Lowe High School - Towers Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

Page 25 text:

The Windsor-Walkerville Technical School Year Book 21 perfect machine. Tin starting on the new one right away.” What to say to such a lunatic? 1 left. -o- WICKED WILLIE A Bed Time Story Once upon a time there was a bad, bold, desparate. red-headed pirate, named Wicked Willie. Now Wicked Willie always sailed the wild and stormy waters of the De¬ troit river. He was always hungry, so of course excursion boats were his prey, and everyone knows the Detroit river is the best place for ex¬ cursion boats. Well, one day when he was look¬ ing out on the sandy desert of Wind¬ sor, he spied the 44 Pontiac” heading for Belle Isle. Now as everyone knows when a boat is headed for Belle Isle it contains lunch boxes and lunch boxes usually contain food. With a great roar. Wicked Willie bounded up the steps seven at a time (there were only seven) and roared: “Ahoy there, men! Hoist the skull and crossbones, and just then a terrible thing happened. He heard his big, fat Swedish cook say: “Dot Vicked Yillic sure is vim bat man.” With a cry of rage. Wicked Willie picked him up and hurled him through the port-hole. Now, the port-hole was small, the cook was fat, so naturally he stuck. Wicked Willie sat and tried to think of a torture terrible enough and at last he had a plan. “Come here men and each take a straw and tickle his feet. The cook screamed for mercy but the only arfswer was Wicked Willie ' s mocking laugh. About fifteen minutes later they came up to the Pontiac. The frigh¬ tened passengers gazed over to the sandy desert of Windsor. No hope there. Then at the village of De¬ troit. All in vain! With great cries of terror and despair they sprang overboard. They were not all Gert¬ rude Ederles but they had all swum to Amherstburg for picnics at one one time or another and many of them finally landed safely at Puce. Wicked Willie and his crew be¬ ing left in possession of the ship at once made an attack upon the lunch boxes. One after another was opened, and gradually a look of mute despair settled over each counten¬ ance, and at last with a sad and solemn face Wicked Willie and his crew advanced to the top deck of the ship, and one after another jumped overboard. It had been an anti-kosher picnic and they had all brought pork sandwiches and Wicked Willie and all his crew ex¬ cept the cook were Jewish. So endeth the career of Wicked Willie on the thirtieth of February, nineteen hundred and twenty-seven. ISABEL MITCHELL—C2D. -o- The Prize Essay THE ANCIENT TECH! It was midnight! Not a sound could be heard. The silence en¬ veloped the country side, as did the curtain of night—dark and lonely. In the blackness could be seen, looming up blacker still a huge, lonely shape that appeared to be a building, and the trees, silently keep¬ ing watch around it made it look ghostly in the night. The sky was overcast, and neither stars nor moon could lie seen. The air was heavy with a sense of evil, as I, tramp and gentleman of leisure passed slowly down the lonely lane towards the house. It was summertime and the heat was stifling. The honeysuckle on the nearby hedges scented the night air with a heavy odour, and adding to the “spooky aspect of the place, there came a long, low rumbling. It was only the rising storm, as the wind began to whisper among the trees. The rumbling grew to a growl, the growl to a scream as the wind gathered force, shaking the mighty trees, and whistling round the house. Then thunder pealed high above, and lightning illumin-

Page 24 text:

