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

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What Are We Worth? T A 7 E Normalites are sometimes tempted to feel, quite incorrectly of course, that we are not quite so important as some other students in the City of London. When one says, I ' m going to Normal this year, one frequently receives the reply, Oh, another school marm! in a tone which sounds as if it were accompanied by an internal shudder. Perhaps it is because the memory of a stern figure with a frigid voice demanding, What are you doing back there, Johnny Jones? remains with everyone most of his life, that the Londoners are unwilling to give a lofty position to the greatest profession in the world. The London Free Press which prints, daily, news of the university, even if it is only that the men are growing beards during examinations, deigns but seldom to print news of the Normalites whose news-making potentialities are repressed by the worthy masters. But our true worth has been recognized by one corporation — the London Street Railway Company. In spite of all the nurses and doctors studying at Victoria Hospital, there is no Hospital Bus, and even our illustrious university has given its name to only one bus, but we have two — Normal and Normal South. And do the Normalites appreciate this! Just watch them swarming on the buses about three o ' clock some Friday afternoon! You can ' t miss them — watch for the unmistakable black book, and the air of hilarity decorously restrained in accordance with all the best principles of etiquette. Or, perchance, they have been visiting a factory and each carries his breakfast in a neat green package tucked under his arm. The personnel changes from year to year, but the bus still flaunts our banner on high, proclaim- ing to the unbelieving citizens of London that we are — Normal. MARY CAMPBELL. Heard on the Bus LOUISE: What was your lesson like, Anne? ANNE: Oh, not too bad. Miss Smithson said it was a nice lesson, whatever that means, but that I might have distributed my questions better. JOAN: Well, that isn ' t the worst mistake one could make. Hear me and weep. Do you remember all the trouble I took in trying to find illustrative material on Social Life in Green- land? TESS: Do we remember? There was a good deal of our time and energy involved, too. . . . You used the pictures too soon, or too late, I suppose? JOAN: Worse than that. I had concluded my lesson with an inward sigh of satisfaction, feeling that all had run smoothly — with ne ' er a Master to disturb the waters of contentment. But my contentment was rudely disturbed when Miss Richard- son, in her criticism, sweetly asked, Don ' t you think you might have used some illustrative material in your lesson? . . . Believe it or no, I had entirely forgotten to show a single picture! DENISE: Which was pedagogically unsound, of course. . . . LOUISE: Cheer up, Joan! You probably received credit for having made the children exercise their imagination. JOAN: Joking about another ' s plight, are you? But you ' ll not find me forgetting the next time, if I ' ll have to set an alarm clock to remind me! JACK: Bravo, Joan! You might also try having a pupil in the rear of the classroom hold up your material during the lesson — to keep you reminded, and to keep him actively engaged. DENISE: I ' m sure the Masters would commend such a display of resourcefulness. What ' s that you have wrapped in newspaper, Jack? JACK: A log. DENISE: Answer in a complete statement and so that all can hear you. JACK: I — have — a — log. TESS: Surely you didn ' t teach your lesson sitting on that log! JACK: I did not teach my lesson sitting on that log. Since I had to teach, Telling the ages of trees, I figured I ' d show the class the real thing — Reality, reasoning and research, you know. ... At the same time, I saved doing some black- board sketching. DENISE: How clever! JACK: Thank you, Miss Teacher-to-be! Encouraging good work is fine classroom management. . . . Let ' s hear from you. Bill. BILL: Here goes! Scene: Kindergarten class; Hero: Yours truly ; Audience: Four and twenty Chickadees looking straight at me. You needn ' t snicker, Jack. They were looking at me and listening attentively too, while I depicted the adven- tures of Johnnie Woodpecker, remembering to do so in a clear, pleasant, non-nasal voice. JACK: What about the rumbling quality? BILL: ... I paused for effect at a dramatic part, when a little fellow ' s hand shot up with, My bwudder has a neck tie like yours. JACK: Observation, expression and reaction on the pan of the pupil. . . . DALE: As for me, Miss Allison suggested ever so tact- fully, that phrases and words such as analagous colors, constructing an interior, speak distinctly and optional were somewhat above the language level of Grade One. BILL: You must have been sitting on a rainbow of analagous colors when you used those terms, I ' ll warrant. DALE: What ' s your new lesson, Gladys? GLADYS: One on adverbial clauses. I ' ll have to look up some spotting exercises. LOUISE: There ' s a good book in the library which you might try to spot. It was a great help to me last week. BETTY: Well, Teachers-to-be, you ' ve exhausted all de- vices to keep me interested any longer. Here ' s my corner. Good-bye until tonight, when we ' ll be gaining some new socializing experiences in the basketball game. Let ' s remember to be resourceful, driving ahead with a set plan so as to attain the aims set forth. BILL: Aye, aye, Sir — that is, yes indeed! And we ' ll have to remember our number combinations so as to keep record of our score. . . . SISTER GRACE. [22]

