Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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MINA We had come to Mina this very day in April seven years before. It had been a fresh spring day, and I was looking forward to the new and very different life in Southern Nevada. I had heard people say Mina was a friendly place, a small town where everybody knew everybody else; it was in August, several months after our arrival, that I learned the truth about Mina. It was a Saturday morning and I was in Sam ' s hardware looking for a new tackle. A voice croaked from behind me: Hello there, Sandy! Oh! Mrs. Martin! Laryngitis worse today? Yep, but can ' t let that interfere with my activities, now, can I? She gave a miserable little chuckle. Goin ' fishin ' today? Just as soon as 1 can get a tackle. D ' you know a good spot? Do I know a good spot! Why, honey, everybody knows Old Man Con— She stopped suddenly. Old man who? I inquired. Nobody, she squawked abruptly. Nobody at all. At that she hurried out of the store. I went down to the creek bordering Mina and settled down on a grassy hummock under a shady weeping willow. It was a beautiful spot with water that couldn ' t have been deeper than four feet. I was so puzzled over Mrs. Martin ' s reaction to her own words that I was unaware of the pre- sence behind me. I don ' t appreciate no trespassers sittin ' on my hummock under my tree and fishin ' outa my creek. An old man stood behind me, leaning on a crooked home-made cane. He appeared inimical, and his face suf- fered lines of grief and pain. There isn ' t any sign on this land saying I can ' t fish here! Nobody comes to Old Man Connor fer nothin ' unless it ' s by my invitation only, which is never. So now git goin ' before I lose my temper! Old Man Connor, I whispered to myself. He looked at me slyly, as if he had never heard anyone else say his name. Why do you call this your land? I never heard people speak of any one person owning part of Mina. Folks say there ' s a curse on my land. His eyes follow- ed a water-spider skimming the surface of the creek. No one never sets foot on it no more. Not for the past thirty years. They say my daughter drowned here. He turned to me slowly. But I never had no daughter, he murmured. The old man didn ' t seem to want any sympathy and limped back into the bush where he had come from. The day had clouded over and a wind had started up. I left his land and returned to Mina. The rest of August passed quickly, and school started again. It was not until the end of September, though, that I heard any more said about Old Man Connor. I was in the hardware when Mrs. Martin waddled up to Sam, smihng. The Old Man ' s dead, she whispered. Outside, a storm was brewing. Veronica Pimenoff Form VI B FLOCON DE NEIGE Flocon de neige, natif des cieux, N ' es-tu pas toi aussi infectieux En accord avec les autres elements contagieux Pour repandre cette vile corruption Qui etrangle forets, animaux, poissons. Si iimoccnt de parure, tu es coupable De camoufler cet horrible poison Qui sous la protection de tes dentelles, Deguise son rayonnement energique et penetrant Et sur les langues des petits enfants, S ' infiltre peu a peu dans ces chers insouciants. Pourquoi persistes-tu, Fameux Flocon, A persecuter la terre, contaminant ma maison? Ta vengeance est mal dirigee, Puisque ce sont les gens arrieres Qui, gouvernant les pays de la terre, Ont deterre la hache de guerre. Le blame tombe aussi sur nos patries, Qui n ' ont pas avec rapidite agi. Malgre I ' holocoste qui t ' a affecte, Tu reviens toujours comme avant; Aussi blanc et ponctuel tons les ans. Mais maintenant, tu n ' es plus innocent Et les meres te regardent en pleurant Se rappelant que leurs enfants Ne seront plus jamais comme auparavant. C ' est pourquoi, mon petit, tu es deforme. Tire la langue pour t ' amuser, Et attrape une bonne dose de radioactivite. Marie Gauthier, Form VI A 24

