Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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begins as you are getting out your ticket. With textbooks in one hand, wallet in the other, and notebooks clutched between your teeth, you have just dropped the ticket into the box when the bus lurches forward and you almost fall over backward. Recovering, you walk in dignity down the aisle, but just as you are stepping into a seat the bus rounds a corner, and you find yourself sitting on the floor instead. The small boys hoot, the baby begins to cry, and the old lady gives you a look of icy disapproval. The driver of this bus, jolly fellow that he is, seems to be under the impression that he is driving the ' Snap the Whip ' at Belmont Park. This type of bus requires a cautious attitude on your part. Be wary. Hold onto something all the time (but not the driver). Of course, if yovi take this precaution the bus will not lurch, and everyone will think you are crazy, but that is of no consequence. The third and last type is the most frustrating — the disappearing bus. It can be seen in the distance, like a mirage, but never seems to get any closer. Finally, you realize that it is a parked Troy laundry truck. Sometimes, though, it really does appear, and from three blocks away you can see how empty it is — comparatively speaking - and joyfully think that for once you will be able to sit down on the way home. Oh no! The M.T.C. loves this particular ruse. As the bus approaches the stop, you will see the sign ' Special ' on the front, and inside will be a small group of inspectors, riding to their posts in relaxation. This bus will be a new one too, whereas you are expected to play sardines in an old, creaking one. Be patient, however - the old bus will come eventually, and it is better than nothing. Or is it? Fellow Montrealers — fellow sufferers, never mind. In another hundred years we may actually start planning a subway. Anne Begor, Form Vb, Gumming House. TEACHER ' S LAMENT with apologies to William Shakespeare To give bad marks or not, that is the question: — Whether ' tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and spitballs of outrageous children, Or to take arms against the little monsters. And, by opposing, calm them? To scream - to yell - No more; and, by a bad mark, say we en ' d The nonsense and the hundred thousand shocks That children give us, ' tis a consolation Devoutly to be wish ' d. To write, to think; To think! perchance to read; ha, that ' s a laugh; For in that one classroom, what peace is there Till one o ' clock does ultimately come And give us rest? Ah, there ' s the thing That makes our tempers short, our minds distraught; For who can bear the noise and clamour long Of teachers ' foes, and parents ' little darlings. The insolence of some, and all the spurns That patient merit of the teacher takes. When she herself might sweetest vengeance wreak With a few bad marks? Dana Hopson, Senior VI, Fairley House. [24]

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A MAN God made him a man; Let him be a man. He is born, and fed, and clothed. And schooled. So let him be respected. And known to all as a man, and not as — A fool God gave him eyes that he might see, Let him see and also remember. God gave him limbs that he might move. Let him use these to defend His country, his nation, his world, his home. That he may save his people. God gave him a mind with which to learn, With this let him be wise. God gave him a heart so he could serve, Let him serve his Maker well. God gave him a soul to be a man. Let him achieve this honour! If he loves what is right, And what he believes, And follows his creeds as he should; Then as he dies, let no one weep. For he is worthy of being called — A Man. Laureen Hicks, Form Vb, Fairley House. TRANSPORTATION IN MONTREAL THERE ARE three types of buses in Montreal, the crowded bus, the empty bus, and the disappearing bus. All three types are equally dangerous, and require a different attitude on the part of the traveller. The crowded bus is perhaps the most common. It appears in droves around five o ' clock. Deceptively, it slows down as it approaches the stop where you are hopefully waiting — along with two hundred other people — then speeds up and passes by. If it does stop, all those lined up in front of you manage to squeeze on, but just as you are about to follow them, the driver cries, Next bus, mind the door! and the door practically scrapes the skin off your nose as it closes. By the way, this ' next bus ' is purely a figment of the driver ' s imagination. Finally, however, you manage to get onto a bus, but cannot sit down. The bus driver applies his brakes vigorously at every corner, and at least a dozen people lurch against you and step on your feet each time he does this. As a crowning touch, you will probably be carried beyond your destination as you fight to get to the door. To travel on this type of bus, you must be cool and collected. You must maintain an air of detachment from the mob as they fall around you, and learn to say offhande dly, So sorry, when you step on a leg, arm, or other impedimenta. It is always a good practice to carry an umbrella with a sharp, pointed end. The second type is the empty bus. This is more dangerous than the first type, because it lulls you into a false sense of security. It appears promptly and is a model of good behaviour until you step onto it. It is usually occupied by two small boys, a young mother with a baby, and an old lady. The trouble [23]

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THE SINKING SUN THIS GRAVEL country road leads me toward a vast and calm lake. All is quiet; neither car nor child disturbs the peace. Looking across the lake, I see a sight that could have been taken from a painting. The large, round sun has turned a beautiful red, and is quickly sinking behind the purple-shadowed hills. This flaming sun casts a slightly red path on the water, below blue sky and scattered pink-tinted clouds. The lake is like a mirror, and so calm that hardly a ripple can be found. It is surrounded by trees whose foliage is just starting to turn the many colours that make autumn so picturesque. The sandy shoreline is speckled here and there with brightly painted summer cottages. Here I stand, still, alone, looking at this lovely and vivid scene. If only it would always stay the way I see it at this very moment! It gives me the feeling that, if I turned my back for a minute, the view before me would change, never to be the same again. I unwillingly turn around and start slowly back up the road, glancing repeatedly over my shoulder, until only the winding road is visible behind me. Gail White, Form IVa, Gumming House. VALE TRAFALGAR! HIC ANNUS dum fugit, ubi puto me participem annuarum cantus gymnasiique exercitationum mox non futuram esse, sed in auditoribus sedentem cum superbia res quarum olim particeps fuerim modo spectaturam esse, nonnumquam in me solitudo serpit. Hac autem sententia me consolor: me quandocumque velim meam scholam pristinam visere posse, ita ut ceterae quoque eam visurae sint. Semper meos annos in schola Trafalgariana laetos aestimavi, multis gaudiis sed paucis querimoniis completos. Celerius autem anni praeteriverunt et iam a schola discessura sum ubi olim territa puella nova veni, conans omnia intellegere nec nimium exstare. Auxilio quidem benevolarum puellarum vetenim omnibus meis difficultatibus parvis facillime victis, brevi sodalis facta sum. In schola Trafalgariana vero magistrae semper adsunt, libenter alumnam quae earum auxilio eget iuvantes. Annos igitur praeteritos respiciens, omnia benevola praecepta meminisse possum quae quoties eorum egebam accepi. Hoc anno, dum per aedificium ambulo, accuratius id contemplor ut semper scholae meae meminerim. Omnia enim conclavia diligentius quam antea intuens, id quod olim pro certo habebam memoria tenere conor. Animadverti quoque omnes condiscipulas meas iam amiciores esse videri et scio omnes idem sentire: post hunc annum, cvim omnes diversis itineribus iverimus, fortasse numquam rursus alias aliis occursuras esse; quare omnes nos propter dissen- siones leves quae per annos saepe evenerunt ceteras placare iam conamur. Itaque vale, Trafalgar, et ob omnes memorias iucundas dierum ludi quas mihi dedisti tibi gratias ago. Barbara Armbruster, Arts VI, Barclay House. [25]