Ashbury College - Ashburian Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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12 THE ASHBURIAN assistants, is growing, or rather has grown, to the limit of its capacity. 'lt may xvell be called The Rugby of Canada. To say: I was a pupil at Ashbury is at once an honor and a pride, for among its attendance are some of the best names in the Dominionf Like all schools, Ashbury since the death of its founder has met uneven times. XYclcome, then, was the news the l-leadmaster gave the school in Alay that Mr. Pickering, the grandfather of four boys inthe Junior School, had made a trust of 3l00,000 for the education at Ashbury of a few boys whose parents could not normally be expected to afford the fees. Filling in the gaps, we owe thanks to the Apostolic Delegate for giving Roman Catholic boys at Ashbury the privilege of using his do- mestic chapel. XVe have to say goodbye to Alf. Glyn james who is taking over the chaplaincy at Trinity College School, to Alr. de Corcuera who has built himself one of the more unusual country establishments in Que- bec, and to Mr. Alexander who is taking his cannon to the town of Pre- scott. The list of boys leaving is given later. To Bill l-laughton, and to all: Godspeed. For those who remain there are the following remarks: 'l see no hope for the future of our people if they are dependent on the frivolous youth of today, for certainly all youth is reck- less beyond words. U'hen l was a boy, we were taught to be discreet and respectful of elders, but the present youth is exceed- ingly xvise and impatient of restraintf -Hesiod, about 800 B.C. And there is one request for the Administration: may cups please be put on the candlestands in Chapel to save the ladies' dresses at Christmas- time? COHUJZZIIYZEIIU of THE TURUNTO-DUMINIUN BANK

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14 THE AsHBUR1AN A BRIDGE FOR THE MAQUIS lt was in the spring of 1944, when the Germans had decided to crush the resistance movement in the 'maquisf Three determined men, lying in the humid grass, were looking at a bridge, some 500 yards down the track. At the other end of the bridge, the chimney on top of the cabin smoked lightly, evoking the agreeable sight of coffee, the enhancing feeling of warmth . . . But it was cold. Simon lowered his binoculars and puffed in his hands to warm them. He could hear the short breath of Pepe and Marco's teeth clashing in his mouth. 'lt's not fear, you know, Engineerf said Marco in a low voice', 'itls the cold . Simon turned around and winked at him. Then, suddenly, all three held their breath. A soldier had just come out of the cabin, and walked on the bridge, adjusting the sling of his rifle on his shoulder. After a few paces, he went to the balustrade and spat into the stream. Then, he started his solitary walk again, looking at the mountains. Simon thought he heard, very far down in the valley, behind the slopes, a distant and faint rumble. 'lt must be the convoy', he told him- self, 'it will be here in less than an hour, and by that time the bridge will have to be blown'. Simon sighed. 'Letls go', he said. It was hard for him to stop looking at the elegant arch that joined the two slopes, the solid concrete foundations that supported with grace the platform. The bridge gave an impression of strength, power and daring, combined with beauty and elegance. 'Are you dreaming, Comrade? asked Marco. The two men were already up and were loading on their shoulders the heavy sacks that contained the necessary material. Simon straightened himself, took the explosives and followed them. They went down the woody slope. Their soft shoes slid silently on the pine needles. Simon's head, strangely enough, was clear and organized. He had photographed the bridge, he knew where to place the charge, and where to hide the mechanism that would provoke the explosion. He had no questions to ask himself. Last night, a messenger had arrived at their camp. He had asked Simon: 'Are you the engineer? 'lt seems sol 'You have to blow Bridge 22 ovcr the Renansao. A convoy is due to pass at 4 o'clock on the 15th. You have to destroy the bridge to stop it. These are orders'.