London Normal School - Spectrum Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

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NIGHT MYSTERIES There ' s magic in the air tonight, There ' s mystery in the pale moonlight! And in the dusky garden sweet, The dainty tread of fairy feet; And tinkling bells and rushing rills. And flowers, rustling, dewed with silver. Make such gentle mystic music That my heart with pleasure fills. There ' s something in the air tonight That lures me forth with mad delight! Lo! In that row of trees so tall □ws rise and fall; j fount, the crooning bird Who sings his last sweet melody, The playful wind, the whispering pine Are symphonies one ne ' er has heard. There ' s sadness in And omens full of Beauteous sounds And in my heart , A little soul has ta ding fn An; i-el flic ir tonight, nd fright! and sights all fade a grief is laid; ken flight world of pain, Another mystery of the night! THE CRIPPLE ' S YEAR vith the south wind, Spring is here again! Sunshine on my window pane. Shining through to me, Coming on the east side, Changing to the west side. Summertime again! Dead leaves on my window pane, Scratching there to show That I ' ll lie here forever, That I ' ll be sick forever, And love I ' ll never know. Fall is here again! Snowflakes on my window pane, Lying there so cold. Coming from the north land; Winter ' s in the north land; Ands W I shall be old. Doris Shu THE LONELY FLOWER How soon ashamed does man become THE DOOR Of his gigantic works and all . , , . . , When he sees a great God ' s love portrayed £°r now the door is closed; In a humble flower, so small, The fair meadows wherein we roamed Have faded far away; the glimpse of Paradise Mans architects could never give Has vanished Those lovely flowers A frame so delicate and fine; Of common thought and sweet affection No artist make such beauty live, A 1 » teJ J . re ' d y ' n S novv ' „ , , xi i i i - The Pines o Pan so piercing sweet have ceased No sculptor cut thy line. To play ' the fnkhn, tunes thlt touched two souls r i i . ♦ J» With ma. ' ic wand ol silvery notes, and all is still 1 Z5? h 7eVerend P tre Benind the door that cruelly bars ' .unshine and the music from mv heart — mder on Margaret Thorni With bowed head, respectful eyes, Alone? On God ' s presence pictured there. And must friends part THE CHILD ' S DAY Mother ' s voice from somewhere, Mother ' s fac e and lovely smile Kind of floating in the air — Just been ' sleep a little while. Sort of tumble out of bed. Wonder where my clothes are gone. Mother says, You sleepy head! I can do those buttons alone. Sunshine ' s pretty bright today, And the grass is soft and nice. Guess I won ' t go out to play. Sides, I don ' t like Jimmy ' s mice. That one bit me yesterday, Jimmy said it served me right, So I won ' t go there to play! He ' ll be sorry his mice bite. That was such a goody dinner, Mother makes the swellest pie. Daddy says it is a winner. They don ' t eat the kind you buy. Wonder how some flowers get red. Well, I ' ll ask Mother how— But then she ' d think about my bed. I ' ll bet Jimmy ' s sorry now. The sun is starting to go down, The shadows all are getting tall; Mine is like a giant man And climbs right up the garden wall. There is mother calling now. Wish I didn ' t have to go. But if I don ' t there ' ll be a row; Last night daddy told me so. Milk for supper, then to bed. ' Tisn ' t too dark yet to see. Wish that all my prayers were said; God bless daddy, mom and me! Doris Shuttlewort Page Tw

