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

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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?

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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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Those were my memories of Germany, and the second World War. Nine months We lived in agony, fear, and destruction. The days seemed to crawl by, yet we still liv-ed on hope. If you lost hope and confidence, your mind was bound to rebell and go to pieces. You had to resist with the little force you had left. It was impossible to survive without effort. Then, unexpectedly one day, we learned that my father had escaped to Sweden across the stormy Atlantic Ocean, in a small motorboat, and had sent us visas permitting our entrance into Sweden. What was my reaction? My feelings at that moment are impossible to describe. Words are meaningless and insignificant. Only one majestic instrument can now expr-ess my heart's joy and happiness. Kylli Teder Grade XII 1 J AMBOREE, CANADA Prideful Were we Canadians As scouts from homes worldwide, Each an ambassador, Gathered at Niagara- On-the-Lake. Hello! Hellas! I Mexican. I come from Canada. Have you something to trade? Si, si, come to my tent , So friend met. Shirts, pants, All were Traded-little Left by which friend or foe Might claim these motley, yet Beaming friends-messengers Of good will. Days passed, Friendly, Adventurous- Days for which boys are made Hardly could one believe That a life so peaceful Came from earth. Abraham Hartman XI-D MONTREAL City On a hunch-backed Island, sprawling For miles and miles, boasting Dual tongue, many races- Montreal. Inland Seaport, center Of business, and Factories, grimy smoke Veiling many clear suburbs- Montreal. Marked by Mountain playgrounds, Sturdy bridges, Climate on ice and wing, And a blending of cultures- Montreal. Mixture Of old world and New, boasting new Buildings, old markets, p Cosmopolite in homespun- Montreal. D. Beder X-D