North Bay Collegiate Institute and Vocational School - Northland Echo Yearbook (North Bay, Ontario Canada)

Page 28 text:

20 THE NORTHLAND ECHO in and emptied. By the time the boat- load is filled, the men are standing in fish up to their knees. The whole pro- cess takes little more than half an hour and as soon as the loading is over, the net is lowered again. Mixed very spar- ingly with mackerel are a few haddock and sole. The men then return to thc shore where their real work begins, that of cleaning and packing their catch. In this art. for it is an art with them, young boys of seven and eight take part and these boys are as quick as the more experienced men. Noticeable around the dock were numerous loibster pots of wicker-work. Because the lobster fishing takes place during the winter, it is the hardest and cruellest job imaginable. The freezing wind blows the water over the boat and boatmen, covering them with ice. The fishermen never know whether they will be able to sell their fish or not, ibut keep netting them at all times, taking a chance on the marketls. The fisher- man's profit is almost negligible and we who are inland born cannot quite realize the enormous amount of work necessary for such a small income. These long-shore men are real workers and fine people. I shall never forget them. A VISIT TO THE ROOF GARDENS The first time I visited Toronto was two years ago, when I went to thc Union Station with my cousins to see a friend off for the West. While my older cousin waited to see her friend on the train, my younger cousins, Evelyn and Audrey, decided to take me across to the Royal York Hotel and try to get permission to see the Roof Gardens. They took me through five or six rooms in the station before we reached the tunnel. The tunnel was car- peted, lighted by electric lights on both sides and very stuffy and smoky. We ran part of the way to get out of it in a hurry. The rumbling of the cars over- head made the glass fronts of the adver- tisements along the sides of the tunnel tremble. As soon as we reached the hotel we stopped and thankfully took a deep breath of fresh air. We stood there for a few minutes just inside, deciding who should ask for per- mission. Audrey was the only one who had enough courage to do so. She crossed her fingers, walked boldly up to the elevator-boy, told him we were from North Bay rAudrey, had lived in Toronto all her life and never had been to North Bay and knew no onc there but meh and asked him if he would be allowed to take us up to the roof gardens. He asked the head man at the desk. The man answered, No, not now. The orchestra is just beginning its broadcast. But sir, they've come from away up north, the elevator-boy protested. How far north? asked the head man, amusedly. North Bay, sir. Oh, of course then, the head man said, looking astonished, If they've come so FAR, by all means take them up. Thank you, sir. With that, the elevator-boy led the way to one of the elevators. When all of us were in and the elevator was going up, the boy began to ask us about North Bay. He had played on the Trappers' hockey team the previous winter and he asked about some of the others on the team. Of course, I answered all his questions. He must have considered the others quite dumb or else just shy, because -they didn't answer anything about North Bay. Mean- while, I was watching the light that indicated what floor we were. We went up about eighteen floors, then to the roof gardens. The moment we stepped out of the clevator we stopped, dazzled. There were huge glass windows which separated us from the ballroom. Just inside, on a raiscd platform, was Mark Kenny's orchestra, every member of which wore a whitc suit coat and black trousers. The grand piano was also white. The singing star, Georgia Day, was standing near the microphone. She was very pretty, with blonde hair, blue eyes and dressed in a black evening gown which made a strik- ing contrast with the white of the men's suit coats and piano. From the micro- phone, hung a sign, On the Air. There were a few people dancing. When Georgia Day sang, we couldn't hear her above the orchestra. A trio sang too, but I didn't hear their names when the elevator boy told us who they were. He left us stand- ing there alone after about five minutes. We stayed a while longer, then went down, still in a daze. POPULAR SONGS Jean Waddingto-n Nowadays, songs are so numerous and of so many different styles that it is difficult to classify them, In general, the songs popular today may be put into four classes: Q13 common love songs: C29 slow ballads, 133 swing musicg C43 novelty songs. In the first class, that of the common, everyday love songs, lies most of the average popular songs of the day, In

