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

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After School 5 by PAULINE KEMPT, IX H A house should h ave a E+, cookie-Jar For when it's half-past H three ls The children all rush home ' L, from school As hungry as can be. Therels nothing quite so splendid In filling children up As spicy, fluffy, ginger cakes Or white milk in a cup. A house should have a mother Waiting with a hug No matter what her child brings home Some money or a bug. Children only dawdle home When the bell rings to dismiss If no one's home to greet them With a cookie or a kiss. The Spring Woods by LENORE MATHER, IX F The day had come for my favourite excurs- ion-a visit to the spring woods. I had never yet missed this visit nor did I ever intend to. The beauty of this scene is stamped on my memory forever. How fragile seemed the delicate hepaticas as they peeped from under their covering of dead leaves! What lovely colours they were, ranging from the frost-like white to deep purple, like nothing I have ever seen! How green were the tender shoots of numberless other plants! The trillium had not yet shown itself to the curious eye of the invader. The trees had not responded to the call of spring and they stood like dark sentinels guarding the secrets of the woods. Little rabbits darted hither and thither as though in search of the unknown presence which we call spring. This scene stands foremost among the many which I have treasured in my memory. It was not a wonderful one such as is seen from a sky- scraper in New York, but its simplicity was its charm, Page Thirty-two The Hisory of Hats by JEAN MCDONALD, x A com. The first we hear of hats is in the early days in Phrygia, Asia Miner, where warlike Women called Amazons lived. They wore helmets made from furry animal skins which had long, thin ear-laps. The Romans and also the Egyptian women wore practically the same hats , Other later members of the extensive hat family were the gabled hood and the wimple, The chaperone with a laripipe was a hood worn by jesters in old English kings' courts. A cape was attached to the hood, covering the shoulders and sometimes having tiny bells jangling from the points around the bottom of this cape. The laripipe was a long, narrow tail, hanging from the top of the hood. The gabled hood was a high three-pointed head dress having graceful folds of cloth which fell down the sides of the face. There were many versions of it ranging from low, fairly flat types, to high, basin-like hoods worn by the upper classes. The wimple, as most of us know, was made from cloth which could be wrapped around the head in many different ways. It covered the hair because the men of the church had a belief that women should not show their hair. Another kind of old English hat was the hennon. It was high and pointed and suggested afdunce's cap. Twisted around it from bottom to top and fal- ling from the point was a long strip of cloth. Later varieties of headdresses included the French Revolutionary Period type. These women wore their hair done high on their heads. Straw and lard were used to keep the many curls in place, and a small, flat hat was placed on the top. Plumes, feathers, and rib- bons provided ample decorations. In the Elizabethan era, what was known as the Mary Stewart headdress was favoured by the women. It resembled greatly the widow's of modern days. The men of the French Revolutionary Period usually wore wigs, much powdered and berib- boned, with curls in the back. In Henry VIII's time flat hats, made from rich velvets and other fine fabrics, were the men's headgear. They usually had a large colorful plume thrust in the side. In the nineteenth century an operetta en- titled The Merry Widow inspired the women to wear large, broad-brimmed hats. The hair was then done in the upsweeping pompadour style. Another favourite style of this century was the bonnet. It began by being small and nar- row-brimmed but was gradually replaced by a large, and also very wide-brimmed bonnet. fCOlIfi71Il8II on Page 93,

