Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

Page 28 text:

24 The Branksome Slogan the time came to say good-bye to all the new friends that I made among the English girls. The remaining week was spent at Eastbourne, where the outstanding event was a visit to Herstmonceux Castle, to which we had been invited for lunch by its owner, Sir Paul Latham. Just seven weeks after our arrival at Liverpool, we set sail again, from Southampton, on the Empress of Australia, with telegrams of Bon Voyage from the King and Queen, and Queen Mary, and with memories that we shall always cherish. MARGARET HARRISON, Form V. Muskoka A small, pine-clad island lies dreaming in a blue Muskoka lake. Grey rocks, moss-covered, reach down into the water. Jutting into lake is a small, log pier to which is tied a brave, red canoe. Half hidden among the pines is a small log cabin. It is old and beaten by wind and rain, but the windows are wide and there is a verandah which faces the sunset. For many years I have spent my summers on this land and have come to know it and to love it more than any other place. The dawns in Muskoka are glorious. One morning I woke just before daybreak. The lake lay grey beneath the grey sky. The shores were dim and ghostlike in the distance. The eastern sky became brighter and the first faint pink streaks began to colour the sky. The pink deepened into rose as I watched and daylight began to spread across the lake. Suddenly crimson and gold splashed the eastern sky. The sun rose above the pines and dappled the island with golden light. The air that morning was cool and fresh. The morning breeze brought with it the pungent odour of pine-needles. I went down to the lake for a swim. The water was sparkling against the rocks in its cool northern way. I dived in. The cold water took my breath away and I rose to the surface gasping. All about me the water was ruffled and shaken. Circling ripples reached the rocks and splashed against them. I spend much of my time canoeing. One morning I paddled along near the shore of the lake. Grey rocks hung over the water and dreaming pines were reflected in its depths. Ivies crept through the mosses on the shore. I turned into a small bay. It was long and narrow and full of reflections. A half-submerged log, covered with moss, lay near the shore. I paddled in slowly, leaving a trail of shaking shadows and reflections behind me. Ahead of me a frog swam madly for shore, scarcely breaking the water as he moved. A lonely bird dipped across the bay and disappeared into the forest. The afternoons are long and warm. A drowsy wind blows across the island, scarcely moving the canoe as it lies against the pier. Dragon-flies with brittle wings swoop across the water. I lie on the warm, sunny pier and listen to the gentle lap, lap of the water against the logs until I fall asleep.