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

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There must be numerous other Old Boys whose activities merit record, but who are not mentioned due to a lack of information. Please let us know what you are doing by dropping a note to Derek L. Johnston, our Treasurer, or to Ned Larsen, our representative at the school. MARRIAGES Paddington-Douglas — On June 9, 1956, at St. Olave ' s Church, Toronto; Michael Piddington (194547) to Patricia Ann, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. N. S. Douglas of Toronto. Coates-Crispin — On June 22, 1956, Barry Coates (1948-54) to Dawn Louise Crispin of Vancouver. Patrick-Peterson — On October 6, 1956, Archie Patrick (1948-51) to Nora Lee Peterson in the University Congregational Church, Seattle. BIRTHS To Mr. and Mrs. Ned Larsen on January 24, 1956, a daughter, Brenda Fraser. ft ft cJLiteraru S eclit THE LAST PREDICTION The last dim outlines of twilight had long since become invisible behind the black gloom of night as I wearily plunged through a tangled mass of underbrush which clutched my arms and legs as it viciously whipped my face. Icy sheets of rain lashed my body, drenching me to the skin and the air of dark despair was further intensified by the strong breeze which whistled a mournful tune. A cold shiver of hopelessness slowly ran down my spine. I ' m really good and lost this time, I announced to the surrounding forest. What an idiotic moron I was to try fishing on a day like this. This Fort St. James area is so wild there probably isn ' t a human being within thirty miles. Why in heaven ' s name did I have to get separated from the rest of the party ? I blew into my numb hands, shifting my fishing basket onto my left shoulder, and plunged into a maze of willows that confronted me and announced the proximity of a stream. Grimly I thrust my way through the dripping tangle of Nature ' s barb-wire, dragging my decrepit fishing rod behind me. Without warning the ground beneath my feet gave away ! I fell down the face of a cliff, a deluge of sand and rocks accompanying me. In vain I clutched at a spruce sapling as I bounded and rolled down the precipice. My right shoulder was ripped open by a jagged rock just before I plunged into the icy waters of a mountain stream. The roaring creek grabbed my numb body and hurled me downstream as I struggled desperately to keep my head above the water. With agonizing speed my strength left me and it was with profound relief that I felt my foot scrape a sandy bottom after what were probably the ten most exhausting minutes of my life. I staggered up onto a beach and collapsed. I awoke to the unpleasant sensation of a sharp stabbing pain shooting relentlessly up and down my injured arm and the firm conviction that during the night someone had bored a large hole through my aching head. At first all awareness of my sorry plight evaded me but eventually with sickening suddenness it dawned on me that I was lying helpless beside a mountain creek somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Cautiously I opened my eyes that smarted from the unaccustomed glare and surveyed mv new surroundings. I blinked with disbelief and then stared incredulously at the scene that met my gaze. I was on a bunk in a neat log cabin with a rough hewn roof slanting upwards above my head. The sight that made me gasp with astonishment was the figure of an old man sitting beside my bed, eyeing me with grave concern. If it had been the devil himself I doubt that my surprise could have been greater. He had a short, straggly beard of white hair that partially covered a livid scar which ran from his left ear to his pointed chin. Out of his fat wrinkled cheeks there protruded a long hooked nose that reminded me strongly of Cassius ' prominent member. His gnarled hands, which rested upon the edge of my bed, twitched nervously and his long white fingers entwined themselves into fantastic knots. His eyes, however, were what arrested my gaze. They were a curious light blue, from the depths of which seemed to flame an amazing combination of emotions. In them burned fire, knowledge, and suspicion. In short he had eyes from which shone the magnificence of a demigod. For what seemed an epoch he said nothing, eyeing me with critical apprehension. Finally he aroused himself from his reverie with an effort, and said, in a deep grating voice, How are you feeling, lad ? Wh - - - Wh - - - Where am I ? I stammered, feeling both uncomfortable and stupid beside this forceful being. Page Twenty-Four

