Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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And then again, she might not. His father might not. He and Lee might stroll around the campus, investigating un- familiar corners for an unhurried hour before their first lecture. Swayed by this image, Christopher had presented himself, fifteen minutes too early, on the corner to wait for Lee, who was fifteen minutes late. This, he was to learn, was typical. Christopher supposed that it was from that morning that she dated her claims on him, but ' girl friend ' ! He might be her boy friend, but she was certainly not his girl friend. Through the winter, he had spent increasingly more of his studying time taking her to movies, boring himself while increasing her appetite for them. Each time, when her mea- gre vocabulary, largely composed of over-common superla- tives, had been exhausted, she would say, Anyways, why am I trying to describe it? You know what it was like. Yes, he knew aU too well. The first, in which he had despaired of ever leaving, had set the pattern for the rest. Invariably, on the way home from each expensive dullness, he formulated desperately elaborate schemes to escape the next, and invariably he found himself lacking adequate strength of mind to carry them out in Lee ' s presence. Now he realized that nothing short of a complete break would free him. Lee was the only person, however, who really seemed to need him. That was the difficulty. If he left her, what would she do? But immediately Christopher hated this self-deception. Lee was popular. What he really meant was what would he do? Was he to bear with her stupidities, her coarseness, her mindless conversation, for another year, maybe for as long as he lived in Halifax, merely tolerating her as someone on whom to unload his surplus ideas? Come on, Christopher, Lee pleaded. Come back. Don ' t ya like me any more? Another exclamation mark, and Christopher dragged his mind back to the present. The girl ran to him and put her hand into his. Christopher jerked himself away and again started up the path. Chris, Lee called frantically. Christopher, come back. I promise I won ' t call you Chris any more. Oh, come on, Christopher, what did I do? You take everything so serious- ly. Oh come back, come back. Christopher walked straight on. Vivien Law, Form V B ble mention in Canada Permanent Trust Student Writing Contest » COMMENT VOYEZ-VOUS LA NEIGE? L ' un voit la neige Qui descend et couvre la terre. II pense a sa voiture qui derape Sur la rue glissante, II pense a enlever la neige tout le matin, A etre eclabousse de la sale neige fondue. U y pense avec colere, parce que Cette froide ennemie a gate sa joumee. L ' autre voit la neige Qui descend et couvre la terre. II pense a la beaute de ces Feeriques merveilles, II pense au ski, et a la montagne, Et aux arbres blancs. II y pense, avec reconnaissance, parce que Cette belle enchanteresse a eclaire sa joumee. Nabiha Atallah Form V A LA NUIT FROIDE La pauvre dame courait sans arret, aussi vite qu ' elle le pouvait. II faisait froid, le vent soufflait dans les arbres, et on entendait un hibou quelque part dans le noir. File avait attendu longtemps cette nuit, qui etait enfin arrivee. C ' etait comme dans un reve. La rue etait obscure et les arbres etranges I ' effrayaient, mais elle continuait son chemin. Rien ne pouvait la retenir. Ses pieds etaient froids, et elle voulait des gants pour ses mains. Tout etait tranquille, mais de temps en temps, un autre brave paysan la depassait en courant sans dire un mot. Comme elle aurait voulu etre dans sa petite maison, si chaude, si confortable! Mais elle pensait au sens de cette nuit. Elle se hatait et son coeur battait de bonheur. File ne voulait pas arriver en retard au bassin. Elle etait proche et pouvait voir le grand bateau pres du bassin. Des voix, quelques-unes heureuses, d ' autres tristes, brisaient le calme de la nuit. De jeunes hommes embrass- aient leurs parents et amis qui etaient venus les attendre. Apres quelques heures, le bassin redevint silencieux. Tons etaient alles chez eux; tons excepte la pauvre dame qui avait froid. Son fils n ' etait pas revenu de la guerre. Lente- ment elle retourna a sa petite maison. Marie Anne Laforest Form VI A 27

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THE DECISION C hristopher walked slowly up the elm-lined drive. Never, he reflected, never in all his eighteen years had he seen light of such quality. Clear, untainted by artificial vapours, it filtered through the leaves above him to illumine the grass on either side of the gravel path, letting only the solid tree- trunks remain dark, to emphasize the better the intricate interplay of shades of light among the leaves. A yellow- throated warbler hopped, with a delicate flutter between trees, from one half-hidden branch to another. Christopher stopped to watch it. On a day such as this, had he been God, he thought, he would have created this bird, this twittering embodiment of Light. What, he wondered, was it like to speak to Light? He would find out. He whistled softly. The bird stopped, turned its head toward him, flew down to the grass opposite. 