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MONTREAL This smoggy island With industries far and fair, It is a wondrous sight to see, But more than the eye can bear. Outside this dragon place Lies her majestic hill With grass so green in the summertime, Asleep now, hushed and still. At the crack of dawn she awakens With screeching brakes and tooting horns, Vibrant! Ruthless! Vigorous! This is my city With her riots, bombs, discord! But I love her. Elizabeth Livermore Form II LE VIEUX PECHEUR Le vieux pecheur etait debout- la mer s ' amassa , autour de ses deux pieds, I ' ecume couvrit les cailloux et le vieux pecheur s ' enfon9a dans le sable. Ses amis tirerent les filets sur le rivage. Le vieillard regarda la mer. La mer etait la depuis toujours. II etait ne pres d ' elle. 11 souleva son seau et vit son neveu qui criait avec ses amis. — Ne criez pas, mon neveu. Les poissons entendront votre voix! — Oui, mon oncle je parlerai d ' une voix douce et les poissons viendront dans nos filets. Les pecheurs rirent. — Ha! Riez, riez! Mais je connais, je comprends mes amis de la mer mieux que vous ne comprenez vos paroles. Mes amis entendront, oui, et ils resteront dans leur monde marin. — Dormez, vieillard— nous tirerons nos filets et vous tirerez la couverture du sommeil sur vos yeux. Le vieillard s ' en alia. Le soleil brula et mit la mer en feu pendant que les nuages couvraient les etoiles. Le lendemain matin quand la brume s ' etait levee, le vieux pecheur marcha sur la plage. II portait une tige de fer et la piqua dans les etoiles de mer qui en moururent. — Vous avez beaucoup de chance, mes amies, vous avez votre place dans la mer et au ciel. Moi, je n ' ai aucun point d ' attache. Je vis sur le sable mouvant. Ma peau est brulec par le soleil et mes levres sechees par la brise salee de la mer. Les vents emportent mes heures dans I ' onde et me laissent seul et vieux. Maintenant voux etes mortes — comme moi- meme. Le vieux pecheur s ' avan a et la mer I ' engloutit. Ann Roberts, Form VI B LA MER La mer est etrange et sauvage. Elle est terrible, irritee Par un soir noir et orageux La mer est si effrayante. La mer est tres belle, Ses embruns tres frais. Le soleil brille sur les vagues, Et les eaux sont calmes dans les grottes. Pat Humby, Form III A L ' HISTOIRE D ' UNE FLEUR Quoi de plus plaisant que de regarder une jolie fleur? Du petit cmbryon jaillit une etincelle de vie. De son corps fragile et nouvellement ne,de minuscules petales innocentes etalent toute une gamme de merveilleuses couleurs chatoy- ant dans un mouvement mysterieux. Elle devient un etre vivant, sa purete, sa delicatesse lui donnent un prestige plus grand que toutes les richesses du monde. Elle symbolise pour I ' univers I ' affection, la paix et I ' amour. Elle remplace souvent bien des mots entre deux etres qui veulent se rapprocher. Elle est acceptee avec joie lorsqu ' on la donne en cadeau ou a une personne malade. Dans une maison une simple fleur peut rendre I ' atmosphere plus jo- viale. Enfin, une multitude de petites choses est I ' apanage des fleurs. Ainsi aujourd ' hui les jeunes la considerant comme un message pour dire aux gens: Faites la paix non la guerre . Johanne Perreault, Form VI B 23

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GUMMING HOUSE Front Row: Isabelle Best, Laura Bollen, Barbara Mariash, Gina Schnabel, Debbie Perry, April Kape, Ruth Simons. 2nd: Louise Pigot, Nina Jezek, Vivien Law, Marie Anne Laforest, (House Head), Mrs. Ritson (House Mistress), Nancy Wall (House Head), Estelle Limoges, Madeleine Roellinghoff, Annemette Jorgensen..3rt : Lynette Lombardi, Marianne Stoffregen, Lee Sullivan, Karen Merrithew, Audrey Wise, Wendy Verrier, Lynn Morgan, Sarah Kolas- iewicz, Debby Worrell, Kathy Feig. Back Row: Karin Little, Elizabeth Pigot, Elizabeth Har- court, Kathy Fletcher, Janet McCuaig, Christina Stephen, Lonny Wall, Gail Goodfellow, Maureen Burns, Jeannie Saros. Absent: Nabiha Atallah (Form V Rep). SILENCE (With apologies to Longfellow) The moon was shining in the treetops. Shining through the silver treetops. Shining in the trees and thickets Where the mighty buck, he slept Where the timid doe, she slept Where the tiny fawn, he slept. All was calm, was peaceful, tranquil. And the Indian lodge was silent, Silent as a sleeping beaver, As a beaver in his lodge. As an owl is in the daytime, Silent was the Indian lodge. Ruth Simons, Form II LIFE Life is like a railway train With tracks that come and go To places I only heard about And people I don ' t know. Life is like a ferris-wheel Round and round and round, For once you hit the top There is nothing left but down. Life is like autumn leaves That wither away and die. And no one even sees their lives Slowly passing by. Lynn Morgan, Form III B