Kitchener Waterloo Collegiate and Vocational School - Grumbler Yearbook (Kitchener, Ontario Canada)

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20 THE GRUMBLER animals. He even called a loud one after his mother. He's a queer one all right, don't take no stock of him. Yes, old Peter Vanderson knew what they were saying. When he had been younger he hadn't be- lieved it, he had even laughed at the trifle tiched part. But now as he walked along beside the crys- tal clear mountain lake, with wil- lows dripping into it, and saw his reflection, he wondered ..., Maybe he was queer .... Maybe what they said was right .... All his life he had wanted so little. Understanding. When he was a boy he'd tried to tell his mother the huge overwhelming, sometimes frightening, feelings that came to him when he looked at the large, rugged, mountains towering above him, but she had called it a foolishness and told him to be quiet. No one in the village would listen to him either, and he was brimming over with emotions that needed expression. Then he had found a relief which had, through the years, become an escape, his main comfort in life, that was writing down his feelings in music. He'd described all the mountains, lakes, trees, flowers, clouds, his happiness, joy, sorrows, hopes. In his lighter moods, he'd even described the village gossip. His music had been his one and only way of expression. If only . . . he thought as he gazed at the fieece-white clouds, like great fluffs of white cotton against the deep blue of the sky . . I would find someone who would understand my music, I would be happy. I could die in peace, for then I would know I was not tiched , and someone, after all these years, would know how I feel. When he had been young, Peter had thought that someone in the musical world might understand his Works and thus, him. So when a travelling band came through the town Peter quickly ran with his music, hopeful, sure of himself, confident at last that he would reach his goal. But the band- leader had laughed, and in front of the whole village had told Peter it was no good. Heartbroken and crushed, Peter had returned home and written his longest work. Through this me- dium, the piano, he told his petty villagers that it was they who were wrong, that one day he would show them that he was not crazy, that his songs were worth something, that his way of life was good. But life had gone on as before. Peter was growing old, he had already passed the allotted span of years. One day as he sat playing . . . lost in his music, baring his soul through it to anyone who could understand . . . a man was slowly approaching the village. The name of this weary traveller was Josef Relyea, a name known to every music lover in Europe, for Josef Relyea was sick-not sick physically, but mentally. He was tired of the shallowness and super- ficiality of the great cities. He could no longer play great music because he did not feel it, deep down inside himself. In the hope of finding inspiration he had started on a walking trip through the mountains of beautiful Bavaria. Now he was discouraged. He had gained nothing and his steps lagged as he approached the village. As Josef walked through the town, he heard, coming from the open window of a humble cottage, loud chords of defiance and hate. Then as he stopped, spellbound, and listened to the beautiful music he heard the first sad notes of a crushed soul pleading for love and understanding. Never had Josef Relyea heard such stirring music. He could not

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THE GRUMBLER 19 Fuifilment fs. X If l fl W 4' .f hx, f:?7'jf,fI'f' V f i ' f Zim! I tl' I f . 'mfg f lf ' JZ' ' 79 ,, ,f mlpbkwfd If Z, ,girl - . .2 - -- LFS? - lflify' El -5 2 '41 L 456 x R I 1,,7' fu ,, 4-Ezgf.-r , , f x . M , , x Z Q. e f' ,thx , - -kg Y Hs L . ' , 'x X s- I If gf xl X X -f'4 ',ffMu. He zrontlererl .... maybe he was ljllf'6'l'.:, HE old man plodded wearily through the dusty streets of the village. shoulders hunched, head bowed, until he was away from the watchful eyes of the town and on into the hill country. Then his head and shoulders came up and a look of exhilaration and happiness came over his wrinkled leathern face. To a casual passer-by, this trans- formation was like an ugly cater- pillar turning into a beautiful moth, But the villagers, had you inquired about this strange affair, would have told you to take no note of it because the old man, Peter Van- derson, was tiched . Even when he was a lad, the elders would go on to explain, he was queer. Used to like to run up into the hill country and play 'round the lakes. Even used to like to climb the mountains just to see the sun come up. Then he would come home and want to talk a lot of foolishness about the beauties of nature. But Marilla, his Ma, soon stopped that, they would continue, maliciously. She forbade him to go into the mountains. After that he sneaked up but at least it stopped his talking. Oh, don't think that's all! While the other boys were out shooting, or rowdying down in the tavern, Peter was sitting at that piano of his. Not playing good music, mind you-no folk songs or dances, for Peter made songs up himself and wrote them on paper. Funny, loud songs they were, and some were quiet ones where the notes didn't sound as though they went to- gether. He called them funny names like trees and lakes and tiny

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THE GRUMBLER 21 remember when he had felt so alive. He slipped quietly into the room. It was in semi-darkness and over in a corner he could see Peter, huddled over the keys, playing now his tri- bute to the tiny mountain stream that rippled joyfully over the stones, only to fall soon in huge crashing torrents. As Peter looked up and saw Josef a light came into his eyes. Some- how he knew that this was the man who would understand him, just as surely as he had always known that someday, someone would under- stand. As Josef told who he was, Peter rose slowly from his seat at the beloved old piano and spread his music for the famous man. When the great pianist played the first notes telling of the boy's unhappi- tion. Instantly his heart went out to the old man. He understood the .boy's feelings and played the mar- vellous music with all his heart. The recital ran on all afternoon. The pianist, as he played, could see the old man huddled in his chair, facing the window which looked out on his village. As the last beautiful notes died away, Josef rose and laid his hand on the old man's shoulder, to pay tribute to a master who would soon be known and loved for his wonder- ful music. But Peter did not look up. With a smile of quiet content on his face Peter had died. Knowing at last that his village had been wrong-knowing at last that his mountains and lakes would become immortal-knowing best of all, that he, Peter Vanderson, had been ness, he felt, once more, true emo- understood. Qlcto 'z L17 Ioan Cressman. A XIII A They pealed on high oier wood and glen, They rose and fell like mighty meng But still on forest yield and fen. They chime, and chime and chime again HTO Victoryf' They brought good news of daylight bright, Of peace that was again in sight. Of dawn. just breaking through the night, Of wrong again triumphed by right, 6601: Victory. They rose and fell, with courage great Old England faced the foe in state. Her men were ready at the gate To go again and keep their date '4Witlz Vietoryfi Oh peat, ye bells, as ne'er beforeg Ring out your chimes-so may there pour The courage, as in days of yore, When bravely. boys in blood-red swore- CG ' 77 Yes. Victory.