Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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A Glimpse Of The Past THE heat was intolerable. It beat against my face in burning waves. The vivid green of the tangled undergrowth and the startling hues of the flowers made my eyes ache. An unnatural silence surrounded me, and all the wild life seemed to be suspended, as if waiting for the storm that must follow. I was lost, lost in a region that was totally strange to me, threatened by a storm and the unknown dangers of a wild country. Huge clouds rolled overhead, while the thunder roared and rumb ' jed like ancient monsters seeking revenge. There was no use fighting any longer. Crawling into a rough shelter made by a tree and interwoven vines, I prepared to protect myself as best as I could. I would never have found myself in such a plight had it not been for the decline of our fortunes and the vivid imagination of my sisters. We had once been a family of considerable wealth and distinction. Many years ago, at the height of our prosperity, one of my ancestors, the proverbial black sheep of the family, had broken from the fold and, with several companions, had set out to make a name for h imself in the world. News of their wanderings reached home from time to time, then suddenly it had stopped. As the years passed and nothing more was heard of them they were forgotten. A few years ago, a traveller who spent a night at our home had helped to pass away the time by recounting a strange experience. He had been travelling from Azora to Naden but the country, being quite strange to him, he had lost his way and thus by chance stumbled into a lost city or rather settlement. Beside the ruins of a house he had found a quaint gold ring, which he carried away with him. He showed it to us, and what was our surprise to find that it bore the family crest. We came to the conclusion that it had belonged to our adventurous ancestor and there the matter ended. Finally our slowly vanishing fortune and mv family ' s persistence, persuaded me to try and find the lost settlement and perhaps something of value as well. So far I had met with only hardships and disappointments. The whole idea was fantastical and absurd; it was quite impossible for such a number of people to have lived hidden from the world. My unhappy thoughts were interrupted by the sudden opening of the skies and a heavy deluge of rain. The ferocity of that storm cannot be described Even Nature acknowledged the inevitable and bowed before the onslaught. Such fury could not last long and soon the last rumble faded in the distance. Cold and thoroughly discouraged, I pushed my way through the glistening jungle. Suddenly I stopped and stared in amazement. Before me, in a slight hollow, lay the crumbling ruins of a settlement. The pale pink of dawn tinged the ieaden sky and threw a warm glow on the old stones. Clothed in a wraith-like mist, the ancient buildings half hidden by a veil of foliage, afforded a scene that was enchantingly beautiful. Slowly I made my way into their midst, reluctant to break the silence of a century. In the centre of the clearing stood the largest and best preserved building, probably the former home of the wealthiest family. Following the overgrown path through a garden which must have been very beautiful, I climbed the rotting stairs and entered the time-worn hall. Breaking my way through cobwebs and dust, I explored the house. Finally I returned to the large front room. The furniture and hangings were all intact, just as the owner of long ago had left them. Sitting in a handsomely carved chair and gating at the faded and dust-covered room, a feeling such as I had never felt before crept over me. A slight sound startled me, and turning I saw the shadowy form of a woman detach itself from the deep gloom at the end of the room. As I watched, other shadows materialized. Soon the room was full of swaying wraith-like figures. I was alone in a house of spirits of a past century, unable to move or free myself from their hypnotic spell. Slowly the room became bright and alive, taking on its former beauty. Antiquated torches burned gaily in their holders, casting flickering shadows on the ceiling and tracing strange designs on the faces of the happy gathering. The dancers swayed to the haunting beat of crude musical instruments. A genial middle-aged gentleman, presumably the host, caught my attention as he deftly ministered to the needs of his guests. While I was thus engrossed the figure of a tall, powerfully built man slipped silently past me and confronted the host. A look of incredulity and apprehension flitted over the latter s face as he scrutinized the newcomer. Withdrawing into an alcove out of sight of the guests, they became immersed in deep and agitated conversation. While this was taking place I was able to examine the intruder. The haughty lift of his head, the cold, dispassionate eyes and thin-lipped, sardonic mouth seemed familiar to me. Where had I seen this stranger before? For no apparent reason my thoughts turned back to the dim, musty library in my grandfather ' s old house. There were two pictures over the fireplace, pictures of two young men, very good friends, [31 ]

