Glebe Collegiate Institute - Lux Glebana Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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1. THE WALLS OF ROME. 4. SEA COWBOY CHILDRENS DAY, Bois DE BOULOGNE. 5. H BLACKROCK CASTLE, CORK. 3. MARKET DAY, GLENGARIFF, EIRE. 6. ATHENIAN TRANSPORT. 7. UNLOADING HAY AT BIRKENHEAD

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ones, such as the stoats and weasels, satis- fied their hunger on the numerous rabbits among them. The lynx, hunched, be- draggled, on astump in the water, spat fear and hate at a bull moose, who swung his shovel-like antlers as he lifted his heavy head from searching for succulent grasses on the floor of the lake. Later in the day, clouds gathered in the West. Rain poured in torrents upon the smoking landscape. The occupants of the sand bar began to disperse into the charred forest. The danger was over: the fire was out. Pklkvk A Story From the Old Folks by Harold Willis AVE YOU ever been present at a gathering of the old folks? Have you ever listened to their tales of, when I was young or, I can remember when? Sometimes these stories are so very fantastic, they carry you away with mirth, but sometimes they leave you puz- zled, wondering. Those that involve mys- tery and superstitition, the same that make you peer closely into the dark before going upstairs to bed, are perhaps the most inter- esting. Ant it is one of these latter that I wish to relate to you. Decide for yourself whether it was merely an hallucination, or a fiesh-and-blood truth. Pkvlfvk Marybelle sat with her parents before the fire-place in which glowed faintly the last embers of what had been a great roaring fire. There were no electric lights in those days, and as no one had bothered to light a lamp, the large room was almost in dark- ness. A silence had descended on the room just as had the shadows when the flames withdrew. No one stirred, no one spoke. Even the wind outside had paused for the moment, breathless. Suddenly, out of the night rang a piercing scream, that sent shivers up and down the spines of each of that quiet group of three, and chilled them to the marrow of the bone. What was that? The question flashed across their minds though they knew it was the cry of some terrified human being. The fiames lept up again as they caught LUX GLEBANA on one last piece of wood that had somehow gone untouched. The darkness lifted from the room, and the wind began to blow, whistle, and roar. Mary-belle reached the window long be- fore her parents and was gazing out with wide fear-filled eyes trying to pierce the gloom. Nothing was there, the river close by seemed to be going on as before. The bridge was desertedg no sign of life could be seen. That night, the poor frightened girl was unable to sleep. She tossed restlessly from side to side while in her mind were conjured hideous phantoms, spectres, spirits, and screaming people. v The next morning, word was brought that her uncle had been found in the river,- drowned. A few weeks passed and the rather my- sterious death of Mary-belle's uncle ceased to be a topic among the superstitious towns-people. They had reasoned it out step by step-all except the answer. The deceased had, been in the habit of crossing the bridge going to and from work. He had been happy at home with a wife and children. It was unlikely that he had com- mitted suicide, and yet, how else could the question of his death be explained? Surely no one had pushed him off? Although mourning was still observed among the friends and relatives of the un- fortunate man, everyone went about their respective business. Life was marching on in spite of death! In the mind of Mary- belle, however, that dark night and that one awful scream had made a vivid impres- sion. Being little more than a child, her imagination served to increase her fear and suspicion. Then, one night when every one was sound asleep and the house in. darkness, Mary- belle awoke to hear a voice calling, Mary. . .Mary ...... come here. Without the power 'to resist, she arose and with slow hesitant steps, went in the direction of that strange voice. As she reached the hall, there before her stood her uncle-returned from the grave. Terrified, she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Fear had rendered her speechless. With cold staring eyes and expressionless face, the spirit came forward and in that same strange voice that she had heard moaned, I was pushed from the bridge, Mary. I was pushed from the bridge, Mary. continued on page 77 PageQ37'

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-1.--.--+Travelogues Edited by F. PARKER EUl'0p26l1 SUITIITICI' by Francis J. MacNamara T ALL started in Room 213. Wily old Ulysses, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Richard Halliburton, and a host of other shadowy figures in literature and history were the instigators. Early spring was quickening the blood. Form IVG were hearing of the restlessness of Penelope's aged but vigorous spouse on Ithaca. A student came in to report on his reading of Halliburton's The Glorious Adventure . Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrowsg Those lines had sent Halliburton winging away, said the reporting Third Former. Push off-- I leaned out the window, sniffed the spring air and took a deep resolve. June 24 saw me on the deck of a cattle- boat in Montreal harbour. I have not seen Montreal since. For nine days I was a sea cowboy. Our gang of twenty included such diverse elements as a Harvard senior and a Hamilton steel puddler, a sick Maltese sailor and an Ottawa school teacher. We slept in springless bunks, ate coarse food and fed and watered eight hundred cattle. Some of us were very sick and when the sun came out and the magic hills of Donegal gleamed on the starboard bow, a cheer went up. . In the short scope of this article one can- not begin to compress events which would require a volume if they were treated ade- quately. A glance at the accompanying sketch map will illustrate the wide range of the summer's wanderings. Only some high- lights can be mentioned. England we toured on the excellent English bicycles. We saw the misty hills of the Lake Country and the sad slag-heaps of South Wales. We ate the best food of the summer in Scotland and loitered in Dum- LUX GLEBANA fries, flagrant with the memories of Robert Burns. In London my experiences varied from the dives of Limehouse and White- chapel to a sight of the King and Queen waving from the balcony of Buckingham Palace. In Ireland we witnessed the Orange cele- bration in Belfast on July 12, stood and mused on the silent battlefield of the Boyne, lingered in Drogheda, mindful of Cromwell's massacre, were hard put to escape from friendly, leisurely, eighteenth century Dublin and assisted at the unveiling of a tablet on the house where John McCormick was born in Athlone. I loitered too long in Ireland visiting Kilkee, the village on the wild west coast where my grandparents were born, and as a consequence had to cycle 112 miles in one day to catch the boat at Ross- lare. Living in the British Isles cost us little. We slept in the Youth Hostels for a shilling a night, and picnicked by the roadsidewhen weather permitted. All told, we ate, slept and travelled for less than a dollar a day. Youth Hostel accommodation ranged in grandeur from Hoddom Castle in Scotland, to a three-room, thatched cottage in Raholp, a hamlet in County Down. Leaving our faithful bikes behind, veterans of a thousand miles of cycling, we crossed the Channel and first trod the historic soil of France at Dieppe. Continental travel is dirt cheap and convenient and as the sands of our summer were running out, a faster than cycling pace was necessary. A fast French auto-rail rushed us to Paris at one hundred and thirty-two kilometres an hour, after we had sat in Rouen's ancient market place to reconstruct the martyrdom of St. Joan of Arc. Henry James said All good Americans go to Paris when they die . I am glad we did not have to wait that long. Seeing the dawn come up behind the flying buttresses of Notre Dame is an unforget- table sight. We paused at Clermont among the Puys of - Auvergne where the First Crusade was launched, and spent some in- credibly sunny days at Avignon where we danced sur la. pant , and at the old Roman towns of Arles and Nimes. Since the ' Page 39