Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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THE VOYAGEUR On May 7, 19415 a Canadian sporting writer wrote: uThe war isnit over. The war isnlt over for the maimed, the blind and the bereaved. The war isnit over for the weak and the hungry. The war isn't over for our own dead. The war isn't over until we have learned to recognize another Ethiopia, another Spain, when we see it. The war isnit over until Gentile can live with Jew, until intolerance and bigotry have been banished. The war isn't over, for instance, until Negroes can play baseball on the same field with whites. 4'The war isn't over until China-which for a decade, has stood out against, aggression--has been freed. This war was fought for a simple principle which, reduced to simple terms, reads, LNO bully is going to shove the little fellows aroundif' That war is not yet over! Some of you were not called to fight and to die, but you are called to live, to work, to prove uthat every man, woman and child has worth and dignity, that all human beings are one in ultimate destiny and in striving faith, and that out of hope and effort the good society shall yet be bornf' It is as you carry this determination with you from these walls-that you will do your part to prepare the tomorrows that sing! .-1.- 1 1 w Frank Wood, Prep. cDepartment, Veteran of six years, winner of the Firth House Award for all-round leadership, 191145-46. 27

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THE VOYACEUR there was idealism-that men everywhere hoped that in the United Nations we were laying the foundations of a world order that might bring peace. I know that in March, 1945 the President of the United States of America addressed Congress in these words: uThe structure of world peace cannot be the work of one man, or one party, or one nation. It cannot be an American peace, or a British, or a French, or a Russian, or a Chinese peace. It cannot be a peace of large nations or of small nations. It must be a peace which rests on the co- operative efforts of the whole world .... There can be no middle ground here. We shall have to take the responsibility for world collaboration, or we shall have to bear the responsibility for another world conflict. But I also know that since then we have seen the effect of the atom bomb at Nagasaki and Hiroshima. I know that we have seen the United Nations drawing farther and farther apart. I know that one year after there is NO peace! I have seen, with my own eyes, something of the misery and starvation and destruction that is Europe today. I have seen scrawny, undernourished, half-naked little children. who had lived the previous winter on tulip bulbs, crying for crusts outside the gates of an army camp. I have come back here to this continent ashamed of our self-complacency and our plenty. I know that there are those who talk glibly about the next war. Talk of war today is not only criminal but insane! And if I-a guest and a visitor may say so-I know there are those here, and in my own country, who rejoice at what they believe to be the setting sun of the British Empire, and who cloak their desires for a new imperialism for the United States that denies the fundamental postulates of the American Constitution-the spiritual equality of all men and the unalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The seeds of Fascism are sprouting on this continent today and perhaps the guise in which they now appear is an effort uto save democ- 77 racy. I know that ignorance, selfishness, intolerance, greed, bitterness and pre- judice still exist in the world. fAfter six years of war it could not be other- wisell All these things are the inevitable aftermath of war. But there are signs of encouragement on the horizon of international affairs. There is, I am assured, the dawning of a new conscience in the realm of national and international responsibility fyour own Mr. I-Ioover and Mr. LaGuardia are today the true voice of the American consciencej But it is not of these things that I would speak. It is in places like this- this school, my school and every school and playground on this continent that the real answer is being given. In your war memorial you are making it possible for others to enjoy the privileges that have been yours, others who will enter to grow in wisdom and who will depart to serve their country and mankind. 26

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THE VOYACEUR TH If DOCT0l2'S CATH Dotiron BEATTY, himself, admitted that he was getting old. His hair, once blacker than charcoal, had turned! a tired grey. The wrinkles of his forehead had increased in depth and in number. He no longer had the spring of youth in his step, or erectness in his carriage. His eyes, however, had not changed. They were still the blue eyes of youthfulness, shining with kindliness and understanding, eyes which never failed to reassure a nervous patient, or to encourage his tired assistants. ult's the war, he would murmur to himself as he stood in a small room putting on his gown. uAll the young men in the army leaves us old men a lot of extra work. lf Jim were only here, he would help me. Hetwanted to be a doctor so much. Yes, my son would have made a good doctor. That darn fool driver should have . . .77 At this point the doctoris thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a nurse. HThe emergency case is here, Doctorf, uThank you, the doctor replied. Picking up his rubber gloves, he powdered them, slipped them on carefully, and strode into the operating room. As the patient was wheeled in, Doctor Beatty looked at his face. It was the face of a man he knew, a man he had tried so hard to forget these past years. The sight of this battered piece of humanity which lay before him on the table made him step back, shocked by the sudden discovery. A strange, nervous feeling slowly crept into his hands, which were now trembling. He tried hard to steady himself against this nervousness. uThe patient is ready, Doctor , came the muffled voice of a nurse. The doctor stepped up to the operating table, a thousand evil thoughts racing through his mind. He saw that the operation required all his skill, the most difficult surgery that he could perform. One small slip and life would slowly ebb from they body of his patient. He looked around at his assist- ants and nodded for the anaethetic to be given. uScalpel,'7 he said quietly. The instrument was passed. lts sharp edge cut cleanly through human flesh. A deep. silence followed, disturbed only by the clock on the wall. HCareful, carefulf, he kept repeating to himself uOne slip, one slip and . . .H The clock on the wall ticked on . . . and on . . . and on. Hours later Doctor Beatty emerged from the operating room. Every movement, and every wrinkle in his face showed heavy strain and fatigue. There was no doubt that the operation was successful, for all his assistants were complimenting him on his technique as a surgeon. Even his nurse complimented him by saying, uThat was a fine piece of surgery, Doctor. Do you know the patient?,7 Doctor Beatty bowed his head and looked down at the floor. A shadow passed over his face. uYes,,, he said in a quiet voice. '6Yes, l know that man. He is the driveri' . . . he took a deep breath, uthe driver who killed my sonf, -BARTON Goss 28