City Park Collegiate Institute - Park Bench Yearbook (Saskatoon, Saskatchewan Canada)

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54 THE PARK BENCH LA IVIARSEILLAISE lt was just at the moment of dawn. The bright red rays of the rising sun peeked out over the hills to the east, and then bathed the great Compiegne forest in flaming red. The white buildings of the little village of Monthois, in northern France, stood out sharply against the dark green of the surrounding countyside. The scene was altogether one of surpassing beauty, and no one had ever been more aware of it than the silent watcher on a small rise just west of the village, who viewed it from behind the barred window of a stone building, and saw it spread out beyond the wearily pacing sentries and the double row of barbed wire. When viewed closer, this man, whose name was Iacgues Loudeac, was seen to h t h d h be of about thirty years of age, bearded and raggedly clothed. As e wac e e her times when he had viewed the scene under pleasanter was thinking back to ot circumstances. There was the time, when, as a boy, with his friend Adrienne, he had gone out before dawn to catch fish in the little stream at the foot of the knoll, and had stood and watched the sun rise from this very spot. There had been no concentration camp here at that time. Iacgues thought of the days he had spent playing in that same Compiegne Forest with his sister Marie, and the picnics with his father and mother. Then his mind went to the time when he was arrested. He had been walking on the Main Street of the little village when the grey-uniformed men had appeared. They had spent halt an hour picking out twenty of the most able bodied, and Iacques had been one of them. That was six months ago. lt had not been pleasant in the camp: bad food twice a day, and the clothes he now wore were the ones which he had had on when the soldiers had arrested him: but at least it had been bearable. Then out of a blue sky had come that formal statement from the stern-faced Over-lieutenant, informing him that a German soldier had been murdered in a town across the hills and that he had been chosen to be one of the hostages to be shot in reprisal. That had been yesterday, and now he was waiting for the soldiers to come. There was the tread of marching feet, a sharp command, and a rattling at the door. lacques thought, Will I keep my nerve? Can I hold myself in? Will l be like that other one last week whom they had to drag away? The door opened, and lacgues stepped out, to be placed in the middle of the squad of soldiers. As in a dream, he allowed himself to be marched across the yard and out of the gate on to the dirt road. At that instant fear struck him, and his knees felt weak. Can l stand this much longer, he thought desperately. Will l show these soldiers that l am a coward? At that instant the song started. The country people had heard about the exe- cution and were hiding in the woods beside the rcad to watch the procession pass, and they were singing La Marseillaiseuz- Allons, enfants de la patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrive ' Onward children of your Country, The day of glory has arrived. Iacques head snapped up. lf his people had not forgotten him, then he should not disgrace them. Centre nous de la tyrannie L' e'tendard sanglant est leve'! Against you stands tyranny, The blood stained banner has been raised! The song continued. The soldiers were marching in step with it now. They turned off the trail and halted beside a small cliff. Iacques was placed in front of the cliff and the soldiers lined up before him.

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THE PARK BENCH 53 IMPRESSIONS OF CANADA I read a Wild West story before I came here, but I hardly believed it to be typical of modern Canada, as some have suggested I did. I knew Canada as a pretty and amazingly big country marked in red on the world map, and I knew about Wolfe's successful attack. Canada being so large, I don't think anyone could claim to know and like it all. But what I have seen I have liked. In spite of all the propaganda I have heard about the beauty of the prairie, I have first got used to it and then to like it. But to appreciate anything, one has to give it up. After I learned the local dialect, I found that the schools were coeducational and had mistresses. Not having been to such a school since I was knee-high to a termite, I was slightly durnbfounded. I-Iowever, everyone else didn't seem to mind, and after wandering round the school in a daze for some time, I started to work. That was a bad habit I had acquired at a small private school in England, where I was ruled with a rod of cast iron. But I soon got wise and relaxed, at least till the first dance. I thought I would relax there too, till I saw the war-dance that is jitter-bugging. The Indians had something there. Of course I immediately noted the refining feminine influence, tSexton Blake has nothing on mel. Baseball, the only Canadian sport really new to me, will provide me with a good excuse for being poor at cricket fthe bat is held differentlyl and vice versa. Of course, City Park is the best collegiate-that goes without saying. The teachers are much more resigned to their fate than in the Old Country, and the clock-watchers Cstudents are only allowed in on leashesl a lot less. I like the idea of student govern- ment, as opposed to the monitor system. One thing I really like is the variety of outside activities. Drug stores seem to be ,part of the lite in these parts, and I will always remember my first coca-cola. I was treated to it on the train by a couple of airmen, ,and though I like it now, I couldn't drink it then. Canada has meant to me a new and more varied life in a country safe from the horrors of War which I was lucky enough to miss, but can understand in part. -IOI-IN CONNELL. ff F. Szombathy- I got a way of looking into a dame's eyes that makes her forget what I look like. Mr. McKechney-- What makes you think Caesar was killed by a woman? B. Bloom- Well, when he was stabbed he cried, You Brutesslu I. Potts-Capplying for a jobl Have you an opening for a bright, energetic collegiate student? Manager- Yes, and don't forget to close it when you go out! TOP ROW: I. Who says he's tired? 2. Not so fast. 3. Discouraging, isn't it? SECOND ROW: I, Momma, buy me one of them. 2. End run. 3. Heading for the stars??? THIRD ROW: I. Our Chinese population. 2. Eyes up, Doug. BOTTOM LEFT: I. Stranger did they go this way. 2. Shaver lays on egg. BOTTOM RIGHT: I. They did a fine job.

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THE PARK BENCH 55 Why don't they hurry? To Iacques they seemed to be deliberately torturing him. The rifles were raised. Now its coming, l've got to hold on now. And through all this the scng continued: lls viennent jusgue dans nos bras, Egorger nos tils, nos compagnes. They are coming into our arms, To slaughter our sons, our friends. A silence. Fire! The hills echoed back thesound of the valley. The figure beiore the cliff stilfened for an instant and then slumped tc the ground. But suddenly the song retumed, at once triumphant and I little sad. Triumphant cver the ccming victory of France, and sad because of the deatlrr ct one of her sons. Aux armes, citoyens, iormez vos bataillcns! Marchons, Marchons, Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons! To arms, citizens! prepare your battalions! March on, March on! Let their vile blood flow through our fieldsl' Marchons, Marchons! Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons! -BRUCE CLARKE, BOCKS The world doth lie, shining, beneath the gaze Ot him who views it from the page of books. Before him lie, seen through a silver haze, Treasures of such brilliance, that human looks Would never see by ordinary ways. A glowing wonderland unfolds around, From stories, and from poetry, and lays Ot ancient days, and also modern sound. You live al thousand lives, both old and new. You laugh with Shakespeare, Steele, and Wodehouse, too, And cry with Dickens, Pce, and Burns, and you Do thrill with Shelley, Keats, and others who Felt strong within them freedom's ilame. All these Do guide you o'er this lite's tumultuous seas. -BRUCE CLARKE. l suppose your landlord asks a lot for the rent cf this place. A lot? He asks me for it nearly every week. Mr. Anderson Cat lost and found tablel Does this book belong to you? The name is obliterated. Sludent- No sir, my name is O'Brien.