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

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine to a happy-go-lucky attitude (excellent in its way) which thinks that it will all turn out all right in the end. Canada must develop her aviation for three reasons; the first is her internal development, the second is her overseas trade, the third her own security in time of war. Fortunately something is being done to achieve the first and third con- siderations. A series of landing grounds are being prepared after the American model about thirty miles apart from Halifax to Vancouver. These are to be ready for use quite soon, and should be equally useful for either commercial or military purposes. It must be remembered that the effectiveness of all kinds of aerial transport operations depends as much upon ground organization as upon the efficiency of the aircraft in use. But surely more could be done to use the aeroplane for opening up the vast northern regions. And is it too fantastic to say that most of the flying from eastern Europe and Western Asia to this continent will be done by way of the Polar regions and Canada ' s northern islands? And what of Canada ' s external air-connections? Every day the press con- tains reports of America ' s great attempt to span the Pacific by air (only lately we have seen the China Clipper make that dream a reality) , Britain ' s extension of her air lines to Hong-Kong, Germany ' s route to South America. But not a word of Canada, a nation more vitally interested in the problems of transporta- tion than the majority of others. And yet the gateway to this continent is by Canada. Montreal is nearer London and Chicago than is New York. The great circle between London and Chicago runs through Montreal. A Japanese, Chinese or a Russian aviator would fly to San Francisco nine times out of ten by way of Canada. To this must be added considerations inherent in the words of the trade mission sent by the Canadian Chamber of Commerce to the Orient in 1930, Japan, China and Hong-Kong constitute Canada ' s richest potential market. Moreover the conquest of the air has completely changed the question of the security of Canada. She need no longer hide behind the Monroe Doctrine or the British Navy. And as her southern boundary is probably the most secure in the world, she need only defend her coasts. A few aircraft carriers at Esquimalt and Halifax would render her independent of other powers for protection. At the moment her principal training centre is on the North shore of Lake Ontario, at Trenton, but it is 1000 miles from the East Coast and 2000 miles from the West. And who knows that the cause of world peace in the next hundred years may not lie in the air forces of the British Dominions, as it did in the navy of Great Britain between 1815-1914. Is Canada ready to join in this responsibility? Wake up, Canada! SUNSET THE golden sun is slowly setting behind low hills to the west, tinting a few feathery clouds, which are lazily drifting through the evening air, a glorious pink. There is no sound in the foliaged look-out on the cliff top, where I am standing, save a gentle rustling of leaves moved by a light breeze. A few hundred feet below white waves are forever lapping on the broad — 25 —

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine The windows are tight-shut and slimy-wet With a night ' s fcetor. There are two hours more; Two hours to dawn and Milan; two hours yet. (read Chicago) Opposite me two Germans sweat and snore. . . . Etc. mm-mm-mm-mm; on went the droning engine ' s hum. And yet by the end of the run we had established quite an affection for these trusty friends. As the sun crept up the effect was that of raising a stage curtain. A mar- vellous vista opened up before our eyes. Beneath was a soft cotton-wool blanket of cloud, around us the clear, cool, crystal air. Now and again one could catch a glimpse of the ground, 1 1,000 feet below. Then all of a sudden the first vein of the blood-red sun appeared above the horizon, the clouds were shot through and through with the gold and the red of its rays, and far away massive cloud-bergs (to coin a word) glistened with their snow-white faces. For one brief moment I caught sight of Lake Michigan, a molten lake of gold. Would that it had been possible to remain up there above the drabness of earth. But our spell of life in this new-found Cloud-Cuckoo-land was short, and with a nasty jolt came the realization that we were descending. Down, down, down she came, plunging into the fleecy clouds like a bather diving into water. Lower and lower still until she finally glided into the rain-soaked misty air- port of Chicago. There, all was dull, dreary and dismal. One almost felt like paraphrasing the elder Cato — fr Delanda est Chicago! 5:20 a.m. and away we went on the final hop. The run was cloudy and did not afford us many views. We passed over Fort Miami, over which the flags of France, England and the U.S.A. have successively flown; over Toledo and Lake Erie, and only came down in order to land at Cleveland. 7:30 a.m. Shortly after leaving Cleveland we were able to see the peculiar double-S- formation of the Allegheny mountains. The Airway leads over the Allegheny Escarpment which leads East and West across New York State, then southward along the southern shore of Lake Erie and then directly south across Ohio. Somewhere beneath us was Titusville, Pa., where oil was first drilled in 18 59. And so to New York, which was reached at 10 a.m. Three times we had put our watches forward an hour in crossing the continent, so that it was only a mere twenty hours before that we had left the Pacific Coast. Mirabile Dictu! It was strange indeed to wake up and find oneself in New York. For that was the sensation. And the only thing to remind me of the fact that I had flown the distance was the mm-mm-mm-mm-mm which was to remain in my ears for quite a while. So ended a most eventful experience. So far, so good. But a question comes to mind from all this, which con- tains no animosity towards our American hosts and friends. Why was it not possible to make this flight across Canada? Or perhaps it would be better to word the question thus: When will it be possible to make such a flight across Canada? This article is intended to arouse concern and dissatisfaction in the minds of a small, perhaps negligible, body of citizens at the backward state of Canadian aviation. And yet, whv? There is no lack of Canadian pilots and no dearth of courageous pioneers. In fact the opposite is the truth. Canadians make some of the best pilots. At the end of the war almost 50% of the R.A.F. pilots and personnel were Canadians. Nor is it due to lack of money, but rather — 24 —

