North Bay Teachers College - Polaris Yearbook (North Bay, Ontario Canada)

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North Bay Teachers' College + - I H I - I I I I 1 1 1 H H -. H I .- .-MH I S .S I H I - .-. H - S H I .-' H H H - + THE SONG OF THE NORTH BY ELIZABETH ANNE HARVEY Musical training is a more potent instrument than any other. because rhythm and harm-.-ny find their way into the inward places ot the soul. - Plato. How well this might have been the philosophy of my dear music teacher. the late Mrs. Ruby Dunn XX athen! For a quarter ot a century she initiated the youngsters or New Liskeard into f'IlU:lC. held them up during their tirst struggling steps, and praised them when their ettorts culminated in success. Taking music from her was much more than learning to sing or play the piano. It was a lesson in co-operative living. in sharing. and above all else. in good humour. Klrs. XYathen's studio was always a beehive of activity. One or two people would be at the piano. another one or two doin: harmony at the dining table. still another group occupying :OIIIC small corner testing one another in history. and perhaps a fourth group learning the names of notes in the kitchen. Mrs. XYathen herself would be helping the people at the piano, often being dieturlitll by a member from another group. lf you arrived earlv for your lesson. you were soon engaged in helping someone learn notes or in marking a harmony paper. For all her boundless energy. Mrs. XYathen was a small woman and was not well much of the time. However. she drove herself to the limit every day and was always ready to help any group in its musical endeavours. XYhen it was your turn at the piano. you received lessons rarely forgotten. lf you had a go-5-fl lesson you were commended: if it was poor you received a rebuke. but it was always adnumstered with a twinkle in the eye. How could anyone not strive to please her? As a result of her untiring efforts and the response and co-operation of the townspeople. New Lis- keard became the musical centre of the north. XYhen she came to our community the musical talent was lying dormant. bhe went to work. and before long her choral group presented such light operas as The Red Mill and The Mikado . Her church choir. sometimes augmented by singers from other churches. Catholic or Protestants isuch ditterences were not notedl gave renditions ot works such as Handels Mes- siah . Of all the musical groups. the New Liskeard Ladies' Philharmonic Choir deserves the highest mention. This choir was begun by eight girls who gathered at Mrs. XYathen's home on Saturday evening to sing together for an hour. To-day the choir has a membership of over fiftv. They toured the North. Qiving concerts and making radio appearances. Their crowning glory was winning the Lincoln Memorial Trophy for the best ladies' choir in all of Canada in 1952. Choirs from Halifax to Vancouver competed but our girls came first. The only requisites for membership were that you had to be between the aces of sixteen and twenty-five and that you should love to sing. The latter requirement was not hard to fill. for anyone singing under Mrs. XYathen's direction automatically loved singing. You will not hear of the New Liskeard Ladies' Philharmonic Choir any more. for. after Mrs. XX'atTtei:'s death in 1933. they changed their name to The Ruby Dunn XX athen Memorial Lhoirf' They travelled to Toronto again this year and won first prize at the Kiwanis Festival. As so often happens to persons of this type. their physical strength cannot keep pace with Elie in- terest and enthusiasm or the spirit. and our dear lady with the soul tull or music. died or cancer. l re- ceived one ot the last lessons she ever gave. and. even though her body was trembling from pam and weak- ness. I was given a reprimand delivered in her usual way. ending with her brown eyes twinkling. Mrs. XYathen. who was thankful. as she frequently remarked. for her curly hair. her sense of l'1lYlL'1lf' and her rhythm. was truly a great teacher. She taught without thought of gain or wealth for herself. Her main idea was to open the door of music to every child who expressed a desire to learn. She tauiiit he- cause she loved children and youth. seeming to believe that harmony and rhythm could redeem all life. She worked tirelessly for all those who needed her, from the one room rural school to the choir slit Zttililc tamous. In Hn' still tifr flu' music lim' rozln'urd,' ln tin' roiigxlz irriiriwl' l't'nn'y lips ltll5t't'll.' To :t'nl't' fin' rnnsit' mid' tin' utility naar? Tin' :r'.r.vrvr'5 toiicfi, rin' .rciilpt-'r'5 .'f'i:'5cl l't't'r:. -HCFA' ...S EON-li. NORTHERN AUTUMN liolflly tlwf .Xrtist lllis spilled His paints in a torrent of brilliant colours. lie lttis staintd 1 t 'irc' ts with yellow, brightening sometimes lu orange or fading to green. He lllir splashed the hills ni? :T-t red of the sumac, and the rich gold-brown of the oak. lleyond. the dark pines stand gil--.-5, and 'dui-:i:g,t.Z spruce blend their sombre slllUlt's into at fitting background for the riot of colour. The sllll, 'doo-ly with t c smoke of distant tires. sets. .X blue have drifts over the hills. dimming their brilliance. Thi wntd whzps a few stray leaves beiore it, :ind then. in :i violent inry. lllils ai shower ot' golden coins :r--::- t- tr-t .Ns it strips :away the glory of the trees it st't'lll- lu take with it the gnity i I' our souls Ht .tri it 1 by :i sense nl. the lnel:ineholy oi :intnnin :nitnnin, with its sttllil blgife vl colour. so s- - .x to y-.iss ... -Process FQ-iagsr PAGE 45