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SOCIAL ACTIVITIES C London Nor September 17. 1932. STRANGERS to the right of me, strangers to the left of me! But, the faculty were determined that this should be changed to Friends to the right of me, friends to the left of me. And so, as soon as was possible after our arrival, the staff entertained the students at a delightful afternoon tea on the lawns of the Normal School. Hey, the merry company — the jazz band playing — Blac mas s and quaint hats and gowns of olden day. Spanish girl and sailor lad to the music swaying, A jolly masquerade our troubles to allay. October 28, 1932. Soft lights, sweet music, beautiful costumes. Last night the fair and the gallant came to participate at the Hallowe ' en masquerade held at the Normal School. The talented of the school made its debut in a well- arranged and cleverly executed programme which was presented before the dance. After a weird story, the guests were wafted on the wings of mystery to the gymnasium where the dance was held. The hall was tastefully decorated with black and orange, adding an air of mystery and romance to the event. All the students were there in festive spirits and the affair was given an air of dignity by the presence of the masters and their wives. December 21, 1932. The students around me danced arid played. Their thoughts I cannot measure; But the least step u ' hich the made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The same group gathered again last night at the Normal School, but this time the laughing faces were surrounded with fur and dusted with snowflakes. The annual Christmas party of the student body was decidedly successful. Happy feet tripped the light fantastic and glowing hearts defied the cold outside. Attentive ears and interested faces told the tale of new ideas absorbed by the students. Many of these will probably be reproduced next year. Near the end of the gay evening of dancing, a cleverly planned and charmingly served lunch was dispensed to the students and their guests. Two of the highlights of the social seascn were the formal afternoon : THE YEAR 1932-33 ial Times teas held by Classes A and B of third form. The first tea was held by Class B, when they entertained Forms I, II and VI and the faculty. Mrs. McKone and Mrs. Mark poured, and the guests were served by the members of the class. The centre of attraction at this gathering was Wilson Mac- donald, talented Canadian poet. His brilliant conversation entertained many and those lingering longest were favored by hearing him read his charming poem, Maggie Scharts, and by seeing him perform some of his parlor tricks. The following week was Class B ' s privilege to entertain Forms IV and V and the staff. Tea was poured by Mrs. Marshall and Miss Gahan. The guests were delightfully entertained by some of the talented members of that form. Throughout the year each form has successfully entertained other forms in the school. Some turned to dancing, others to sleigh-riding, but at each party both hosts and guests enjoyed themselves to the utmost. The joyous hours are passed away, And many a heart that still is gay Within the school now vividly tells The tale to Joe, to Rose and A(e !. January 14, 1933 The charm is broken, the spell is lost. Friday 13 ! And yet no witches waited or evil spirits lurked about the drives of the University as the cars bore the beautifully gowned women and their escorts to the entrance of Convocation Hall. Strains of sweet music and the shuffle of happy feet greet him who enters the hall after the dances had begun. Approaching to the doorway of the main hall he sees people, as many birds of paradise, and the fair sound of pleasant words and soft laughter. As he stands, he is struck by the sudden beauty of bright missiles hurled from above. Next, he beholds the grand march when the masters and their wives lead the long line of guests around the hall. Then the line breaks up, the faculty, together with the executive of the Literary Society, take their places to formally receive the guests. He is borne along with the throng to another room where everyone partakes of most delightful refreshments. The music may still be heard and the dancers slowly find their way back to the ball room. The end comes all too soon. They are sad that it cannot last forever, but at the same time they are happy that the At Home has been a crowning success. Claire Chauvin. Page Twenty-four

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NORMAL SCHOOL WILL-OVTHE WISP I fell in love with a wilbo ' the-wisp And 1 worship with reverence. It is not cold like common sense, Nor figures, maze on mase. It winks at me like a falling star And brightens the world both near and far Beauty is my mistress, listen to her praise. In the curved true line of youth And the dear sweet line of age; In the soft accent of Italy And the brogue of Irish lips; In the apple blossoms swinging free. In the garden, the hyacinths. The sweet perfume from the linden tree And the fragrance of cedar and pine. Are the haunts of that goddess of mine. I hear the beat of waves upon a lonely shore The tinkling of sheep bells as day is o ' er I hear the lark o ' er the clamour of street And the lover ' s lute in a garden seat As the music rolls and tumbles and falls When masters play and beauty appals. As the poet reads you hold me fast My spirit bends and my will beats time; Forgotten are friends of present for past. And thoughts are vagrant in land and clime. Fond memory, when all my senses die Shall hold in store The beauty found in common things. In nature, life, and love. Who asks for more? Clarence Sadler. RAIN Through the mystic stillness, Swept with swirling rain, I hear the pealing of the chimes; They stir my heart with memories Of love in former times; And as the raindrops swish Against my casement pane, I see a picture of a grove And distant, winding lane; There, too, we strolled together Through springtime mist and haze, And now, these bells and gusty wind Recall those long-lost days. Frank Doan. Page Twemy-six LONDON ONTARIO] THE CYNIC Jealous am I of the man who can Sit down at a table and take up a pen And write words of wisdom and tales so sublime, And picture a world that is beauty, in rhyme. That man has reached havens which only a few Will be able to see in a far distant view, A view that is hazy and misty with care. With only a faint glimmering of hope, too rare. He has reached heights which are narrow and steep, And has through the years been able to reap Honour and glory and love so divine Which grows more precious and rare through time. But I, less fortunate, only can stand And jealously watch while with pen in hand He soars to his heights beyond my short grasp, And leaves me to linger there still, to the last. God grant that when I am called to my rest I shall not be grouped with those that were blest With fuller insight into realms so untrue, But aloof may wander and judge there too. Fred R. Dickenson. MANY WATERS The drip, drip of the rain at night Soothes my tired mind; My weary body feels refreshed When, in the street, I find Little pools of rainbow water Tinted by the sun; Rivulets are streams of gold As from the steeps they run. The lordly rivers beckon me, Passionate and strong; A placid lake of deep, deep blue Is like a restful song — Would that I might linger there And let the world go on! Mildred Sanderson, No. 233,