Page 27 text:

THE NORTHLAND ECHO 19 green-horn must experience. The strange sound of a foreign language which I did not understand, the foolish feeling of not understanding and the awful feeling of not being understood- all took their turn in forming me into a Canadian. Although all those around me thought very highly of themselves and contrasted their great intellect with my utter stu- pidity, still, I believed I could tell those people something about which they knew very little-Poland. I could not help noticing the surprised comments that were made about our modern clothes, and I soon understood the oft-repeated questions of my curious Canadian friends, such as: Did you wear such clothes in Poland? Did you come in a big ship and were you sea-sick? Say 'hello' in Polish, or Tell me all about Poland. At first the English language was a puzzle to me. How can they understand each other? I thought, and to spite our Canadian friends we talked Polish con- tinually, so that they, in their turn would not understand. But presently, this fast jabbering, these groans and squeals took the shape of words which at last had a meaning. In the street I was utterly lost amid the great hubbub of traffic. This rushing ot' cars and people was absolutely unfa- miliar to me. and I never seemed to get my turn to cross the street-safely. In school understanding smiles were exchanged between the teachers and me, which at first amounted to nothing more. Later I found those teachers to be kind, sympathetic friends who helped me out of many difficulties, and took pride in my progress. At the dinner table countless adven- tures were related and as our knowledge of English increased, English words were mixed in with the Polish and the Jewish. Although my great love for Poland will never cease, part of my love now is reserved for my adopted country- Canada. THESE LONG-SHORE MEN tsenior Prize Essayj Bill Moyer, V Collegiate About twenty-five miles south of Hali- fax, Nova Scotia, lies the small village of Foxe's Point. This is the home of a group of Atlantic fishermen who fittingly call themselves Long-Shore men. I had the good fortune to spend a whole day among these men during the height of the mack- crel season, and it is a day that I Shall always cherish. Foxe's Point is strategically Situated in a small bay on one of many penin- sulas. Here I learned how independent the fishermen of Nova Scotia are. I was astonished to see their homes and their crude clothing, and to learn of the small pittance on which they live. Their homes are squat, all-frame structures, built by themselves and housing no more than five people. Every last one was sur- rounded by a crudely fashioned picket fence, usually whitewashed. There were about seventy-five such homes housing, in all, some five hundred people. Their homespun clothing made up of a giant black sweater, a pair of coarsely patched pants, and a pair of heavy, cork-soled boots invariably failed to fit them. Each family, in spite of its poverty, had a dog, which accompanied them when they lifted their nets. A Long-Shore man's morning begins at five, and he is always at the dock by seven. We happened to get to Foxe'S Point just about this time, when the men were busied in mending yards of leader nets and in bagging large quantities of coarse salt. They were a very fI'iendly and genial group. who seemed to take an interest in us as soon as they learned that we were from Northern Ontario. I met a sixteen-years-old boy, jigging eels, as he called it. I was deeply im- pressed with their very ringing musical dialect. It is the dialect of the men from Sussex, according tu my mother. They politely asked us to accompany them while they raised their nets in the morn- ing. These nets are raised twice a day. once at four o'clock and also at eleven in the morning. We wandered over the village until the time came for the raising of the nets. At this time, as a bay wind was blowing, the sea was fairly choppy. About eight men took part in the net- raising, two to a boat. The boats were tied together and drawn out to the nets by a power dory. This power dory is equipped with a harpoon for spearing tuna. The nets lie about two hundred yards from shore, and even at this short distance the water is thirty fathoms deep. As the boats approach the net, they break off from the power dory and encircle the pond, A5 the men begin to haul in the net, the mack- erel come to the surface and in such numbers of them that the water is churned into foam. I shall never forget the sight of those thousands upon thous- ands of rbeautiful green, striped fish, thrashing, leaping, twisting and turning in an effort to escape the net. As the fish are crowded to the surface, the load- ing boatmen throw a large dip-net into the pond. This dip-net is about six feet in diameter and takes in about five hundred fish every cast. The dip-net is thrown out by a rope, and then hauled

