Shawnigan Lake School - Yearbook (Shawnigan Lake, British Columbia Canada)

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine As for the tourists, they were divided in counsel. Mr. A vowed it was the one moment he had waited for all his life and lost himself in the melee. Mr. B thought it his duty to mount guard over the automobile, and he had not long to wait before he received a luscious fig in his left eye. But Mr. C cared for none of these things; he slunk into the car and hid himself on the floor and hoped for the best. At last Mr. B grew tired and seeing Parrado quite near, he summoned him. Almost at that moment Mr. A returned, like the hero come back from the wars, with his face cut, a blue-black eye, a thick ear, and his trousers about a quarter of their original length. But he had at any rate enjoyed himself. Here, you: said Mr. B to Parrado, drive us out of this mess; I guess we didn ' t come here to fight over sugar-knobs. But for another ten minutes his efforts were useless. On rolled the battle until the skies which had been growing grey all along and had at length changed their greyness for a cloak as black as pitch, took matters into their own hands and burst in torrents on the warring streets. The lightnings gave shine and thunders rumbled over- head, and nature alone could finish what man had begun. Back rushed Parrado with the rest of his partisans and made for shelter as fast as he could. Now take us somewhere quieter, said Mr. C when the storm had cleared, and let us see some of the less sugary sights of the place. So off he drove even faster than before with an occasional halt — when he would rush up to some comrade and, flinging his arms around him, shout, Long live De Cespedes and the revolution! Beyond that he really did take the tourists to see the sights of Havannah, which included besides the National Hotel and Morro Castle, the cemetery, the mortuary (in which the mangled corpses of Machado ' s former supporters were produced from refrigerators and exposed to view!) and Par- rado ' s wife and family. And so eventually back to the ship as the shades of night were falling. Among the passengers were to be seen the ex-vice-president and the ex- secretary-to-the-treasury, dejected and humiliated refugees. How are the mighty fallen? said Mr. B as he went over to talk to them. Later he went to dinner with them and as they were sitting down to table Mr. B asked, What is the real cause of the trouble in Cuba? Sugar! replied the ex-secretary-to-the-treasury. We could not get enough sugar produced in Cuba to pay the necessary taxes. Ouch! the ex-vice-president screamed as he sat in his chair. What can the matter be? said Mr. C as he jumped to his help. A pin! replied the dignitary somewhat sulkily. Ha ha! laughed Mr. C. How lucky you are! That is a good omen por- tending your eventual return to power. Don ' t you know the old saying: ' Blessed is he that sitteth upon a pin for he shall surely rise again ' ? And so the evening wore on and brought an eventful day in the lives of Mr. A., Mr. B and Mr. C to a close. Sic transit gloria mundi, said Mr. B. to Mr. C as he wished him goodnight at his cabin door. I don ' t know about the gloria mundi, replied Mr. C, but I fear the rest of the voyage will be sick transit for me after that sight at the mor- tuary!

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine Cooba! he shouted, holding up two fingers so that they should not mistake him. But the three needed no asking. They leapt into his seven-seater Packard, and amidst the jeers and curses of their former well-wishers, they were jerked forward by their rescuer, Antonio Parrado, only to find that they had ex- changed the frying pan for the fire. On he drove (they knew not where and cared even less) furiously and yet more furiously like some modern Jehu, now keeping one side of the road, and now taking the other, with an occasional Give ' er ten down the middle. Steady! screamed Mr. A, what the do you think you ' re doing and where the do you thing you are going, anyhow? Long live De Cespedes was the reply. And curses on Machado — we ' ll have him yet, he continued, shaking his clenched fists so violently that the car bethought it of taking an angle of ninety degrees at 5 6 m.p.h. Steady you crazy , yelled Mr. B. Ah ha! came the reply. Cooba is free at last. Machado — he no good; De Cespedes — very good. I don ' t give a heck whether Cooba is free or not, said Mr. B. All I know is you are far too free with this automobile. But these reprehensions only added fuel to the fire until all at once a sud- den application of the brakes brought them to a standstill outside a decorative building. I have brought you to the famous bar of ' Sloppy Joe ' , said the taxi-man; all visitors to Cooba begin their tour here. And so, only too glad to quit their speed- ' bus for a while, the three travel- lers vied with one another in their generosity at the bar. Thick and fast flowed the Bacardi cocktails and the gin fizzes, until Mr. A noticed that the latter state of the chauffeur was slightly worse than the first. Now tell me, he said to him, what is all this trouble in Cuba about? Sugar, replied the man before Mr. A had finished his question, — Sugar, sugar, sugar — too much sugar. I don ' t quite get you, said Mr. C. Do you mean there are too many pretty women in Cuba? If so, I am inclined to agree with you, if I am to take the women I have seen so far as any criterion. Oh no, no, no, he replied, laughing. What I mean is we cannot sell all the sugar we produce in Cooba, and the government — they are devils. But sugar seems to be an odd reason for starting a revol . Bang, bonk, bang, came an interruption from outside. What on earth was that? continued Mr. C. without waiting for a reply to his original question. But even his second question was not answered, for the taxi-man had rushed out, followed closely by the three visitors, to find a street-fight raging round their car. Hurrah boys! shouted Parrado, or the equivalent of it in Spanish, throw- ing himself into the thick of the fight. Bullets whizzed hither and thither; barricades were thrown up; the butt-ends of rifles were swung in every direc- tion; clothes were ripped from opponents ' bodies; houses were fired ' ; stores invaded and broken up; missiles thrown from the housetops, telegraph wires torn down and all the excitements pertaining to a revolution perpetrated.

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1980 The old man smiled, sighed, answer ' d As one in a dream. How clear the days of that bygone age When I was a boy appear, All the pranks we ' d play From day to day Are each one of them vividly clear. .... And what was it like? You ask, my boy. Much different from your life today A little more primitive possibly We were more like He-men, I dare say. The P.T. bell would rudely shatter rest, And with it dream of turkey drest And picture shows — late morning spent abed Where no Preps, Tests, Detentions, caused one dread. Dart up from bed — right quickly too! The time is short; those seconds few In which to don shirt, shorts, gym-shoes, no more. Strip well the bed, and Don ' t fling bedding on the floor! Then fly downstairs to gulp cocoa And fetch your towel: no loitering though. Now hasten straightway to the gym Where all too soon there is Fall In. Extension — number, form fours, and so on. Swing arms — touch toes — bend back — thus long That soon with breaking back, exhausted limbs One pleads — but with mute eyes For the instructor grins! Foul fiend, thought I ' Tis time thou hast a mortal ' s frame, Yet heartless Satan art thou all the same. A short time more: we race towards the lake. ' Tis Autumn, with white fr ost upon the boathouse floor, That ' s something never to ignore. Cries fill the air of those already in. I shudder at the awful din. This surely is a penance. But For what a sin? I dive to the bottom, up again. It ' s not so cold, but then I must cry out, complain, It is the fashion, this pretending pain. And thus it was we started every day, With almost brutal hardships to endure. But then — We ' ve never felt the worse for them, I ' m sure. — Historicus.