Peterborough Teachers College - PTC Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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A Tippical Form Une Day OR P.N.S. stoodents the day normally begins at eight-thirty. Sisters Mary Catherine, Joanna and Winnifred arrive a trifle early, closely pursued by one, Betsy E.. Later, into the upper locker room the rest straggie, with Whadimisit being the most repeated query but Gotta- comb close in second place. By eight-fifty most of Form One totters to the Assembly Hall where they flop into the alto section-an advantage point for nullifying the singers of Form Two. Some brighter ones come armed with zero hymn books. Others overdo this hymn business by having three books each-all of which, says Mr. Mc., indicates counting ability of 1, 2, 3, only. Word flashes around that the leader's group ascends the platform. Up stands Form One to note Phil tripping in at the last moment. She ilings open the Bible and reads the first chapter she sees. Norma D. prepares to announce the hymn but Phil has beaten her to the draw-so the opening hymn follows the prayer. At that, Miss D. thas a cold, itls said! says We'll sing hymn nine-tloud sneezej. Joan plays hymn nine- teen, the class sings number nine. Jessie Cowdy gives the announcements- we hush whilst she shouts- The masters-1---to-morrow. To-morrow-why wonder what the announcement means-to-morrow will be soon enough. Contentedly the school rises to sing The King tfor whom Rae Brownsell was searching--look in South Africa, Rael. Miss Cameron, dreaming of-, plays The Last Round Up but, thanks to the alto's, no one notices the difference. 'Tis amazing how few in Form One know anything cattish, horsish or farmish. M. Alexander, can pretend she's the sun going around the earth,-backwards, of course. As Earth, Teresa C. used such ardour that being overbalanced, to earth she went-boom. Right hand upon the gal in front to the second class Form One troops, singing gaily 'The Ghost ls Dead-The Dear Old Ghost. But up he springs in the form of phonics ttaught, taught again, and re-taughtl. Down the stairs, for a Science of Ed period in the 'Lseats-squeak-here room. Margery, being particularly brilliant, answers all the questions- she went with Marco Polo, you see. The Model form of P.N.S., as is Form One, gallops to the Lecture Hall for Religious Education lectures by Archdeacon Robertson. Two other forms idismissed promptly on the first bell, not some time after the second ringingb are seated in the choicest seats-at the back of the room. Sur- prising how much one learns of ancient times during these periods, once one gets who's fighting who straight, and Joyce's elucidation of every- thing in ye olde locker room! Thursday-the day of enormous dinners consumed! To P.N.S., Form One troops to start the afternoon by making curdled eggs. Too much salt. too much butter CU, too much milk, but with a ration of one egg to two nit-wits, too much egg is impossible. Some members try for a double share. Others are satisfied with none. The Browns set down to steady eating, the rest say grace and down the hatch goes egg and all. Meanwhile the B group glues a book in rare fine style. Not only did Faircloth's pages refuse to come unglued-they would not open either. A group exchanges places then with B-no unwashed dishes left behind. Their proudest feat thereafter is a further glueing and messing of the nether regions of ye Ancestral Halls. Comes four o'clock-up goes the roof, and down, as Form One is Page Thirty-five

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released to the locker room. Favourite phrase now is Whathomeworkau- got '? unvaried answer returns dying, dying dying, Iain'tgotnone. To Harrison's in great glee they scamper, there to spend pittances, and to discuss the world in general but Forrn One in particular. The real day is now but dawning-don't let the Masters know. -JEAN CAVERLY. Mr. Copp: Whatls that I smell on your clothes? Joan Faircloth: That's fertilizer. Mr. Copp: f'For land's sake. Joan Faircloth: That's right, sir.' The 49'ers Friends and acquaintances, would you care to meet The four Norrnalites from Wolsey Street? Well, here we are, our tale to tell, E'en though it may not sound too well. 1 Who is the girl with the light blonde hair, Who seldom refuses to take a dare? Marie Badgley is the little miss Who lives and grows on telephone bliss. Of course there is always a clown in the crowd And of this one Beaverton is proud. Helen Burns is the name of this lass so gay, Who finds time for both work and play. Jean Conklin hails from the county Prince Ed, The county of counties, so we've heard said. This pal of ours is a quiet soul, Who always will attain her goal. And now we come to the last but not least- Georgie Huffman from Corbyville, down east. She keeps us chuckful of mirth and good cheer, Of her, pupils will have no need to fear. This quartet, so joyous and gay, Is loathe to leave 49 in May. Mrs. Weatherstone, we'll ne'er forget- The nicest landlady We've ever met. Compliments of i r SIMPSON'S MARKETS 137 Benson Avenue - - - Peterborough i Page Thirty-six