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In the Royal Canadian Navy, by the latest count, we have four captains, three commanders, and four lieutenant-commanders — it won ' t be long, says the Treasurer, his face lighting up with unholy joy, before he can write an abusive dunning letter to a Rear-Admiral. Captains O. Robertson (1917-19) and C. P. Nixon (1926-33) and Commander J. R. Doull (1929-32), are at N.S.H.Q. in Ottawa; Captain M. G. Stirling commands the training base at Cornwallis, N.S.; Captain P. E. Haddon is Chief of Staff in Esquimalt. Commander A. C. Campbell, after a NATO job in London, has a staff appointment in Halifax, and Lieut. -Commanders R. B. Hayward (1931-37) and A. H. M. Slater (1937-39) are both in ships based on that port. Commander R. H. Leir (193540) and Lieut.-Commander (E) J. O. Aitkens (1938-99) are both in the United Kingdom; and Lieut.-Commander J. R. H. Ley (1933-41) is Staff Officer Communica- tions in Hamilton, Ont. Before we leave the Senior Service, mention might be made of an exciting book, Gunboat 658, in which the wartime efforts of three Old Boys are warmly praised by an R.N.V.R. officer who served with them. T. E. Ladner (1928-31), J. D. Maitland (1928-30) and C. Burke (1930-32) all made an outstanding contribution to the guerilla warfare of small fast naval ships in the Mediterranean, and all earned the D.S.C. This is a book for every O ' .d Boy to read and take pride in the exploits of the Three Musketeers from the School. Stebbins Rohrback (1948-52) is at college in Tacoma and hopes to have a degree in history, and a teaching certificate by the end of 1957. Graham Anderson (194042) is taking a B.A. and has ambitions to teach at Shawnigan in a vear or so. F. L. A. Elmaleh (1948-53) is at Menloe College and J. E. Berg (1951-53) at Stanford. There is now a large number of Shawnigan Old Boys at U.B.C.. These include John Madden, Barry Drysdale, Victor Allen, Bob Harman, Bob Simson, David Read, Tam Robertson, Gerald McGavin, Tucker Battle, Hugh Mowat, Brian McGavin, Farrell Boyce, John Roaf, Robert McKechnie, John Armstrong, Sam Perry, Colin Kyles and Geoff Smith. John Burr (1946-50) has just graduated in Medicine. Playing on U.B.C. rugger sides are Gerald McGavin and his brother Brian, Sam Perry, Tucker Battle and Geoff Smith. Michael Kaye is at Victoria College, while his brother John continues at McGill. Last winter John played rugger for McGill and won his letter. Derek Brooks has passed into his second year at H.M.C.S. Venture, the Naval Training College at Esquimalt, and is being joined this year by Colin Crisp. T. A. London (1949-52) has completed his course at Royal Roads and is at R.M.C. R. O. Edwards (1952-53) is with the Royal Bank in Vancouver and W. J. Liaskas (1952-53) with Western Steel-Reinforcing. In the Academic sphere special mention should be made of John Strathdee (1942-52), who was a Gold Medalist in his final year at McGill University, with 1st Class Honours in Mathematics and Natural Philosophy. He also won a Morse Travelling Scholarship, which takes him to the Cavendish Laboratories at Cambridge. We have news of two Old Boys who, in 1938 and in 1940, wrote from the school and won scholarships to the California Institute of Technology. Dr. Allen Bell (1934-38) is practising medicine in Pensacola, Florida; and Dr. Maurice Rattray (193740) is a Professor of Oceonography at the University of Washington and is considered the leading authority on the Pacific Coast. John Gale (1942-43), who is with the Toronto Star, visited the school during the summer when he was in the West covering Marilyn Bell ' s swim. Wishing to report a blow by blow account, he swam the entire distance alongside her; John was always very conscientious in the performance of his duties. John Pearkes has been called to the Bar in Vancouver, where he will practice. Graham Anderson has distinguished himself as a Cadet in the University Naval Training Division at U.B.C. He recently received an award for being the outstanding Cadet of the third year students under training. Lyman Louis graduated from the University of Washington in Business Administration last June and has been commissioned in the U.S. Air Force. John Louis, in September, entered the University of Washington, where he is to major in Law. Old Boys with sons at the school this year are Fraser Mcintosh, Bruce Robertson, Bob Douglas, Jack Larsen, Bob Malkin, Gordon Best, Doug Macrae, Harry Housser, Phil Haddon and Corny Burke. Sons of Old Boys who are themselves now Old Boys are Peter Olsen (Bruce), Stephen and Foster Knight (Edward), Ewing Larsen (Pat), John Roaf (Bill) and Colin Crisp (Fred). Page Twenty-Three

