Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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On Waiting In A Dentist ' s Office IT is just 5.30. You are the sole occupant of the room. Muffled howls and shrieks reach your ear. You wonder, rather nervously, if Dr. Jones is going to hurt you. Magazines are strewn carelessly around the room. You idly pick up L:berty. On opening the cover you see a most delightful cartoon of Jimmy in the dentist ' s chair. Jimmvs ' facial contortions leave little to the imagination. Liberty slides from your shaking fingers to the floor. A white ' dad nurse smiles in what she thinks is a hopeful fashion as she ushers in a new victim. It is a little boy accompanied by his extremely stout mother who keeps saying in a loud, insistent tone, Nov , Oscar, do sit still in the chair. To which the said Oscar replies dolefully but with great precision, Ah! Oscar is suddenly seized by a great and overwhelming desire to be possessor of your new green scarf. After giving two or three vigorous tugs, he is attacked from behind by his indignant mamma, who says, Oscar is so playful, mm , and gives you what is meant to be a charming smile to turn away your wrath. As she does so, you notice a few gold teeth to be imbedded in her capacious mouth. Shuddering, you turn away. The dentist appears at this moment, followed by a shaky individual who disappears rapidly. You rise hesitantly, whereat the good doctor looks at you and in a jovial tone says, Why, Mary, your appointment is for to-morrow, is it not? Anne Thom, Form IVb. Tuna Fishing St. Margaret ' s Bay, on the south coast of Nova Scotia, is a most beautiful spot. The green shores curve in a great sweep where the blue sea comes deeply inwards, and beyond are many islands. There are a few villages tucked away unexpectedly m sheltered coves. At one called Fox Point there lives a man named Boutilier, a bronzed fisherman whose acquaintance we made casually one day when we stopped to exclaim over a great tuna fish which he had just brought in. Boutilier told us that he had caught more than forty-five already and hoped to catch many more. When we found that, he took passengers occasionally I persuaded my father to allow me to go with my uncle and some of his friends . The night before the day arranged with Boutilier we spent at a little hotel near Fox Point as we had to be readv to leave at four o ' clock in the morning. When we went down to the wharf we stepped aboard a small schooner with two masts and an auxiliary engine. Built out from the bow was a small platform from which the harpoon would be thrown. Boutilier started the engine and we put out to sea. Soon we were surrounded by a heavy fog. We were most disappointed, as we were hoping to see the sun rise. But it soon cleared and it was a fine day. At five o ' clock we sighted the herring fleet, then we stopped one boat and got our bait, which was live herring. We sailed fourteen miles out to sea until we anchored beside a herring net. The harpoon, made of iron and attached by a long rope to a small barrel, was made ready. In the meantime I was told to throw a live herring outside the net every five minutes or so to attract the tuna that were sure to be hovering close by. Boutilier was standing ready on the platform, harpoon in hand when, just as I had thrown another fish over, we saw a dark shape quickly approach- ing the herring which was feebly swimming away. Boutilier, with a mighty thrust, let go the harpoon, aiming at the herring, and so beautifully timed was his throw that the harpoon pierced the tuna ' s head. At a shout from Boutilier my uncle hurled the barrel over the side, and we watched the length of rope uncoil with incredible speed as the terrified fish dived deeply. The engine was quickly started and we were ready to follow the tuna when he came nearer the surface. At first it was f 26 1

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While he said this panic seized me. Though he spoke in English it was with a gutteral accent that was undeniably German. Then everything became clear. It was a nest of German spies who had somehow obtained English uniforms. I was in deadly danger, for I knew if they discovered my identity I should never leave the cave alive, so I resolved to keep up the bluff and pretend to be one of them as long as possible. All this flashed through my mind as the man spoke. In reply to his praise I managed to mutter something. Then to my horror one of them said, ' Let us talk in our own tongue. It is so much easier. ' This was a predicament! I had some recollections of the German lessons of my schooldays, but they were very vague. Certainly I could not speak it well enough to convince these men, so with the courage of despair I said quickly, ' Gentlemen, I heard that the English are sending out a patrol to-ngiht. They