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

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f-'. afb X K 1lZc',T5'ix . i6T7'TV6T,,ixwz-i'1f+K'N . 4 5,51 ff fr 325' f 3 , Q - f kgaf ' Qy',,ff.fl f aw - fa.. A 5- f ' i ' 5 VA. as-3 l ing. if! 4 ff? , -Qc : 41 - W Y' ff' 3- ' I I fig. I A Wdferfdll ri K4 ' , ' by GOLDIE TULLY, IIB Com. V sf . . 'ff fn A rlver flows from the hills be- f , J ond into the woodsy-valley of I 'N r f if M7gNV,,..v. , N ., the swamp. Here and there, in 3553s, H Xl its course, it is dotted with 24, .Nil ' j -info f ' waterfalls and rapids, but else- where are calm and shallow places. Gne of the most beautiful spots, is the place where a little tributary joins the main stream and Hows harmoniously along with it. The river glides, so easily that one can scarcely see the movement of the limpid waters over the gray rocks and golden sand. Then a drop occurs in the river's course. All move- ment seems to slacken for a moment, then down the water plunges, in a desperate, foaming, volley: the spray flies high, the noise is that of thunder. A waterfall has a magnetic charm. It flows on and on, world without end, and seems to speak volumes, as your gaze penetrates its depth. From the lower valley, the view is different. The water seems to tumble in a continuous confusion, the noise is a steady, muffled rumble as of the last vestige of an echo, tossed among the mountains, the foam seems to swallow all the water that comes down, and then the river flows out between the jagged rocks, growling as if it had been hurt by the fall. Tall grass fringes the borders of the waterfall and some, growing in the stream, thread the waters and create a myriad of tiny ripples. Spray and mist keep the grass around it forever green and moist and fresh, and make it resemble a polished field of emeralds sprinkled with crystals. Madonna Mia by ALAN BROWN My lady in her shawl of green,- So dark her hair, Her cheeks so fair,- Is stately as a jeweled queen, In fish-flecked pools as still as earth, In swirling deeps Of rock-ledged steeps, My lady's green-lit eyes had birth. The Wish by MARY WAITE, IIC Ac. VVhile walking through the wood one day, I chanced to meet a fairy fay, He stood beside a babbling brook, And woeful sad at me did look. He mused aloud while standing there, His words repeat-I'd hardly dare! The little fay thought all amiss, His talk was long-the gist is this: Why through their lives all mortals go, Scarce heeding all that fairies know- The tunes the wind plays through the trees, What flowers say to humming bees, Ne'er seeing all things good and fair, The beauty 'round them everywhere, But plod along their dreary ways, Missing the glory of the days? God gave them eyes to see things with, Souls to know beauty's not a myth, Grew lovely things all o'er the earth To make them glad and give them mirth. Would I could ope their eyes so blind, And tune their ears to every wind, Set free their souls-poor things-to know The beauty 'round them here below! SUmlTlef SOUHJS by MARION BROWN, VA The drowsy hum of honey-laden bees Plundering the treasure-troves of locust trees, The opiate murmur of contented doves Filling the dove-cote with their slumberous loves, - 1- xx? as , pg' K , 1 -.I ' J '1..,.J iifiug. X.: '...Zi?f?fl rf9i W., Sai. 1-1' A'.fqrgU93Z,,. 4, ' -'+Q.Wi fw?7e4, :Q-XX L- A34 154: -L -- ' ' 'ma A -,.. X -. - QQ4-1 lgfavf . ri , ig fa, . A, - -:nj xt K , The drone of cars along the dusty road, The hay-carts, groaning 'neath their fragrant load, The laughing lullabys of happy brooks, The sleepy chatter of hone-coming rooks, The cry of night-hawks in the gathering gloom, The cool, dark silence of a shuttered room. Page Twenty-five