Page 29 text:

THE NORTHLAND ECHO 21 this class lie such songs as, This Is No Dream, Stairway to the Stars. Do I Love You? The titles of these songs suggest exactly what they are, merely a jumble of words that happen to rhyme, set to music. Whether there is any sense in them, judge from this example: You may spell love with a capital L , But I spell love with a capital You , Through the day you're away and I mope and mope and mope, And you do to, I hope, I hope, I hope. -and so on. It is merely the music in this type of song that makes them popu- lar. The tunes, whether last or slow, are catchy. You may hear a song ot this type o-n the radio and tnink to yourself Isn't that stupid! but I wouldnt be the least bit surprised if you found your- self humming the tune to that same song fifteen minutes later. The next class, the slow ballads, con- tains some of the most popular songs of the day as Blue Orchids , I Thought About You , Many Dreams Ag0 ', Care- less . School teachers can tell you just how popular these songs are, I imagine. Not many days pass without at least one industrious pupil czoonmg in a deep, bass voice-- South of the Border, Down Mexico Way. This type of song usually tells a sad love story, with the lover mourning his lost love. The music is slow and pulsing, the dancer's delight. The third class contains the type of songs people mean when they rave about that awful popular swing stuff. Although there is nothing nice about them, these ditties become quite popu- lar, and are played over and over again by dance orchestras. This class is even more meaningless than the first, for the words are only jargon, invented by some jitterbug in a. wild moment. Here's a good example: ' The jim jam jump is the jumpin' jive Makes you get your kicks on the mellow side Hep-hep, hep-hep. The music is usually just a repetition of a few notes or phrases over and over again with every instrument in the orchestra playing an individual tune as a side line. The last class, novelties, is the most popular of all. These songs come from nowhere to fame in an interval, and fade out just as quickly. But while they are popular everyone sings them, housewives, tradesmen, clerks. You wake up in the morning hearing the milkman whistle Ho-dle-ay, start the day right. On the way to work or school. you pass the news- paper boy warbling Oh Johnny without a care in the world. And you'll be lucky if you go through the day without hear- ing at least two renditions of Little Red -Fox, Confucius Say, Jiminy Cricket, Give a Little Whistle, or When You Wish Upon a Star. The tunes to these ditties are lilting, cheerful, almost con- tagious, and the lyrics are lively and original. This type of popular song is a great help in keeping up your spirits during the day. This is a summary of the popular songs today, but whether it will hold, even a year from now, remains to be seen. For songs come and go with sea- sons, with only a. few outstanding enough to be remembered. HISTORY OF CALLANDER, ONTARIO Jean McBeth, IVA Coll, The year was 1881 and prospects were bright for George Mo1'rison's young wife. She had her neat log cabin on the Point and the Indians were beginning to come regularly to exchange their fu1's for her husband's flour and blankets. At that moment he was miles distant, paddling toward Nipissing, with a bag of flour stowed safely away in the bottom of the canoe. Her baby dozed in its rough cradle near the open smudge which she had just kindled. WVhen she had thrown a yard or two of fine cheese-Cloth over the cradle to protect her little son from black-flies, Mrs. Morrison trudged slowly but cheerfully down the path to the lake- shore, swinging her empty waterpail. Far across the bay, several wisps of white smoke from chimneys at the Wasi we1'e visible as they rose and were wafted on the clear air far out over the still blue water. The woman stood, drink- ing in the cool, clean air for several min- utes. At last she bent to fill her pail. At that moment she glanced back to her home. From the spot where she was kneeling, she could see red flames licking greedily at the gummy pine floor and even as she sprang to her feet and strug- gled towards the house, she knew that she could not hope to save her child. That, unfortunately, was true. Evidently the baby had awakened and had, some- how, set the cradle rocking. The drag-