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

Page 16 text:

PURPLE PATCHES He Did Not Forget by ELEANOR orovnz, xm A Ac. The new snow covering the sidewalks of New York was being viciously disrupted from its placid state of rest that morning by the toes of a certain small pair of heavy black over- shoes. These toes were digging down into the snow and sending little sprays of white balls before them as they were dragged, slowly and dejectedly along. On closer observation the overshoes were found to be attached to a small boy, Peter by name, whose eyes were closely following the action of his feet. His whole appearance was downcast, from his toes which we have already described, and his hands which were lost in the depths of the big pockets in his blue home-made coat, up to the tassel hang- ing from the top of his red toque. Hi Pete! The loud shout broke the silence of the morn- ing air. In answer, an al- most inaudible Hin, emerged from the folds of the snow- white, neatly darn- ed muffler tied about Peter's neck. The voice, un- daunted, continued. Look 't the swell sleigh I got fo r Christmas, Pete. it i SB 'Q-ac 9 That's what mum said, but if he's gonna give me something else I wish he'd hurry up. I think he's forgotten all about it. Peter then continued on his solitary way while his friend departed with the shining sled. Peter's mother and father would not return home until evening, so that he had a whole day at his disposal, during which he might go wherever he pleased, regardless of the distance. He didn't care where he was going. In fact he didn't care about anything today. Even a dog fight was passed by with only a casual glance- a very rare occur- rence indeed. He trudged along until his wanderings fin- ally came to an end at the Opera House. Many times be- fore he had stood there in the street to watch those m o r e privileged than he, as they en- tered the famous building. He little thought that in a few years, he him- self, with his moth- er and father, would be gazed on and envied by others just as he had been wont to do then. P e t e r watched rather disinterested- ly as a gentleman got out of a taxi and went towards the ' Xl 153 5 -9 o 3-o 1 ., H, 1- , b ' 0 C ' Q .- Q I - iii g- ! -i .i Q' if 1 -1-' . fa ,Q 1.2K I ' if-fl . f-i52'flasl.' i.. '-I 7 : -- , '2- The various merits of the sleigh having been duly viewed and acknowledged, Peter's friend desired to know what Peter had received from the idolized Santa Claus, whereupon Peter gave the follow- ing explanation: Yuh see, I didn't know what I wanted for Christmas, so I wrote to Santa Claus and told him to bring what he thought I'd like best. I wanted a pair of skates, or a puppy at least, but he only left me a jack-knife. It's a swell jack- knife if I'd wanted itf' Maybe he ain't been able to think up what y'd like yet. Maybe he'll give you somethun' else when he thinks of it. Peter then continued on his solitary 'wayf' House, but sprang into action instantly when he saw that the man had dropped something in the snow. The lost wallet - for it was a wallet - having been recovered, Peter ran after the man, tugged at his coat-tail, and when he turned around, mutely handed him the leather case. The man looked bewildered and astonished for a moment, then spluttered his confused thanks and offer- ed Peter a generous reward which his parents' careful training had taught him to refuse. As the boy turned to go away, the man called him back. I say, would you like to hear the rehearsal? You may come in with me if you wish. Page Seventeen

Page 15 text:

use than to provide something for the rust to accumulate on. Why not at least make use of what we have? We have definitely proved intramural sports can be a success at P.C.I. We therefore hope that the G.A.A. and B.A.A. will continue to organize a more intensive program of sports along the lines above suggested. LLOYD WILLIAMSON, The Echoes In Wartime Some students think that there should be no Wartime Echoes. Such publications, they say, are non-essentials and should give way to patriotic work. The advisory board and the student executive, after careful consideration, decided to publish the magazine as usual. The publication will be an interesting and valuable record of the school's war eifort. It is the one medium which unites every part of the school in a common interest, and what can be more important than unity in the great task which is before us! Having made our decision, we have tried to suit our publication to a war year. Plans were made to cut down the magazine-about one- quarter. The art and photography contests, the prizes for the literary competition, were abolished. The dance for the form selling the most copies of The Echoes was likewise abolished. The price of the magazine was de- creased about one-third. The advertisers were asked to take but half their usual space. The work has been done by a considerably smaller staff, and the effort required of each was greater in that his work was seldom limited to one department. In spite of the fact that the staff was small, The Echoes has undertaken its own piece of war work, the Active Service List. Newspaper clippings concerning ex-students, now on active service, have been pasted into a huge scrapbook along with the addresses wherever possible. These addresses are available to any organiza- tion and have already been used by two, for the sending of Christmas parcels. And so may our readers realize that The Echoes has endeavoured to use a Htting war- time economy. We hope to carry on through the war years, even though our magazine be re- duced to a small mimeographed copy. NORMA TrML1N. Page Sixteen Things We'll Remember We'll remember the long halls that stretch from one side of the school to the other, and the slippery marble steps on the front stairs,--the plum-coloured velvet stage curtains with their heavy gold fringe, and the inscription carved in gold letters on the white wall above. We'll remember the show-cases of interesting birds Cand a sparrowl on the top floor, and the bulletin boards with their business-like mes- sages. We'll cherish the memory of the gas jets in the Chemistry Lab, Cwas there ever one of us who didn't turn them on, just to be sure they worked?J and the odd collection of pickled beasts, birds and bugs in the Physics Room. CWe'll probably never forget those Physics exams we struggled through, eitherj. We'll re- member the click, click of the typewriters of the Commercial students and the odours from the Cooking Room that made our mouths water. We'll remember the sensational blue P.T. uni- forms and our huge gym with its cool brick walls. We'll conjure up fond thoughts of sliding down a bannister on an impulse, and of meet- ing a stern-faced teacher at the bottom. We'll talk about those Qwords fail us herej middies which seemed lovely to anyone who didn't have to wear them and iron them. Then we'll remember the awful rumour that went 'round to the effect that girls wearing ankle sox would be expelled. We'll remember the short-lived fad of pinning tiny silver bells to skirt hems and the dark, menacing eyes of teachers upon us. fTis said the fad came to a quite sudden and terrifying end-We shudder at the blood-curd- ling storylj Then how could we forget the time someone hid teacher's text book for two whole days, or the time we had the waste basket carried down the aisle to us fimaginelj when we forgot and visibly chewed our gum. We'll remember the thousand times we wrote Silence is Golden for talking in class, and the time, when for the same offense, we stood in a corner for a whole period! How we shuddered when the Inspector lurked stealthily in Latin class, and how we wished we were in China when it was our turn to translate in French! And we'll always and always remember Algebra, simply because we can't get its horrible memory off our minds. Weill remember the smiling friendly faces in the locker rooms, and the quarrels and even the tears! But above all, we'll remember the four most important initials in our school life, and every- thing so dear for which they stand: yes,- we'll never, never forget our P.C.V.S.! MARALDN' MUNRO.