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine sandy beach, while a short distance from shore little fishing smacks are hovering between lines of bobbing corks which mark their nets. Farther out in the gulf little pleasure yachts with cream coloured sails are on the homeward tack before the light breeze. Across the blue stretch of water green mountains with bare peaks of purple - hued rock rise sheer from the shore. In the distance range upon range of snow- capped mountains rear white summits as they merge into the horizon. On a rocky promontory opposite stands a lighthouse whose white walls and red conical roof are glistening with a sparkling brilliance. Around a headland the Empress of Canada slowly and majestically glides past. As if by a visible effort the sun remains poised above the hills in its decline for its rays to reflect in a thousand different lights from windows, portholes, brass work, gleaming white sides and green waterline. A bow wave darts from the prow to be rapidly overtaken by the angry wash of twin propellers. A yel- low customs plane swoops above like an angry hornet while the fishing smacks and sailing yachts have scurried close in to shore leaving the Empress, returning from the Orient, supreme. After a few minutes the sun slips below the hills and the ship is gone, leaving an ever widening foaming wake which soon will be crashing on the beach below. As I wend my way back through the quiet sombre trees the sun has set, leaving only a crimson glow to combat the encroaching twilight. — Athos. A BROADCAST THE other afternoon, as I was idly turning the dial of my radio, I suddenly heard the following broadcast: Good afternoon, folks. This is your sports announcer, Homer, bringing you the Greeks vs. Trojans game with the compliments of Jason Co., makers of the world-famous Argos-type boats, guaranteed to stand the harshest treat- ment. Well, folks, it sure is a great day down here at Troy and we ' re looking forward to some scrap. I ' m afraid we are a bit late starting, but the Greek team didn ' t arrive on time: they had some trouble with the ferry, which was delayed by head winds, until Captain Agamemnon very nobly sacrificed his daughter and told her she couldn ' t come and see the game because the ferry was over- loaded already. However, they are all coming out onto the field now and the game will soon start. The Greeks look mighty nice in their silver helmets and uniforms. There goes Agamemnon; he ' s playing left tackle today; and I see that Mr. Odysseus, the coach, is sending in Achilles first too: that boy has a big reputation back in Greece and maybe we shall see something good from him today. I can see a lot of distinguished spectators down there in the stands. There is Vulcan, the all-Olympian quarter-back, still using a stick from that leg injury he got when the Gods played the Giants. There ' s Hermes, too, one of the quickest broken-field runners ever seen in the game. Bacchus is parading round the ground now at the head of a fifty-piece band of Bacchanals. Now they are wheeling round and forming up into a big wine-jar formation down at the south end. But there goes the whistle! The Trojans have kicked off, a long high kick down the middle of the field: they are following up fast. Ajax has caught the ball: he is running it back — five, ten, fifteen yards. He is tackled — 26 —