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

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LONDON NORMAL SCHOOL ESTHER W. G. MacMATH JEAN E. MacTAVISH R. R. No. 2 Walkers, Ont. Clinton, Ont. JEAN MacPHERSON R. R. No. 1 Wilton Grove, Ont. CATHERINE McEACHERN 40 Craig St. Alvinston, Ont. RJORIE MARTYN CATHERINE McGUGAN Springfield, Ont. Alvinston, Ont. VIOLA MILLER Merlin, Ont. MARY J. MILLER 785 Felix Ave. Windsor, Ont. JEAN MORRIS Mossley, Ont. JEAN MUNROE R. R. No. 3 Florence, Ont. Page Thirteen

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Never-to-be-Forgotten Scene DURING my very limited experiences, I have had many interesting and touching scenes stamped on my memory. The most touching one of all occurred in one of our leading boarding houses, while I was on a sight ' seeing tour. This home resembles our exclusive boarding schools which are scattered throughout Canada. It nestles between two high hills. From a distance everything spells peace and prosperity. But wait! When I entered through the heavy brass barred door, a uniformed guard cautiously shut and locked the door behind me. Assuming the indifferent attitude of the bystander, I overheard the following conversation between a visitor and the informer. To see a friend, sir? Your name and his name, please! Glancing down the hall, after they had gone, I noticed that everything fairly glistened from continuous applications of soap and water. The large kitchen was filled with husky men hurrying about preparing meals for the numerous boarders. The chief cook creams the potatoes, intentionally omitting cream and butter. Several men in dark blue overalls carry in pails of foamy milk to be separated. Next to the kitchen is a small, narrow room boasting a hard springless cot. Several gray blankets are folded carefully across it. In the corner there is a washstand and chipped granite basin. The floor is smoothed by the tramping back and forth of the homesick roomer. Several rooms of the same character follow. In each room there is the occupant ' s dress suit, a gaily striped straight jacket, hanging from a nail. To the right is a large theatrical-looking room dec- orated with hand-made Bible pictures. The old, wooden benches are battered from constant use by the worship- pers. Here comes that friend now striding manfully down the hall. How thin and pale he is. Although he tries to smile his eyes are so pitiful to see. He has paid his debt to society but the signs of suffering remain. He hands his dark blue suit to a guard nearby. The G. R. buttons are gone forever. With one last re- pentant look, he bids his past boarding house, — The Guelph Reformatory, — farewell. VERLYN LADD. Form IV. The Lift Bridge WHILE driving some day on Dundas Street in Welland, you may watch the gigantic lift bridge as it stands, obscuring all view from the other side of the canal. The giant siderails cling to the massive frame as if in fear of the great abyss below. The sturdy tile floor stands defying anyone to try to mount it. We are now at the bridge. A horn blows. A freighter is slowly finding its way down the canal. It is the City of Erie. Vast clouds of heavy black smoke pour from the centre funnel. The smoke has been allowed for many years to settle on the ship, so on the whole it has a very dingy, grimy appearance. The dark vessel is now directly beneath the bridge. The pounding of the engines is quite audible. A fine spray is thrown upon the banks from the paddle wheels as they turn laboriously in continuous motion. The ship is past; the shadowy hulk fades away into the distance, leaving an oily path gleaming behind it in the sun. The cables creak as they are pulled downward by a humming electric motor. The wide corridor is beginning to lower. Majestically it seeks its position on the earth and forms once more the means of crossing the canal. Now, the car engines are starting, one by one. Now, they are all running. Horns are echoing as the congested traffic slowly crawls across the crowded bridge. Soon the noise dies down and the excitement is over until another ship chances to pass that way. Often times I think how grand it would be to sit by this magnificent bridge some moonlight night and watch it ascend towards the heavens and descend again, as it obeys the command of every passing ship. LLOYD FLANNIGAN. Form I. Uncle Tom ' s Cabin (As It Stands Today) I CAME finally to the supposedly historical spot and stopping in front of a zigzag fence, my eyes met the most neglected and forsaken scene imaginable. The line of fence was interrupted at one end by a partly- opened gate which had long since neglected its duty of repulsing invaders. Inside the yard, close to the gate, a shabby sycamore tree stood as a sentinel on guard with a sign of warning of prosecution for trespassers. From a bare branch of the tree the stillness of the place was broken by the unpleasant caw of a lone crow. In the space ' tween the fence and the cabin the undisturbed grass and weeds had reached a considerable height, and, I am sure, proved an ideal breeding place for reptiles. No paths leading to the ruins could be traced out. Age had ulcered its way and crept so steadily into every crevice and corner of the cabin that the roof and parts of the walls were present only in the imagination of the observer. Time had robbed the framework of the colour and freshness of its youth. The elements of nature had also played havoc with the interior of the cabin. The rain and snow had hammered and ruptured the walls. The wind had pierced through the weakened structures and had scattered debris about the place. The rafters had long since been food for larvae. In fact, the whole place spoke of utter desertion and no point of connection with the Uncle Tom ' s cabin of the story could be found. One was led to believe that its sole reason for existence was as a haven for unwanted children of Nature. SISTER ISABEL. Form IV.

