Timmins High and Vocational School - Porcupine Quill Yearbook (Timmins, Ontario Canada)

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41 The PORCUPINE QUILL I must have air! If I ever get out of this alive I shall be thankful for every breath I take. ,Life seems so sweet, now . . . I don't want to die! . . . A YOUHE Sa1V8-HOD Army cfiicer is praying near me. Memories are rushing back-clear-agonizing . . . Every- Courtesy of A. Tomkinson thing is growing black . . .I can't stick it out any longer . . .-I must, though . . . I . . . We found them the next morning. Near the hand of one poor victim, charred but de- cipherable. I found this story of how Death came to them. JAMES VEITCH The Pursuer Through the frosty morning air crept the first rosy fingers of Dawn. Sleeping creatures that felt her touch become like fire sparksg they jumped, twittered, and in their own dialect sang for sheer joy that the day was to be bright and sunny. When Dawn had awakened those lusty fellows, she stretched her fingers out further and tapping lightly on a shuttered window, disturbed a young lad's sunny dreams. But up he bounded with no grudge against his early disturber. He leaned over the bed and, pulling off the bedclothing, disclosed tin peaceful slumber! another boy, his churn, who was about his age. My, what a thought- less fellow he is, thought the early bird, and nudging the sleeping fellow, woke him with a start, Must I always be reminding you of forgotten ideas? was the intruder's only remark. There was no answer from the bed, but a knowing look came over the sleepy one, and, before you could say Jack Robinson! both lads were trudging their way through the early morn to set their first boyhood traps. Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! Their heavy lumber-jack, hobnailed shoes sank but two inches in the crusty snow. The dome that was once an endless blue with Dawn's warm fingers caressing it, now became a 'mass of dirty, greyish, colours. A slight breeze, as delicate as a fleeing fawn, fanned the woods. But soon the fawn had passed, and its pur- suer, in its rage, shook the bare tree limbs. whirled the fallen snow about the trunks of the trees, and made the poplars bend their slender length to him and plead. But not satisfied with humility, he roared on, aveng- quiet. ing himself on everything that was Down came the soft snownakes, and seeing shook something else to terrify, the wind them about and bumped them together. Soon they were helpless in his power. The two young lads, sensing a, change, quickened their speed. The wind tore at them, pulled at their caps, blew open their coats and sent snow flying into their already cold faces. By sheer luck these two poor lads stumbled on a ruined shack. Having brought no fuel with them, they sat on the

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40 The PORCUPINE QUILL -WWW My Favourite Books My favourite books are those dealing with ancient Greece and Rome. When I am read- ing them I feel as if I were the hero in the story, travelling, fighting and worshipping as he did. The book I enjoy most is called A Victor of Salamis by Davis. Through the whole book I pretend that I am Glaucon the hero. The Isthmean games have but begun. Greeks from all over the country have come to SEG me, They admire my beautyg but feel sorry for me because, although I have entered the games, every one is betting on the Spartan. I enter the jumping contest, the running, javelin and quoit throwing, and win them all. This leaves only the wrestling. It is between the Spartan and me, I can feel the pain as he tries to crush me with his huge arms. I elude him by twisting myself like an eel. Grabbing him by the head I give a sudden twist downward with my arms and drop him like a sack of potatoes. He does not rise and I am acclaimed the new champion of the Isthmean Games. This is the part I enjoy most in this book. Second to A Victor of Salamish is The Spartan. He is the son of an Athenian father who is dead, and a Spartan mother. Here again I am the hero. After travelling to many countries for adventure, I return to violet-crowned Athens, my father's city and mine. The Athenians, and even my Spartan mother, believe that I am a traitor: to prove my loyalty I hasten to Thermopylae where the Persians are fighting against the Three Hundred. I join them in the last fight and for over a Week we hold the pass. I am sent to bring a message to Athens, and as I traverse the rocky path I feel that some- thing is the matter with me. .A fierce pain is swelling my face and eyes. I am unable to see and unable to walk. Then I know that I am i11,- almost to death. My servant looks after me and although I try to reach the battlefield again to die like a Spartan, I am unable. The illness lasted for weeks. At last I am Well again and able to use my ar- mour. I keep away from Athens, but join an Athenian army against the Persians. In the battle I distinguished myself so much that I am brought to Athens in triumph. There are a few other books that I like to read, imagining myself the herog but these two are my favourites. GEORGE ANDRUCHUCK The Fire The fire is coming on, smacking its lips greedily over the rich harvest of beautiful trees it is reaping. Like hungry tongues, its flames suck everything into that inferno. In a few minutes they will be upon us. Twenty-six of us are in the I-Iollingef shaft. We came to work this morning be- cause we thought that the fire had burned itself outg but an unkind Wind is fanning the glowing coals into living flame which is leap- ing towards us as if it were human. Two of us have run for refuge to the lake at the foot of the hill, but the foreman thinks it wiser to stay in the shaft until the fire goes pastg so the rest of us are staying with him. . . . The fire is almost upon us nowg so we are going into the shaft-house to shut ourselves in. The foreman is worrying about the 12W0 men who would not stay with us. . . . We are in the shaft-house. It is growing hotter and hotter. Smoke is creeping in through the cracks about the door! We rea- lize our danger. We shall not be burned alive-but we may suifocate, cooped up as we are! . . . We are going to open the door and make a dash for the lake. . . . We couldnit get through-the flames were too thick! The shaft-house is now full of smoke! We are lying on the floor to get what little air there is . . . The fire is almost around us now . . . I can feel myself being scorched! . . . The panes of glass have fallen frames. The smoke is out of the window pouring in . . .I am gasping for breath . . . . The youngmt of our number-a lad of seven- teen, is rushing to the foreman screaming, 'You murderer! We could all have been safe in the lake by nowl' Precious breath is wasted grappling with him and throwing him into a corner . . he is lying there moaning. The blood is pounding at my temples . .