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Again there was a long pause as he dissected me with his piercing eyes as if he were deciding whether I should be trusted with a confidence. Finally he shook his head and replied, You ' re in my home. Where ? I asked, trying master the excruciating pain in my shoulder. And how did I get here ? I found you lying by the creek this morning. Never mind where you are; we ' ll talk about that later. Right now let us concern ourselves with that shoulder of yours. You ' ve got a nasty gash in it, but I don ' t think it ' s infected. How does it feel ? It hurts, I admitted. My name is Jefferson, Brian Jefferson. By the way, how in goodness ' name did you get here? As you can no doubt imagine it isn ' t very often that I have the pleasure of receiving visitors in this neck of the woods. To cut a long story short, I got lost while fishing; fell down a cliff into a creek and managed to save myself from drowning by reaching your beach. Wh What are you doing ? This last remark was prompted by the fact that he had grabbed my shoulder. Just changing the bandage, he said. It was only then that I noticed to my amazement that my shoulder had been excellently attended. Are you a doctor ? I asked. Yes, as a matter of fact I used to be, he answered, a wry smile spreading across hh sunburnt face. Doctor who ? I enquired, quite amazed that this old fellow had once been anything more than a trapper. Never mind ! he snapped, and then went on in a more friendly tone. But for con- venience ' s sake let us say Smith. I think that the fewer question you ask at the moment the better we will get along together. 1 assure you that everything will be explained to your satisfaction at some date in the future. Try as I would I could get no more information from him and soon I drifted into a deep sleep. The next few days were the strangest of my life. The old man ' s cabin was in a small green valley, picturesquely situated by a roaring mountain creek that emptied into a trout-filled lake about half a mile down from the shack. Rugged, snow-capped mountains completely surrounded it, forming a barren contrast to the lush vegetation that abounded along the course of the stream. Dr. Smith had managed to clear a large pasture in which about a dozen cows grazed languidly staring at the intruder who had been thrust into their midst. There was also a carefully tended vegetable garden at the rear of the cabin that produced the most delicious peas and carrots that I have ever tasted. The doctor also managed to keep his larder well stocked by fishing in the creek, a task in which I delighted to help as I regained strength. The doctor himself was a paradox. Above all, he was an expert woodsman, having thorough knowledge of all that must be known by one who lives in the wilds. As I gradually learned, he had come to these parts about forty years ago to escape some unpleasant circum- stance that had forced his early retirement. By himself he had managed to build his cabin, clear the land, and carve a productive farm out of the dense bush. It must have taken immense courage for such an obviously important man to break with the past and come to live in such a wild, unknown area. His only human contacts during these years had been an old Indian family which had lived at the other end of the valley for some twenty years, and a drunken old trapper who bought him such necessary supplies as sugar and salt once a year. Around the farm the doctor was a tower of strength. He worked continually at all manner of tasks, completing each one with meticulous care. If a job ' s worth doing, it ' s worth doing well, he often quoted when I expressed amazement at the precision of even the most menial of tasks. His stooped but wiry form could be seen working for hours in his garden during the Indian summer which followed the storm that had accompanied my arrival. He was both an excellent cook and a good housekeeper, his little shack being kept as neat as a city mansion. His one form of relaxation was fishing, and for hours he would work up and down the creek, usually returning with a fairly good catch of the large, firm rainbow trout that abound in the streams near Fort St. James He was fond of drink, and consumed a large amount of a potent brew that he distilled himself, one glass of which was enough to knock me off my feet. However, he showed no outward sign of intoxication. Sometimes he would jump at the slightest sound, and when holding paper he often tore it into shreds. I noticed that this trait became more pronounced as time went on. as if something terrible was bothering him. Often I would see him staring mto the distance with his wild eyes, mouthing soundless words. Page Twenty-Five