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LONDON NORMAL SCHOOL Exploring fter a hard day ' s journey Scott and his four companions reached the pole on January 16th, 1912. What a life! my friend said to me as he was read ' ing The story of Captain Scott. How I would like to have gone with him, or better still, led an expedition myself to the pole. But what chance is there for you and me? So much has been done in the field of explora- tion that there seems to be nothing left. Come and sit on the doorstep and I shall disclose to you the most interesting discoveries imaginable. The other day you were curious about the bees that remained in the entrance of the hive fanning their wings. Scientists such as Fabre, Comstock, Kellogg, and others tell us that long before man ever thought of the use of coal the social bees were employing the same method to ventilate their hives as men now use to keep air pure in coal mines. Why yes, that explains it, said my friend. They are keeping up a continuous circulation of air. At that moment my friend pointed out a wasp ' s nest in the process of construction under the eaves of his garage. He had been trying most unsuccessfully to remove it. Why, said I. you are trying to harm some members of a most remarkable family which includes potters, exquisite surgeons, storage experts, and paper makers. I don ' t understand you, said my friend. There is a kind of wasp which, while your fore fathers were eating out of their fingers, was moulding the finest clay into a home for its young. This same species, called the Pelopaeus wasp and another, called the Sphix wasp, long before man knew anything about the nervous system, knew the nerve centre in which to sting a spider or cricket to paralyse and yet keep it alive to provide a supply of fresh meat for the young, without the use of cold storage or salt. Those wasps that you are trying to destroy belong to the world ' s first family of paper makers. Paper makers, potters, surgeons, mused my friend. Well, I shall certainly leave that nest and watch it more closely to see what I can discover about these little creatures. Look, there is the Monarch Butterfly that you pointed out to me the other day, said my friend. Oh, no it isn ' t, said I. you have just been fooled by one of the world ' s best mimics. The butterfly you see is a Viceroy and has mimicked the Monarch for this reason. Most butterflies of a dull colour are very palatable to birds, while those of a brilliant colour are unpalatable. At one time the Viceroy was a dull brown colour but he has changed to mimic the Monarch in order to protect himself. The best distinguishing marks are now its smaller size and the black vertical line on the hind wing. When your explorations move farther afield, I added, you will discover the meaning of this paragraph from J. G. Wood — ' The habits of insects are very mines of interesting knowledge, and it is impossible carefully to watch the proceedings of any insect, however insignificant, with- out feeling that no writer of fiction ever invented a drama of such absorbing interest as is acted daily before our eyes, though to indifferent spectators. ' GORDON HOUGHTON. Form I. General Science Club THE students of the 1936-7 class have prospects of becoming great naturalists; this was made evident at the inaugural meeting of the Naturalists ' Club on Jan. 22nd, when the majority of the students met on the invitation of Dr. Hofferd to discuss the character and benefits of such an organization. Two of our main aims were to cultivate an appreciation of art and liter- ature in relation to nature and science; and to make field trips for the purpose of gaining first-hand knowledge, and an appreciation of nature, industry and sanitation. The executive has been most faithful in its work, inspired by the dual flame of duty and pleasure. The names are: Pres., J. Waghorne; Vice-Pres., L. Gilroy; Sec.-Treas., J. Munroe; Reps., C. Hey wood, V. Cun- ningham, K. McEachern, A. Turnbull; Programme Com- mittee, Miss Davidson, Dr. Hofferd. The Science Club has been responsible for many interesting visits in which the entire school body par- ticipated. Of these, the excursions to Canada Bread, Bell Telephone, Hatcheries, Kellogg ' s Corn Flakes Factory, Bird morning at Saunders ' Pond and Silver- wood ' s Dairy stand out, the last-named commemor- ated in the Science Club poet ' s scrapbook as follows: Those weary stragglers so forlorn We spied a-walMing Saturday morn, Wal mg down old Ridout Street, Slowly dragging weary feet, Were on their way to get the goods On how A. E. runs Silverwoods. The Literary Society is indebted to the Science Club for several interesting and varied afternoons ' entertainment. We mention particularly the Arbour Day programme held on the campus. Dr. Mark set the standard for the remainder of the numbers by his talk on the place of Arbour Day in the school. The main feature of the afternoon was the planting of the tree. The planting was under the capable guidance of Dr. Hofferd who gave the class many valuable directions regarding such a procedure. The dedication was read by L. Gilroy, and accepted by Dr. Mark. Not only did the class leave the red oak as a re- membrance, but also a stone bearing the inscription: CORONATION OAK Planted by Science Club of L. ?{. S. May 12, 1937. JEAN MUNROE. Form III. Page Fourteen