Woodstock Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Woodstock, Ontario Canada)

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once a year, and it is a splendid opportunity heart-strings. The fellow who really suffers to loosen your purse strings as well as your is the post-man. His motto must be, Through rain, snow, and St. Valentine's day, the mail must go through. If your heart yearns to someone all ready escorted-remember, all's fair in love and war. Now is a good opportunity to muscle . That is, provided you are ready to pay he consequences-a box of candy or a small piece of beef steak for your eye. Yes! The Blitz of Bliss is just around the corner, so grab your beaux and arrows and watch your aim. One word of warning- Heaven help the man who sends a valentine to my gal! ' Neil Gloin, 13A On Skating The air was crisp, and biting cold, The ice was thick and strong: . As usual, I tried to skate, The sport l've envied long. With gallant heart and beating pulse, My skates I did pull on. But once I got upon the ice My spirit-it was gone. I bent this way, I tottered that, I fear I was a sight: But bravely I kept lurching on, Nor gave heed to my plight. As other skaters passed me by With long and graceful strides, It really was not pleasant For anyone with pride. For over in one corner, They were doing the Figure Eighty But even with their training They could not match my gait. My tumbles-they were numerous, Not one, but nearer ten. Falling doesn't help morale- Whoops! there I go again! Thus, aching feet I torture, And heart I fill with fear. But yet, on skates you'll see me, As usual, next year. Doris Matheson 13B THE ORACLE A Friday Before Nine Last Friday morning I fell out of bed with ringing in my ears. I my mother's voice wasn't the least big eager to get out of bed, but that is the same old feeling I have every morning. After that everything went wrong. I couldn't find a pair of blue socks, which I had to have because I was wearing my blue sweater. My mother said nobody would look at my feet anyway but of course I knew they would. Parents can be so juvenile at times! When I arrived downstairs for break- fast, my mother was running around like a fire engine. She had discovered that the storm, early that morning, had stopped the electric clock. My brother lack was looking at his Boy Scout Handbookn' to see what time it was according to the sun. But I don't have much faith in the Boy Scout Handbook , to say nothing of my brother. He finally said it was between eight and nine o'clock, which naturally helped a lot. I gulped down my breakfast, gathered my books from the hall table, put on my coat, and stumbled out of the house. It was raining! I banged on the door until my moth- er finally opened it. I dashed in, ran to the closet and looked about for my umbrella. Of course, I couldn't find it: so I at once be- gan yelling, Where's my umbrella? Moth- er didn't know. I clinched my fists, gnashed my teeth, and wished I lived on a desert island. By this time my twin brother was coming down the stairs. He is an awful pest at times. He said he knew where it was, but I'd have to find it for myself. I couldn't control myself any longer, and I let off steam by pounding him on the chest. lust at this crucial moment my mother interrupted by handing me my umbrella, which she had found under my books on my desk. She ad- ded that I'd better hurry. I did. I decided it must be late because there was nobody on the street. By the time I arrived at school, after having run all the way, my hair looked like a dry mop, and I was puffing away like a steam-engine. I rushed up the stairs to my locker. Every thing was as dead as a tomb. Not that I have ever been in one, but I don't see how a tomb could be noisy. I looked through the window of a classroom. No- body there! I looked into another one. No- Twenty-Nine