Page 17 text:

Peter did not need to be coaxed. Incredulous and wide-eyed he followed the gentleman, who led him to a seat near the stage. After his bene- factor had left he began to feel self-conscious. He thought that every eye in the huge building was focused on his worn clothes and untidy ap- pearance. His ears were burning furiously and he knew that his face was red. Today, a dress rehearsal of Aida was to be performed. From the moment when the curtain rose until it fell for the last time, Peter watched enraptured. He was no longer the little boy seated in the audience. It was he who was the king, seated on the luxurious throne. It was he who was riding a great elephant. These were even bigger than those he had seen in the circus parade. Little shivers ran up and down his spine as the tenor voice soared and fell to the music of the sublime aria Celeste Aida. Tears pricked in the back of his eyes as a result of the magnificence of the grand march. When it was all over he paused to recover himself. Almost before he was aware of it, the gentleman who had been responsible for his admission came to him and escorted him to the dressing room of the leading tenor where most of the actors, singers and dancers had gathered. There, Peter became the centre of attraction. They were surprised to find that he was as familiar with the opera as one who had under- stood Italian. When he was asked where he had gathered his information, Peter threw up his head proudly, his face beaming. My father told me. My father knows every- thing. Shortly after dark Peter burst into his home where his parents were sitting in the front room. His eyes were sparkling, his breath was short from running and excitement. I saw 'Aida' 'cause I found a man's money and I can go again and you and Daddy can come with me. All this was said in one long breath. After he had given a more coherent account of his experiences, his mother turned to him and said, Peter, don't you think you should write a letter to Santa Claus? You see, he did not forget. F utility by SYLVIA BOORMAN, XIII A AC. I'd won! I was victorious, A world was mine, a world in which I was the king, the god, the head, A world to rule, and show My might to lesser men. I had but to lift my thumb And bring it down, to crush the man Who even dared to go against my will. No one there was to brook my frenzied passion, My wish was their command, My orders they obeyed as slave a man. I walked alone into the night Exultant, proud, ambition 'tained: The world before, below me lay My footstool, none so great as I, Not even God: I was god, I!! And then I looked up in the sky, The star-filled sky, Infinite, vast .... The stars Unattainable, beyond my reach: Unconquered worlds. And suddenly, I felt So . . . Insignificant. Page Eighteen Spring Comes To The City by MARION BROWN, sp. com. Spring is that time of year when every poet who values his reputation becomes effusive about the joys of country. Settled snugly in some city apartment, these would-be imrnortals dutifully sing the joys of country life. They praise the music of running brooks, the quiet- ness of country nights, the clean country air, and the sweet songs of returning birds. It would be safe to wager that not one of these poetry automats ever got bogged in the mire on a country road because one of the pretty running brooks had over-done things a little, or got to windward of a manure heap on a warm spring day. Yes, the country is very pretty in spring, but it's also darned uncom- fortable. And while the poets hymn the joys of country life, spring comes to the city. She comes without fanfare, or roll of drums, herald- ed only by the shining spears of rain that wash the city streets clean of mud and slush. She invades the city like an invisible army, whose generals are the fat, pompous robins and whose diplomats are the pale gold beams of the re- turning sun. By the time the city awakes to the invasion it is too late to resist, for spring has stolen into every back yard and left behind her a garrison of springing grass and swelling buds. She has visited the city parks and called to her allies, the tulips and the daffodils, to come