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

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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

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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

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forth and invest the beds of rich brown earth with their beauty. She has breathed on the gaunt, naked maple trees and their branches are veiled in a mesh of pale green that gleams in the light of street lamps with an almost un- bearable beauty that clutches at the throat and brings sharp tears to sting the eyelids. On awakening lawns the robins pull fat worms from the damp earth and cheerfully dictate the terms of surrender. This is how spring comes to the city while the blind and deaf poets sit at home and sing of running brooks. Summer Night by MAmON BROWN, sp. COM Earth draws the night about her Like a cloak of jewelled velvet Clasped with sleep. The west wind, weary with his day-long play, Sleeps, pillowed on the distant hills, And dreams of day. Each nodding daisy bows her head And wraps her silver petals close Against the chilly dew. And busy wings are softly folded now, Drowsed by the incense of the cedar tree To dreamless sleep. And all good things that love the day Sleep soundly through the summer night. Then why am I awake? Timber by THOMAS ofxvues, x c mo. Ants. Nestling in a timber clothed valley, hemmed in by snow covered hills lay a logging camp, bustling with activity in the crisp wintry air. Wisps of grey smoke rose lazily from the cook- house chimney into the cold blue sky in which stars still glittered. Within the warm cookhouse long shadows iiitted on the log walls, cast there by the glowing logs be cut into long white boards. A lumberjack braced himself on top of each load and pried log after log loose. These rolled down a log slide onto the saw track where they were fastened down with steel clamps. Rumbling along they came to the whistling saw and as it bit into the soft white wood it screamed shrilly and spat chips for rn a n y in the fireplace. E ' yards. Dropping in- Seated at the long , xv, ,I to the saw-pit each crude table were V ' slab was taken and bearded men, wolf- at 1 -' x Q g a S. by . piled upon mount- ing hot flap jacks 1 5-jpg, Q- 5 'jf ..'i 1 -ff 14251 ing Stacks which sizzling from t h e ' ' ' ' - ' I .,'.,. ' u s h o W e d w h i t e pan, upon which if-aff? .tl ,Hg f- A against th e dark they poured golden , lil, li - K, ,Q A green forest. A blast Syrup from 3 Jar, g I--,QM x Y Q from the sawyard Having eaten they 1-lily ' gf X 5, '3' Whistle told GVGTY' h u r r i e d to the ' Q' 1 ,mba one that a steaming stables and hitched ' -,,fZy X ghngir was Waltugg their teams, then 4iV'1+ IU 9 COSY C00 Y- set out on the trail T, X xN Xxx q, houie. After dinneg to tl 15' b 13 d, wor was resume Longe lgnh irdsoaxlzy S As each sleiglz was piled high. it was' flrrzzrrz off to life ranzpf' and with the ex- stole f r o m each tree trunk as the sun crept from behind snow- laden hills, and clouds of steam rose from sweating horses, only to freeze and settle back to earth. Alighting from the sleighs the axemen set to felling mighty giants of the forest. Saws whined and axes bit as straining men bent be- neath the towering trunks of these forest mon- archs. Soon huge logs were rolling onto the log piles and as each sleigh was piled high it was drawn off to the camp, where the logs were, to hilarating w o r k. huge appetites were again built up. As it came to earth, a warning timber! rang the knell of each great tree, that took a century to grow and a day to fall. Higher and higher grew the piles in the lumber yard as the afternoon wore on. Hanging in the western sky the setting sun again cast lengthening shades throughout the darkening forest. As the last glow faded behind purple clouds, tired but happy men trudged home through the deep, cold, snow, to hearty meals and warm beds. Page N iueteen