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ent to strike at. Travelling faster than sound. Invisible to the naked eye. Inaudible to the ear. What could we do? Our only hope lies in preventing even the most remote in- ception of war by supporting all world peace organizations to the limit. -Bob Ackmcm. 13A- Reflections Of An Army Nurse Dawn was breaking in a rosy glow as we poked our tousled heads from our tent on a battlefield in France. We Ctwo other army nurses and IJ had arrived the night before by troop transport. We were the first Canadian girls to reach the front, and there was much to be done. As the guns over the hills were barking, I knew that before many hours the homesick and weary casualties would be brought to us. We had been issued khaki Coveralls, regulation boots, and steel helmets Cwhich we used for wash basinsl, and as I pulled on my boots over my heavy wool socks, I prayed that we might help some boys to life and love again that day. I know that the other girls prayed too, for I saw dark- haired Ieanette cross herself and murmur a few words as she stepped from the tent. Within half an hour a lad of nineteen was brought to us. Wounded in the leg by sniper bullets, he was sobbing heart--brok- enly as the orderlies carried him into my tent. On asking if the pain was very bad I received the reply, No, but we're advancing and l'm going to be left behind. I gave him morphine and then began to dress the wound. As his leg had a compound frac- ture, I knew that he needed immediate hos- pital care: so I listed him as one of the first to return to England. Then I gave him a cig- arette, and as I left I heard him say to the picture of a teen-ager he held in his hand, I'm afraid we can't go skating this year, but maybe next winter, Sis. All day long the casualties poured into camp, and We worked mechanically, with tears in our eyes and lumps in our throats, caring for them. At five-thirty a hospital' orderly told us to prepare the most serious cases for the trip to England. The Hospital Transport, Twenty-Eight which had landed on the strip at Nantes, would be ready to leave in two hours. As I strapped a tow-headed youngster onto a strecher for the short ride in the lorry, which would take him to the strip, he grinned at me and said, You know, Sister, this is the first time that I have called a girl 'sister' without having my face slapped. Even while pain was wracking his body, he could exchange a joke with his buddies and me. When the soldiers had all been loaded into the plane, I obtained permission from the CO. to step in and make sure they were all comfortable. As I passed number I4 a young boy grasped my hand and whispered, Please, Sister, kiss me before you go. You see, I can read a medical chart and I know that I may not last long. I-Iow could I re- fuse his plea? It seemed the least I could do for him who had risked his life for me. I have many other memories of my life as an army nurse, but my first day in France is the most vivid of them all. Donna Dawson l2A Cupitimidit'y February fourteenth tSt. Valentine's Day to youl lies in wait just around the corner. It is, literally, the only red letter day in the year. A day set aside for the young in heart though old in body. No matter how old or how youthful you are, this is one chance to show your affection for that certain some- one. Ture, some foul, villainous fellow, how- ever, takes this opportunity to take a dig at 'someone he dislikes. St. Valentine's Day is a fine opportunity for the easily embarrassed to take their heart in their hands and pass it along. For the more dashing, particularly a practical joker, 'tis a chance not to be denied. Im- agine the confusion one could create with a few innocent f?l valentines. Whether your intentions are honourable, or if you are just curious, now is the time to see who is chas- ing whom. Then there is the person who fools us all. His name is anonymous. To the business man, Valentines Day is a golden opportunity. Though your valentine may cost five cents or five dollars, he must make enough money to last the rest of the year. But shux Valentir1e's day comes but THE ORACLE

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body there either. Then I thought perhaps we slept for a few days and it was Saturday. Maybe everybody except me had come down with the measles. I have already had them three times: so I didn't see how I could get them again. Finally deciding I must be too early, I looked at the clock in one of the classrooms, seven-thirty! I felt like passing through the floor. But instead I sat down on the top step and waited for someone to come. It broke my heart to think of all the things I could have done in that hour. How I would have enjoyed an extra hour's sleep. My reverie was broken by someone whistling in the hall. With a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other, the janitor approached me. When he enquired what I was doing, I told him I was waiting for school to begin. The janitor looked puzzled, but he said noth- ing further and began walking away rather hurriedly, I thought: but maybe it was my imagination. After sitting on the steps for hoursfat least it seemed that long, the corridors be- gan to fill with students. Suddenly, just as I heard the five-minute bell, I remembered, My French homework isn't done. Needless to say, I worked feverishly until nine o'clock. Anne Axelrod 12B War Memorials When I hear these words, war mem- orial , there comes to my mind my first un- forgettable view of the National War Mem- orial in the capital of our dominion, Ottawa. Spot-lighted, it stood out, symbolic, in the darkness of the sleeping city. It has only recently been completed, and in it each rank of the services is represented by a bronze figure - full of life, eager to see what lies ahead. It stands, tall, alone, in the heart of that busy city, a constant reminder to people going to work, to members of parliament going to session, to the numerous sightseers who visit the capital yearly. , We also think of the simple, but striking memorial to the Canadian troops at Vimy Ridge in France. Is this the type of memorial we want, to do honour to those Canadians who died in the Second World War? Some people feel that our war memorials Thirty 4 should not only honour the dead, but also be of value to the living. For our own school has been suggested a swimming pool. Let us think of those whom we are remembering: would not they prefer that we honour them in such a way? Would not they have enjoyed a swimming pool? Many of the boys who have not returned are the athletes of former years in our collegiate. For many smaller towns, a community hall has been suggested with facilities for sports, moving pictures and community gatherings. Because of those who died, per- haps we shall have the things they missed when they left to go to war-so young, so ambitious. Many people feel that in the use of these memorials we would forget the purpose for which they have been built. A monument of stone or bronze would remain a sacred remembrance. I feel that such a memorial would mean little to many people. But have we not already enough of these memorials to the dead of other wars? Let us forget the grimness of war, and strive for a profitable and lasting peace. Whatever form we decide that our war memorials should take, let us not forget those boys and girls who gave their lives for us, that we might have freedom and peace. -Kathryn Hcmsuld, 13A- Tomorrow I-Ielicopters, aeroplanes, Television, great new trains, Trips across the ocean wide, To spend a day on the other side. The globe seems to be shrinking, And Nations together are linking: India, China, Russia, Brazil,, All seem to be just over the hill. With sulfa drugs and penicillin, No chance to die even if you're willin'y Solar houses, made of glass, Keep you warm without any gas. Fire, decay, and termite proof, With shifting walls and a glass roof: Bought in sections and made of plastic, Your home will be most fantastic. THE ORACLE