West Hill High School - Annual Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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A MATTER OF REVENGE The fact that Cromwell was a coward did not surprise me in the least. Somehow, I had known that he would be one. His cowardice would only make the fulfilment of my dedication more complete. His strong beefy body lay quite still and he-lpless. The broken leg was twisted at a queer angle. His hair was stained by blood where I had struck him. I dragged him over to a fin shaped rock that rose sharply into the air about three feet from the water. With a coil of rope, I began to tie him in a sitting position to the rock. My hands worked swiftly, but my mind easily outstripped them. My thoughts carried me back a full year to the day I found Old Tom. Tom had adopted me, and he had been both father and mother to me. I had matured under a strangely understanding and gentle hand. Trapping was a hard task, but Tom had some- how managed for both of us. Cromwell stirred, and I hastened my Work. Old Tom had been brutally murdered. Although the police were baffled, I knew it was Cromwell. He had tried to hide from me, but I had always been there, waiting -- he had almost lost me. In this desolate Labrador cove I had finally trapped him. The waiting was over. We had fought. With the help of a heavy rock I had bested him. Cromwell had broken his leg when he had fallen down an incline. I finished tying him, and my work was done. The tide was already rising, it would do the rest. I glanced down at Cromwell who was now awake. His cruel eyes were magnificent with the fear of a terrible reality. I pick-ed up his jacket, and climbed up on the rock to which he was tied. The tide was now coming in fast. It did not take long for the water to circle his massive chest, then his neck. It slowed when it reached his chin, but still continued to rise. Cromwell was pleading, pleading for his very life. I relished each word he spoke, and every time his whining voice uttered another sound, the past year seemed all the more worth while. I hated this creature as I had never hated any- thing before. He tilted his head back in a vain attempt to escape the relentless sea. His eyes caught mine, and the pure untouchable terror I saw in his filled my whole being with a dreadful satisfaction. The water around him was red from his bleeding head wound. He closed his mouth to his advancing death, but lit was no good, he was going to die and he knew it. The rising ocean reached for his last door to life. He inhaled deeply. His nostrils flared with the effort. Only those unforgettable eyes were left. The water boiled with his struggles. Half an inch up would give him life, and Hank Cromwell wanted to live. I walked back towards his camp. When the tide abated, I would dispose of his body. My mind was vacant, I felt nothing. I had nothing left to hate. I had lived with hate for so long that I had no other emotion in me. I was dead inside. I reached into Cromwell's jacket pocket and took out a gold watch. The engraving on its back leaped out at my hazy eyes- To Old Tom My foster Father As good as any real one. Dale Leggett X-J LIFE Life is Like the new day From dusk to dawn. A priceless prize which is Invaluable but seldom Understood. With dim First shaft of life Comes the dawning, Pure and untarnished Innocence. Magnificent Miracle. The fresh Pursuit of Truth Heralds the morn And answerless queries. Who made this?-Why? When? Seek our Purpose Here. The noon Brings decision And destiny, Success or failure snares The spotlight of the stage. The World watches. As soft, Serene shadows Fall, leisure and Sweet memories mark the Moment of satisfaction Drifting by. Return To the Maker, Focal point of Truth! Causes for creation Become lucid. - Night Becomes dawn. S. Altman XI-D NO END IN SIGHT Who dreams up the advertisements we seem to be destined to hear and see constantly, so long as we are within the clutches of civilization? It has been suggested that they are some sub- human form of life, created to soak up the sarcasm and skepticism of eager consumers. It is my guess, however, that they are friend- less orphaned muttering maniacs. Their allotted time on this earth is spent shaving peaches, drinking my ale, your ale, eve-rybody's ale , and pampering their radiant schoolgirl complex- ions. Some brush their teeth once a day, some