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North Bay Teachers' College up I ll l un nl ll ll ll ll ll Il ul ll ll ll ll ll nu -ll ll ll ll ul ll ll lu ll Ill lu ll In ll ll ll ul ll ll I+ RHUMBA ON THE SNOW You say you love to hear the swish of snow beneath your flying skis? Not I! I much prefer the creak and champ of snowshoes as they clump laboriously over the snow. It is a comparatively simple matter to learn to snowshoe - except that you must have certain peculiar physical characteristics. Your legs must be slightly bowed and yet be long enough to stride forward. You should also have an extended torso, so that you will be able to touch, not your own toes, but the ground in front of the toes of the snowshoes whenever necessary. The first step in earning to snowshoe is, of course. motivation. You simply must motivate yourself. Tell yourself how much you'd love to get out your snowshoes again. Don't, on any account, let yourself think of your initial attempt on them last year. Vvhen you have worked up sufficient enthusiasm, take out your snowshoes, place them on the snow, and tie yourself into them. Now you are ready to move for- ward. Poise yourself, raise one leg into the air. swing it away to the side. and bring it down and forward in a wide arc - a somewhat glorified rhumba step. You're away! Strike out across the nearest field. If there isn't much snow, don't let it bother you. It gives you a sense of power to mash the little plants beneath your feet. Then, of course, there is the inevitable fence. You say you develop wonderful balance on skis? Let me assure you that there is no better balance exercise than climbing a fence on snowshoes, for it involves balancing on the round toe of one snowshoe and on the pointed tail of the other, while trying to hold yourself erect enough to be clear of the fence. On skis you might go faster down hill, but on snowshoes you go faster up hill. I find a way may be developed to beat the skier down hill also. You simply dig in your toes and pitch forward to the foot. rolling all the way. It is best to develop a certain bold pride and if possible a slight swagger as you snowshoe: at least look as it you are enyoying yourself. This will help to carry you over many embarrassing situations. You will love the intricate patterns you create in the snow, and the firmness of each foot-print made. The trail will pack hard. so that you may pick up your snowshoes and walk home on it. it you so desire. Don't give up. Be optimistic. Lean back in your chair, pinch some colour into your pallid cheeks, draw back your lips in what you hope is a grin, and with all the strength you can muster say, My, what an invigorating experience! -UNA BRUCE THE SPELL OF THE NORTH It was pure enchantment! A fairy's jewel-studded wand had touched me, and suddenly I was in the midst of a coniured dream. Kiere words could not express my feelings, as I stood poised on the crest of a Laurentian hill on a moon- light night. I gazed as a sovereign on the kingdom spread before me. My ski pants and thick habitant jacket were changed to robes of purple velvet pile: my cumbersome ski boots fitted snugly into the stirrups of a saddled, brown hickory steed. The steep slope beneath spread gently into a shallow basin before it was swallowed up by ermine-coated evergreens. The trees were stalwart sentinels, whose hearts held mystery and age-old lore. They stood apart and aloof from shivering hazel bushes, whose heavy snow hats had made them giant umbrellas. 'Yonder, like the packed bleachers of a stadium, a steep hill arose in a sea of dark-coated trees. Silent- ly it dared my skill. Challenged in the expectant silence, I pushed off. My skiis leaped forward, breasting the brilliant crust, curving smoothly round guardian trees which sought to halt my intruding journey into the mysterious valley. Soft snow streaked from beneath the fguickening wood and sprayed past my ankles. I was exuberant with confidence as I glided along the basin floor. No longer an intruder, I was but a shadow filtering through the pregnant silence. Slowly I turned to gaze whence I had come. The smooth trail was as though carved from silver, already part of an ancient past. I lingered, scarcely daring to breathe in the fragile stillness. l'ast thicket and tree I laboured up the hill until I stood upon its summit. In the horizon, the city's rosy glow penetrated the cold heavens. Its twinkling lights were an earthly Milky XYay. To the right lay the club house, from which a thin, curling column of grey smoke crumbled incessantly in vainly- attrinpted ascent. It was as if standing on the brink of two worlds - one of bustling, struggling human- kind. the other uf peace. safety and beauty. 'Ihr -pi-II was broken! I had no choice nov' but to return, and I glided reluctantly to the clubhouse. Vfbat ha- man tver created to equal nature - its beauty, its stillness, its depths? Rouscd from my reverie bg, sbontnie roinpanion-. l joined them before 11 blazing hearth. I had one ionsolaiion. .Xt Inst, I had found that which quenched my thirst. .X taste of forbidden .'.1:.fi, sl1'1'I1 'l f.-.ith iininortality, il trespassed sanctuary - an earthly p:1r:1dise. -KATHY CROZIER GE 44

