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

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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.

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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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22 THE GRUMBLER ln the Basements of Qld K. .l. Irma Warkentin, A Xlll A Mr. Bettke is certainly proud of his exclusive domain, The Under- world and Inner Sanctum of the school. He gave us a royal welcome to such places as the furnace room, ventilation shaft, and even the coal cellar. We were led down a well- lighted white-washed corridor with mysterious doors on either side. The first door opened into a general rumipus room containing rugby equipment and big washtubs. fDid you know that the janitors scrub all the floors during the Christmas holidays?J Then there was a store- room piled with inks and chemicals. A root cellar led from this room where the staple products are kept for the Home Economics Dept. So far nothing spectacular had shock- ed our senses, but when we arrived at the end of this hall a variety of sensations left us dizzy: sudden changes from heat to cold, from light to dark, from one amazing room to the next. The general effect was a confusing one of iron- firemen, of a genial bewhiskered Santa Claus of a plumber fwe have never seen him on the ground fioor, -does he live down there'?J, of chutes filled with sawdust from the woodwork dept., of a high steel closet, destination of the scrap- paper thrown into those little doors- fNote to Firebugs: Since the place is absolutely fireproof it is a waste of time to throw lighted cigarette butts down the chute li But the furnace! The size of it is something to remember. Our genial host boldly fno doubt at the risk of life and limbl stepped into the pit before the furnace and flung open the door. Quickly he jumped out of the way of the intense heat which assailed him. We stared fascinated at the white hot inferno into which blazing coals were drop- ping. Hades had nothing on that furnace!! Then presto-change, right around the corner was the ventilation shaft. Looking far up, we could see the clear blue sky and feel the wet snow. The combination of dark- ness, wind and the blue vault above left an awe-inspiring impression upon us. We groped our way into an odd-shaped chamber in which the breezes from the shaft are col- lected and distributed to all the various classrooms. Here, these breezes had become a regular whirl-wind and we gasped for breath. Every class-room gets an equal share of this fresh air, and, if you thought that bit of ribbon waving in the ventilator was for decoration, you're wrong. It bears witness to the constant flow of fresh air into your room. And now, we will digress from the main topic. fWe know it's against all rules and regulations. but we thought the title of this was such a brain-wave that we couldn't bear to change it. Besides, you want to hear about the attic, don't youllj K.-W. C. I. is blessed with two attics. The first is a small room with a network of pipes and fun- nels overhead. The only ray of light comes from a window at the head of a ladder. To satisfy our curiosity, Mr. Bettke bade us squeeze through this square open- ing to see what was beyond. Won- der of wonders! We were on the roof! The soot-smudged smoke- stack CNote alliterationi loomed up