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

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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

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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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Automatic phones and an atomic car, Ought to make life easier by far: Even Superman did never dream Of such a life of ease supreme. Then there is the little things, Some day we all may live like kings: Perhaps We'll have self-winding clocks And even dehydrated apricots. And static-free the radio, Will yodel forth O lady-ol You'll hear a play with television, Starring your favourite, Miss Stella Vision. If we live to see all of this, Life will be happy and full of bliss: lust one thing wrong and that isn't funny, Where in the world will we get enough money? Dorothy Anderson 11B Three Wishes I had just finished reading a story of long ago, abounding in princes, spirits, gods, and magical powers. As I laid the book down, I thought to myself, Suppose I, like the characters in this book, had my choice of three wishes. Vtfhat would they be? At first, only one thought entered my mind. As I sat back with half closed eyes, I pictured the house I should like to have some day. It was very old and of grey stone. It was low and rambling, and not too large. There were numerous diamond-paned win- dows, which sparkled in the sunlight. Sur- rounding the house was a garden with masses of old-fashioned flowers growing rather wildly and haphazardly. Scattered throughout the garden were many old trees, and the weather-beaten walls of the house were partly covered with moss and ivy. Be- hind the house was a small stream which ran into a huge woods beside the house. Over the stream was a small arched bridge, over which I could cross into the rolling green fields beyond. I could see myself standing in the garden surrounded by beauty, the silence broken by the faint babbling of the stream, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, and the sweet music of the choirs of birds in the woods. The inside of the house had a very comfortable and restful appearance. The furnishings were simple and quiet, and yet ,not drab, but really very THE ORACLE beautiful. Throughout the house numerous bowls of flowers were placed invitingly. As this vision faded away, I knew what my second wish would be. I should like to go to Vienna. All my life I have imagined Vienna as a gay and beautiful place, the home of, in my opinion, the most beautiful and haunting music ever written. I should hate to see the war torn Vienna of today. Therefore I should postpone this trip for some time. I realize that even when the city is repaired, I may be bitterly disappointed. However, I can at least imagine Vienna as it was many years ago, with the carefree throngs of people and the gay music. For my third wish, I pray that I may choose the right life work. By this I do not mean one that will make me famous or wealthy. Perhaps I am not ambitious, but I do not think I should like to be either fam- ous or very wealthy. Rather, I mean a voca- tion that will interest me, and, if possible, help someone else in some way, however small. Someday, if I am lucky, I may attain some or all of these wishes. Meanwhile, I can keep on wishing. Doris Matheson, 13B Men Of The Air Into the planes climb those red-blooded men, Eager to get on their way, Waiting to drop their load of death, And finish their job for the day. Into the air zoom those ships of might, Iust clearing the trees as they rise, Knowing that they may never come back- Those brave men of the skies. Then comes the long and steady climb, The ride is rough and trying, But each man knows what is yet to come, That this is no time for retiring. Then, Over target! comes the report, Bombadier, ready! that's the reply. Three bombays open as the plane roars ony Then each and every man rakes the sky. Bombs away! -such deadly words! Then shouts of joy and fear But all the while the pilots think Of those back home so dear. Bev Harrington. 11A Thirty-One