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

Page 45 text:

E. H. S. YEAR BOOK 4 : The Graduates, 1933 And Mike is a wrestler, his strength is that of seven, If you wrestle with him, you’d best prepare for Heaven; He likes to study history, of Kings and Knights and Squires, It was the game of chess, that many a youth inspires. Grace Morrison has but a half day in school, Her afternoon’s spent on a tall kitchen stool; She makes all the pies with pastry that’s slim And times all her baking by chanting a hymn. Now Mildred knows cattle, she comes from the farm. Not like the Lord Nelson who had but one arm; She’s clever at milking, with pail and with stool, She’ll be President next year of Edmonton Pool. Jo Flesher has got a Napoleon streak, You pin her in Elba, she’ll escape in a week; You tie her all up in a sack full of learning, You see her next day, ’tis the sack she is burning. One pauses to think of our Cliff as a man, For ten years he’s been in old Astrakan; He’s teaching the Turk to make power out of streams But still he’s a Clark with fancies and dreams. Yes, Edge is a keen one, he’s good at his comp., Just wrestles with words, and has a good romp; And knee-deep he stands in sentence and phrases, And sometimes he swears, as, ‘you go to blazes’. Some students, like houses, have attics to spare, And Sadie is one, her mind pastures there; Renewing old dreams when Time was her own, Strange bats in the attic? Oh no, they are flown.

Page 44 text:

42 E.H.S. YEAR BOOK The Graduates, 1933 They come to our classes and taste of our cheer, They surely must like us, to stay for a year; Here’s Frances S. Reeves, leaves teaching out east To share in Grade Twelve intellectual feast. Now Grassick comes on in a black and white sweater, His mates all agree no pal could be better; A dreamer of worlds that are other than ours, Alexander he seems when he shows all his powers. Fred Wheatley just moves in the shade of another, His only shortcoming, he had a big brother; His brain is as keen, he’s sure just as clever, No credit he gets for his skill or endeavor. Here’s Taylor again, we thought he had gone, He loves us so much, he felt so forlorn; Just halftime at Eastwood, McDougall takes halt, These divisions in love make everyone laugh. And William has trouble, a Nikipilo too, He found the lost X, now there’s nothing to do; So tragic for Eastwood, if X came to light, For William, no homework, he’d die in a fright. Let Eric called Wampus or Ward as you please, Distinguish himself by living at ease; No subject can flaunt him, he’s bound to secure The value of Knowledge, revealed or obscure. And here’s Janet Sheldon all smiling with glee, In spite of the troubles that vex you and me; She shines like Aurora, and brightens the room, And teaching’s a pastime, she scatters the gloom.

Page 46 text:

44 E. H. S. YEAR BOOK The Graduates, 1933 And William Tanasiuk ploughs with lean kine, They were bred in Dakota in year ’99; He says they are old, but better for wear, He’ll sell them to John, who lives at Mundare. John Coyne has a trick of sailing down north, When study is hard, and Spring’s breaking forth; He loves the deep forest and broad open spaces, Where men are just men, and girls are but faces. And here’s Harold Orser, a maker of lath, He got a wild notion, when taking a bath; That suds that escape are no good to the bather, He’d make himself into a permanent lather. And here’s Margaret Reid like Micawber in Dickens Still watching the eggs that should have been chickens; As quiet a lassie as ever drew breath, She follows the chase, and will be in at the death. Now Margerite Woods, a student till death, She bustles to school, and arrives out of breath; We hear in the country she makes quite a stir, Cyclones or tornadoes have nothing on her. Then Mary the singer, with Nikipilo chime, She changes our metre, we cannot make it rhyme; We see her with turkeys, they sit in a ring, The eggs will hatch quicker, if Mary will sing. Here’s Kenneth K. Wallace, as calm as you please, Promoter of orchestras, percussion and keys; It seems that we still have the Music of Spheres, So pleasing a motion, it moves you to tears.