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Whether laughter be caused by satire, bur- lesque, wit or humour, the works of Dickens or the plights of Jackie Gleason, it must be splon- taneous and zestful, radiating pure joy. Laug ter is that tiny pebble dropped on the calm, un- wrinkled surface of a lake, at first creating one small ripple. Instantly the ripple expands, form- ing greater and greater circles until, at last, a single ripple touches the far shore. Thus, laugh- ter from one carefree heart can bring joy to all the surrounding many. A laugh, to be joyous, must flow from a joyous he-art, for, without kindness, there can be no true joy. Dolly Luber XI-A PRELUDE T0 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION Fierce, he stood by the furnace-hood, Rhyming his strokes by the heat: His knarled hand, held firm to the bank Of the hammer with which he beat. Strike, strike, while the ingots melt, Hit, hit, and shape the metal, Patriot, strike with zealous force, Your contrymen have a debt to settle. Pikes he hewed, from the metal crude, His skill portraying his cause, The brazen brawn, its strength out-drawn Never a minute did pause. He struck hard, while the ingots burned, Hit, hit and shaped the metal: Zealous, the force with which he toiled, For he know he had a debt to settle. The clanging beat of the hamm-ered sheet, Surged gallantly forth 'til morn. Weapons made, for the debt to be paid, The era when heads would be shorn. Strike, strike, with banners streaming, Hit, hit, but not the metal, Patriots! Strike with sacred force! This is the debt you vowed to settle. J. Raudsepp XI-D THE MIRACLE We were trapped behind the lines. The shell- fire hummed around us all night. Three were dead, and two critically wounded. We needed reinforcements, but, most of all, we needed two pints of blood. Behind us, the enemy started to close in. Ahead of us, a mine field lay, but a path had been cleared through it by Joe, a demo- lition expert on mines. The only way of getting the blood through depended on Rex, a German Shepherd trained to obey commands over a two- way radio. Headquarters had just sent out a reply that Rex was on his way. Now Joe, the master of Rex, took over the operation. Over the two-way radio, he guided Rex by commands. Rex had a long way to go, and the going was rough, but he knew how to get there by Joe's directions. Joe's main problem was guiding Rex over the mine field. An hour passed, the tension in our minds mounted. Another hour went by. By this time we all broke into a cold sweat Then a shout was heard. Rex had come to the edge of the mine field. The shell fire now was coming closer and closer. Three more of our boys died under the heavy bombardment. It was impossible to ge-t out of the trench and get Rex. In fact, to go out there was suicide. Rex had to come to us. It was now up to Joe. Bending over the two-way radio set, he started to talk. The first command he gave was for Rex to move to the right. Rex obeyed and started off but he stop ped after ten feet at a command. By Joe's commands and directions, Rex was guided across the mine-field. Another few feet to go. Five feet... three... one, and there he was. He had brought the blood over ten miles, just by directions over a two-way radio! The two soldiers owe their lives to Re-x today. Sure, we got out all right, but one thing still puzzles me. When Joe took the two-way radio set off Rex, he discovered the battery had gone dead before Rex had started out! Morty Wiseberg X-D THE SEA Basked in Moonlight lies the Sleeping sea of Peace. Tranquil, yet alive, Mystical, yet heavenly Is the sea. Fainter, Fainter fade-s the Silvery mist of night, To meet the new-born sun On crests the new-born sun On crests of the dancing waves Of the sea. Golden In the sunlight Shine the dancing White-caps, like small sparkling Diamonds, fallen from the roof Of He-aven! Clothed in Her crimson cloak Of brilliance lies The sea, in the splendour Of the slowly setting sun In the west. The sea, Often angry, Often tranquil, Sometimes bright and sparkling, Often dark and stormy, is My refuge. Joan Wilkinson X-A

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twice, and some three times a day. These mad- men never suffer from dry, unruly hair , red rough hands, or hyperacidity, and talk only in superlatives. The vocabulary of these social outcasts is phenomenal, but is it any wonder? Their pro- ducts feature such secret ingredients and ex- clusive formulae as K-34, oxycholesterol Cgives you trigger-torque V-8, and WD-9. Chlorophyl, once the rage, has taken a back seat to a new favourite. Lanolin has begun a meteoric rise to stardom in hair cream, hand cream and boot polish. Granted, Accuray puts a smile in your smoking, irregularity is cured without em- barrassing urgency and Smirnoff leaves us breathless. But when is someone going to invent a cure for such age-old discomforts as itching of the obiculoris oris, diplopia, and water trash? Perhaps the most aggravating commercials are those which make