Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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In the small cabin for the steward, behind the pilots, stood Arthur Wemyss, looking over the passenger list. Mmm, he thought, not many passengers tfiis trip. Mrs. L. Carlton, and daughter, I guess that is the lady witli tlie little girl, John Steele, steel magnate, Mr. and Mrs. G. H. Horton, M. O. (Clarke, archaeologist, he does look rather absent-minded, and Miss Lorna Grey. Tliat ' s all. I guess I had better pay them a little visit and get acquainted. With which, he went into the main cabin to see if all were comfortable, speaking reassuringly to the inevitably nervous ones. The sun was still shining brightly with the blue sky above, and the patcliwork quilt of earth below. But suddenly all this was changed. Tlie sun disappeared and the earth vanished from view. On all sides the ' plane was enveloped in a dense mist. Dirty weather ahead, murmured one pilot to the other, and with his words the ' plane balked like a frightened horse, with the sudden onslaught of wind and rain, as it tore at her. In the main cabin all was quiet, save for the sobs of the little girl, whose mother was trying unsuccessfully to comfort her. The archaeologist, who had been reading, looked up from his book with a surprised, Dear me! How bothersome! Now I c an ' t read. The young couple were looking rather nervous as were some of the others. But the steward with a smile, and cheery manner, helped to dispel their fears. There came a low, but increasing murmur of thunder, and then a startlingly close flash of lightning, showing the peaks of the Andes not far below. Can ' t we rise over it? asked Mr. Little. I am afraid not, sir, answered the steward, the wind is too great. Will it delay the ' plane much? I came by air to save time and instead I will lose it. The pilots are doing their best, sir. In the pilots ' cabin sat the directors of the ' plane, responsible for the safety of all those aboard. One, with a worried look, turned to the other. Do you hear anything? he said. The other with a smile replied. I hear a lot of noise. Why? Don ' t you? I don ' t mean that, was the reply. But listen. There was a faint miss in the steady hum of the engines. It was hardly audible but to the keen ear of the mechanic it was at once apparent. Which motor is it? asked one of the other. ' The main, I think. Well, if it is, we have a fine chance of seeing Mother Earth alive in this storm, was the encouraging answer. Gradually the misses of the engine became more and more noticeable, and then with a moan like that of a dying dog, the main engine ' s propeller stopped. The plane, without its help, was buffetted by the sudden gusts of wind and shaken by unexpected air pockets. In the main cabin the fear of a crash was written on all the passengers ' faces, and naught that the steward could do would allay their fears now. The plane was borne hither and thither on the wings of the storm. One pilot said to the other, This will not last much longer. The plane cannot stand it. If we do not come out of this storm soon, well, — he left his sentence unfinished. For what seemed hours the storm went on, black clouds were above, below and around. Fifteen minutes later the great silver bird taxied slowly to a halt on the field of the Santiago airport. The Han)e bla ing sun was overhead, while the whitewashed buildings fairly quivered wilii llie h ' al. TIk; sl(!ward jumped out, placed ihe stool, and stood there, holding the door for I in; passengers. Nancy Nicol, Form Upper V2. 12«J

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TO MY DINGHY O most beloved nymph of breezes light, Of fair boats thou art fairest of all fair. Thou floatest like a seagull in the air; Upon the azure lake thou shinest bright. Before the wind in triumph thou dost tear. Until there ' s little mainsheet left to spare. Urged on by thy sweet bosom-friend, the tide. For down the lake thou joyfully dost ride, ' Tis hard for other boats to keep apace With thee, when proudly thou dost sail so swift. The wind retireth, slumber for to trace. And dinghies to their moorings gently drift. The next day comes: and then in sheer delight Thou sailest forth again, vivacious sprite. Marian Francis, Form IV a. FLIGHT THE hot sun blazed down relentlessly on the already parched field of the airport at Buenos Aires. There was little sign of life visible to the eye, save, where a powerful triple-motored ' plane of silver hue was warming up, preparatory to her flight to Santiago. At length, cars began to arrive and some few passengers, seemingly wilted by the heat, boarded the plane, with what appeared to be much effort, even though the ' pl ane ' s steward, dressed in crisp white, stood by, lending a helping hand. When all were abroad the stool was removed, the door closed, and the signal for departure was given. The propellers, which had been idly revolving, now turned into whirling dynamos, and with a roar of mighty engines, the aeroplane moved, first slowly, then, with gathering speed down the field until she rose gracefully from the earth, winging her way on high, looking like a great silver bird, with the sun ' s rays beating on her. [27]

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THANKSGIVING O God I thank Thee for this gift That I may view Thy wonders in this way. The sun, its glorious rays, the wind so swift 0 God I thank Thee for this lovely day. 1 thank Thee for the birds that sing so fair The robin and the tiny humming-bird Who with their songs and chirps do fill the air Making the sweetest songs I ever heard. For all Thy blessings. Lord, both great and small For all that Thou hast made for us to see I thank Thee, Lord, to Thee I give my all In thanks for gifts that Thou hast given to me. The babbling brook so happy and free. Emptied itself not into the sea But was lost in the wood. Where the birches are thick it sank in a pool. And settled in quiet so peaceful and cool That there the birds brood. If one day when wandering you chance to stop by it. You will always remember that deep solemn quiet Which surrounded the pool. The trees overhanging are moved by no wind. On the water no eddying ripples you ' ll find, All is silent and cool. Marie Oliver, Form IIIb. A FOREST POOL Betty Brodie, Form Upper Vi. Punning is terrible Not really bearable, And how those who pun. Can get any fun. While their audience suffers. And calls them just duffers. Is beyond comprehension, And calls for suspension For amusement so vapid, In a world quite so rapid, Is really not quite what it should be. Betty Brodie, Form Upper Vi. [29]