London South Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

 - Class of 1936

Page 16 of 92

 

London South Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada) online collection, 1936 Edition, Page 16 of 92
Page 16 of 92



London South Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada) online collection, 1936 Edition, Page 15
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London South Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada) online collection, 1936 Edition, Page 17
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Page 16 text:

Our Crest By Barbar Kains, VB. ,Z l 4,41 5 ,4 l T . ff ' 4 .05 X- Q3 The South shield is as impressive in meaning as it is in appearance. The beauty of the design is credited to the fine workmanship of Mr. I. S. cation. The inspiring motto was worked out by Mr. Burns, of our teaching staff. Virtus repulsae nescia sordidae may be literally translated Courage ignorant of base de- feat. Qur translation might then be explained as: the ability to endure suffering and hardships makes inglorious defeat impossible. Vifhen we realize the full meaning of the words, they should become a source of inspiration. The athlete in the righthand corner suggests energy, stamina, and the power to conquer in the race of life. The open book represents the wealth of learning to be gained by all searchers of knowl- edge. The lighted lamp typifies the inner glow of beauty, truth, and goodness. The royal crown and the national emblem about the shield form a patriotic setting. Perhaps the elusive attribute known as school spirit may be explained by the proper interpre' tation of the crest exemplifying, as it does, courage Barnard, a former chairman of the Board of Edu- as applied to every phase of school life. Short Story Winners Dear Mrs. Carr-Harris: It was a pleasure to read the stories of South Collegiate again. There were so many intriguing hints of good work to be done on and on in the future. I was im- pressed with the bits of humor, the sturdiness of attitude in standing up to life's possible difficulties, the sus- tained clarity of style, the evident necessary perceptive- ness in small details of writers-in-the-making. And as always, knew a wistfulness and belief in all they may attain. My first choice is THE FATEFUL HOUR by Gertrude Bergey, delightfully nonchalant and smooth in its handling of suspense and intrigue. Second choice is LIKE FATHER by N. Grant Dor- land, marked by good conflict well done in the so-very- popular sportmindedness of the hour. Third choice is YES SIR, THAT'S MY BABY by Wilfred Dicks, very well done in its pleasantly funny and individually light vein. tCouldn't Canadian University names be supplied for a Canadian magazine?J There is a quality of fineness and understanding back of the little sketch MANKIND'S BEST FRIEND - THE DOG, which makes me wish it could have its small corner in The Oracle, perhaps because I love a little dog just the same way and then some. With a little trimming it is valuable, don't you think, as a miniature sketch? Appreciating the honor of choosing the prize stories and wishing every one who contributed increased interest, inspiration and industry for really marked success in their writing, Sincerely, AMY E. THORBURN. 17

Page 15 text:

When Santa Claus Was Late BY Ruth B1....-.8 C I have a story now to tell Which grieves me to relate, 'Tis all about that tragic year When Santa Claus was late. That year, as every year before, The little girls and boys Hung up their stockings by the fire Anticipating toys. In their warm beds, fond mothers tucked Their tots on Christmas Eve, Reminding them, in Santa Claus They always must believe. But girls and boys of ten and twelve fThat age of disbelievingj Said, No, there is no Santa Claus, No gifts we'll be receiving. I heard the children crying out, In saddest disappointment, And said, I will ask Santa why He kept not his appointment?,' I hopped into my aeroplane And speedily I flew To Santa's town, a1nid the snow, To see what I could do. No smoke was curling from the roof Of Santa's castle white, No welcome greeting came to meg No lights were gleaming bright. By the great log fire, inside the house, Sat Santa Claus a-sighing, No starry eyes, no twinkling smile, In fact, he had been crying. I went up to his side and said, You're sad, my friend, why is it? And why did you not come today To pay your yearly visit? Then, rising slowly, Santa said, I fear the children doubt me. The bigger ones all say they can Get on quite well without mea This year they did not send their mail, f Those letters that I treasurej, They did not send me their requests And notes that give me pleasure. So I was feeling very sad That they were so ungrateful, Ingratitude and lack of faith To me are quite distastefulf, I said, I know that children say Some things they do not feel. Yet in their hearts they know full well That Santa Claus is real. If you would verify my words, Come get your telescope And look upon the children now, So sad in their lost hope. He gazed upon the children there fThe ones that had been sleepingj, So disappointed and so sadg And most of them were weeping. Ah me, ah me! this agony! Whatever shall I do? To think that I have broken faith With those who love me true! Hi, gnomes and helpers every one, Hitch up my twelve reindeer. Pile up my sleigh right to the sky, Now hurry, do you hear? He turned to me and, laughing, said, You know, I have a date With half a million little tots, Although I may be late. I know that when they hear the bells A-jingling on my sleigh, They'll lift their heads and smile, and say That Santa's on his way. Now little children, one and all, I want you to remember, To write to Santa Claus and say You love him, this December.



