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

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The University of Western Ontario London Canada SUMMER SCHOOL July 7th to August 16th, 1947 1. Courses for the Permanent First Class Certificate and for the General B.A. Degree. 2. Courses for the new B.A. Course for Teachers of Elementary Schools. This has received the hearty approval of the Department of Education. Credit on this course will be allowed for many of the special summer courses of the Depart- ment of Education. It includes special options in: ART ASTRONOMY COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION DRAMATICS ENGLISH EDUCATIONAL COUNSELLING GEOGRAPHY HANDICRAFTS HOME ECONOMICS MUSIC NATURE STUDY PHYSICAL EDUCATION PSYCHOLOGY PUBLIC HEALTH REMEDIAL AND EFFICIENT READING RURAL SOCIOLOGY SPEECH CORRECTION SECRETARIAL SCIENCE (TYPEWRITING) 3. Special Coaching School in Rugby and Basketball, June 19th to 27th. 4. Special Course in Community Leadership (Department of Education and Adult Educa- tion Board), July 21st to August 1st. 5. Special Intensive Course in the Fundamentals of Astronomy, August 18th to 22nd. 6. Special Lectures by Dr. Arthur Stringer, the Canadian Poet, July 31st to August 7th. 7. French and Basic English courses, July 3rd to August 20th, at Trois-Pistoles, Quebec. NOTE: No previous reading required before beginning courses in Summer School. Examinations held during last two days of Summer School— leaving remainder of holidays entirely free from university work. Enthusiastic social and athletic program. For a copy of the Summer School Announcement and other information write to Dr. H. R. Kingston, Director of Summer School, University of Western Ontario, London, Canada. Page Twenty-nine

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My First Lesson Joy, fear and peculiar feeling of great importance mingled together as I received my first assignment sheet. At that I was going to do what I really wanted to do. With trembling, clumsy fingers I took the sheet extended to me by the critic teacher. It was a mathematic lesson on time measurement. This I saw at first glance. All week-end it dwelt in my mind; I turned it over and over until I was sure I was thoroughly acquainted with it. Aided by Morton and several other good reference books I began to form slowly a pattern of what had to be done. Monday night the great work began to take shape on paper; every heading, topic and sub-topic was carefully worked out until it began to form a unit. Tuesday night I finished, polished and made out the final completed lesson plan. What a masterpiece! I thought. Now to learn it; that took hours, but I finally had every question down pat. At last the fatal day dawned, bright and clear; the morning passed all too quickly. At noon I hastily gulped my dinner, collected myself and all my concrete materials and rushed to the practice school. Seat work was put on the blackboards and all went fine till the bell rang. Suddenly I had the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach; my hands began to sweat as I furiously scanned my lesson plan for the last time. Then everyone was in his place and the critic teacher prepared to introduce me. I was sure I just couldn ' t get off that chair or I ' d fall flat on my face. My heart was beating so furiously and loudly that I looked around anxiously to see if the students and children near me could hear it too. But no, there were no terrified or scornful expressions as I had expected; instead I saw happy, smiling faces, and from them I drew enough strength and encouragement to get on my feet and, without staggering or tripping, make my solitary way to the front. As I turned and dimly saw the rows of eager, expectant faces, I had the greatest urge to make a desperate lunge for that door; but I couldn ' t, so I smiled as best I could and bid them good afternoon. Suddenly it dawned upon me; these children were my friends, not enemies ready to pull me apart and cruelly ridicule me. What a relief! Now I knew I could go on and really put that lesson across! -JEAN MARTIN. Page Twenty-eight

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My Boarding House Is this your first boarding house? my friend asked. Yes, let me tell you about it, I replied. This is what I said: It was a very gray Sunday afternoon when we arrived at 72 St. This, my first boarding house, presented itself before me. It was a little stucco bungalow with a slight leaning towards the windward side. My future roommate and I mounted the steps of our new home and knocked timidly at the door. A neatly dressed gray-haired woman opened the door and ushered us in. I walked bravely forward but stopped just in time to catch my breath because there sat George Formby of London, Ontario. This was Mr. Blank, the owner of our new home. My first impression of him was not far wrong, either, for when he opened his mouth the cockney-English popped out and we secretly think that he has a mandolin hidden away behind the fruit cellar down- stairs. He spends a great deal of time there, anyway. Our room was found just off the dining-room — a little four-foot box would be more accurate. I won ' t say we haven ' t enough furniture, but it is just that there isn ' t room for both the furniture and us. The house itself was quite modest but clean, and we decided we would spend our year there. Saturday morning is our big day. My roommate and I stumble down the basement steps loaded with soiled clothes. The next procedure is to pile up boxes on which we have to set a large iron tub. Two rubber hoses pour forth hot and cold water. The hot water deserves a little more explanation. With our sweetest smiles and most charming manners we go forth to beard our landlady. If we are lucky enough to find her in a generous mood we may light the water heater and do our washing. Washing also includes the hair. Did you ever try to wash your hair standing on tip-toe with your head in a tub of water which will tip at the slightest provocation? This would discourage the cleanest of people. The bath-tub situation is even worse. Oh yes, there is a perfectly modern bath-tub, but you usually like hot water when filling it. To ask for the privilege of turning on the hot water twice a week might prove dangerous, perhaps fatal. The food at our boarding-house is very good. Our only complaint is the fried eggs which appear on the luncheon menu Monday to Sunday. They used to be quite a favourite dish of mine. Do you think you would like to live at our be arding-house? Yes, it could be worse, but give me a home, with a big bedroom, hot running water, no fried eg gs and, of course, no George Formby. -JEAN LITTLE. Page Thirty