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

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THE ECI-1oEs 43 Exonerazfed FIRST PRIZE, ACAD. FIRST FORMS IT HAS been said of the amateur Photographer that he invariably takes the worst possible view of every- thing. George's parents probably in- clined to this opinion when their son and heir proudly exhibited his first attempts along that line. Certainly they made every effort to discourage his aspirations towards that expensive hobby, but to no avail. George filled the basement with mysterious bottles and boxes, locked himself in his temporary darkroom for protracted periods of time, left innumerable prints lying around the house, disposed of his pocket-money as fast as he received it, and spent all his spare time roam- ing the countryside with a second- hand Brownie. His parents, learned to treat all these activities with outward indifference. Accordingly, when one day George re- turned from a trip downtown carrying Several large and shapeless parcels, they took little notice. He had brought home similar bundles before, but he had never handled any so carefully as he did these. Our young photogra- pher carried his treasures to his room and locked himself in. Here he re- mained for the rest of the day. At Suppertime, George let slip a leading statement, and a few well- directed questions, from his parents, elicited the information that he was contriving, with the aid of several flash-bulbs, batteries and wire, a de- vice which, if a certain wire outside were stepped upon, would cause the bulbs to Hash and the camera to click. The net result of this would be a photograph of whoever had set off the device. George had completed the contrivance, and had left it set up before the window of his room, which was on the ground floor, when he was called to supper. George had for several days been engaged in such experiments, requir- ing much out-of-the-way apparatus, and had often been known to abstract household articles from their proper places without permission. Conse- quently, when his mother found a silver plate missing that night, she put two and two together, and pounced upon her son as the culprit. It did not occur to her to ask herself to what use George would put a silver plate, and she was furious when he denied the accusation. After a thorough cross-examination he was confined to the house while a Search was made, and having nothing better to do, retired to the room where he had left the camera. He examined the flash- bulbs, and to his dismay hefound that they had been set off. Someone had passed in front of the window - who could it have been but the thief! film from the George removed the camera and retired to his dark-room minutes later to develop it. Fifteen his father was aroused by a shout of at the top of triumph. He was met the stairway by a jubilant son, who held aloft a square of celluloid. The former was startled to see a mans features impressed on the film. This was dispatched to the chief of police, who pronounced it to be the likeness of Raflies, a notorious criminal, who was known to be in the neighbourhood. The felon was subsequently captured and the silver plate returned to Georges mother. HUGH KENNER, IC Acad. .sf - :im , . N 1 'R ,:. 21 .Q A .gf .d Q W

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42 Rustic Grandeur FIRST PRIZE IJOETRY, so one writer has said, is the key to one's inner being. Not long ago I chanced upon a bit of X erse written many years ago by Omar Khayyam reading thus: ll'ak'e.' for the Suu wlzo xmtteftl into flight The Stars before hinz from the jield of Night DrzAz'es Night alone iufth them from Hetnfiz. As I read that bit of poetry many thoughts and scenes flashed on the screen of memory. Because of the very nature of the poem the scenes pro- duced in panoramic sequence were those of the outdoors. Next in these brief scenes I see the glories of the awakening dawn. One morning I had occasion to rise early and cross to the opposite shore. Not a sound was heard save the sweet and mellow sound of the water idly lapping on the pebbled beach, and the familiar 'tputt-putt of the outboard. Nature had rung down the curtain in the form of a mist. Yet, even then that delicate drape was lifted and the sun in regal splendour made its debut for the day. Yonder on the rock was poised ready for instant flight a long-legged, un- gainly yet graceful, heron, its image mirrored in the placid waters. Finally, in fancy I see the climax of the day - the setting of the sun. Yonder, from my vantage point here to the left I saw it set, leaving tatters of purple and gold behind it to mourn its passing. 'What words of mine can express the scenic beauty-splendid flocks of pinks and blues and delicate pearly greys like sheep being herded into the oncoming night? Directly in the west were heaped up masses of velvety purple and midnight blue clouds, rent here and there with ragged splashes of heavy gold. As the sun slowly sank to the horizon, paused as if for a long last breath, and then was gone from sight, I found myself reading this bit of appropriate verse: THE EcnoEs The sim declines 0'er land and sea: Creeps ou the llligllff The t-wiuklzhzg stars come one by one To shed their liglzt. My mind travels back to a little cottage which might best de described as a rude structure of logs and boards hewn from the forests nestling near by, a strong door, and five small windows with wooden shutters. The moon is peering over a huge rock on yonder hill, its silver beams woven into the finest gossamer as they filter through the branches of the stalwart pines. My eyes linger on the wide expanse of sky, the purple curtained mountains, the dark plumy woods, the river winding like a silver thread along the valley. ' ' The TlfI0'i'Z.7lg Finger writesp and lzai'z'ng writ lvlores auf' BIARGARET PARKER, Spec. Com. - Sn Zig-1-177.71 SECOND PRIZE SNUG-L-INN is a tiny summer camp nestling in the trees and shrubs along a river bank. It is set back from the shore against a background of small, whispering pines. The shoreline is marked with snowy white rocks. worn smooth from the weather. During the day the sun glistens on the water, casting beautiful shadows on a velvety carpet of grass. A silver canoe drift- ing to and fro in the breeze gives one a feeling of everlasting peace. Behind the camp a tiny brook babbles over smooth pebbles, telling the story of its travels. It winds its way in and out until it is lost in a huge forest. In the evening the birds begin to fly to their nests in the forest. They come in Hocks, with a drowsy, hum- ming noise. At sunset the water becomes a vast, bottomless pool of colour. The trees cast weird shadows on the cabin and its surroundings. Night falls like a heavy velvet curtain, and complete silence reigns over one of natures most beautiful spots. FRANCES NEARY, IIA Com.

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