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

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine sharks, a tempting place to bathe. We were fortunate, however, inasmuch as we had a swimming tank rigged up on our after deck. We were anchored for some time off Colon and had the interesting experience of seeing a miniature cyclone, a small patch of water drawn up into a small point, and from there what appeared to be an ever increasing cone of cloud rearing up for hundreds of feet, the whole gradually moving south. A glimpse of Santo Domingo, Jamaica and Cuba, with warm and delightful weather and the smoothest sea since leaving San Francisco, certainly a welcome rest after bucking the North- east Trades across the Caribbean. A wireless suggested that we were to call in at Porto Rico, but, as we could not connect with shore stations owing to atmosphere, headed away North and East with the Scilly Isles as our first land- fall in two weeks ' time. We passed through the Sargasso Sea, and all the cher- ished fables of my youth were dispelled when I saw no derelicts, no slimy sea things, but only more seaweed than appeared elsewhere. At last the Bishop Light and an interesting picture at the entrance to the Channel — a full- rig ship sailing along, and a brig. And so up the English Channel, and one wonders at the number of ships gradually converging to go up Channel or spreading away in all directions for the Amer- icas, India, Australia, et cetera, and so to London. And so this is England, this country of narrow roads with beautiful surfaces which wind about in the most amazing way, where people drive on whichever side seems convenient, where the stream of traffic is continuous, where the cyclists, five abreast, care for no one, and motor cycles weave in and out, where the lights turn green or red, but pedestrians care not, although there are weird things called Belisha Beacons to give them a right of way, and where everyone, pedestrian, cyclist, or car, implicitly obeys only the policeman, and where every- one enjoys sensible liquor laws. Lunch at a charming house in an old-world village in Cambridgeshire, and behold, Pat Nixon. A night at a London hotel, and at the next table at breakfast, Bruce Robertson. My headquarters were at Rampton as the guest of A. G. Crisp and his wife. In London also, but hard t o find, Jack Rochfort and Denis Douglas, Derek Johnston and R. Eddison. Rumours of Alan Best and G. Dyson, but August is a bad month, and Jock Mair in Sheffield. A week in Cheltenham listening to great educationalists dis- coursing on their own varied experiments in Education, but staying with a head master who felt that the All India team should be seen playing Glouces- tershire. Visits to various schools, chiefly of the more modern types, and a couple of interesting days at two types of Borstal Institutions. People discussing the growing success of the Russian System and the complete failure of the same system. Religion and Communism still shouted about at Hyde Park Corner. But elsewhere Sheep Dog Trials and the preservation of National Beauty Spots of greater importance, In spite of the extreme busyness of shipyards and muni- tion factories, no one seemed interested in war as affecting Great Britain, so one supposes that the usual optimism (or egoism) of the British is still para- mount. An amazingly stable and apparently prosperous country and a country where religion is still honoured by observance in family life, and a spiritual side is considered essential in school life. And so two weeks in the country, where the Golden Eagle flings the shadow of his wings, where the clouds are never still, where the tarns lie black and still — 31 —

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine reminiscent of Spain, of Italy, of Scandinavia and even of New York. The news- papers are large and at times (especially Sundays) florid. But, after all, moving pictures are a major industry. And California provides ideal settings for jungles filled with wild animals, for deserts with camels silhouetted against an arid horizon, for perilous mountain scenes (Los Angeles covers a large area). The domestic affairs of Celebrities appear to be of great community interest, and the daily news is, at least, an antidote to the vitriolic comments of journals while time marches on. The serene austerity of villages like Nephi, Fredonia in Utah, are forgotten as we come upon the older beauty of San Juan Capistrano, Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo, where one sees living relics of a civilization with a religious background. A quick side trip into Mexico, where no one worries about any- thing, and the Immigration officials care not whether you go or come providing you do not disturb their sleep; and, on returning, the U.S. officials are full of suspicion and want all your papers to examine and let you know how honoured you are to be allowed into the U.S. in spite of the fact that they saw you leave the country a few hours before. They are, of course, Federal agents, and therefore have no use for any single state, and their courtesy is of the gruffer type common to the State and City police. Did I forget politics? Well, before an election they remind me of our own provincial elections. One group of newspapers appear to be backing one candidate and pictures of this man appeared every day in the papers — Mr. . . . sitting at work, Mr. . . . sitting in his shirtsleeves, Mr. ... in the bosom of his (apparently) adoring family, etc., etc. And the less said about the arch-fiend who dares to oppose him the better. I loved the United States. I loved their citizens, individually, yes! but there seems to be less individual liberty than we are accustomed to; this may be due to the method by which government officials are elected. So I left it, hoping to return and revel in the individual courtesy and kindliness I have never before met in such abundance, and I left it hoping to forget that the thing I was to see was the biggest of its type in the world and had cost the most money — the Boulder Dam; the Grand Canyon, Death Valley, all so full of interest, romance or beauty, and in British Columbia we also have a noble share of these things, only, of course, we have no roads. And so three weeks on the Pacific and a farewell to our side. The Pacific, always restless, and the more so in a small ship of 7000 tons. And hence, time to review a few things I had seen. The won- drous educational buildings — but why chiefly buildings? The tre- mendous pleasure I had in seeing so many Old Boys, from Alec Ripley in Los Angeles, who gave me of his time to show me San Diego and its Exposition, to Thane Rogers in San Francisco, and Wilson, Hyde, Kinney at Stanford, Bruce Olsen and Harris in Portland, Doherty and Bill Johnson in Tacoma. They are doing well, our lads. And so to the old city of Panama and the Canal — a very beautiful run through tropical foliage on a perfect day, everything a brilliant green, and if it had not been -— for the presence of several alligators and a couple of — 30 —

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine against a background of precipitous screes, and the fells, mysterious and majestic, green and purple, black and golden, and ever changing, always friendly, and yet lonely, and with numberless little waterfalls and becks always hurrying hap- pily down to join the lakes in the valley and where its people have their feet in the soil and are independent of all men. Where I had lunch in the shade of Wordsworth ' s tree: There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore. Where I had a pleasant reminder of good shooting years ago and where we permitted an Old Boy to blow the horn of John Peel in a house standing in the shadow of Walpole ' s Fortress , and Cumberland was kind in providing us with perfect weather. A glimpse of Cornwall and Devon and a few days in London and presently to Liverpool, a look at the new Cathedral, and thence over a placid Atlantic through Belle Isle to the St. Lawrence, a few hours only in Quebec and the day spent in drinking in the gorgeous autumn colouring along the river banks. Two Old Boys aboard helped to pass the time, R. W. B. Lacon on leave from the Mediterranean and D. Douglas returning to McGill. A week in Toronto and a glimpse of some dozen Old Boys, a wonderful week-end at Welland with Bob Harcourt and his family, and slowly west to Winnipeg and Bill Ferguson, and thence to that delightful haven of hospitality, Calgary. But I must add a word of thanks to those at Ashbury College, Upper Canada College, Ridley College and Ravenscourt for the kindness of their welcome. And so home to a School of which none of us need be ashamed and where there is boundless opportunity to develop citizens of a type so badly needed for a country so wholly desirable. O =L — 32 —