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

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine on his own thirty-yard line. I couldn ' t see who made that tackle; just a minute, please. Oh yes, it was Hector. Hector, number one for the Trojans, made that tackle, putting Ajax down hard on his own thirty-five-yard line. Now the Greeks have possession of the ball, so they are going into a huddle. They are out of it again. Achilles is calling the signals. It ' s a line back, Philoctetes carrying the ball and going hard through the centre of the Trojan line for a gain of two yards before being dog-piled. The referee, Mr. Zeus, is sending Philoctetes to the showers for being foul, so foul in fact that the ref . couldn ' t stand him any longer — At this point unfortunately my radio broke down and would produce nothing but squeals and grunts. I worked feverishly over it, but it was a long time before I could get it mended, and when I finally tuned in again the game was over. Well, folks, that ' s that! The Greeks have won by that final touchdown, scored thanks to the tricky fake play introduced by Coach Odysseus which got right inside the Trojan defences. That sure was a dandy piece of work. And now I am going to ask Mr. Odysseus to say a few words to you about the game. Mr. Odysseus. Good afternoon, everybody. I ' m mighty pleased we won, but it sure was a hard fight. That boy Hector looked mighty dangerous for a while, and I think maybe I made a mistake in putting Achilles on the bench at the beginning of the last quarter; but anyhow he c ertainly gave Hector the works when he got back in the game. He ' s a fine player is Achilles, though he was a bit worried by that poisoned ankle of his today. I kept that last play under my hat till the very end, because I figured it would have the Trojans guessing, but the boys sure put it over swell. There was only one Trojan left standing at the end of it — that little guy, Aeneas, who was quick enough to get out of the way. Thank you, Mr. Odysseus. And now, folks, just a word about Jason ' s boats. Remember that if you ever want to go fleecing anybody, first get an Argos-type boat with an Orpheus self-starter and all the latest fittings. It will never let you down. This is Homer speaking over station ILIAD. Good afternoon, everybody. M. LAPIN AGAIN I DID not feel it would be right to leave France, where I had been travelling, without paying my respects to Monsieur le Capitaine Lapin. In spite of his eccentric behaviour on the only occasion on which he went with our Natural History Society, I still had a high regard for him and for his intriguing nomen- clature of zoological specimens. When I arrived at his house the good captain greeted me in the affectionate manner of his countrymen, which made me immediately aware that he had omitted to shave that morning. Although the day was in its infancy he insisted on my sampling the bouquet of his most prized vintages, which had the effect of putting us on very good terms with each other and induced that pleasant, reminiscent mood, more often attained as the evening shadows lengthen. After dwelling on our Canadian experiences, by way of flattering my host I enquired whether he had any troohies of the chase to show me. But yes: of course he had. I must come at once to his museum. The captain was now in such splendid form — 27 —

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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 —

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine as a result of his potations that I felt sure I should glean some most enlightening information. On entering the museum my attention was attracted by a fine, blue Belgian hare. I remarked on the excellence of the specimen, but Lapin would have none of it. Belgian hare, mon dieul Was it that I did not recognize the Welsh Rabbit when I saw one? Truly rare, but to be met with on the slopes of Snowdon where its colour would acclimatise, oh so nicely, with the snows. But I must regard the stuffed bird close by. A chef d ' oeuvre was it not? I agreed that it was a clever mounting of a wood pigeon. A wood pigeon? But where was my knowledge that I did not know the stool pigeon? This impudent rascal, was he not always hanging round the back door, where he had no busi- ness, in the hopes of picking up tit bits? Where, I asked, were the big game. It was only necessary that I should look at the floor, where I was at that moment standing on the skin of a bugbear. And what a terror he had been! And in front of the fireplace did I not see the yellow coat of a dandelion, which he had picked off on the veldt? My gaze was then attracted by a mountain goat, which, I suggested, he had shot in the Rockies on his way across Canada. But what insult that I should think it anything so common. For I should know that this was one of the almost extinct Jewish scapegoats my host had shot in Palestine. After this faux pas I became interested in a lynx, and not being sure of its genus I enquired of Lapin, who had no hesitation in asserting that it was a cufflynx. By the time he had shown me the tooth of a firedog and the scale of a snapdragon I was hard put to it to keep a straight face. In our perigrinations we had now arrived beneath a pair of horns. Lapin was momentarily at a loss, but the puzzled expression soon cleared from his face as he confidently asserted they were the horns of a dilemma. I mildly suggested a llama, surely. To settle the point he climbed up to read what was written below, but losing his balance he fell between two stools and then at last I could give vent to my feelings without hurting his. THE CONCERT UPON entering the big school on Saturday evening, the ninth of November, for the annual rag concert, we sat down and took stock of our surround- ings. The curtain, adorned with the School crest and colours, hung in front of the stage in the centre, while amidst the beams was the Star-spangled banner. A profusion of small flags covered the steps up to the stage and the side fixtures. We had just found out from our programmes that The League of Nations was the first tableau, when the curtain rose. A gorgeously arrayed Haile Selassie, seated on a throne, was holding his court of league delegates, who were grouped around him in a semicircle, with Mussolini himself only a yard from the monarch. His shadow sang a song of fidelity to Selassie, and Gugsa a song of hate to a number of delegates. When the court had filed out Selassie and Musso- lini heartily shook hands. When the lights went on again we could take stock of the spectators: Strathcona, a number of old boys and parents, and the school filled the hall. For the following four intervals two amateur rough-housers performed for us. One would enter by the window, door, or balcony, whichever proved con- — 28 —