Guelph Collegiate Vocational Institute - Acta Nostra Yearbook (Guelph, Ontario Canada)

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0 V --- A-if . ,ACTA NOSTRA 5l Urcleal By A111 rgrl re It was hot. Toronto was in the grip of the longest heat wave of its history. A tree toad sang and the dust, where grass used to be, burned Christie's toes as he idly traced a pattern in it. A few children played and quarrelled fitfully on the otherwise deserted street. Christie's mother, a thin, homely woman with graying hair and a tired defeated way of walking, had made nine- year-old Christie wear a hat to protect his fair features. But in spite of all her maternal watchfulness. his turned-up nose had become that bright pink which always seems to accompany light blue eyes and blonde curly hair. Christie! came a shrill voice from the kitchen. Then a head appeared at the screen door. Oh, there you are! X'Vhy d0n't you run out to the front and play with the boys? Christie looked up uninterestedly. Then slowly he got to his feet and startf ed to amble towards the front. Now be a good boy and don't go on the road! his mother's voice followed him. He picked himself up from a tumble and doggedly went to the front. He didn't like playing with the boys. They could run faster than he and play ball well. They poked fun at his clumsy at- tempts to hit the ball and jeered when he couldn't catch an easy fly. Here comes Christie, said Lionel, who seemed to be the leader. He was a bit smaller than the others, but twice as quick on his feet. He had a sharp tongue that knew how to sting and his small bright eyes never missed a trick. He'll do for a fielder until someone else can play. But he never catches the ball and you'll get all the home runs and you'll always be up to bat, and the rest won't get their turns, and that's not fair, ob- jected Tommie all in one breath. Tom- I Leslie XIA mic was a bit stout and this exertion made him breathe rather heavily until his fat nostrils heaved and gasped like the gills of a fish in a rapidly moving stream. I will not get all the runs. You're just afraid he'lf put you out. Come on, Christie, field the ball. Christie nodded his head and took his place. He tried to concentrate on the ball for he knew he must catch it. It seemed to be alive and tried to avoid his slovv-moving fingers. Then he heard Tommie's disgusted voice. There! I told you! You got a home run just because that stupid Christie missed the ball. 'Z-Xw. vou just can't take it. that's all. You get your turn. But he'll never catch the ball. I'll quit il I don't get my turn pretty soon and you need me. Christie knew it was his fault and once again with an effort concentrated on the ball. This time he just had to catch it. The ball rolledifitfully to Christie's feet and he bent down and picked it up. At last he had the ball. Now he could play like the other boys and take his Ill1'll at bat. Shouts of scorn broke through his reverie. He looked up wonderingly at Tommie and Lionel. Hadn't he caught the ball? XVhat was wrong any way? He looked down at the ball in his hands and then at the angry faces of the boys. Lionel glared at him, XVhy didn't you throw the ball? YVhat did you hold it for? XVhat's the matter with you? I caught the ball, said Christie slowly. Yeh, retorted Tommie, but you didn't throw it. You don't even know how to throw a ball. Go home and play in your sand box, crazy Christie. The boys tittered and then picked up the refrain Crazy Christie, Crazy Christie.

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50 ACTA NOSTRA,-.,W adam- thers. XVeeping unashamedly, he left them to reioin the crusade. None olithe lugitives knew then that an inlant sister, overdosed with sleep- ing pills to decrease the danger of cross- ing the border, was dying in a nearby ward. I remember a news report of a mother praising our schooling and reporting on the inadequateness ol the Communist regime to quench a child's curiosity. The little they were taught. aside lrom Com- munism. gave the urge for more know- ledge they would never get. The people knew nothing of the out- side world. as this was kept carefully from them. They knew only what the party wished. i From this l comprehend they will learn willingly when opportunity is placed before them, a virtue lor every New Canadian. Their loyalty cannot be doubted. Nllould they rise in masses if they had DOI the desire lor freedom in their country? I believe they are a needed group of immigrants. A growing, young land such as Canada has room for those who can help to build a free and independent nation. Un The Art of Artlessness By Roller! Golfeen XIIIB lt was Leo Tolstoi who stated, Art is lint a handicralit, it is the transmission ol' leeling the artist has experienced. llow truly ring his words! Pure art can- not be reduced to the mechanics ol a mere handictalt. We might well ask what pure art is. ls not pure art that spontaneous response by those possessing finer natures-true artists-to the daily circumstances and basic truths of the lile which encompasses them? This response by sensitive minds will embody what Keats has called a thing ol' beauty. lt will be devoid of studied art and as unaware ol' its own spell as are the cool, clear pools ignorant ol' the peace they propagate. For beauty is so transient a thing , caught only at rare intervals and lasting bttt lor a lew llickering seconds. Do not mistake me. It is indeed a joy forever, lor its memory will mark our minds and make its impress on our souls. Yllhat a blessing lor those ol' us who catmot claim possession ol the liner natures to be able to drink with those more fortunate own- ers ol such natures some portion ol' the draugltt ol noble joy that comes from tasting ol the richer mead. XVhat unworthy pecuniary recompense could we otlier Shakespeare lor his price- less legacy? His time-tested truths reach out to us lrom words and lines clothed in the purity ol unaffected simplicity. The source is pure and its waters flow lorth in sparkling naturalness. Such is the incomprehensible power ol' the un- allectedl Regardless ol the medium ol transtnis- sion ol' art, be it canvas, parchment scrolls, or the sweet strings of some tuned instrument, simplicity is the es- sence ol' beauty. The great truths of nature, perceived by souls more sensitive than ours, can best be transferred to souls in kindred clay on the vehicles ol naturalness, and will most firmly make their mark il their poignant message travels as does the straight strong shaft ol' an arrow, unimpeded with added artilicial nonsense. Thus the greatness which great art embodies is its naturalness. Its message is read and understood because it is written in the terms of the reader and with the dialect ol' him who would understand. lt portrays true beauty-the essence ol' which is naturalness, that we may see and read, and reading, under- stand.

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