0 bird, Christopher began, 0 light-bird — I don ' t know your own name — Hey, Chris, shouted a shrill voice coming up the path. The bird flew off. Hey, Chris, d ' ya always talk to yourself? Anyways, your old man wants you at ten in his building. Hey, what ' s the matter with you? Been sulking? Had anoth- er fight with your brother? Christopher had completely forgotten his pestiferous twelve-year-old brother, his usual excuse for over-pensive- ness to Lee. Now, he merely said grumpily, Sun ' s gone in. Well, don ' t look at me. I didn ' t put the clouds up there. Chris had other ideas about that. Ya know, Chris, your dad was nearly in a good mood when I saw him. Hope he stays like that. Yes, thank you. Lee, could you please try not to call me ' Chris ' any more? Whadja want to be called? Christopheros Edmundo, -onis, masc? No, I ' m serious. I mean ' Christopher ' , not ' Chris ' . What ' s wrong with ' Chris ' ? It ' s a lot faster, and snappier, and in-er. Audit ' s sloppy, and inconsequential-sounding, and care- lessly casual. Christopher had added a mental exclamation mark after ' in-er ' , although, or perhaps because, Lee had said it completely unconsciously. Thanks for the message, Lee. I ' ll see you in — let ' s see, English 150. ' Bye. ' He strode rather hurriedly up the path. Hey Chris, just a minute, Chris — 1 mean Chrisiop ier. What ' s the hurry, want to get rid of me, I suppose. Nice way for a guy to treat his girl friend. Girl friend! Christopher gasped. Since when had he shown any special liking for this coarse girl from the run- down area where the City Council builders were tearing up the very foundations of the shabby Edwardian apartments, as if to leave no trace of anything unplanned by the new generation of eager young architects fresh from Dalhousie. In that place, taboo to all decent Haligonians, was the probably already-doomed building which this girl called ' home ' . Christopher had seen the address, had idly watched her writing it during the chaos of freshman registration, on a torn fragment of pink paper with a crude border of hearts and arrow-lancing cupids. It was then, as he was turning away with a bored disgust, that she had glanced up brightly, and said, with her voice, harsh though it was, dripping with confident expectation of immediate acceptance, Hey, you, yes, you, are you takin ' English 150? Maths 101? Sociology 100? Only the English? Well, anyways, you wanna be my friend an ' show me round the place? I don ' t know where anything is. You gotta start right from the very beginning. Meet you tomorrow at nine fifteen, corner of South and Oxford. ' Bye bye for now , and she had vanished. Christopher, overwhelmed, had sat heavily on an already crowded bench against the panelled wall. Now what, he wondered. Should he turn up tomorrow morning, at nine fifteen, on the corner of South and Oxford streets, and wait? His whole being rebelled. Suppose his father should drive by? He would undoubtedly stop, disregarding traffic lights and indignant buses and the policeman who regularly lurked in ambush on his motorcycle on the other side of the street, and would demand to know what his well- brought-up son thought he was doing dawdling on the corn- er, like any common long-haired youth. Then, for the fifti- eth time, he would expand on his favourite theme, the diff- erence between his sons and the sons of the common herd, in the middle of which diatribe against the type of person of which she was a perfect example, Lee would appear. 26

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FORTUNE OF WAR A bloody hue flooded the western horizon marking the sun ' s grave. The far-reaching sky was concealed by a steel- blue curtain. The inky sea heaved restlessly, sending sheets of fluorescent spray arching over the destroyer ' s lunging bow. She sped stealthily onward, a slim graceful lady on the surface; an efficient and effective fighting machine beneath her grey warpaint. Her captain observed gratefully the sun- set being absorbed by the sea, for soon his ship would be protected by the cloak of night, no longer a perfectly sil- houetted target for the torpedoes of some lurking U-boat. He steered a course due west, but as soon as the last colour had drained from the sky, sent an order to the helmsman. A few minutes later, heeling hard a-starboard, the ship pointed her nose towards the frigidness and obscurity of the North Atlantic. It would be an eternity before Captain Sargeant again appreciated the solitude and relative comfort of an empty ocean. He was to be thrust into a state of life- long mental agony within the next twenty-four hours. Bom and raised by the sea, in the port of St. John ' s snuggled in the south-east coast of Newfoundland, Captain Sargeant had joined the Royal Navy as a junior gunnery officer at the outbreak of World War 1. After an honourable discharge, he had returned home and gone into his father ' s boat-building business. During the post-war years, he met a young Canadian girl from Halifax, whom he