Selwyn House School - Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR 1946-1947 The personalities of the class are interesting and diversified. Michael Dennis, like many another Maritimer, achieves prominence at the top of the Form with record-breaking weekly percentages, though Graham Nesbitt keeps him on his toes at the present time. Other leading scholars are Charles Maclnnes, Donald Mactaggart and Philip Cumyn, and all bring great distinction to the class. We like to feel that their arch-rivals, IA, cannot produce such master minds as these. just as surely as we feel confident they have no trio like jimmy Rose, john llfright and Harold Short so capable of taxing the patience and ingenuity of their learned pedagogues. John lVright, whose name completely belies him in the realm of scholarship, is the Forms star athlete and is constantly thirsting for the blood of IA. Unfortunately, as a Form, IB is not athletically minded, and great will be the day when IA is humbled at Soccer or Hockey. Charles Frosst has attained Scouthood and a good 'fscout he is, being always the first to volunteer his services in various ways. Andrew Spence's advent on the rink was one of the events of the year A Keep going, Andrew. Jack Fray is our most improved boy, Ted Rudel and Brian Buchanan have unfortunately been afllicted with various ills during the course of the year and we have not had them with us as much as we should have liked. Michael Wilsons shadow does not grow less, even when his elevator is not functioning and he has to climb seven flights of stairs! john Udd is settling in and keeps us well informed regarding the problems and progress of the New Ford Hotel in which we are very interested. Peter is the Darling of the class, but then - aren't they all? Leaving the reader to answer this question as he thinks tit, we shall draw these notes to a graceful conclusion. F. G. P. FORM A It is wonderful to be in Form A. We have such a delightful feeling of superiority, being, as we are, the top form in the junior school. Only too soon shall we be the microbes of the Senior School, so let us enjoy to the full our positions of importance while we may. We are all enthusiastic, whether in our lessons, our games, or our collecting of Dinky toys. Having concealed our latest treasured car from the piercing eyes of the Staff , we try to forget that it is just inside the desk and concentrate on Arithmetic. As the hour passes, the atmosphere becomes tense, as each one of us tries to finish our work before Besner or Duilield. No tricky long division or knotty problem can bathe these two keen workers. Following closely behind them are Archibald, Molson, Beattie and Frosst. Meanwhile Carrique and Porteous sit happily chewing their pencils. McNaughton. Choquette, and Robin MacKay can get stuck a dozen times a lessong but they do not sit back and let the problem win the day. No, out to the front they rush, indignant that figures could be so un- cooperative. One touch of the red pencil points out the slip. and sheepishly, they slidc back to their seats where all goes well W for a time. McGreevy and Gillespie go on fanciful tours in realms unmzithematical. Time and again they are brought back from their dreams to the cruel reality of Arithmetic. Marcus, nick-named the Tortoise , has kept steadily and silently on the caurse, and triumphantly finishes just as the bell rings. He has hidden depths of determination and good humour, and we suspect he will go far, always being as popular as he is now. l29l

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SELWYN HOUSE SCHOOL MAGAZINE .lack Segall and Harry Seifert are working together. Seifert was the best forward on the cub hockey team last winter. Ile is a lad of single purpose who always went all out and played every minute of the game with concentrated design and aim. Cheerful Segall worked hard to perfect his goalie technique. A save is a save, even if one does have to sit on the puck! Pierre Raymond, with the hashing smile and the equally flashing blades on thc ice, leans over to indulge in a contraband conversation with Molson. Poor Eric blushes with agonized embarrassment lest they both be caught. A prefect raps, thrusts his head like an ostrich into the room and announces that the llead wishes to see Buckley. A stir of interest ripples through the room. Perhaps it is only for a talk - perhaps worse! Brian slowly goes toward the awe-inspiring study door. liartholomew, of the sympathetic mind, gives him a eondoling pat as he passes by. As Brian closes the door behind him, a little breeze stirs a paper pinned on the wall. lt is a thank-you note from Patrick Blake to his Docs . They sent him some books and stamps to while away the tedium of staying in bed after a long illness. The French window at the back of the room closes with a bang, and McDougall and Matson rush simultaneously to reopen it. A pronounced thud as