Peterborough Teachers College - PTC Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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KI ap. A E' 34? if . as if .3 EDITORIAL STAFF Standing. 1. to r.: John Ryckman, Lyle Hoskin, F. B. Srnitheram, Ken lvlunroe. James Covert. Seated. l. to r.: Joan Leslie, Helen Burns, Laura Bulger. Editorial HE STAFF of the 1946-47 Year Book take pleasure in presenting this edition of the Peterborough Normal School Year Book to you. Yet that pleasure is dimmed by the knowledge that We feel We are Writing an end to one of the happiest and best years of our lives. May this book serve as a fitting souvenir of those memorable times we have spent together. It is our hope that it may not fall too short of your expectations. To the staff and students Who assisted in any Way to prepare this book. we Wish to express our thanks, and to Mr. Smitheram we offer a special Word of appreciation for his untiring efforts on our behalf. As a group of students gathered from various parts of the province, We have played together, Worked together, and friendships have been made. Many memories will remain, entvvined around this domed portal. VVe have rushed our dinners, completed assignments at the last minute, hurried to meet the taxis . . . and yet we are sorry when it is all over. This year has proved surprisingly short. We leave behind our friends, our pleasures, our successes, and Worries and failures, too. As We leave the friendly environment of the Normal School, may We remember this quotation: Let us have no fear of the future, but think of it as opportunity and adventure. Editor-HELEN BURNS Assistant Editor-JAMES COVERT Page Thirteen

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The Literary Society f f Spring Term VERYBODY was excited! This was election day! The turmoil hadn't arrived unexpectedly though, because for several days now restless- ness had prevailed. First the nominations, then those ever memorable campaign speeches. Now the culmination of it all-the election! And what an election! No more anxiety could be shown in a federal election than was displayed that day at P.N.S., while we were fervently awaiting the results. At last the great moment arrived and on the bulletin board we saw those ever important names of the Spring Executive. President ............. Jim Covert Vice-President .......... Joan Cameron Secretary ..... . Gerry Farrar Treasurer ...... . Barbara McLeod Form Representatives: Form I. ...... . . Joyce Fleming Form II. ........... Berenice Spencer Form III. ........... Bruce Patterson How time has been afleetingsince that day though. Now the winter days have faded and as we reminisce we realize the wisdom of our choice of the executive. What a wonderful time we have had. Every Literary meeting has been a success under the capable management of our President, Jim Covert. And then those happy parties we have had together-the At Homew, the Sleigh Ride, St. Patrick's party and finally our farewell party. Every moment has been full of activity which has been fostered by the spirit of good-will so necessary in the school. -JOAN CAMERON. RAVIN G Once upon a midnight dreary, While I pondered weak and weary Over lessons,- Came a knocking at my door. Enter Woodruff, Copp, McKinney, Smitheram and many more. Staunchly they did all entreat me Not to let my lessons beat me, And come half way to meet me They would, if I'd raise my score. Still I pondered, wild eyed, bleary, Quaking at these Masters errie. In the half light They came forward to implore: Never worry over lessons, Just come knocking at my door. CI've been at the bottom lately So they did not underrate me.J Gosh I hope they will not hate me Evermore. I -IRENE WALTERS- Page Twelve

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My First Lesson HE ASSIGNMENTS are in! There's mine! Grade Eight: Topic- Weed seed dispersal , What a cinch! and what's more there's a whole week-eight days to be exact-for preparation. This Normal School life certainly is going to be an easy one. There was only one Haw in this set up-the lesson plan. Oh well, fifteen minutes or less will have that out of the way and then, clear sailing for the rest of the week. Clear sailing indeed, a tornado couldn't have torn by more quickly. Before I knew it, I found myself in the room where I was to teach my first lesson. Was I worried? Not on your life. I had really outdone myself for this, my first lesson, and had spent hours gathering weed seeds for concrete material, and my lesson plan, except for neatness, was in perfect shape. Time couldn't pass soon enough until I would be teaching. There is the bell and here corne the pupils. Little Grade VIII pupils are they! They look big enough to be University students. Surely I don't have to stand up in front of them and try to teach! Strange, I don't seem to know my work. One short week certainly isn't long enough to prepare a lesson, and such a big topic as t'Weed Seed Dispersal ! Why I . . . Next Lesson snaps me to my feet. I run the gauntlet of piercing eyes to the front of the room, turn like a caged beast and await the death blow. What a ghastly silence! Is that someone at the door or is it really my knees? What is wrong with my tongue? Why is it so dry and lifeless? And my jaw, why won't it close? How did my introduction begin? Oh if I could only remember! Then to my utter amazement and relief a strange quavering squeaky voice whispers Nature it seems .... and I am away faway out of this world, in factj. What am I saying? Make a note? That means then that I arn through. Oh but am I! I am through with the lesson perhaps but not with the humili- ation and disgust of finding out that my spelling on the blackboard has to be corrected by a pupil and that concrete material had remained forgotten, overlooked, and untouched. Perhaps you ask: t'What of the criticism? I can't remember that. You see, in my already deflated condition, the added knowledge that Mr. Copp had witnessed that slaughter, had left me sans breath. sans strength, sans dignity, sans everything, except a faint hope that if I really worked this year at Normal, I might learn how to teach school. This was the beginning-typical, I am told. ' -ROSS FLEMING. MY PHOTOGRAPH I had my picture takenk-I! They say the camera cannot lie. Alas! I have a twisted eye, A nose too long, a brow too high, A mouth that sags into a sigh. My face looks like a custard pie That sorneone's dropped right from the sky. They say the camera cannot Hel Can this be I? Alas! Oh, my! -ISABEL HEFFERNAN. Page Fourteen