Viscount Bennett Junior High School - Terminal Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

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THE TERMINAL Page 91 FIRST PRIZE S S A Y FLYING SAUCERS ? One of the greatest controversies of our day concerns the existence of flying saucers or Unidentified Flying Objects. These objects have been sighted by observers all over the world. Mrr.y people believe that these Unidentified Flying Objects (U.F.O. ' s) are in reality space ships manned by creatures from another world. They believe that no earth man today has the technical knowledge required to build such a craft. Other people believe that U.F.O.s are nothing more than common weather balloons, reflections, clouds, stars, meteorites or hallucinations. Still others place the U.F.O.s in the category of the Loch Ness Monster, the unicorn, sea serpent and. Abominable Snowman. -. Who are we to say what these mysterious ' : - - things are? It seems unlikely that they are y ' ' • — ' manned by creatures from another world, for j t there appears to be little chance that there is another planet which possesses the exact conditions necessary for life. If life does exist, is it likely that the life would be so much more advanced than ours? It is impossible to say one way or the other. Then, who, for example, has ever heard of these; weather balloons travelling against the wind at high speeds, a reflection where there is no glass, a cloud emitting an orange flashT ing light, stars moving rapidly about, making intricate turns, meteors falling like a leaf, stopping and zooming back upwards, or hallucinations being picked up on radar and chased by jet interceptors? Such explanations have been given to account for some of the U.F.Os. sighted. There have been so many sightings by reputable people that it is a little hard to place the V.F.O.s in the mythological category, y—These U.F.O.s, if real, must be present in J our skies at all times. It is significant that I ' with the coming of the Sputniks, there has been J 3 great increase in the number of U.F.O. f sightings due to more people watching the heavens. Nobody can say for sure -what they are, but there is something in our skies. SECOND PRIZE Gretchen Meade, 10-1:3 AUTUMN MORNING The mist of early hour still hid the rising day when I, with camera and lunch, set out for great adventure. The murmur of a small only sound that broke the and left stretched, high abov. peaks of th : Bavarian Alps, mist began to rise, a sun ' s formed to glittering diamonds- gathered on the leaves. A OiJ- mountain stream was the empty silence. To my right ... all earthly dwellings, the • P -a Here and there, where the . --iy ( . ) T ray hit the grass and trans- ‘ the tiny droplets which had bird boan to sing. Soon

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j.Page ' 90 .. . ......THE TERMINAL | began. This was s bad boner on our part for now the stallion had the drop on us. He | appeared from out of the herd screaming and biting any horse he neared. His technique and operation were superb. He worked with perfect timing; and in an I instant, he had the horses on the move, edging them out of the canyon and onto the prairie where he knew he could not be challenged. Our aim was to try and separate | him from his herd. He seemed to sense something was wrong, but he was too late. | He was now alone. We had three men on each side of him, slowly closing in; his I only escape was to leap over the twenty foot crevice. Suddenly, he made a break. He opened into full stride, racing straight for I that death-defying leap. But the stakes seemed to fall against him, in his last I burst of speed his foot lodged in a gopher hole and he plunged headlong into the [ black tavern of death. Susan Alexander, 10-2U j HONORABLE MENTION THE STAND-BY Marsha stood looking out of her bedroom window. It was dull and dreary and j had been raining off and on all day, which only added to Marsha s depression. For, on this day, her dad lay in his room, dying. Several days earlier he had had a i heart attack. The trouble had come very suddenly to shock Marsha, who had always thought of her parents as being in good health. Oh why doesn’t someone come out of there? said Marsha, to herself, rather pettishly. They’ve been in there for over an hour. As she stood there she saw the doctor come out of her father’s room. She started, but stopped when she saw him shake his head. Marsha knew only too well what had happened benind that closed door. Is he - is he...? Marsha couldn’t make the words come out. I’m afraid he is, Marsha. I’m sorry, very sorry. Your father was a good man | and I know how much you loved him. Marsha nodded, unable to speak. The tears were nearly ready to come. Marsha, said the doctor, He died without knowing it; I mean he was asleep. I | thought you’d like to know. Marsha threw herself on the bed scarcely believing what had happened. Her j father - always so cheerful and happy, hardly ever sick - was gone, never to come j back again. Marsha wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. There was only a ! dull ache. She didn’t know how long she had been lying there; but when she got up, it was ! nearly dark. Outside, the stars were beginning to twinkle. It was a peaceful night. Downstairs in the living room, Marsha found her mother, sitting quietly, alone in the dark. Marsha went, silently, to sit next to her. Her mother said nothing, but | put her arms around her daughter, with a sigh that went straight to the girl’s heart. ! It was then that Marsha knew, without a word being spoken, how much her mother really i needed her and it was then that the tears came, - and they didn’t stop until she fell ; asleep, her head on her mother ' s shoulder. Chris Marriott, 10- 2h