heads clash together! Ah! the master remembers these twog Matson, quiet and calm who always did his work wellg McDougall, the athlete, steady and reliable, but not one of the excitable ones, mind you! No sense in that, thinks Purvis. So, on this screen of memory the form master sees these lads again with their foibles and graces. It is much later now, for he has been quietly remembering a long time. The shades of early eventide are shadowing the room. They camouflage its oldness and clothe the walls in a dusk of mauve and dusty greys. The pedagogue arises, collects his chattels from the desk, and departs, gently closing the door bc-cause for a while the room belongs to the ghosts of Form IA. Down the stairs to the first floor in thickening twilight the teacher descends. He puts on his coat and leaves the building. Yes, he leaves the old red house to itself and to its ghosts. But they are friendly ghosts, and no one need be afraid. For every old school, when it is empty, is haunted by silent laughter and misty youth. And this brick building with its winnowed plaster cracks and its creaky floors may retieet for the summer on its contemplations of a grand life well lived. Because, you understand, this edifice houses boys and helps to make them into good men. What better purpose could it ever have served than this? I L. R. P. FOR M IIS Form IB classroom is probably the most strategically placed in the whole School, being opposite the Headmaster's Study and next to the office. Fortunately, the members of the Form pay far more visits to the latter than to the former - in fact, they regard the olliee as a home from home. and rare are the occasions when they are not to be found buzzing around Mrs. Ilowis and Miss Macaulay, like bees round a hive. l2Sl

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SELWYN HOUSE SCHOOL MAGAZINE As History or Geography starts, Stack, Timmins and Forest sharpen their wits - and their tongues. They have a fund of general information which they are always anxious to share with the rest of the class. A far-away look appears in the eyes of Notkin, VVarren and Peter MacKay, while Yuile sits bolt upright as Robertson tells fantastic tales of Mexico and tropical living. We all make silent vows to see the wonders of the world for ourselves some day. It is on Sports' day that Carrique comes into his own. Though small, both he and Johnston are fierce adversaries and an asset to any team. The year passes in the twinkling of an eye, and now we are ready to join the world of the Seniors. C. M. FORM I3 The sturdy three-story house, capped by its early American pioneer-turret now bravely thrusting up its winter's crown-this Quixotie Castle of Learning that is Selwyn House School-shudders as a March blast clutches at its solid corners and rigorous eves, and appears to gather itself up more resolutely for the next inevitable buffeting. I pause on the drive to watch the snow wildly fiing itself at the windows and brief portico before it lies down like a ghost across the stone steps of the entrance. The fury of the storm indicates a long blow, and I forego the pleasure of the scene to hurry for the door and the warm shelter within. It is a school holiday, but the previous afternoon I had neglected to carry home two antique volumes of history I was perusing. At any rate I had long wanted to spend an afternoon alone in this school building so recently new to me, when I might spy about as I pleased, savour of the ancient and of the recent, indulge in fantasies as to its past spirits and its future ghosts, speculate on its intensity as an eternally young member of the cosmopolitan society of education, and on its stature as an adult member of Montreal's school system. Most of all I want to sit alone in my own form room and review the highlights of the past months. I turn off from the grand old hall at the first door to the right, and enter Form B. What a crop of golden lads these are, none of whom are present at the moment, yet who are absent not at all! I seem to hear the strident call of jeffrey Leach for QUIET! as I do each morning on the stroke of nine. Anthony Poole's silver shock of hair calls to mind the words of a wise Pope: Not Angles: Angels! until .I remember his sometime deviations from the divine norm. john Cundill and Peter Carsley I can see clearly against the wall- high bay windows as they cheerfully call out Good Morning Y , the snow beyond in the front courtyard a dazzling brightness to counterpoint their rapid-fire remarks on yesterday's afternoon of sports. I half-smilingly return the ghostly greeting, and sit down directly inside the door in Michael McMaster's corner seat. Little elf that he is with his pixie ears and roguish grin, he heads a row, any of whom might be captain of a wild woodland band who sip eclectically at only the most gratifying dew-drops of learning: Stewart Bain, Jimmy Evans, and Philip Creery. l30l