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

Page 40 text:

18 E.H.S. YEAR BOOK The Graduates, 1933 And some girls are calm as a cloud in the sky, And that’s just like Fanny, she’ll scarce blink her eye; A Shillabeer true with no tempest of soul, She’d quiet the Dipper if it clicked at the Pole. And Mary, like Fanny, is sweet as the rose, At home she is Short, ’tis there where she blows; Time withers our petals, we’ve lost our perfume, But Mary will ever continue to bloom. Then Simonson Cliff, a boy of rare parts, Makes omens for Almanacs, and sketches brain charts; He’s now on a trip to the Samoan Isle A prophet makes money, there’s profit in guile. Here’s Cecil called Simpson, diviner by trade, Can tell where there’s water, in valley or glade; We’ll hire him and willow, we have enough rain, He’ll test all the water that floats on the brain. Sure Betty’s the Rep. of our Room Twenty-One, Takes fees and gives orders, as it should be done; And now she is working on Income Tax sheets, The form is in creases, the tax is in pleats. When Skedanuk Charlie, looking for more, Like Oliver Twist, then two tens to a score; Turned up at the desk in quiet surmise He Kneaded the numbers, and that made them rise. Frank Skinner is skilled at the fiddle and bow, His up-strokes are fast, his down-strokes are slow; But what we don’t know is where Frank gets his skill The Orchestra boasts that his fiddle’s a thrill.

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.

Page 41 text:

E.H.S. YEAR BOOK 39 The Graduates, 1933 ’Tis rare chat we have a school-boy de luxe. But Skinner shows taste in the candy he sucks; For Lawrence can flavor the poem he reads Give Lit. an aroma, and work while he feeds. Here’s Betty the buxom, a singer of glees, As bright as the sunrise, profound as you please; She’ll tune up the nightingale’s tongue to the lyre And light your best incense with Promethean fire. A Smith we have here of orchestra fame, No Irishman he, though Emerald by name; For Eastwood he charms, as once in old time The cow was inspired, so says the old rhyme. John Sollanych runs a mixed farm near Mundarc, He breeds the best cattle you see at the Fair; A patent for milking, he’s made from a drill, The cows all prefer it, it gives such a thrill. George Springham comes now, no salesman with patter. So cool in the head, his teeth sometimes chatter; A lad of good sense, and strong in control, He burrows through Knowledge, and makes a big hole. And Isabel rises with care on her brow, No wrinkles for problems that one would allow; For Isabel Stanley, refined in her taste, Finds sugar gone up, no sweetness to waste. Here’s Margaret called Storie, she’s known by her voice A pleasant soprano, her top notes are choice; You’ll hear of her later in Festival time The warmth of her music, the Spring of her rhyme.