fantastic, ye-t somehow always indisputable claims, and give the results of countless so-called tests. We see projected on a screen the magnified view of a newly- washed shirt - unot a speck of dirt clings to the fibres . An escapee from Badlam recently count- ed the filter traps in a certain cigarette, proving it boasted twenty thousand - twice as many as many other brand . A car manufacturer claimed that his automatic ash-tray emptier is the greatest transportation aid since the discovery of the wheel! There is one new invention, though, which has strangely received very little publicity - a switch which when pressed, shuts off the sound on television receivers. As may be suspected it is intended for use during commercials. John Honeyman XI-D .....l.-1 1- A MONSTROUS INSTRUMENT I was trapped. The four bare walls stared at me with disgust, while the huge overgrown object before me seemed only too overjoyed with my prese-nce, indicating this with periodic noises. Even the golden rays of sunshine had been barred from my presence. I quietly lifted the blind and glanced down at the small lake, where everyone was dashing about having a wonderful time. But I was a prisoner! Because this was the hour that the gentleman with the time watch and long thin stick would appear to give me a lesson on that monstrous instrument known as the piano . Now, after all these years which have brought mishap, terror, hardship, and grief, I finger a few keys and long with all my heart to sit upon that hard wooden stool, and once again listen to the wise words of the old maestro. How I desire to lift that crisp white blind, look across the peaceful lake, and come face to face with the old evergreens which seemed to under- stand the meaning of freedom! Never did they complain, but always held heads high, and were proud to stand on this small independent country which was my home. On a cold autumn night, we stood with bare hands in front of a small shipping vessel, des- perately trying to secure passage aboard. Through much action and little talk, we finally managed to obtain a small cabin below deck. Everything had been abaondoned, and only one idea pene- trated the mind - to escape alive. An intense desire to live swept over us all. How many children, parents, relatives, and friends had mercilessly been thrown on a truck and quietly driven away! A cold shiver ran down my spine when I thought of the endless hours the few survivors would spend behind barbed wire in Siberia, not daring to hope for the next day. Now I realized what was meant by living and what the word existing implied. The ocean was but a tyrant, while its heart- less subjects showed us no kindness. For the most part of the voyage, I tried to secure- escape for my thought by shielding my head with a pillow. It was a total relief therefore, to step ashore in Germany a few days later. The next few months were a nightmare. The war was breaking out, and everything was in disorder. A strange sort of fear was in the atmosphere at all times. I was enrolled in a German school where I suffered loneliness, not having any knowledge of the language, and being totally unfamiliar with the customs. No proper books or school equipment was available, con- sequently, most work had to be memorized. The schoolmaster took pity on no one, spoke no com- forting words, nor tried to console anyone in any situation. With my hand stretched up high and eyes staring frightfully at the picture of the dictator, I was forced to praise him day by day. I was too innocent to sense the meaning of the blank expression on the teacher's face whose hands were shaking while grasping the hard wooden stick. I was too young to understand the real meaning of war and the problems con- cerning it. Then suddenly the tide came rushing in, accompanied by alarm signals day and night. The-re was no possible way of knowing what the next moment night bring. Hour by hour, day by day, I sat underground stupefied, not daring to think. Food was very scarce, and starvation was near for many. Bombs were dropped like pebbles into a pond, while children were blown up. My brother became seriously ill and was unable to go underground for protection. My mother's calm words still echo in my heart: You go ahead by yourself, you know the way! By myself! What would I do alone in this strange country during the war if anything should happen? Where would I go? These thoughts flashed throught my mind as I hastily answered: If you die, I will die too! The next few hours seemed like yesterday. Crouched under a bed, the three of us prayed together constantly, while fee-ling the hotel sway- ing from side to side. Where would the next bomb be planted? Will I ever see my father again?