Peterborough Collegiate and Vocational School - Echoes Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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THE EcHoEs been caught in branches which hung over the river. The mother soon reached the spot, but seemed unable to get at the tiny creature which was entangled amongst the branches. Finally, with super- human strength, she tore the branches away and grasped her baby. She struck out for the bank and tried to scramble up, but it proved steep. Then, still carrying her precious burden, she made for a place where the bank was not as steep. I stood rooted to the spot, watching this battle against death. 29 Finally the mother reached her ob- jective, half swimming, half carried by the current. She climbed out and placed her olfspring on the grass. Then instead of fondling her baby, just snatched from the jaws of death, she delivered one good cuff which sent him rolling along the grass, and turned away. To a human being this was an heroic self-sacrificing rescue, but to the mother bear and her cub it was just another incident in a normal day, FRED HooPER, VB Acad. 1716171-g7Zdl'1.07l FIRST PRIZE UPPER SCHOOL You held it in your hand, the dying dove. VVhen first I came upon you in the wood, And the soft colours of its gentle throatl Were streaked with ruby blood. You said with scornful look, It's just a birdl Don't cry about it, silly one, you said. And, There are plenty of them in the Wood, No one will ever notice this one's dead. I wanted, then, to ask you if you thought You could bring back the tender cooing note Its mate had heard and loved, or paint again The iridescent rainbow of its throat? Oh, how I wish I could have called you lvrzrte - I only turned, and slowly walked away. You didn't understand? f You never could A I hope you will s some day. HILDA THoMPsoN, VA Academic

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28 It first was perpetrated by A merchant from the East, VVho told it while conversing with A Babylonic priest. The latter was too solemn to Expand into a smile, He passed the joke to Egypt then, Engraved upon a tile. The reigning Pharaoh thought it so Particularly smart, He had it widely spread about In hieratic art, It came into the keeping of A wilv Philistine. Who passed his time in dyeing cloth. In Davids house to shine. But ages passed, the joke was told, XVith cffervescent fuss, I'nto a Greek historian Hf name Herodotus. He carried it about with him And spread it far atieldg .Athenian archons over it XYith laughter fairly squealed. Still farther west it travelled, till It came to Cicero. They say that he was too refined, And thought it rather low. A Roman legionary in The latest Gallic war With joy incorporated it Within his repertoire. 'Twas brought across the channel next Despite the choppy seas, By merchants seeking metal from The Cassiterides. It cheered the hearts of all the men Boadicea led W'hen squatting round the ruddy blaze Before they went to bed. It has been circulated in Each dialect and tongue, Until we wish the merchant had Been prematurely hung. THE EcHoEs Its time-worn humour often decks The after-dinner speechg To parsons and to undergrads, It clings as would a leech. 'Tis like the evil deeds men do: It terrifies the brave: Though men may come and go, this joke Can never find a grave! G. SHEARER, IVB Acad. R556 HE AGENTLE breeze fanned the new green meadows in the distance and swept up the river. It was pleasant to sit there, my back against the bole of a great tree, and to sketch the beautiful landscape which unrolled before me. A few fieecy white clouds drifted lazily across a sky of deep blue. Above me and to my right, earth and sky met rather more abruptly, it seemed, along the top of the high bank strewn with boulders. From behind one of these rocks, even as I looked, a small form came into view peering this way and that. It seemed strange to me that in this place, which was almost a wilderness, a baby should be Wandering alone. I felt, therefore. that his mother was not far off for the baby was not any more than old enough to get around by himself. He seemed to be on an exploring expedition, for he toddled along the top of the bank inspecting the ground and turning over rocks in what seemed a most interested fashion. Then he slowly began to work his way down the bank, not seeming to notice me. Suddenly he stepped on a loose stone which slid out from under him, taking his feet with it. He rolled over and over down the bank and shot out into the black rushing waters. I jumped up and was about to dash to the rescue when the baby's mother, whom I had suspected to be near by, rushed panic-stricken over the hill and down the bank. NVithout a sound or a moment's hesitation she dived into the cold waters and struck out strongly for her baby, who had by this time

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30 THE EcHoEs My Library FIRST PRIZE, JUNIOR INIIDDLE SCHOOL 0NE Christmas I was presented with three little books. I had just learned to read, and these were the first books I had ever had all my own. VVith horror I followed the terrifying adventures of the Little Red Hen, spelling out the words with my linger. St. Nicholas had no more fervent admirer than I, as I visualized him dropping down the sooty chimney: and with tender compassion I read that great Christmas story of long. long, ago -the first Christmas. The 'iLittle Red Hen died of pure love. I regret to say I read it too much, and its disintegrated parts found their way to the dust-bin. The other two little volumes set out on the long trail to the west - the mission- aries wanted books. But my library did not stop there. Its growth has been slow but steady. I progressed through Peter Rabbit and Uncle XViggily and such childish woodlore, then the more reasonable works of Charles G. D. Roberts, and, finally, my endeavours in anthropology had their birth in the multitudinous pages of lVells' Ufflutline of History. I had, perforce, to seek new fields. Soon Alcott's books appeared on the shelf - 'tLittle Women and Little Men. Tom Brown's School Days will always occupy an honoured place on my shelves. The volumes of my childhood end with Crawfords Little City of Hope. I began, at last, to read in earnest. At a comparatively late date, Steven- son s Kidnapped and Treasure Island took their place on my shelves. I remember I could not at first under- stand whether the Fifteen men on a dead man's chest were sitting on a box, or acting as a sort of poultice to the deceased. At a later date, light began to show. Distinguished authors soon began to shine on the shelves. Scott, Dickens, Shakespeare, Gatier, Stratton-Porter, Ebers, Beaconsfield, Scott, Connor, and Yerne-all the great Honour Roll of authors Whose books will be read forever, and forever admired- I have, and love them all. Few people can realize what travel- ling I have done, and in what company. I have lain on the wet Highland moors with David Balfour, as Stevenson himself must have done. I have rid- den by the side of the Prince of Orange to fight the Spaniard, though I doubt if Ebers knew it. With T ancred, Beacons- field and I have made our pilgrimage over the burning plains of the East, and I sat with Bob Cratchett, warming my hands over the selfsame candle. I know what the inside of a debtor's prison looks like, and with Scott's julian Peveril have I lain in a dungeon in the Tower of London. I have fought the beasts in the arena at Romeg and with the Thracian Spartacus have I fought, sword in hand, through the mountains of Italy. But another library I possess - the library of memory. I know not how many volumes are in that great libra- ry' of books I have read but do not own, but I know and love them all. I can read them any time, for they need not be carried with me. It is my great library, and it can never be taken from me. My library! What meaning the word possesses. It is not merely morocco covers and printed pages, it is love, honour, truth, justice, history - all the knowledge of the past, and it is all mine. Certainly the greatest gift of a Divine Creator to his greatest creation was the gift of writing and reading, and the mind to understand. May it never be lost, for it holds, forever, the key to every door. BARRIE JACK, III A Acad.