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JUNIOR LITERARY SECTION Wintefs Wonderland by Joyce GALLAGHER, H. ARTS x There is something about the Winter beauty of Jackson Park that is very impressive and awe-inspiring. One cold frosty afternoon, a friend and I decided to go for a tramp through its winding paths. Upon entering this park we were immediately struck by the very silence and vast loneliness of the place or perhaps it was the grandeur of the great snow-laden coniferous trees that impressed us. The only sound that penetrated the intense quiet was the occasional twittering of a sparrovv overhead, or now and then the cawing of crows in some far- off corner of the park. Rounding a bend in the road, we presently encountered the familiar old Japanese bridge, native to Jackson Park. At the same time we noticed the artificial lake, which drained of its water, resembled some- what a small canyon with the snow sifting in on all sides. Leaving this section of the park, we made our way over the glistening hard-packed snow to the more elevated regions. Here we mounted one of those small hills, so popular with skiers. A Snowflake by DOROTHY THORPE, IX I Dainty little snowflake Graceful as a swan Floating through the atmosphere From sunset until dawn. Welcome, little snowflake, Piling into drifts Making all the skiers glad By filling in the riftsg Covering all the tree-tops With soft fluffy down, Giving each and every branch A soft and lacy gown. Carefree little snowflake, How I envy you, Fluttering so aimlessly U With not a thing to do. Gazing up and down its wooded aisles carpeted in white, we were reminded of an immense cathedral, where one could almost kneel and pray at any of those snow-covered stumps so much like altars in their purity and whiteness. Finally We turned our attention to the creek. blissfully which so fascinated us by its ever gurgling water flowing swiftly over the rocks that line its bed. Lost in admiration we wand- ered aimlessly along the bank for perhaps a mile or so. Slowly retracing our steps homeward, we fully realized after one last backward glance at Jackson Park that this was indeed a Winter's Wonderland. A Fall Morning ln Canada by ELEANoR DOYLE, x A There are charms in certain mornings, Like a morning in the fall, When the hoar-frost's all a-glitter, And the trees are straight and tall. When the smoke from cosy cottages, Rises upward through the sky, I scan this picture with a glance, And breathe a thankful sigh. For there's nothing like a morning When we start the day anew, To start with better resolutions, With a sky so clear and blueg No clouds to darken this painting, Achieved by the One on High, Then: comes the whistle of a sparrow And the piercing black-bird's cry, There are tiny flakes of delicate snow, Fluttering through the air, The frost like tiny diamonds, So precious and so rare. With a land like this to call our own, Free from trouble and despair, We are proud to be the people of Our Canada, beloved and fair. Page Thirty-one

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Choosing A Course by ELEANOR COLLINS, X H. ARTS Oh, yes, Academic and Commercial courses are all right for career Women, but for the girl with domestic ideas, Household Arts is just the thing. I have often thought of being a secretary or even a druggist, but when I heard that Cary Grant liked good cooks, well, my mind was made up. It was Household Arts for me. Be- sides a woman's place is in the home, and what good would a Latin phrase be to a poor girl struggling with a poached egg? Oh how lovely it is to go by the cooking room! The delicious aroma of cookies and macaroons drifts out the door until you can't resist the urge to go in, but then how much lovelier it is to be on the inside sampling these delicacies. All of your shorthand and basic French won't satisfy that watering mouth, long- ing for one of those golden brown cookies just like the ones mother makes. No matter what profession a woman may enter there comes a time when she wants to see herself as a cook and home-manager. When she undertakes this new job she really ap- preciates what she has learned in the House- hold Arts Course. Mystery Music by JOYCE GALLAGHER, X H. ARTS One stormy winter night a rather peculiar incident occurred which will long remain in my memory. In the first place it was what one would term a spooky or mysterious night with the wind howling dismally through the trees and the sky slightly overcast. To make matters even worse, I happened, on this particular evening to be alone in the house. Retiring to bed earlier than usual I had commenced to read an extremely gruesome mystery story. As the plot rapidly unfolded before my startled eyes, I became more and more nervously aware of my surroundings and every now and then would cast furtive glances out into the darkened hallway. As I read on for awhile, I became drowsy and dozed for perhaps half an hour. Suddenly I was awakened by a loud dis- cordant crash on the piano downstairs. Sitting upright in bed, I listened for some minutes too terrified to move. Someone was down there who had no right to be! The supposed ghost would strike a jumble of confused notes on the piano-then stop-then start again. Finally curiosity surmounted my fear and I decided to investigate. Noiselessly I tiptoed to the door and peered out, listening. The sounds could be heard distinctly coming from the living-room. Groping about in the dark, I made my way to the stairway. The mysterious music had ceased for the moment. Waiting until it began again, I crept silently down the stairs to the door of the living-room. Bravely, I reached up my hand, and switched on the light. There-walking nonchalantly up and down the keys of the piano was my amazed pussy- cat obviously delighted yet a little surprised at the new sounds which it was producing. My Scrapbook by JUNE WALLIS, x H. ARTS I found my old scrap book One day on a shelf. The cover was dirty And very much Worn. I found it au grimy I mljllllllxnlll'limi I But each little spot And on it an elf I . Q i Told a tale all its owng Wh d th I t I remember them all And, tlijeerilesaid ioccinlgf j Thmlglfl Older PV9 grown- Just look at how careless H' lj That silly old elf You used to bgf' ' ' Thought I would care And then when 1 iooked z, If my Scrap bQOk Were tom I found it was true? 1 And showed signs of wear. The pages were Sticky ' fn-, I ,A E! I love old book Through use of much glue. UQ m And HOWFVQTY Year The pictures were crooked I 8131109 0 ef 1tS Pages And spotted and torn, Filled with rnern'ries so dear. Page Thirty-three