumped up and down and fell backwards into the box. The lid dropped shut and it was late in the evening before any of us fully recovered from this extraordinary experience. Mr. Smith groaned and said that it had certainly looked exactly like a small statue. Robert Fones 12C

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NORWEGIAN WOOD Snow fell softly in a little Norwegian village, filling the narrow streets with a fluffy mattress of cold down . Through the fuzzy, blue darkness, glittering shop windows, blind with frost and snow, shone and twinkled in the night. I tramped through the deepening snow with the collar of my pea coat turned up around my tingling ears and a rather long, woollen scarf wrapped about that. In spite of it all, I was still cold, and I quickened my pace along the street, anxious to be near the warmth of a roaring fire, crackling in the hearth, The high buildings with their overhanging stories loomed overhead. At the very top, blue smoke curled from the silhouetted chimneys and mingled with the fresh winter air. Although it was cold indeed, I must confess how delighted I was to be out on such a wonder- ful night . Just as I was about to cross the street, a large, red sleigh pulled by two steaming work horses came whipping around the corner sending a spray of snow over me . You silly, old fool ! I cried . Why don ' t you look where you 1 re going ! The sleigh came to a quick stop and a sly, old gent with mutton chop whiskers and top hat askew peeked over the back of the seat. I instantly recognised him as T omal Smith, the town doctor, a respectable citizen but very stubborn and obsequious. Erherm! Ah, Merry Christmas, Tomal, I said quickly. Insolence! he replied. Insolence in one respect or another! I ' m sorry, Tomal, I didn ' t know it was you. Then 1 must assume you ' d have said something worse, had you known it was! No, not at all , Tomal ! If you hadn ' t — Respect your elders, they say! That little phrase seems to be outdated in this village! Now listen, Mr. Smith! Your sleigh-- Goodnight, Mr. Greenwedge! he snapped, and after c limbing back down into the seat, he glided on down the street in his oversized sleigh. I had always despised Mr. Smith. Every village has its Scrooge and Tomal was ours. He enjoyed the company of no one and although his position of doctor hardly suited him, he was the only one within miles, and so we tolerated him . One could always spot Tomal in his top hat and long, black coat, walking stiff-legged home from work. I hurried on down the snow-laden street and soon arrived at Wendel Fromme ' s house, which stood on top of a hill overlooking the village . It was here that I had been asked to come for an interesting evening , as Wendel had put it. Every window was aglow and Christmas decorations of all colours hung behind the panes. I fumbled up the brick steps and rapped on the door. As I stood waiting in the snow, 1 noticed the fresh runner tracks which curved off the street and up by the side of the house. I thought perhaps they might be from Tomal ' s sleigh, but hoped they weren ' t. Ah, good evening, George! said Wendel, opening the heavy, wooden door, I ' m glad you were able to come . What a night we ' re having ! Oh, it ' s not really so bad, Wendel . In fact, I enjoyed walking over . Let me take your coat , George . You must be frozen ! smiled Wendel . Go right in and warm yourself by the fire. I handed over my hat and coat and strolled into the lounge where several other gentlemen were already seated in large, leather arm chairs which formed a semicircle around the hearth. I spotted Mr. Smith, ensconced in the most comfortable, softest chair of the bunch. I heartily shook hands with everyone, except Tomal, to whom I gave a modest, Good evening . Well, gentlemen, 1 suopose you ' re wondering why I called this meeting, said Mr. Frommes, folding his arms and ambling in to the centre of the room. Everyone looked around, and nodded to each other, mumbling and pointing out the truth in this statement . I continued to thaw out my hands and glare at Mr . Smith . The reason, continued Frommes, is because I want to reveal to you, something very pecul iar . An anachronism! It is an anachronism! piped Mr. Gleener. You ' re jumping to conclusions again, Mr. Gleener! said Mr. Smith. You ' re always jumping to conclusions.

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It seemed like a normal night. There had been a light sprink[e of rain, and a glossy sheen covered the downtown thoroughfare. In it were reflected the bright neon signs that flashed above. There was a bit of a chill in the air, but a substantial number of shoppers still straggled in the streets. An occasional pair of headlights sparkled in the clear night air. Over the entire scene lay a veil of serenity . Suddenly, four young members of the motorcycle set split the quiet temporarily as they raced through the downtown section. Irresponsible young punks, thought one storekeeper. Most shoppers didn ' t waste time thinking about it. There were so many other, more important things to worry about . In a short time the motorcyclists were back, but this time they stopped halfway down the street. With nothing more exciting to do, a nearby policeman became the target of their taunts and jibes. Suddenly their mood changed. With a snake-like smoothness they surrounded him. A few muffled thuds, an unheeded cry for help, and it was over. The motorcycles were remounted, and off they sped. Irresponsible young punks, thought one storekeeper. Most of the shoppers didn ' t waste time thinking about it. There were so many other, more important things to worry about . Overhead the neon lights flashed, and the rain started again. Rob MacMillan -Grade 10- Wei I , I ' ve been through almost two years of school , and very soon , (I hope), I ' ll become a member of that elite club known as the senior school . After long and hard years of apprent- iceship | am finally ready to start looking distinguished, aloof, and acquire in general the mark that sets the senior out from a junior. I will be required to change my whole line of thinking, for juniors (the downtrodden masses) will soon exist only to be despised and stepped on. Actually, before becoming sophisticate, debonair, and otherwise stamping myself in the mold of the senior, I wish to make it clear that there were advantages to being a junior. Firstly, you find that seniors expect juniors to act stupidly, because they are stupid, The senior is easily noticeable by his quiet and unruffled manner. A junior, on the other hand, is noisy, loud, and unclean. When first arriving at Beck, a junior is subtly informed of this fact, but are also told that if they work hard and keep their noses clean, they too might one day be- come a senior. But even if you try hard to imitate your superiors, being expected to be dumb can create interesting problems. After all, constantly being told that you are inferior and stupid leads some people to start thinking they are inferior and stupid . The real ization of this fact leaves a junior free to do stupid things. Such activities are severely frowned upon by seniors and the pre- fects are very deligent in rooting out the malfacters(new word recently picked up in French class) and making them confess their sins . Above it all, however, there exist an attitude of tolerance and resignation . After all they are only juniors, and what e Ise can you expect? . So, as I near the most dramatic experience in my life, and as I ready myself so that I, too, will be an example of good to the children of darkness, I reflect that, in spite of it all, being a junior wasn ' tall that bad . Rob MacMil Ian -Grade 10-