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Page 92 THE TERMINAL many others followed. The flowers which covered the mountain sides in immense I numbers awoke and unfolded; their blossoms giving beauty which only poets can describe. As I climbed higher over ancient rock where only sparse vegetation met my eye I felt a sudden expectation creeping over me. My watchful glance covered every stone, followed every cleft of weathered rock in search of the one, most noble sight: mountaingoats. Driven into the highest, most rugged parts of the Alps by ruthless hunters, the mountaingoats and sheep had become scarce and it was considered very lucky for a climber to see these shy, agile creatures of the mountains dance gracefully along high, narrow mountain rims. ' I lay on a sunbathed rock and waited hopefully for just such a sight. I must have fallen asleep, and how long I thus lay dreaming there I do not know. Suddenly frighten¬ ed out of happy thoughts, I awoke to wonder where I was. What I the n looked upon gave me great joy. Not far from me were five, slender, grey-figured mountaingoats who, surprised by my sudden move, stood like lifeless statues, cast in bronze. A rolling stone - five fleeing shadows, and they were gone. I sat quietly - my .camera, unmoved, within easy reach. Great emptiness in my belly then I felt. A sudden, roaring noise like that of thunder echoed loudly from the rocky x alls. I glanced up frightened - but all was still. Some giant rock had tumbled from unmeasured height. My heart was full of wonder as I stood up to walk home and further enjoy the silent splendor. Wilfred Wenzel, 10-27 HONORABLE MENTION THE LEAD BEAT This is the school, Viscount Bennett. I work here, I’m a pencil. I’m HB and my partner ' s H2. It was 2:1:9 p.m., Friday the thirteenth. We were working the day watch out of Theft Division; everything was quiet, until. . . Ring-g-g. I told H2 I ' d get it; and, as I lifted the phone, I heard a woman ' s exasperating story. Apparently her little boy had been kidnapped. I took the address and told her we ' d be right over. We arrived at the scene and found the binder a mess. H2 poked me with his eraser and said, Looks like there ' s been a struggle. I agreed, and then we patiently listened to the weeping mother ' s story. It seemed that North Rite, her little boy, had been left on the desk top while Paper Mate made supper. When she came back, he was gone. We checked out all the leads and then returned to the scene of the crime to see if the lab-boys had overlooked anything. Sure enough, we found that the point of poor little North Rite had been broken and he was leaving a faint trail of red ink. We followed this trail through Literature class and up the stairs into Social. Here we stopped for a spare. We questioned the teacher and he told us that North Rite had been used to mark his register. We thanked him for his information and resumed the chase. We were fighting time now as the bell was about to ring and we would then be out of action for two days. The trail led us through Science, English and then into Math. As we entered, we scanned the place and finally located the boys in the back room playing poker with propositions 1 to 13. Up front the entertainment was in full swing where two beautiful dolls were singing the ABCs of Algebra without music. We began to search the place from end to end but with little hope. Then, suddenly, as we were