might possibly came near and overhear us talking in German and then we would be lost. But if we talk English I, as an English officer, can send them away without creating suspicion. ' To my relief there was a murmur of approval and the chief, addressing me in English, asked me to state our exact position at Terin. This I could, of course, do very well. When I had finished he unfolded a plan for an attack against Terin to take place in two days. To gain their confidence I suggested some improvement. After everything was settled and just before we left I said, Perhaps it would be better if we met again to-morrow night, and I could give you further details as to the position of the English. They agreed and I left them with a ; sigh of relief at my narrow escape. Next evening they entered the cave and also the arms of British soldiers, to their great surprise. That was how one of the most famous bands of German spies was captured. At their court ' martial I found out that they had sent a message to C3, a spy whom they had never seen hut whose help they needed, to meet the guide when I had slept. C3, who had been shot some time before, never received the message. It was by a strange coincidence that I was under that tree at the appointed hour. Peggy Tyndale, Form IVb. The Ski-Train The platform was freezing, The skiers were squeezing Their fingers to keep them warm. A young rascal was teasing His brother for sneering, And the brother was losing his form. Away in the distance The train in this instance Let out a most fearful screech. The skiers ' insistance And hardy resistance Soon lead them a seat to reach. The wars of the tickets Now started in thickets — The train was a miniature war, For they held that their tickets Were bought at the wickets This week, not the week before. As the snow slopes appeared The skis disappeared And flat on the snow rallied forth. The train slightly reared, As it lightly careered, It continued its way up north. Jean Scrimger, Form Upper VI. [ 25 ]

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hard to follow the bobbing barrel as the fish zigzagged frantically in its effort to get free. After an hour or so we knew he was weakening and picked up the barrel. When the tuna was brought to the surface we exulted when we saw that he was an especially big one. With last-minute dives and turns he churned the water around the boat, but he had received a mortal wound and presently his great body floated on the surface. We made for Fox Point and home, well pleased with the results of our first tuna-fishing expedition and more enthusiastic than ever about the joys of a Nova Scotian summer. Elizabeth Anne Kendall, Form IIIa. A Sentimental Letter Observatory Hill, The Isle of Capri. Believe it, Beloved, I think of you with every breath I take, in my solitude. But don ' t let it bother you if I say it ' s you I adore. Yesterday I was out in the cold again walking in the winter wonderland, looking for a needle in a hay-stack (I found it) . Being all tangled up in love I got lost in a fog then suddenly pop went my heart at the thought of the champagne waltz that waltz you saved for me. Have you forgotten there is a tavern in the town just around the corner ? But soon my lonely feet said my man , it ' s home. Am I just a fair-weather friend? If not, say when! Don ' t ever leave me. Fare thee well, Annabelle. Your Ole Faithful, F. Lyman J. Scrimger P.S. I love you! Three Brave Pioneers ONE bright Sunday morning Miss X telephoned Miss Y, Would you and Miss Z like to go ski-ing up north to-day? . . . fine, have you three dollars to spare . . . thanks . . . g ' bye. Soon Miss X, Y and Z were merrily chatting on the 8.30 train, equipped with a compass, a lunch and a map. They made their plans for the day while the train pushed up the line. A good, energetic ski, they thought, would be the best plan and off they hopped at Shawbridge. Unfortu- nately they struck a terrible gale descending upon the train. Miss Z lest her hat and Miss Y lost her precious map. But being three brave pioneers they realized tha.t this was just part of the fun. Let ' s have a shot at the big hill, as a starter, suggested Miss X. The suggestion was accepted and they started off to have a starter on the big hill. But, as luck would have it, Miss X took an awful tumble which soaked her with wet snow right to the skin. Miss Y, having energetically climbed to the top, lost courage, took off her skis and walked down the hill, while Miss Z patiently stayed at the bottom, dry and comfortable. Determined not to let this discourage them, the three brave pioneers boldly faced the cruel wind and set out to cut a trail through the dense forests of the cold, pitiless Laurentian Mountains. Here they found, instead of wind, was soft snow and hot sun. This blissful comfort they thought was the [ 27 ]