Central Etobicoke High School - Etobian Yearbook (Etobicoke, Ontario Canada)

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Feeble Fiction One of the forms of current American literature is the pocket-book form of fiction . One of the things to be noted about these books is the cover. It is interesting to note that ninety percent of them show us a man and o woman . Usually they are seen standing facing each other, but often are found reclining on beaches lor anything else that will attract the attention of the censorl . Almost always the woman is in a gown which she never actually wears, in the true sense of the word, but rather lets it cling to her. The man is always young and clean-shaven, and is usually found looking into the woman's eyes with nimble- brained denseness. How one would like to see a real man come up and land him a solid kick from behind. The interior of the book is much duller than the cover. The characters are introduced simply as the man and the woman. She is usually the wife of another man. The stories soon become so filled with suspense and drama that they demand to be expressed in a whole new language of their own. One scene might run like this. He had found her in his room when he returned to the hotel. He stood looking at her. Even though her back was to him, she could sense his presence. They stood there sensing each other. She turned . So you've come back, he iced. Yes! she snurgled desperately, and you cannot refuse me, for . . . For what? he crooked, his ears rising several inches in expectation. She glooped him straight in the eye . For he knows everything , she replied . His ears fell heavily by the side of his head . No, it cannot bel he gurgled. But it is! she glumped, it is! Suddenly the door flew open . It was he, the other man, her husband . He faced them, a supercilious sneer curling his lip. He held o gun. So it was you, he snickled, looking the man in the face. The man smiled weakly and fainted. You! the woman cried, icing her husband straight in the face. You followed us here, you have a gun, what are you going to do? Heavens to Betsy! She threw herself on his breast with a broken sob. Oh, what have I done? Forgive me! I-I love you, she slobled, her voice spilling with guff. No, Hortense, it is I who am to blame. I allowed you to run loose about the city while I attended meetings of the Old Fellows' Sewer scrubbing Club. You never loved me. Now I have nothing left. Good-bye, my beloved . He threw her passionately across the room . Suddenly she heard a sharp report in the hallway. A flood of warm liquid swirled across the room . Her husband's voice was heard crying, Hortense. Come quicklyl Help me! The radiator's sprung a pIug! She fainted. Wirzter' The morning is dark The sky very blue Down the road some students are walking. Hurry, you fools! Remember the rules Walk faster and cutout that talking. The time is past nine No, there isn't a fine- Still, a penalty for being late! You may get a detention Yes, even suspension So why should you risk such a fate? The hours are set And lest you forget, They are there for you to adhere to. You can save your regret And with scorn not be met If you're there well in time for the set-to. This is my rhyme. No, it isn't sublime, But it sure took a lot of my time. Uhr Big Storm The forecast threatens every day To bring a heavy storm, The ads are filled with winter clothes And rubbers dry and warm. And as we leave for school this morn All wrapped in scarves we go, To wade and plunge our weary way Through endless drifts of snow. The cars are stuck, their tires clo spin, And drivers? Have no fears, Instead their brimstone curses ring While grind their clashing gears. The teachers are so late that morn What ioy the pupils know, For weary, wet, half-frozen staffs No sympathy they show. But soon the wind and snow are gone, They stop their wintry blast, The traffic moves, the streets are clear, King Winter leaves at last. I9 I A