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North Bay Teachers' College aiu n nl nu nn nn lu In nu un lu nu nu nn un :sian un In un--nu lu :min nu un nu nn nu nn nu nu un un un nu u nu nn ull LUCKY STRIKE You haven't lived long in the North before it hits you. People show chunks of rock to you. or ask what stocks you like, or talk about a forty dollar geiger making you a millionaire. Phrases such as The Mile of Gold and the Golden Stairway fire your imagination. You know that under the very ground whereon you walk run long tunnels where men spend their days and nights digging for gold, in some places a mile down into the most ancient of the continent's rock. XYhether you go picking blueberries. hunting, or merely strolling in the woods, you feel the urge tu strip the rocks, moss, and over-burdemng soil from the land, and expose the twisted, complex rock formations below. Possibly there may be a fortune in gold, uranium, or some hitherto unheard-of metal that will one day prove useful to a machine-lumgry world. A short distance ahead you may find an abandoned mine shaft, prospector's hut or ancient glory hole - evidence that someone before you has seen the end of a dream. You are not discouraged, remembering that in 1910 Reuben Deigle sank a small shaft near the Hollinger and missed a two hundred million dollar mine by a few feet. You reflect that you are not a geologist or assayer, but then Lady Luck, the Queen of the North, has never reserved her favours for the mineralogist or the savant. XVhimsicaIly she has showered her greatest treasures on wandering pan and shovel men like Bennie Hollinger and Sandy Mclntyre. Even now she may be smiling enigmatically, waiting for a potential Uranium King of the North to shout Bingo! Hastily you adjust the geiger counter, standard equipment of all woodsmen, and listen feverishly for its click. You are uncertain whether it is your heart or the machine that is producing the noise. Not quite sure what the sound would be like anyway, you decide that the effort is justified and dig up as many pieces of rock as you can reasonably carry home. Forgotten are the blueberries. the partridge, the trailing arbutus or whatever vagary of fancy led you to the woods. Your thoughts, your senses, your dreams are concentrated on the pile of rocks which you carry on your back and which, with the geiger counter, you sheepishly try to hide from a fellow wanderer whom you meet in the woods. Dreams gradually lose their efficacy to lighten the weight of the rocks during the last mile. You are wondering about the specific gravity of uran- ium as you stumble up the front steps of your cottage. Examining the rocks in the glow of the electric light after supper, you sleepily decide that it is too late to see an assayer to-night, and at any rate there is not that much of a rush. As you sit nodding in your chair, it seems that the small sounds of the night about you are suspiciously like the sounds which you thought came from the geiger counter. In the dim gray light of your room next morning you stub your toe and remark, I must remember to throw out those darn rocks! g -GWEN LEEDER LITTLE JOE Once there was an Indian boy who roamed the forests of the north country. Early in the morning he would come out of his wigwam, pick up his bow and arrow, and start off down the narrow winding trail. Little ,Ioe was a good hunter, one of the finest in his tribe. Because he was only a little boy. this skill was looked upon as a gift from the great Manitou. It was a familiar sight to see Joe come home with his deer, surrounded by children who had gone to meet him. His tribe had never been hungry since joe had learned to hunt. .Xt last the time came when Little ,Ioe was allowed to go along with the older men to trap furs in the winter. The nights were long, and many moons passed before word came from the men. News arrived at last, but it was an unhapppy day for the tribe. Little ,Ioe would not be back: he had been lost. That night ,Ioe's mother climbed the high mountain at the back of the encampment. She knew where her small son had gone. The great Manitou had taken lmn back to the happy hunting ground. Through the dark, still night came the voice of the great Spirit to her. Your tribe shall never go hungry. and you shall be blest with good fortune. The wind blew softly, Io-ee-eel jo-ee-ee! .Xlways when the wind blows in the north country, whether it tosses the clouds or lulls the pines, you can hear in the breeze the name of the little boy Joe. whose sad fate brought good hunting to his tribe forever after. -THERESA STUMP A WISH I wish I were a teacher. l'd teach them how to master, Ilut not the kind you know: The necessary skills - l'fl ljkf. U, gf, my teaching' Gelandesprung and christie Un skis in powfler snow. Vpon the steepest hills. vw! lwrlr. il, ,.1,.:,,, gm,-r,,um1i,,g,' I w0u.l.dn't need to motivate. - Or fill the class with dread. XYith skis all pointing downwards They'd surely get ahead! -BRUCE BUCKLEY I fl make my pupils learn, 'I It flu with NIIIHHIII precision, 'x pwlwt le1npif' turn, I-GE 46