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DOUbl6 Trouble Dc1ve's Memory Was Weak, and so was Wencly's Ankle by PAULINE STORY, V A 'Twas the Saturday morning after one of the best parties he had ever attended. Dave stretched luxuriously in hed and meditated. Somehow, he rather wished he hadn't made that date for the next Friday though, but then, what could he do? After all, he was dancing with the girl, when that fool Ted came over and asked her to go skating with him on the following Friday evening. Ted was short, cross-eyed and a bad skater besides, and Pat had turned to Dave with pleading eyes. Dave recol- lected that Pat's eyes were lovely, dark and deep-setg the thought of her staggering through an evening of skating with Ted had been too much for his chival- rous nature. He had said to the optimist, Sorry, Ted, but we've got Friday all booked up, haven't we, Pat? And there he was! Of course, there was Wendy to be considered, whom he had been escorting for several months, but she was a good sport, and any- way, shed never know. Suddenly, a horrifying thought struck him, he seized a calendar, and sure enough, there it was! He not only had a date with Pat for Friday night, he also had one with Wendy! What on earllz could he do? --f , . 1,4 VH, . Y ,Bragg , ' ,, ,, ' ',f,j'i ' Xa 'Q ' -f'fj,, -f,,2? 1,1--- ff ,. - ' if- K ff f - ' . .ft-fp1f?S . . ., -, . .figs--if' ,, --v ff x ,, f ', . ' arf-'-if . ff' 5 .. I s 'Hr-191 ,-zffqq - if- ' f V si, . . .Mp ,ffff ,sg L- ' 1 - JV' wh, 7 , f ,. 1 -mr 10 v f .fy l... f 41 V . .fr 1 . fl 'A Sv I ' o f S-955' if -fif? M51 . 114,41 .V , , I .- ,yy H . .. f--la --Wifi! so aa ,, W e I -1 ' lf -fi I. fl t g' 7- -'A - - ,.. f llffpfg, ll, S -f i x .1 . X ' WW . , s e l7n1'r'! N01 y014. ' - If wax l'lyF?III1'l'. Came Wednesday evening and poor Dave was still in a quandary. He couldn't possibly avoid that engagement with Pat-he hardly knew her. On the other hand, he really wanted to go out with Wendy. With a bewildered expression on his face he stared at his homework and wondered what he should tell who. In the midst of his reveries burst the ring of the telephone. 'lThat you, Dave? came Wendy's familiar tones. That gentleman murmured assent, and the con- ventional inquiry about her health, while his mind with lightning rapidity considered and discarded alibis. I wonder, she said anxiously, after she'd been talking for awhile, if you'd forgive me if I didn't go out with you on Friday? Page Twenlyfour Wonder of wonders! feign disappointment 2- We-e-ll, I guess not. Was he dreaming? Best to If you must. but we're going to have 'Tm terribly sorry, visitors, she pleaded, and I don't see how I can leave the house. All right then, said our hero in his best sports- manlike manner. Shall we make it Saturday? Great! You're such a dear, Dave! Dave hung up with a sigh of relief. Everything comes to him who waits. No doubt about it. Old Bill Shakespeare knew what he was talking about- or was it Bill? Oh, Well, who cared? He danced back to his homework with his mind free from worry. The fatal evening arrived, and off they went to the Park. Pat looked lovely. Her navy ski-suit emphasized the smallness of her figure, the darkness of her eyes, the gold of her hair. She was sweet, too, very helpless and feminine, Dave felt so big and strong with her! But she couldn't ski, and while picking her up was far from unpleasant, Dave nevertheless found himself remembering Wendy's skill. At the top of the slope, Pat shivered and said she would never dare go down a hill like that! Dave again thought of Wendyis tomboy daring. She would have been off first, teasing him because he hesitated, defying him to race her to the bottom. Nothing helpless about Wendy! Finally Dave persuaded Pat that her last minute would not come if she followed him down the slope, and having warned her always to fall sideways, he set off with her close behind. He knew she was close behind because she screamed every time she hit a bump. Suddenly, out of the maze of trees to his right a swiftly moving figure swooped down across his path. It was too late to dodge, he plunged head- first into the snow and the other skier continued a short distance unmolested, then came back. Dave extracted his upper portions from the soft snow and brushed it from his eyes and hair. In the darkness he could make out three ngures, Pat and another couple. One of the others shone a fiashlight in his face, and a familiar feminine voice gasped. Dave! Not you !', It was Wendy. Our hero was speechless but Pat murmured in surprise, You two know each other? Wendy took control, as she usually did, and in- troduced herself and her companion. The latter was a tall, dark boy with an English accent. A1- though his name was Dudley he was very good-1ook- ing, and Pat was soon engaged in animated conver- sation with him. They decided to make it a four- some, and Dudley and Pat started off together. Kiontinued on Page 83D

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Watching the Ships Come Home ELEANOR GLOVER, Ill B Ac. The sun is setting in the westg the red rays cover the sea, And soon the ships will come sailing in, come hurry- ing home to me. The gulls are soaring above the sails, that rise up out of the blue, Where the sky stoops down to kiss the sea, and the sun is shining through. The ships are coming closer now-larger and larger they grow, Like great sea monsters out of the deep, with their sails as white as the snow. The toils and the worries of day disappear with the evening that fades with the light, When the sun goes down behind the clouds to sleep through the silent night. I love to stand on that rocky shore, watching the waves roll by, When the roar of the wind seems to sing a song, and fades at length to a sigh, When the sky is as clear as the ocean below, with the clouds like the drifting foam, And I stand on that shore with my eyes to the west, watching the ships come home. Symphony by B. JACK, IV A, The train of lumbering freight cars, pulled by a labouring engine, Servant of trade unequalled, chanting its Benedictus i'Blessed be the God of Industry, who hath made the train and the engine! The thund'rous rumble of freight cars, the clatter of wheels on rail joints, The great, deep bass of the engine, and violins of the brake shoes Struck a metallic symphony, which, echoing and resounding Came back from the fields and river, echo'ed from the vault of heaven! The Symphony of Industry, in a quiet Autumnal landscape. Then it passed away into distance, and all was quiet in the valley. Dreams by M. WHALON, 2 B Com. I slept, and dreamt that life was beauty, I woke, and found that life was duty, Was my dream then a shadowy lie? No. In my opinion dreams are not lies. They are lovely, wispy clouds, that float about from place to place, clouding one's vision with beautiful scenes, never to be realized in true life, but always vivid in the Land of Make Believe. Dreaming is one of my favourite pastimes. Some people say, Dream- ing will get you nowhere. Everything in this world must be obtained by work. These people have never known the joys of a dreamer. They have never had the power to change summer to winter, twilight to a 'iMagic dawn. They have never travelled on Carpet to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. They enjoy only material things. A dreamer will always be rich. His store of wealth this dreamsj will never diminish. Jungle Night by JESSIE REYNOLDS, III D Ac. It is night-time in the jungle, and up sails the copper Little breezes move the scented air, and softly, moon, Huge at first, then growing smaller and then ' slowly swing All the gorgeous, cupped, exotic flowers growing turning Here profusely, there quite singlyg and a furry, Silver-coloured, she makes shadows, long and blue on deep lagoon, Short and flick' ring on a native camp-fire burning. trembling thing Hurries past, at first quite quickly and then slowing. Now the jung1e's pulse is quickened by a far, ex- cited cry, Green eyes gleam from out dense thicketsg and the whirrings Of the black, elusive bats, silhouettes against the A sky, Break the moonrays into many, shadowed slur- rings. Page Twenty-six