20 The Windsor-Walkervi lie Technical School Year Book beaky nose, and flaplike ears. He wore huge goggles that made him look remarkably like an owl. and on his head was an old green hat. I knew that face the instant I saw it. Anyone who had seen it once could never forget it. In fact back at school where 1 had last seen him. people said his face made the small children cry, and frightened the cats and dogs. It was the face of an old col¬ lege chum of mine. Theophilus Smythe. There he stood surrounded by a pile of wire, batteries and other things he had been carrying. For the moment 1 was speechless with surprise at meeting “old Phyllis” again, and he began gathering up his junk, all the time murmuring apologies. “Smythe,” I said, “is it really you or am 1 dreaming?” For answer he straightened up and blinked at me. “You blinking old idiot, don ' t you remember me. Barton Bathurst?” I demanded indignantly, rather hurt at the thought that my best friend had forgotten me. “Bathurst! Bathurst! he exclaimed in a dazed sort of way. “Why to be sure, Bathurst.” “Yes. Bathrust,” 1 bellowed at him. “My dear old fellow, let me shake your hand. Fancy meeting you now. Who would have thought it.” he ex¬ claimed beaming vaguely at me. We shook hands and when his stuff was gathered up he asked me to lunch with him. I was glad to go along with him because his od¬ dity had always attracted me and during our school days we had been chums. On the way he began an account of a remarkable perpetual motion machine he was trying to invent He lived in fairly comfortable rooms on a quiet street,and his land¬ lady was one of the motherly type, and took quite an interest in him. She confided to me, whenSmythe left the room, that she was sure he would “blow himself to pieces one of these days” and her evident gloom made me feel quite apprehensive. The machine was quite as weird in looks as Smythe had described it. 1 noticed an old Ford engine con¬ nected by wires to batteries, and gears, cogs and wheels in what looked like a jumbled mass of junk. However Smythe assured me that they were all in order and said that after a few finishing touches his machine would he ready for demon¬ stration. 1 ' ear readers, it is not in my power to describe it to you as he did. but the main idea was that while one thing was unwinding, the energy was storing up in another thing, and when it was all used, the energy in store started, and stored up in the thing just expended, and so on. Quite clear, is it not? 1 left him whb the invitation to come up again in a couple of weeks for then he was sure his name would be ready for inscription among the lists of great inventors. Next morning I had just sipped ray cup of tea, and settled hack to read the morning paper when an item struck • my eye. headed, “Mystery Machine Explodes.” There followed an account of how poor old Smythe’s machine had exploded. The inventor, it said, had escaped with scratches but his room had been practically demolished. 1 put on my hat and coat and rushed around to his rooms. His landlady met me at the door with, “Mr. Smythe is feeling pretty badly because of the explosion of his ma¬ chine. Perhaps you could cheer him up. He ' s out in his work shop.” Going around I found poor old Smythe, surrounded by the ruins of his “wonder machine” but looking quite cheerful. “Too had, old fellow,” I said sym¬ pathetically. Smythe looked at me almost gayly. “Bathurst,” he said. “I felt badly last night hut I know now that that explosion was a blessing in disguise. It showed me just where the ma¬ chine was weak. Now I know I can correct the defect and turn out a

Page 26 text:

22 The Windsor-Walkerville Technical School Year Book ated the scene. In the flash of white light, the house was revealed as empty and half in ruins, but at least it would afford a night ' s shelter from the terrible storm outside, after my long, weary tramp across country. In the deluge of rain that followed, I ran for shelter. Kicking open the heavy door, that swung on rusty hinges, 1 found mvself in a huge hall. Evidently it was an ancient house, for all the walls were covered with black panels. 1 made an exploration of the rooms and found the house, or whatever else it was, to consist of three stories, and on each story were a large number of rooms, both large and small. About forty rickety, un¬ comfortable looking chairs, with funny little cavities attached, and one big table, with several drawers down the front was the furniture in most of the rooms. Some rooms appeared to contain chemical apparatus, but oh! how primitive it was! Still other rooms contained huge, bulky ma¬ chines that could not possibly be convenient to work with. On one room the floor was marvelously polished, and a balcony ran all around. At each end and side, there was a funny basket-shaped ap¬ paratus, and dangling from leather straps from the roof, were big iron rings. Whatever were they for. I wondered. Above the entrance to this room, I made out what appeared to he hieroglyphics of some ancient speech, and these were the letters ‘G-mna-ium.” What it meant 1 did not know, and being no scholar, 1 did not try to decipher it. 1 came upon a huge room with several wooden tables and chairs and what seemed a long wooden barrier. Be¬ hind this on long shelves, were the remains of some old crockery. Above the doors of this room I made out the words Caf—er—a. The rest of the third floor was fast crumbling into ruins, so I made haste back to the first floor. There l found a row of rooms on the left side of the main entrance for there were many entrances, and in there 1 found as comfortable a chair as the place offered and was soon fast asleep. When I awoke the storm was over and the sun was streaming in at the dusty, cracked windows. In the early morning sun the large building with its dusty dilapidated interior looked more lonely still. As I walked away, 1 turned to look hack, and fixed a picture of the place in my mind. It was like some ancient castle, grand and awful, with four towers, fast crumbling. All around for miles, were old, ruined houses, much smaller than the place where 1 had slept. Above the huge, heavy doors were written the words, “Win—or- Yalk—ille Te—ni—al Sc ol, 1922. but as some of the letters were obliterated it meant nothing at all to me. So I passed on. leaving the ancient structure.behind, pondering over what people must have in¬ habited that strange structure years ago. 1 visited the teacher in the next city and he with the “stori- optican“ showed me scenes of 2000 years ago. Before my eyes material¬ ized a lovely building. Reading the inscription. I learned that it was one of the greatest schools of two thou¬ sand years ago, and what I had thought were panels on the walls were blackboards, and the rickety chairs were desks. Turning off the machine, I ruminated, thanking my lucky stars that I had not lived in that crude age, when the process of learning had been so cumbrous. VICTOR LARKE. -o- LIFE IN FLANDERS DURING THE GREAT WAR “In Flanders Field where poppies grow!” Perhaps these few words mean nothing to you today, but less than ten years ago. Flanders was the scene of a great world strife such as had never before been witnessed. Of course when war was declared, it meant nothing to us children, and in a short time we had forgotten all