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She .fion As the first ray of daylight reflects off the brown and purple veldt, The lean and muscular body of the lion emerges from its lair, Walking unpurposely over the vibrant veldt, blossoming with vivacious hues, that once was his kingdom. But now fear is in the heart of this mighty and brave monarch, Like a coward he crouches low, hiding among the mysterious shadows, Age! Once he was a brave and a mighty monarch ruling his huge kingdom, As his roar, like a rolling thunder, angry, maiestic and commanding, would break the silence of the peaceful plain. But, man, the destroyer of living things, has cast a shadow of death . X If fe , ft if V! , M fs 'F 17 lx ll ll ltlxll X 1 it il Nl X I A K! xx QPK4.. With Uhoughts of ,fave The pine trees swayed softly, The sun glistened above, His heart filled with gladness, He had fallen in love. His love was no mad one Of passion and flair, But one filled with kindness, With trust, and with care. And he thought, as he sat there With her at his side, That they could be carefree With God as their Guide. Then the sun slowly faded, From the old hollow log, Home trod the two lovers: A boy and his dog. I8 Uhe GOUACY Who 's the stranger, mother dear? Look, he knows us, ain't he queer? Hush, my boy, don't talk so wild. He's your father, dearest child. He's my father? No such thing. Father died away last spring. Father didn't die, you dub! Father joined the golfing club. Then as seasons always close, He comes home to sit and doze. No place left for him to roam, That is why he's coming home. See he's not so queer my child All those golfing guys are wild. feflections When you are bitter and filled with doubt, Rest awhile, and dream, and think of the world about A winter tree etched on a sunset sky, At dawn the wild geese winging by, An evening star, new born, The sweetness of early morn . June-bugs droning in the noon-day glow, Street-lamps spraying diamonds on the snow, A mountain top, serene and cool, Still leaves mirrored in a mountain pool. A Springtime song you can't quite recall, The golden haze of early fall, The warmth of a beloved friend, The lights of home as you round the bend. Seek love and faith, and ask not proof, ls not God 's earth the simplest truth?

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A Day in the Life of a Boy A little boy leaning against a fence post Saturday morning with nothing to do,-just doesn't seem right. But it was happening, and to a little fellow called Joe. Mom had told Joey to go out and do something, anything-just to get out of her way. But what can a fellow do when all the rest of the gang has gone on a hike, and a fellow hasn't even a dog to take for a walk? Poor Joe, nothing to do, no one to play with, and no place to go. Might just as well walk around town and see what's doing. Walking is a very poor pastime for a boy who is raring to go, and has no place to go. There's the school. Nothing doing there, justa few little kids playing around in the sandbox and on the swings. Nothing for the red- blooded boy to do. Freshly baked bread,-what a lovely smell,-is coming from Hansen's bakery just around the comer. But I guess they don't hand out samples to a little guy like Joey. On past Sloon's Sport- ing Goods Store, gee, that sure is a keen football in the window, but what's the use of having a football if there is no one to play football with. The town's park,-every citizen is proud of this park with its foundations and duck pond. Well, might as well walk around there, cause there's nothing else to de. Same old fellow, sitting on the same old bench, feeding the same old pigeons. Guess he thought Joey, There's a nurse out wheeling a baby in a pram. Pretty soft job, but all that walking. I guess it must be rather hard on the feet. Sergeant O'Hara, the town's only policeman, was walking his beat, across the grass, just by the sign No Walking . Cops are really lucky, no one to bawl them out when they do something wrong, not like me, Joey mused. Two little girls played jacks. Aw, that's just a girls' game thought Joey as he strolled past. If Joey wasn't such a man, you would have thought there were tears in his eyes. No, that's just a little dust in his eye, or maybe he is just catching cold. Sure sounds like it from that little sniffle. Out of the park, across the street, and Joey came to a halt in front of the rail-road tracks. Often wondered how far they went, might as well follow them. Step after step, kicking stones and sand as he goes, Joey walks on for a few minutes. This is very silly, just walking--he remem- bers that the train tracks just go to the next town. Might as well turn around and head for home. Seems almost time for lunch by the gnawing feeling in his stomach. Back cross the tracks, through the town park, past Sloan's with the football still sitting in the window, post the bakery and the school. The fence and the back porch loom into view. Up the steps and in the back door. Joey's wanderings are over. You have often seen a little fellow wandering along the street and have wondered where he came from, and where he is going. Now you know. He is probably just another Joey with nothing to do and no place to go on a perfect has nothing to do, just like me, Saturday morning . 67011 O mountain - majestic, sombre, oblique, Thou'rt sculptured by a loving Hand, Thy unshakable base ls clothed in pines spiring e'er upward. Thy friend, the sun, hath blessed thee, For his fiery tongues Have bathed and enhanced thy bronze, time-worn face. With warm golden hues 20 .Mountain That paint enchantment on tree. Legendary queens and kings of rock Have lived in thy castle. Thy cliffs and ledges have shelterefd the bear, The goat, the deer, the chipmunk, and squirrel The eagles have nestled in thy sanctuary, And God hath made thee so complete As to place a white crown on thy noble brow, And a halo o'er thy head.