Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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The Branksome Slogan 27 A Bad Fall The wind was blowing cold and raw, I got up feeling rather damp, That day was dull and wet, My books were everywhere; With books, I ventured from the school, The algebra was swathed in mud, And for my home, was set. Touch it, I ;did not dare. But as I reached the French House steps, I slipped upon some ice. And with a clumsy thud I fell. Which didn ' t feel so nice! My green umbrella, dripping wet, Was useless for that day. So I walked home through slush and rain, Like some wet dog, astray. GRACE WHEELWRIGHT. (Age 14.)

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26 The Branksome Slogan Canada ' s Past and Future Twenty years ago, in Southern Al- berta, a small sod house was built about seventy miles from the railroad. The land was all in the raw state, with no trees or shrubs of any description to be seen. The closest neighbors were about fifteen miles away. Barren, indeed, and lonely, were these prairies of the West. You would never know our little sod house now though! It is quite grown up, and very modern. Eight acres of trees and garden surround it, with a little lake in one corner of the garden. Perhaps the little sketch of the sod house, and the picture of the new home, will give you an idea of the changes made. Large fields of wheat now wave in the breeze, where there was only prairie grass before, since this part of the country is in the greatest wheat raising district in the West. The farm has grown so that it now consists of 4,500 acres, and is divided into three farms known as ' Togelvik Farms . Neighbors are only about a mile away, and the railroad is eleven miles distant. Trees have been planted around most of the homes. Per- haps you would like to come and see my little home when passing thro ' the West? Do! HELEN ANDERSON.

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28 The Branksome Slogan A Bull Fight In the West Indies, especially in Pana- ma, bull-fights seem to be quite as com- mon as our game of rugby. As I was visiting Panama in the season of bull- fights, I decided to see one and judge for myself how cruel it really was, or whether it was much worse than rugby after all. Grasping my ticket in one hand and my precious Spanish translation in the other, I was finally shown my seat by one of the ushers, who seemed to under- stand my poor Spanish. Gazing around me with interest, my eyes fell upon the entrance into the ring of a black carriage drawn by four white horses, which came to a stand at a beau- tifully decorated box; this, I thought, must be some great personage of title. Then as the cheering arose, I saw the Governor-General of Panama step out of the carriage, followed by his family. The arrival of the Governor-General must have been the signal for the en- trance of the Toreador, for he entered the ring a moment later, and was greeted by a great shouting from the people. I was more anxious to see the entrance of the bull, and turned my gaze to where it entered by means of two heavily barred doors, which shut the bull in a small ring, while the Toreador entered. With a wave of the Toreador ' s flag, the barred doors opened and as quickly as I could see it happen, the bull was half way across the ring, charging the Toreador with all its might. I was about to scream to warn the Toreador of the bull ' s approach, but my cry died in my throat as I saw the Toreador leap lightly to the side, as the bull passed him. The next few minutes I seemed to be living in a nightmare as bull and man fought and dodged each other with skil- ful ease. The bull now seemed to be tiring of its fruitless efforts to down its antagonist, gave a mighty roar, which made my blood freeze, and leapt at the Toreador, taking him unawares. He fell to the ground bleeding, while the bull saw another chance to crush him with his dangerous horns. I noticed the Toreador, cut and bleed- ing, slowly rise to a sitting position, and reach for a small dagger hidden in his belt, and as the bull lunged towards him, he plunged the dagger with all his strength between its forelegs. The bull, with a dying roar, once more tried his attack, but another mighty plunge of the dagger, directed at his heart, caused a groan and thud to follow, and, as the bull fell to its death, the Toreador fell unconscious to the ground. I stumbled away from the ghastly scene, as quickly as I possibly could, be- ing now well convinced that I would rather see a thousand rugby games than try and look pleased and excited at a bull fight. Thus I left the gruesome scene behind, feeling that I could never see a bull again without becoming death- ly ill. HELEN MURRAY.