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42 The PORCUPINE QUILL ' cold, cracked floor to wait for the blizzard to die down. ' In the humble village on the outskirts of the woods, the people remained in their cosy houses. Small children with eager, curious faces peeped out at the menace. It forced down wood piles, broke lines, played roughly with open doors and sent the smoke rolling about. At dawn everything was quiet. Piles and piles of snow were banked up on every struc- ture. Not a sound in the village broke the stillness. Everything was asleep. The rosy fingers of Dawn again tapped lightly on the barred window of a ruined shack. No stirr- ing inside was heard.. Again she tapped- this time more distinctly. But neither she nor anyone could break the sleep into which those two young trappers had gone. The blizzard had won again! OLIVE VIENOTTE Winter Evenings at Home When the sun rides high in the sky, and lets her skirts float over the earth, then distant places call me and I long to roam. But when the moon comes with her star-spangled skirts of black, then home is the place for me. I have always loved our evenings at home, but especially do I love our winter evenings. For the cold seems to drive us closer together, and the nre crackles a mighty welcome. We have a big family, four boys and two girls, and the sweetest little mother God could give a family. There is one big chair, immediately in front of the stove. It is my father's. Mother used to tell us that he had gone to a far happier place to live, and that we should not cry, but be happy. But often at night, I see her eyes turn to the one empty chair. But in spite of the ache which I now realize is always in mother's heart, I know that we have made her happy. My oldest brother, who is the eldest child, is only twenty-one, and so none of the brood has left mother yet. The old farm still rings to the laughter of young voices, and the little school-house down the way still harbours three of our children. Their futtue is the main topic of discus- sion in our evenings together. For two of them are in the last grade now, and both are going to town to school next term. And one, Wie don'-t know which, is going on to Univer- sity. i Sometimes as we sit around the huge iron stove, I see amidst the crackling flames, a fine old building, in a large city. Then I know that I am seeing part of that far-off Wonder they call University And sometimes a faint tinge of envy enters my heart. Then I must get up quickly and leave the happy group, lest they see it in my eyes and realize my futile dreams. But envy Iiees like the darkness before the rising sun, when I go to the window and gaze at the beauty without. For what city could hold such eerie splendour as the snow-covered barns glistening in the moonlight? And what university training could afford such healthy satisfaction as does the snow-clad scene before my eyes? And then with a peaceful spirit and unen- vious heart I can rejoin the happy family around the stove. Not for anything in the world would I exchange my winter evenings at home. JESSIE RAMSAY Smiles A smile is such a funny thing It wrinkles up your face, And when it's gone you cannot find Its secret hiding place. But far more wonderful it is To see what smiles can dog You smile at one, he smiles at you, And so one smile makes two. He smiles at someone since you smiled, And then that one smiles backg Then that one smiles, until in truth You have set a smiling track. So since a smile can do great good By lessening trouble and care, Let's smile and smile and not forget That smiles fit anywhere. ANASTASIA WOJCIECHOWSKI, G2