Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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lite ary There are few ivory towers left to- day, and only a hermit can clisregalrcl the advantages of using language well. Lea1'nin,g to express oneself is a fzmcla- mental of eclueatiofn, the mark of an educated man, and a necessity of busi- ness. I' ijtverc

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school awards HE SCHOOL extends congratulations to those students who have been recog- nized for their outstanding contributions to this years student body and to Pickering College. IKE LANIER- The Garratt Cane, given by a vote of the graduating class to that student who most closely approximates the Pickering ideal. Ricky ARNOLD, DUNCAN CAMERON, Ross IJABOLI., IKE LANIER, JACK RUTHERFORD- The Widdrington Award, for community service. TED COBURN - The Rogers Cane, awarded t-o that student in Firth House who best serves, in deed and spirit, his fellow students and Pickering College. IKE LANIER TED COBURN Fourteen

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prelude HE EVENING sky rolls and tumblesg great dark clouds, like mushrooms of sooty smoke, billow up into the heavens. The barometer needle has drop- ped below the card. The hills on the north are cloaked in a watery grey opal- escence, and the line of woods marches toward my window like squadrons of rumbling iron tanks, throwing up clouds of dust into the heavy, humid air. Even the window frame seems shrouded with a film of grey. The mood of nature has entered the room in which we sit. The lamps have become pale and are beginning to flicker. The smoke from our cigarette lies in wavering blankets around our heads. The very colour seems to pass from our faces. YVe are all afraid and sick at heart. We no longer have any faithh in anyone, in anything. In the far corner of the room, on my room-mate's bed, Alec lies sullenly. His feet drawn up so that his head rests on his knee, his whole body, face, hands, and form show the strugggle to understand what strains his mind, and hurts his heart. Propped moodily against the wall beside him is Lou Thompson. He is younger than the rest, and does not understand the depths of our con- cern. He could not understand. To him the future will be but repetition of the vague past. His mind holds no memories of horror. By my side, Ian Lewis lies on the bed, not knowing whether to talk or let our dead silence go un- broken. He has grasped the full significance of the past hour. His mind runs ahead in time and he is striving for escape from a hell, man-made, which he cannot avoid foreseeing. We are all young. Our lives have been pleasant and carefree. Now we must become men. Our futures will inevitably be conglomerates of brutality, horror and destruction. At tive-twenty this afternoon, the United Nations followed Russia's with- drawal by declaring total war. The sky is black. No moon rises. DUNeAN CAMERON dawn The piercing ery of some bird tells the dawn. The wtrithing mist-shape phantonis that adorn The sleeping trees and waters, bow to morn, And sinh: back into drowsy Eafrth.'s green lawn. Hail day, and touch me with thy fire. 0 sun, our planet Earthls relol sire. Awake, O pine and be my lyre. New clay you fill me with desire. Sixteen