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During the night there had been a riot among the natives: Mohammedans and Hindus had fought at the instigation of their priests and at dawn Yamui was found dead. He was horribly mutilated, his head nearly severed from his body. A few weeks later I left for England on leave. When I returned to India I was sent to a different station, where I remained a long time. About three years ago, however, I happened to be in Benares for a month. One day a dead Mohammedan was found by the Native Police with a knife in his back. The body was identified; the man ' s name had been Charan Das. A merchant in rugs, he had just returned to Benares after an absence of ten years! I since heard, from an old friend, that soon after my departure for England, thirteen years ago, they had found the ground around Yamut ' s grave torn up and his coffin empty. And you suggest, said the host ' s son, that this Pathan had been wandering around the streets of Benares every night for ten years looking for the other beggar, what ' s-his-name? I suggest nothing, said the Indian Colonel. I only give the facts. But it was queer, wasn ' t it? Margery Simpson, Form IVb. Evening In Dover Oh, the vesper bells are ringing As the village maids are singing And the sailor lads are swinging Through the dusky lanes at eve. Oh, the crier ' s bell is clanging While the harbour sails are hanging And the merchants ' doors are banging In the empty streets at eve. Oh, the forest choirs are blending As the sheep the dog is tending And the shepherd old is wending Through the meadows — home at eve. Oh, the cattle bells are tinkling As the flowers dames are sprinkling And the Evening Star is twinkling O ' er the village huts at eve. Warda Drummond, Form IVa. My Questions Do ships have eyes when they go to sea? Are there springs in the ocean bed? Does a jolly tar run from a tree? Does a river loose its head? Can you bring relief to a window pane? Can you mend the break of day? Can you go to bed each morn and night Drinking milk from the Milky Way? If you ate a square meal would the corners hurt? Can you dig for an ace with a spade? Can you throw a rope to a drowning lemon Just to give a lemon aid? Alison Smart, Form IVb. t 30 ]

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I think grandfather said. One had a faint sneer and his eyes seemed to follow you about the nx m. Ah, yes! He was Sir Richard Denville, and his friend was Sir Hugh Grey. Both men were now before me, older and a little grey, but undoubtedly the subjects of the portraits in our old library To confirm my astonishing discovery I noticed the heavy, old-fashioned ring which the host wore Oil his left hand. An almost forgotten story concerning these men now arose in my mind. Sir Hugh, a wild and reckless gambler, had squandered his own fortune and had fallen heavily into debt. Sir Richard, to whom he owed the money, had become impatient and the relationship between the two friends had become strained. It was soon after this that Sir Hugh left home, some inferring that the lure of travel was not the only reason for his departure. This was the story my grandfather had told me long ago and which I had almost forgotten. The angry voices of the two men recalled me from mv reverie. Sir Hugh, I could see, was very excited and alarmed while his companion in outward appearance, remained more calm and con- trolled. As I looked closer, however, I saw that his eyes were blazing with emotion, while he spoke in a cold, dead voice, terrible to hear. When you ran away after completely ruining me in such a way that no blame could be attached to you, I promised myself that I would kill you. You knew that, Hugh, and that is why you ran away and tried to hide yourself here. You are going to pay for your sins now, my friend. His words were cut short by Sir Hugh, who made a frantic effort to rush past him. There was a brief struggle, a loud report, then — silence. With horror stricken eyes I gazed at the crumpled form of my ancestor. Dorothy Brooks Form Matric. I Dream Or Nightmare? This scene takes place in 1547 in Hades. Characters: Adam, first man on earth; Eve, his wife; Henry VIII, King of England from 1509-1547. Adam: Why, I say, old top, you are new in these parts, aren ' t you? Henry : Yes, I just dropped down yesterday. I am not expecting to stay long, however. Satan and God are considering my case. Adam: You haven ' t got much chance. Why, 1 have been down here for years and I only had one wife, and look at your record. It is nothing to be proud of. Henry: Well, if Eve had been my wife and she got me into all the trouble she got you in I would have had her head chopped off. But then, of course, there weren ' t any more women for you to marry so you just have to put up with her. Adam : I hear there have been great changes on earth since we left. Does anyone live in the Garden now? Henry: What garden? I ' ve got dozens of gardens; every one of my castles has one. Adam: Oh, how the world must have changed! Here comes Eve, but don ' t you try flirting with her. Eve: Hullo! Who is this? Adam: This is Henry of England of whom we have heard Cromwell speak. Eve : Oh, yes, the man who had six wives. By the way, Katherine Howard — I believe that is her name; she was your fifth wife — is down here. Henry: Why, I do remember her now. Yes! She wasn ' t too bad. I might look her up. Can you direct me? Eve: Yes, certainly; I shall go with you. Adam: Oh, no, you won ' t! I don ' t want him to run off with you. I will direct him. Along this corridor until you have passed four fires, then turn left. Past the door of Big Hades, turn right at the next passage, then it is six doors from Satan ' s office. Henry : Thanks very much, old chap. I ' ll do as much for you some day. Adam: It is hotter than usual here to-day. Perhaps Satan is kindling the fire for Henry. You know he was a wicked man. Eve: Come on; we were invited to play bridge with Cleopatra and Nero and wc are fifteen blazes late. (After dreaming this dream and then to be awakened up and told that I was going to be late for school, it seemed to me as if I must really be in Hades myself.) Lois Rapley, Form IVb. f 32 ]