Selwyn House School - Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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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

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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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FUR THE SCHOOL YEAR 19-16 e 1947 Adjacent to Creery sits happy, good-natured John Dalglish. He seems to be smiling to himself as if in recollection of the gay life of Bunga in a Congo River village. No ..., there are no schoolsg but imagine working all day at chipping a dugout canoe from a tree- trunk! Do I detect a faint shudder of remonstrance move his well-built frame, and a frown knit his brow? Evans and Dalglish are The Frowners Royal of B Form. I allow my mind to drift where it will amongst the precious islands of hours spent in this room teaching geography and history: geography, which spreads the magic carpet for the eager feet of young Robin Hoods and Columbuses and Hudsonsg unravels, too, wonder- ful tapestries for the mind's eye of intrepid Davidsons, Hydes, and lVaitsg transforms a Hat and unadorned map surface into a magic sphere which holds ascendency for quiet LeMoine, grinning jeremy Riley, the voracious reader Stephen Kimbleg for all who will be heroes, whether fourteenth or twentieth century. lVinthrop Brainerd Ctwise old owl j, Michael Meighen Ccrafty dawning light in the eyesl, Morton -lacquays Cnon-Quakerish Roundheadl-all will find excitement and incentive here! History too, once the sphere is unrolled, will lead these pigmy Gullivers QWho can't see Cohen learnedly expostulating with the Emperor of Lilliput?l in a land of giant Lilli- putians, to interpret their ways arightg to turn an Agincourt of the middle centuries to their own advantageg to win once again a Tom Thumb victory over the darkness of barbaric Waysg to learn, in a word, to relate Past and Present, and to enrich both. I grow stil? as I sit watching my holiday phantoms glide by. The afternoon is drawing to a close, although the wind has abated not a breath and the snow-flurries hurl iwith undiminished fury against the panes. I rise and stand a moment at the door. How many hundreds of boys have passed through this room on their way to the upper forms of Selwyn House School. The darkening of the room corners is accompanied by intimations of spirits, or at least of powerful remembrances that hover. There are Stanley lVintons in the big window-seat, Hugh Matsons solemnly perched attentive within the master's reach, and Blair McRobies asking questions enough to consternate a Solomon. The room is suddenly filled with pupils, the aisles are packed with boys of other years. the babble of voices rises to a crescendo .... Then the last suhicient light has faded, and, as I walk out of the door, one last flounce of snow against the panes echoes sharply through an empty room, where the whispers of boys are the scurrying flights of the wind, and their faces are bizarre reflections of a streetlamp on polished desks. I. L. H. FORM C To teach Form C is a pleasure to me, They are very intelligent and bright. They do little sums Cperhaps use lingers and thumbsl, To help the answers come rightl VVith Mr. Howis they show great prowess In answering about the world and its ways, Of Queens and Kings, and the curious things l31l