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Page 22 text:
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THE OAKWOOD ORACLE School is the walking from your house to the yard gate in the sun. fresh with the air of half-past eight. The talk of your friend, who is walking with you. You see a boy pass, books under arm, no hat, wide trousers. His tie is red. A gift of colour to your thought. A girl pass- es, hair blown about her face. She wears a white middy, short pleated skirt. The middy's clean whiteness, the tie's silken blackness, the smoothness of serge is refreshment. Numbers pass. Two are crossing the road by the drug store. They have bought re- fills for their note books. The wind blows the pages of the unwrapped packages. One wears a green coat. Another a red tam. Your eyes drink the green and red. Four are getting down from a street-car. You hear the grinding of the car's stopping. One turns and takes the books of his friend. They talk. The magic of talk paints their faces. One moves gracefully. One has the spasmodic motion of narrow heels. The school's swinging doors open and close to the chang- ing multitudinous crowd. Three go through, absorbed in talk. There is a quick run up the steps. A boy's shoulder meets the backward swing- ing door. A push. He is through. It flies back. Hits a small girl. Her books go flying. Someone hurries through with a grip. That is a teacher. You come into the classroom. Boys fill the doorway. Someone is sitting near the front, doing Algebra. Hullo! Someone looking out the window, turns. Hullo! Your books drop upon your desk. Someone looks up from the desk behind. Hullo! Into the cloakroom. Someone is hanging his coat on his special peg. Hullo! You have gathered slow smiles, coming down the aisle. Smiles significant with the multitude and sameness of the days. The pleasure of discriminating in the tones of voices in a room filled with people. Infinite as the pleasure of hearing a symphony. Some day when you write a book about people, their voices will resound in the timbres heard in that room. You give each a cadence from the tones which echo in your head. You have noticed the hair of one girl. How the line of it grew. The grace of a boy leaning forward, his long hand drooping over the desk edge, holding loosely a thick pen. The faint, blue blur of ink about his fingers. Impressions-transient. bright, vivid, in a world of frost and sun. The school is full of them, alive with them. Everything moving in swift colourful life. It is this and these we will remember. These will grow as flowers in our thought. Watch the flashing pictures before they are lost in the days that march past. Behelatiun The loitering lesson dronedg When all at once, a vast surprise, A picture rose before my eyes Did I sleep, I could not tell, Yet I saw that picture well. The teacher asked the class to vote. Then clearly on the board he wrote, Home VVork, yes, or Home Work, no, Something shook me to the core, And I was sitting on the floor. J. FENELON, VC. Page Thirfc'cu
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Page 21 text:
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THE OAKWOOD ORACLE and so it is said that although the Imperial parliament can legally legis- late for Canada, practically it cannot. ' By the bitter road of experience we have been taught to dislike war and because we have been educated by passing through the last great wai, nations are continually seeking ways and means by which such an experience can be prevented. 5 The mind of a country is similar to that of an individual. Educa- tion teaches an individual to respect the rights of others, so education will teach a nation to respect the rights of its fellow nations, for fun- damentally is not every war caused by one nation usurping the rights of another 'F With world wide high standards of education there would be an ideal condition of every nation respecting the rights of others. From education we obtain knowledge and understanding. Another cause of war has been that nations do not understand one another. The international conflict in China only a few years ago was caused by the fact that the Chinese people could not understand why foreigners should hold private concessions in Chinese territory. Education is to-day working in a practical sense to prevent war. Statesman from all the great nations in the world learned through ex- perience and training that disputes could be more effectively settled by conference than by war. That knowledge led to the formation of the League of Nations which in one year settled fifty-eight disputes, any one of which might have caused war. A great many look upon education as one of the minor contributions to world peace. I am of the opinion that it stands first and after that let us improve our economic relations. bthuul While all melts under our feet we may well grasp at any exquisite passion, or any contribution to knowledge that seems by a lifted horizon to set the spirit free for a moment, or any strange stirring of the senses, strange dyes, strange colours and curious odors, or work of the artist's hands, or the face of one's friend. Not to discriminate, every moment some passionate attitude in those about us and in the very brilliancy of their gifts some tragic dividing of forces on their ways is on this short day of frost and sun to sleep before evening. Walter Pater speaks, a professor of Oxford. His quiet words il- lumine the meaning of the life of school. School does not mean text- books with, if this book should chance to roam -on the fly-leaf. Nor blackboards weary with sentences scrawled in despair and corrected in exasperation. Nor the relief of bells each forty minutes. Nor a pad black with detentions. Nor a Dominion looseleaf note book with curling dirty pages, signature on the cover, and beneath it. A not book, the more in which there is, the less you may know is in its owner's mind. Nor the despair nor elation of a report. All reports are untrue. They are as far from the reality of the facts in the pupil's mind as the symbol o is from zero. This what school appears to be. It is what school is not. To study is to be eager. The life of school is the eagerness of students to live. That is why they are at school, to learn to live richly. When we sense nothing physically or mentally we are dead. Read again Walter I'ater's words. ln life, school is morning. Many sleep in, morn- ings. All day they have a headache. Students who do not live the life ol' school have slept. All through life they are bewildered. Pngr Tirrlrc
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