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« LITERARY SECTION » The Passing of Lord Tweedsmuir LORD TWEEDSMUIR is dead. With characteris- tic Scottish courage, Lord Tweedsmuir fought a brave but losing battle with the grimmest of forces, even death. In hushed solemnity, Canada mourns his passing. Bom a humble son of the manse in rugged Scotland, lohn Buchan had risen by his own personal industry to the envied position of the King ' s representative and to the distinguished title His Excellency the Right Honourable Baron Tweedsmuir, Governor-General and Commander- in-Chief of Canada. During his five short years of service In Canada, Lord Tweedsmuir had endeared himself to the hearts of all loyal Canadian citizens. Not only had he proven himself to be a capable administrator and a worthy representative of our King, but he had shown himself to be ? m n of wide interests and of a deep, human understand- ing. His amiable character, revealed in so many friendly actions and words during his various tours of this Dominion, had won the esteem of all who had met him. Undoubtedly, the gap that has been left bv the Governor-General ' s pas sing will be a difficult one to fill. Perhaps lohn Buchan has touched upon the lives of even the humblest of us, throuqh the medium of his pen. His fine novels, Green- mantle, The Thirty-nine Steps, and Mr. Standfast, several of which have been filmed, have been read and enjoyed by thousands of Canadians. Not only was John Buchan a novelist, but he was also a biographer. And many of the more intellectual tvpe revel in Buchan ' s delightful portrayal of Walter Raleigh, Cromwell, and Augustus. Buchan was a versatile writer and his works are the product of a master mind, a veritable monument to a great man! Lord Tweedsmuir will not be remembered for his spectacular feats (for, indeed, he had no room for such things in his life) but for his constant perseverance and the quiet industry and diligence of character which made his life such a living force. Lord Tweedsmuir is dead. But with those of our generation, who have felt the force of his personality, the memory of a great figure will linger for a long time; and with our progeny, too, who will come to know and respect him through his legacy to literature, the memory of a great writer will linger for years to come. WILMA M. MILLIKEN. In Training SOME of us wanted to come to Normal — the normal thing to do; consequently, we volun- teered our services to our country ' til death or marriage should intervene; the rest of us were conscripted and sent to be interned for the dura- tion of the year. Between cheers and sobs, we marched to the station and detrained somewhere in London. After manoeuvering about the city seeking places to entrench ourselves for the coming campaign, we went to headquarters to meet our commanders. Before we could pass the Board of Admission to the camp, we were examined by a Medical Officer. Most of us passed and the remaining few were admitted to a concentration camp for a harder life. All was quiet on the Normal Front for several weeks. Then one day, we were informed from headquarters that we were to change our position. Plans to sally from the main camp and make reconnaissance flights to new territory were drawn up. There our new commanders — critic teachers — were located. We were to observe their tactics carefully, that we might follow them the next week. Every Friday, we move to a new field. We enter it, speaking in quiet tones lest we be over- heard. Our battlefield for the next week is sited. Some time before the following Wednesday, we retire behind the main lines of school life to make our plans for the next offensive. Each night at midnight or shortly after, action ceases — there is a blackout in the room (a pass from the landlady is necessary to gain entrance thereafter). By Wednesday the plans are drawn up — nothing must go wrong — we must win! At noon we drink an extra cup of tea, since no stronger rations are distributed. Well armed with material, both illustrative and concrete, we make a drive on the school where we are to courageously en- counter a struggle. The zero hour approaches — a nervous tension holds us — the alarm is rung! At this signal, the pupils make a rush into the school and quickly form in their ranks. This afternoon, Miss Blank is in charge — take over the controls, Miss Blank. The pupils watch warily for the first move. We are cautious as a mass attack might be expected from the class; we dig in for their advance. All is quiet, running on wheels until — a wrong command is given — we must go on — it ' s do or die! The pupils burst into an explosion — of laughter. Now we are on the defensive side and forced to retreat to our supply of resourcefulness. Ground is gained, however, by riddling the pupils with a rapid machine-gun fire of questions which repulses them. Retaliation is not made and they are bom- barded again for information. This blitzkrieg Continu:d on page 25

