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

 - Class of 1947

Page 110 of 188

 

Kitchener Waterloo Collegiate and Vocational School - Grumbler Yearbook (Kitchener, Ontario Canada) online collection, 1947 Edition, Page 110 of 188
Page 110 of 188



Kitchener Waterloo Collegiate and Vocational School - Grumbler Yearbook (Kitchener, Ontario Canada) online collection, 1947 Edition, Page 109
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Kitchener Waterloo Collegiate and Vocational School - Grumbler Yearbook (Kitchener, Ontario Canada) online collection, 1947 Edition, Page 111
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Page 110 text:

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

Page 109 text:

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.



Page 111 text:

THE GRUMBLER before us and the street lay far below. CSay, don't push like that IJ Across the way Mr. Bettke gave us a glimpse into a semi-circular hump, which holds the floating ceiling of the Assembly Hall. When asked it if wasn't rather dangerous to suspend a ceiling like that, Mr. Bettke calmly replied Yes . . . We're still worrying about it. The second attic, which can be reached by way of that curious ladder in the old wing corridor, is a large cold room with all sorts of nooks and crannies. It contains everything from an old voters' list, dated 1922, to an incubator, used by an agricultural class 'way back when - . Rugby equipment, dance decorations, chairs, desks, balloons, are all stored here for later use. Even Shakespeare reposes on a tall pillar overlooking the Books of Knowledge. A nostalgic atmos- phere pervaded the dim room, and a realization of the memories stored there, and indeed, stored in the whole school, swept over us. We were silent, and there, in the half-dusk, the intangible thing called school spirit became very real to us. I unt Quos Iuvat . . In There are some who are glad to have gathered the Olympic dust Pauline Brubacher, A XIII C If the word Latin conjures up for you pictures of unending noun conjugations and verb tenses, it is a purgatory to be avoided at all costs. For you this poem must be litting- Latin is a language Just as dead as it can be, It killed the ancient Romans And now it's killing me. There are two kinds of people who can really enjoy Latin-those who acquire knowledge for its own sake and those people possessed of an imagination. Latin is a door, and imagination is the key that opens that door to the Roman world. It is a magic carpet that transports one into antiquity. In that world Caesar comes to life as a man of power, decision, and action. He is as fascinating and bizarre as any hero in a 20th century movie. He is as real and awe-inspiring as Eisenhower, or Montgomery. The tense and dra- matic scenes that must have been enacted as the envoys and leaders of the Gallic tribes met in confer- ence with Caesar have been re- peated many times in modern novels andfactual warfare. The people who live today are basically the same as they were in Roman times, and through all the ages. There are still people like Divico, pompous and vain in their shabby glory, and obstinately blind to the truth of their own weakness. There are still people like Horace, who are happy, who are not striv- ing and straining in the agonizing climb to fame, fortune and power. Horace was as rare in his day as people like him are now, people with warmth of soul and friendship for all mankind, but not pagan- saving fanatics, people with intelli- gence, but not ponderous in their knowledlgeg people who are happy with limited means, but have not tContinued on page 1691 .jg

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