West Elgin High School - Kaleidoscope Yearbook (West Lorne, Ontario Canada)

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PITY THE POOR BUS-DRIVER Junior Essay First Prize While everyone is talking about teachers, curriculums, classrooms and so on, one important link in our school routine is sadly overlooked. A very important role is played by the unsung hero-the bus-driver. The pranks most teachers deal with in the classrooms are nothing compared to those endured by the bus-driver. Naturally, after a long hard day at school, the passengers want to celebrate, and how they let off steam!This one, fighting with that one, about nothing at all; a tussle occasionally ends up in a shattered window or a passenger casualty. Then, perhaps, after all is settled and calm is restored, someone not- ices that his or her book is missing. Pranks of all kinds are attempted. The bus-driver is then called upon to referee the situation. All this and even more, the poor bus-driver must endure. Through sleet and snow and rain and dark of night he faithfully drives his route. Although he faces irrate parents and fidgety passengers, he maintains his cheery manner. Yes, we forget that the bus-driver is an important factor in today ' s school world. How thankful we should be that we have such a thing as a bus and bus-driver, instead of trudging to school through all kinds of weather as our parents had to do! Our hats are off to these brave souls. By Bonnie McCallum MY YOUNG WORLD Senior Essay It was a small room, simple in structure, but it held alluring attractive- ness for me. It might have been how the summer starlight sifted through the open window like gold dust through a miner ' s hungry hands. It could have been the deep concentration and silence with which my uncle studied, that mystified me. More likely it was the keen, crisp snap of the papers as he folded them and placed them on his desk. How vague, how very vague seeing him sit at his desk. The fine wal- nut finish that had been there was somewhat tarnished. However, its bright brass pulls, its finely cut drawers were as exquisite as the day it had been bought. It was truly a piece of craftmanship. Years have passed since then and now the room is cold and empty. It has served its purpose and remains in solitude. Only a crucifix plant- ed over the doorway glows like a warm jewel giving the study an appear- ance of spiritual guidance. Many times I have peered into that room fancying that my uncle was there and then I remember a timid boy of seven creeping in and wishing him goodnight. By Phillip Rivest

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LITERARY

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IN MEMORY OF JOHN F. KENNEDY- 35TH PRESIDENT OF UNITED STATES Junior Poem - First Prize God Bless America The place where he was born, And now, in his great memory Let the whole world mourn. Mourn for the love he gave them, For the way he treated them true, For the way he made them happy Everyday the sky was blue. But now, the sky has darkened, The time for tears is near, Great crowds of people gather, The time they feared is here. They know that tears can ' t help them It won ' t bring him back again, But to them this is their comfort No one should be ashamed. Everyone on this day Should pray for the country dear, They should pray for his loving family It will bring them very near. So let us all remember, Though it ' s not our country he led, We must think of his memory often, And the reason he now is dead. By Linda Compeau WAITING AND WANTING Days have passed since my Daddy went, And yet my memories are all refreshed. I remember him, all white and cold Lying there, so big and bold. His eyes were shut as if asleep My mother looked and began to weep. Everyone took their turn and paid good-bye And then at last I turned and cried. The tears rolled down my cold cheek My hand touched his hand, my knees went weak. I knelt and kissed my Daddy ' s brow And went and took my place among them all. We bowed our heads in prayer All our memories we will share. Then they closed that big wooden box And the six men held the locks, They carried him to a place In town And then we prayed and they lowered him down. This is the last of my Daddy dear That I ever saw him of this year, To this day we never forget To mention our love without regret. M, Timson