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

Page 27 text:

Silent Night by BARRIE JACK v B Ac. The big car rolled silently down the cobbled street of Wutach and turned up the little ascent past the church which fronted on the village square. Wutach was quite dark at eleven o'clock in the evening, Anton nodded, and switching the lights off, turned the big car into the shadows of the lindens by the drive. Then stopping the engine, he stepped out, his rubber-soled overshoes noiseless on the gravel. quite dark, and anyone E Egg .if-V' lt would be a great could have accomplished coup for him, he thought, what four hlgh Austflall EF fiffgifiigfpi for none save he and secret service officials lk- those in the car knew were going to do that gl - it-ha i 3 bio ut it. He moved Wlntef flight.. I , fi qggg T? quickly across the drive The tires blt Softly IH 1, p?11 zf if 353435 , 3 and up through the thick the hard frost of the kj-vp xi f Q, 2 as -4ii12.Q'r,l shrubbery of the ter, Country road, and the f e , -- :W , X 5 if raced lawn. He buttoned twin beams glimmered J f ' e for an instant on the ' aff' 1 ' frightened, paralyzed form of a hare-before the big wheels of the car crushed the life out of it. It is doubtful if any one of the four men noticed it, or noticed the date on the calendar pad which swung from the instrument panel, for in war there is little time for frightened winter hares on frosty country roads, or for Christmas, or any other of the holidays so dear in times of peace. And so the big car breasted the rise of the hill above Wutach, and, for a moment, across the valley, clear and black against the twinkling stars in the frosty sky, rose the black bulk of the old Nordenwerk-and they noticed that, for, during the past months, since the defeat at Caporetto, more than one Italian prisoner had escaped, and had been passed through here on his way to Switzerland. They were quite silent as the car covered the last miles-silent and grim, these four men, all staring with hard bleak eyes at the bulk of the building steadily growing nearer. Some- where a cock crowed. Oneqof the men swore explosively, and for a time the tension relaxed. Only three o'clock, one said, in winter the cocks crow any time. You know these roads well, Anton? Quite well, excellenziaj' said the other in a rather bitter tone, quite well. Yes, he might well know these roads, this Anton von Essandorf, for in the old days he had often played here, when he was only Anton Bucher, when the people in the Nordenwerk had passed him by with a sneer, although he was a true-born German, and everyone knew the Nordenwerkers to be partly Italian, and with Italian sympathies. Anton, if you leave the car here, in the trees, said one, perhaps you could go on ahead and look things over. llc slzrank hucff unfl flrezl' his .si1f'm'wl lllflllscl' from his por-fret. - e his coat higher against T ' the cold, as he crept up by the fountains, now frozen hard, and noted th e weeds in the pools, and the dead grass between the paving blocks. Evidently Nordenwerk had not known such prosperous times of late. Then he was under the lighted windows of what he knew was the smaller dining room, and peering in through the frost on the glass. Within, there were four men sitting, one in Italian uniform, all with Italian features and all apparently quite happy, though their faces looked pinched and tired. In the corner was a Christmas tree, with candles and tinsel, and whom, beside it was Marquerite, Marguerite in the old days, he had known and-no, the Austrian official told himself sternly, loved. and his eyes left her to rest on no, not the old mother with Marguerite's child on her knees- with a Marguerite's and Otto's, he thought sudden pang. The thought drove the anger and hatred in him deeper and deeper into his soul, and he turned away from the window and back to the car. In the shrubbery he paused. His quick, trained ears had heard steps behind him on the frosty grass. He shrank back behind a low juniper, and drew his silenced Mauser from his pocket. Then his heart gave a great leap, and for a moment his revolver wobbled as he raised it to cover the figure of Marguerite on the grass. Come out of there at once, or I shall shoot, her voice said, clearly and sharply, and Anton watched her breath rising white against the night sky, and his heart pounded furiously on his ribs. Then his knuckles grew white on the revolver, and he grew strangely dizzy as a male figure rose from the shrubs a little wav to the left, a male figure in the uniform of an Austrian private soldier, with his arms raised above his head. But he was not quite prepared tConti1zuecl on Page S43 Page Ninratffmz

Page 26 text:

