Eastwood High School - Gazette Yearbook (Edmonton, Alberta Canada)

Page 38 text:

36 E.H.S. YEAR BOOK The Graduates, 1933 McArthur the bold, the brawny and bluff, An earl by his nature, and name sure enough; He levels an axe at the falsehood and lie, No crook need appear, if Earl is just nigh. And Edith MacArthur, well, what shall we say, She speaks and she speaks, without an allay; Continuous throbbing, like vibrating wool, A movement of Dawn, when the night has been cool. When Ivor was little, no cradle would fit him, And now he is grown, no boxer can hit him; Sure Hughes is a good one, so tall, and yet brainy, He prophesies weather, by Charles’ Wa Ne. Fair Edith MacQuarrie from Room Twenty-One, Just struggles in Spring for a place in the sun; She believes it is thought that a blind is a ban, But ’tis color she wants, the color of tan. Our readers must tire of this ill-fitting rhyme, But Edna will show you a theme more sublime; Just look at the lines of her school-loving face, The Madsen that gleams, sure it’s fun you can trace. And Matwichuk boasts of the first name of Mike, He thinks of his studies as just a long hike; By chemistry paths, and Physics-Two Road, He carries his studies as one does a load. Two Davids we own on our Eastwood High books, Both slingers of fame and wielders of crooks; McKill is the smaller, he tunes the sheep bell, And trains the young lambs to bleat in the dell.

Page 37 text:

E.H.S. YEAR BOOK 35 The Graduates, 1933 Now Frances Pattullo, serene and demure, Sings daily for pastime, a voice sweet and pure; She’ll weather Depressions, and longer than that, She sings in the Glee Club, and never sings flat. Up Goliath the Philistine, Olson for short, Has made a fly-swatter, fly swatting’s his sport; He got it from David, who made him a sling, He scores on the fly, but not on the wing. up Now Blodwen named Morris, she’s Welsh to the bone, Ac I fi, she’s A Briton, her Accents her own; She likes Lloyd and Llan gollen, Llewellyn and Gwynne, For there’s ‘L’ in her speech, she wears her words thin. Here’s Catherine Morgan, most comfortable girl, Would quiet a cyclone, or any big swirl; So even in temper, we think she would make The frantic grow calm, in any earthquake. And David the Second now skates into ken, He’s good with the puck as the Eskimo men; Moran has a liking for honey and cheese, We see him a farmer, with cattle and bees. And Ken is another, A Mitchell that’s squared. Has parts that would make a North British laird; His accent alone is not unlike plaid, When he comes in the room, you think there’s a raid. Jack Mitchell is shy, but has plenty of sand, His knowledge will grow if you feed him by hand; We think there’s a place in Post Office employ, He’d make a good sorter, knows gold from alloy.

Page 39 text:

E.H.S. YEAR BOOK 37 The Graduates, 1933 Two girls we have gained from the Separate School High. Suzanne we have noted, now Olga sails by; So pleasant in chatter, a velvety voice, For Olga Pisesky is quiet and choice. tsp Tom Pomphrey is working at massage and plumbing, He wipes a joint best when his brain is not humming; But sorry to say he used a pipe wrench To massage for lock-jaw, from speaking in French. And here’s Arthur Crockett, he’s quite out of place, He just stepped in here to show you his face; He’s eleven and not twelve but that’s quite all right, We grade all the stars by the power of their light. And now let us pause, Everett Rice stands alone, ’Tis bread that he wants, we give him a stone; The cupboard of study to him is quite bare Only bones of contention are Everett’s fare. George Robertson now has an eye for the task, You’ve only to tell him, he, only to ask; In Science and Maths, he cuts quite a figure, You fire him a question, he presses the trigger. Now Irene’s a girl with a strong Scottish strain, She’s Ross to the bone, it comes out in her brain; You speak against Burns, or rail against Scott, You cannot but Laud Her defiance so hot. Ruth Runnalls will tell you what makes up a diet Why loafers make bread, and need but to try it; Economies all of the Household kind, You bite it before you throw it behind.