Page 17 text:

The Fateful Hour' By Gertrude Bergey, IVC WILIGHT was falling in Berlin when Anne Carter stealthily approached a dingy house on Friedrich Strasse. Nimbly and quickly she mounted the steps and opened the door num- bered l3. In her haste, she almost collided with a handsome young Englishman, Captain Anthony Cambridge, who, like herself, was a member of the Intelligence Department of the British Government in the pre-war days of 1914 and had been her partner in many a tight corner. My aunt, muttered Tony. You don't believe in frightening people, do you? On the contrary, Anne retorted, I just adore it. But, seriously, Tony, tonight is our last chance. Count Heinrich von Arn- heim has the submarine plans at his apartment. What's your plan of campaign? Could this 'umble person be of any 'elp to the brilliant Anne? Well, replied Anne, banteringly, this time I'm afraid I shall have to accept your modest offer. Then in a brisk, business-like tone, she continued, Last night Heinrich proposed to me and I accepted temporarily. I am to visit his apartment tonight to see if I like it. That will give me a chance to look for the plans. I can attend to him myself, but to you, my fellow conspirator, I shall have to leave the butler and a method for my quick get-away. Phewl Tony whistled. lust imagine Captain Anthony Cambridge of His Maiesty's Imperial Army condescending to remove a butler from anybody's path. You'll do just as I say or I shan't be nice to you, Anne retorted. Be at the Wilhelm Apart- ments at eight o'clock, but don't murder the butler until I arrive. Auf wiedersehen, Tony! Outside again, Anne glanced furtively around and, seeing no one, flitted down a side street and doubled back to one of the main thoroughfares. There she hailed a passing cab and gave the address of the apartments in a fashionable quarter of the city. With a little sigh she sank back in 18 the shadows to regain her composure. A few minutes later she was strolling naively down the lobby of the Wilhelm Apartments, even pausing to fix a stray curl before she entered the ascend- ing elevator. Count von Arnheim's butler ushered Anne into a small drawing-room and announced that his master was in conference in the library, from which came the hum of low voices. Taking in the room with one sharp glance, Anne carelessly chose a seat beside a hot air register, for she surmised that this would connect the two rooms. She pretended to read but at the same time was straining her ears to catch every sound. Sud- denly came the clear guttural German tones, I shall return tonight at l2:3U. The front door closed softly and a few minutes later the tall Prussian nobleman entered. Guten Abend, my dear, he greeted her. How do you like the flat? It's adorable, Anne cried, but could you get me something to drink? I'm bone-dry! Certainly, he answered, and rang for the butler. As there was no response, he went out to investigate, leaving on the table two glasses containing a little soda water. This was Anne's chance. Quickly she slipped some white powder into one glass and held the other in her hand. Confound that butler, exclaimed the count when he returned, I can't find him anywhere, but here is what we need. Deftly he filled the glasses, picked up the one on the tray and drained it. That tasted a little bitter, the count observed. lust your imagination, Anne hastily rejoined. Mine was excellent. Now, let's look around. Anne lingered in each room, apparently to in- spect the minute details. By the time they reached the living-room again, the count was apparently quite drowsy and soon dropped off to sleep in an easy chair. tContinued on page 681

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