Im'vpli.v !fI'fll'TbllN pliwlnlzqzzcf vi nmynrz profi'.s.si.s IlI17'1lllI'l'I1.Y lute qua .vple21ffr'11f. 1111118 et alter IIIISIIHIII' jltlllllll-9... lInz'r11'0. Dv ,lrfv Poeticzl, Often to weiglity enterprises and such as profess great Uli.i1'f'lS. one or two purple patches are sewn on to make ai fine display in the distance. The heading Purple Patches has become very familiar to us. What exactly does it mean? By applying the quotation from Horace, we see that the weighty enterprises are sections of the magazine such as School News and Form News. The Purple Patches sewn on only to make a fine display in the dis- tance are the literary contributions. When Mr. Morris suggested the name perhaps he intended a subtle hint that this department is not read widely enough by students. The 1940 Purple Patches upholds the stand- ard of its predecessors and may even surpass Turns and The Stranger. The first is light and comical, the second historical. To our know- ledge it is the first time plays have been Printed in The Echoes. Special mention might be made too of the excellent senior short stories. Due to lack of space one or two which merited printing were omitted. Another new feature is the Junior Literary Section for Grades IX and X. This year the work of the juniors will not suffer by immediate compari- son with that of the seniors. At the Sigma Phi Convention in Toronto. Hugh Kenner won a prize for his story in the 1939 edition of The Echoes and Barrie Jack won honourable mention for his work. This year we have fine contributions from these boys. The work in Purple Patches is well done and worth while taking time to read. Look over the next twenty-odd pages and see for your- it. There are two plays this year. The Wor'm selves. BIARGARET Wusi-mn. 'T ll ..LiIlit: fi at .T ,, i V T Wi 'li T ' ' 0 I filly, .9 V xi ii' - 0 I .. ,fffl ,Q -'.,f , lx - E :NX fl' .f I fl X j 51,4 J fr ff 1:7 f 4 l f . i , X TM ll l.' -.-L ' - 4 .ttt T - -is ' ff f jf U' X!!! . I w I .V ef' . x . ,i lf. .5 X 1 . - Their song of joy, And peace, and love, Told that a Babe From realms above, The Saviour of Us all would be The Song OF Love by ARDYTH RICHARDSON, xi c Ac. It was long ago, One winter's eve, That angels from The skies did leave, To sing their song To shepherds there, Awaiting long The Child most fair. Then finally They disappeared. The host was goneg The sky was cleared. And then men Went To look for Him Who had been sent 1,9 And die for love A jk A Upon a tree. l X X X Q . 'v S T41 I XY 'PA - J y X it fl Ill ... .qi P0111 fzqlziven To Bethlehem.

Page 28 text:

Y Y V- tx 1 LO 7' XY Y Xxx, Y Xu ,, Y ix' Xi L7 if N' s -X X, lx jg VX A N -. M' v 'A A . L.. -'O NZ 1 1 ml. xx V . - 1 ' .5 K gh ,p g,x z , XX XX xc Xl A l :ZZ x I l Q FL Qyilmkk by Xt, L in x i ' - il Mlm ' , Q wil' 'QQQSW The Stuff OF Life by JIM LILLICO, VA AC. A cheerful smile, a hearty grip, A kind word in the face of strife, A helping hand, by friendship moved, These go to make the stuff of life! A lilting song, a dew-touched leaf, A mellow pipe with curling haze, A full-rigged ship on white-tipped swell, A good book: these fill all our days. A Heecy cloud, the pale new moon, The smell of lavender and lace, A sprightly dance, a ling'ring kiss, The sight of unforgotten face, The mute appeal in a dog's deep eyes, Gulls by JACK THOMPSON, XI C AC. Sea gulls floating on the breeze, Lazily drifting o'er the sea, Near the fishing-wharfs and quays, Search for bits of fish, dropped free. Sighting one, a gull banks steeply, Then drops down with quickened pace,- Other gulls observe this quickly, And with raucous cries. give chase. They swoop down at the would-be owner Who. with loud and angry cries, Quickly snatches at the morsel, And with hurried beats, then flies. But after him his fellows rush: He hears around him greedy calls, And while he dodges, swooping, turning, From his beak the morsel falls. Downward, ever downward, spinning, Falls the bit for which they fight, And the disappointed pirates Watch it vanish out of sight. , s F , . , ,J , , 4, eg A X lil' . , if' -rs. ,, E gr M ' pk X my x K fr ku? fl 5 R Q June Night by OLGA WESTBYE, SP. COM. Still, so still Summer is young to-night, The silver moon she wears Leaves her breathless with delight. Her dusky hair is caught with stars And misty scarves, all milky white. Soft, so soft Her eyes are dark and gay, Her lovely laughing face is there The child that spreads its arms in glee, Watching the moonbeams play. An old oak-tree: a thousand things, Had we but time to stop and see! Page Twenty Time for a moment stops to gaze- Then hastens on his way.