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Spring IT was the twenty-first day of March! Huge, fleecy clouds chased one another across the turquoise sky, against which the crimson buds of the maples contrasted vividly. A sudden little wind swayed the branches of the gnarled old apple tree, and the robin perched on the topmost bough sang a melody of summer days filled with pink and white apple blossoms, and of later harvest days, and branches hanging with rosy apples. Deep in the woods, the small denizens of the forest scurried about for food, keeping a wary eye for any possible dangers. Thev, too, felt the call of spring. In the meadow beside the woods, half a dozen woolly lambs gambolled madly about, to the exasperation of their more sedate mothers. In the little red schoolho use on the hill, rest- less little eyes wandered from their books to the open window, and to the awakening world be- vond, longing to be anywhere but in the school- room, and dreaming of joyous jaunts in quest of wild flowers. The instant they were dismissed for recess, they dashed outside, the little girls to their skipping ropes, the boys to marbles. The teacher paused for a moment to glance out at the children; she, too, felt the new spirit. Spring had come! NANCY ROBB. Monologue on The Register OH, dear, another assignment! Isn ' t this Normal life just one thing after another? Hm! this looks different at least. Oh, I see, one of those simple ones to rush through in a maxi- mum of ten minutes. Just mark the register for a month — that ' s the whole assignment. I will do it tonight. Twenty-five names, in grades, arrange alpha- be ticallv; simple! There, all done! Oh, Willie Orme didn ' t come until six days after the first of the month. Now I ' ll have to recopy it. (Pause for recopying.) Now, I see that those shoeless Russells were away until the fourth, too. (Pause for erasinig and recopying.) Maybe Mr. McKone was wise in suggesting pencil for the first try — or six. Right at last! That was only half an hour for the first step — oh, well, we have that only once for next year anyway! Attendance — Isaac Jones — -grandmother ' s fu- neral. Hm — lawful? Surely that time-worn alibi is law by now, at least for school children who don ' t know any better. Martha Middaugh, why aren ' t they all like that? Russells — oh, those shoes again — how would they expect them to come, barefoot? Lawful, of course. Van Dyke, parental neglect — he couldn ' t help it — this is the child ' s record. Lawful — for him. This poor child who died! He certainly was absent for the rest of the month. Poor boy! Lawful absence. Olds, Ben. — witness in court. Now that depends on what he was witnessing. No, I ' ll count that unlawful. If he had really been inside the law he wouldn ' t have been in court. Done at last! A good night ' s work finished; but I don ' t mind work when I feel it is well done when I ' m through. What could there possibly be about that to ask Mr. McKone? Surely he credits us with some sense. RUTH WILLIAMS. Long May They Live! THE night was warm. The moon was golden bright. Down by the schoolhouse strolled two gay lovers chatting and planning a new course of life when they should be no longer two but one. Said Miss History, I think the Fates indeed were kind to us. With your wide knowledge of land and sea and my data on facts and past events, we two should live in useful and happy wedlock. No one is more convinced of that fact than I, murmured her young admirer, Mr. Geography. We should become famous from zone to zone. The Prevailing Westerlies shall whisper your charm to the high mountains and even the seas shall know you. As a happy epilogue to this romance the two young lovers were wedded one sunny summer ' s day. As at all such occasions, there gathered friends of bride and groom — some to wish them well and some to criticize the match. Professor Science took a foremost seat. Over his dark-rimmed spectacles he viewed the pro- ceedings nor could he quite decide to favour or disapprove the union of his two young friends. Never in his young days would such a helper have been approved by high authorities. But a trial and error method would surely prove the result. In a far comer near the window sat two prim old spinsters wielding their fans in obvious dis- approval. Miss Grammar could see no logical plan by which two such diverse personalities could live successfully under one name. Nor could Miss Mathematics predict anything but dis- aster for the unfortunate couple. Solemn and still were all present as the vow was pronounced. Not a tongue spoke; not a muscle moved. Master Music played triumphantly as the couple withdrew for well he knew that he too was to share a greater part in the new life of the community. Pretty Miss Art and Mr. Manual Training, hand in hand, cast confetti on their newly married friends. The Fates indeed were kind to the youthful pair. Over their door when the honeymoon was over, they found this inscription, presented by their many friends: The Home of Social Studies, Long May They Live! MARION MOORE. [23]