Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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Things I Love I love the Spring and Eastertide, When all the world is opening wide. The flowers bloom forth in bright array, And all the birds are happy and gay. I love to swim in the ocean blue, And gather shells of every hue. And bask in the morning Summer sun. And play on the beach and have lots of fun. I love the Autumn ' s russet shades, And the evening sun, as it gently fades. Leaves a crimson glow on the mountain peaks, And the tang of the air colours my cheeks. I love to ski on the mountain high. And skate on the glistening ice nearby. Or sit by the fire, glowing bright. On a cold and frosty Winter ' s night. Patricia Plant, Form IIIb. Flowers Said Crocus, My, this wind is cold, I wish I had not been so bold. Eager little Daffodil Came too soon and got a chill. Hyacinth, the pretty thing, Comes to us in early Spring; While Lady Tulip, stately dame, From across the ocean came. Lilac wears a purple plume. Scented with a sweet perfume; Geranium wears a scarlet gown. With trimmings shading into brown. Nasturtium grew so big and tall. It climbed up over the garden wall; But Peony, being a charming lady. Doesn ' t like a spot too shady. As all these flowers do differ so, I find it hard for me to know Which ones my garden ought to show, Therefore them all I try to grow. Meredith Thornton, Form IIIb. [28]

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and says, tirmly and kindly, that Girls must not loiter after i.io p.m. — and, by the way, someone might tidy up that mess. O death, where is thy sting? The loiterers make a solemn pact to be the first to emerge from the dark scene next day. But fate has already got the better of them, if they only knew it. Loitering enters into their blood and contaminates them with its deadly poison. The loiterers are the only class of girls that does not vary. Once a girl enters these dread ranks the world sees her no more. To turn one ' s glance from the cloak-room, out into the great world, we see the three classes uncannily repeated. The mirror worshippers are those who, childishly intrigued by their own brittle sophistry and shallow pseudo-smartness, self-centred and careless, calmly ignore and even trample upon those in a less-e.xalted position in life. Even if they are aware of the misery of existing conditions, they deliberately shut their eyes to them. Appearances are falsified by their own warped minds, as the mirror deceives the eye. delighted with the sight of brilliant red lips. The hum and bustle of their little world lull them into a sense of security, which one day must be broken. The grovellers are those who seek a definite aim, spend a lifetime in striving after it, through every adversity, and yet do not succeed — in the world ' s eyes at least. They are born fighters however, and enjoy the fray. In the end they can rest assured that they have used their gifts, which is the great thing in life. As the poet Browning says: Not failure but low aim is crime. Last come the loiterers who, appalled by the roughness of every day contact, withdraw into themselves, to escape the cruelty of reality. Once in a while the flail lashes through to them. When it does, they awake to a realization that they have missed everything of any value in life. They emerge into a drab and colourless world from which the spice of adventure has departed with the dangers of existence. But perhaps this peaceful monotony is what they like best. Who knows? Suz.ANNE Kohl, Form VL Plurals How stupid the English language is. The funny plurals — oh, gee whiz! F r instance the mouse which changeth to mice; Of course a house never changes to hice. We all know that oxen ' s the plural of ox. But never is boxen the plural of box. And more than one child is always called children, But more than one wild is never called wildren. Though fives sound funny as plural of fife. But lives don ' t sound funny as plural of life. Say deer or sheep, how many d ' you mean? I know not, unless they are to be seen. Nancy Murray, Form IVb. DoREEN Dann, Form IVa. Seagulls Seagulls, flying ever so high Over the dancing foam. Where white-sail ' d ships go swiftly by. On to their distant home. What is it like when thunderclouds crash. When lightning rends the sky, And the churning waves on the great boats lash As Neptune ' s tread comes nigh? On airy days when the world ' s its best And the sky above so blue, Do you go to your nest or ride on the breast Of the sea with its sapphire hue? Frances Brown, Form IVa. [27]

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Evening When it is evening in the mountains, and the sun Goes sHpping down behind the hills and everything Is hushed and stilled in reverence, the hreese Timidly blows taint clouds across the sky. Which do not dare approach the sun in all Its tiery splendour; until lust a misty rim Is left, and even that soon disappears. The soft mauve shadows come creeping Adown the pine-clad hills. As Night comes on his velvet feet and clasps Day in tender arms — O then, scornful Mortal, Do not say that thou hast never felt The Love of God ! Aubrey Leach, Form Upper Vi. Wax Figures L ' XDIES and gentlemen, we are now about to enter Madame Tussauds. The bus drew up yWith a lerk tlinging me onto the floor. I was not allowed to remain there long, but was hustled on by the jostling sightseers. I had been in London for two weeks — fourteen days of hectic rushing about sightseeing. You are now going to see wax figures made so perfectly that I defy any of you to know them apart from living people, cried the loud-voiced guide. Bosh, thought I. As if I wouldn ' t know a silly wax figure when I saw one. On the way up the marble steps I stopped and asked a policeman if he could tell me the correct time. I asked him three times, my voice rising each time. Su ddenly I stopped and ctared at him. He was a wax figure ' I went on my way a wiser person. We entered a large room. On either side stood figures, beautifully gowned and very life-like. I passed Queen Elizabeth, Guy Fawkes, Mary Queen of Scots, Shakespeare, and many more notable people . Of course there was King George V, Queen Mary, and dear little Princess Elizabeth sitting on a cushion holding the Duchess of York ' s skirt. I wandered around admiring and exclaiming, weary of the pushing and noisy crowd, and spying a door, I opened it and descended down a flight of cold stone stairs. I arrived in a large dark hall which was called the Chamber of Horrors. A cold chill ran down my back. I walked on farther, shuddering as I saw figures of murderers and instruments of torture. In an alcove I spied a big four-poster bed. A faint blue light on a table standing by the bed illuminated the faces of the two sleepers. They were both young boys, one a little older than the other. They had long golden hair and looked very beautiful as they lay there holding each other ' s hand. I was very tired so I sat down on a chair to wait for my friends. Suddenly a wicked looking man with a long black beard crept in, and before my startled gaze I saw him reach the bed and smother the boys; for they were no others than the ill-fated Princes in the Tower. The sound of feet and voices made me turn round. I seemed to be in a market square, and in the centre stood a guillotine. A crowd of peasants and lords were gathered around, pushing, laughing and talking. A hush descended on them. A man in scarlet velvet and lace with long curly hair was led up to the block. He was calm and composed, though his face was white and drawn. At a command he laid his head on the block. I shut my eyes. I heard the fall of the axe and the piercing scream of a woman. Judy, wake up, you sleepy head. We have been looking everywhere for you. You are a nice person to take sightseeing. Would you like to see the scene where Sir Maxwell was beheaded? We have just enough time if you hurry, said my sister, shaking me. No, thank you. I think I have seen quite enough for one day! I replied emphatically, and I meant It! ' Dorothy Brooks, Form IIIa.