subsequently married. When storm clouds gathered over Europe and the threat of another war became imminent, Sub-lieutenant Sargeant entered the blossoming Royal Canadian Navy and sailed from Halifax the day after war was declared. Promo- tions are quick during war-time, and after distinguished ser- vice in the first dark years, he was put in command of H.M.C.A. Okanagan. That same year, his son joined the British Merchant Navy in the Silver Star, an oil tanker. Now, in 1944, when things were looking up for the Allies, Captain Sargeant, a toughened but war-weary sea dog, urged his ship northward. He had orders to join a secret convoy bound for Liverpool. The rendezvous was scheduled for 0800 hours the following morning. With the outside world a void to the human eye, and the reassuring throb of the engines ringing in his ears. Captain Sargeant took time out for a much-needed rest. Unless they disturbed a careless U-boat taking a breather on the surface, he anticipated a peaceful night closing the gap with the spot in mid-ocean where his charges would be waiting for him. Nevertheless, he left the standing order to arouse him if anything untoward came up. Once in his cabin, the Captain sat down at a makeshift desk. Extracting a large black pen from its holder, he pro- ceeded to write the day ' s events in his diary. Behind him was a bunk covered with a grey blanket. There were few of his personal belongings around save a photo of his wife in a tarnished silver frame, and a similar one of his son on a shelf at the foot of his bunk. This way he could gaze at them on awakening. Shutting his journal with a snap, he rose, checked his watch, pulled off his boots and sank with a sigh onto his bunk. Reaching up, he adjusted the voice- pipe from the bridge, so that any mumbled message could not help but resound unmercifully through his head. He drew the blanket over his crumpled uniform; sleeping un- dressed is an invitation for the unexpected to happen. The picture in his mind shattered as a harsh voice pene- trated his brain — Captain to the bridge! Dressed or not, the unexpected had arrived. Captain Sargeant hurled back his covering, and, yanking on his boots, made for the bridge. Two sailors and the Officer of the Watch huddled over the asdic repeater. Tension ran high and was intensified when the Captain issued the call to battle-stations. Then followed the clatter of many feet on the steel decks and the ship came to life as the various locations reported all hands fallen-in. Of all times to run head-on into a pack of ' sardines ' thought the Captain. Not only would he have to take dras- tic evasive action, but the last thing he wanted was to lead the U-boats by the hand to the convoy. Praying that they hadn ' t picked up the pulse of Okan- agan s propellers, Captain Sargeant reahzed that he should sit tight. The Germans were obviously going somewhere fast, not prowling around looking for a fight. The echoes picked up by the sonar became louder as the subs approach- ed in a senii-circle on the starboard bow, five ' cigar tubes ' manned by men who happened to have been brainwashed by a very nationalistically-minded leader. Captain Sargeant stared unseeing at the sea foaming over the fo ' c ' s ' le as Okanagan responded to the change in course at an angle away from the path of the U-boats. His knuckles showed white against his swarthy skin, his nails bit into his palms. In his breast pocket lay a sheet of paper containing strict instructions to maintain radio silence at all costs. And so he had to stand by and let five enemy subs proceed unharried. With radar scanning the horizon, sonar probing the depths, and binoculars trained on all quadrants of the sea. Captain Sargeant gave the order to stop engines. Officers and men alike held their breath as the enemy passed within two miles of the silent ship. Five hours later, kicking her heels behind her, H.M.C.S. Okanagan ploughed between two Unes of ships steaming slowly from horizon to horizon. With a great flourish she made a wide 90 degree turn and swept up alongside H.M.S. Duke of Cornwall, her bow wave frothing behind her to break solidly against the flagship ' s hull. Damned show- off, muttered Admiral Cartwright as he acknowledged her arrival. In charge of this vital assortment of ships, he was irritated by the tardiness of his escort and wasted no words in telling her so. Without waiting for an explanation, Cart- wright ordered Okanagan to take up position on the stem port quarter of the convoy. Captain Sargeant was a little taken aback by his reception, but leaving the matter at that, he ordered his ship to her assigned place. As part of standard practice, the Captain acquainted himself with the ships directly under his wing. The convoy was small and consisted of ships of above average speed, but still it seemed to crawl tantalizingly slowly towards Great Britain. Captain Sargeant found himself studying a small, powerful-looking vessel, obviously very new to the game. She was British, carrying tanks and ammunition to replen- ish the diminishing supphes on the war front. Heaven help 28