St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 32 text:

U An Aniatnr Efruv UTSIDE the railroad station there were ' Q crowded groups of men and women, con- ' ii versing among themselves with a resigned ruff sorrow. Some of the women were sobbing, while from others arose an occasional hys- terical laugh, a characteristic of the strain under which they were laboring. This was one of the sad, yet long-looked-for days which were becoming more frequent in every city, town and village of Canada. It was one that broke mothers' hearts and aroused the inner feelings of men. For soon the train bearing the wounded would arrive. This sad carrier of the unfortunates had made frequent stops at Brookfield, and the patriotic community, along with every Canadian town, was receiving the remnants of its offering for a lasting peace and democracy. Along the sides of the tracks were lines of younger folks, waiting expectantly and perhaps more joyously, the arrival of their friends and pro- tectors. Among the groups were not a few who bore traces of previous service. Here and there were middle-aged men, cripples, and there was hardly a young man who was not either temporarily or permanently marked by insatiable Mars. However through all the sadness one could almost feel the presence of the courageous determination to uphold their country which has characterized the lighting of the Canadians throughout the war. They are a courageous race and they have shown ity they have suffered and they are still willing to suffer for their principles. This was the aspect of the gathering at the railroad station, awaiting the return, sad, though it was, of their beloved ones. The distant blast of a locomotive was heard echoing through the canyon. The whistle grew more distinct, and, as the eager mothers and cheering men crowded closer to YK Kj P .n g? ,

Page 31 text:

Tiallnmien ANTERNS, yellow and red and green A myriad lights against the sky, A laughing myriad, drifting by The crimson banners sweepg Color and light and tinseled sheen, A clang of bells and cymbaled din, The plaintive notes of the violin, And trumpet echoes, deep. Showered confetti and serpentine, Clown, Pierrot and Harlequin, Dominoed girls that smile again As midnight's minutes creep, Light and music and sparkling wine, A rush of feet in the lanterned lanes, Iostling and playingg orchestral strains O'er silvern laughter leap. Bright with light are the gay cafesg The gay crowds stream thru the perfumed halls The lamps Hash high on festooned Wallsg The music wails to sleep. Her carmined lips doth Folly raise To Youth, whose eyes are bright above, And Bacchus, far too gross to love, Drinks that he may not weep. Vincent PV. Hallimm.

Page 33 text:

AN AVIATOR TRUE 35 the humming rails, around a bend puffed an engine-an old one to be sure, as the need of locomotives had brought all the wood-burners into active service, but all bedecked in Flags and banners, at least a pleasing shadow of an impending sorrow. As the train jerked to a hasty stop, dozens of khaki-clad men clambered forth from the cars as best their injured arms and legs would permit them, some only tem- porarily crippled, home on a furlough, others minus a leg or an arm or otherwise incapacitated by a permanent injury or loss which would keep them out of further active service. As the last of the wounded were leaving the train a call for assistance came from the last coach, and as a stretcher was rushed to the car's steps, the remains of a human being were placed upon it. It was the body of a young man about twenty-three years of age, although pain had marked furrows in his countenance which nearly counterbalanced the youthful mass of brown hair and smooth-shaven face. Both legs had been cut off above the knee, and by the haggard expression one could see that the young soldier's whole constitution had been weakened by his wounds. As the onlookers stood beside the stretcher a stifled cry was heard and a sobbing woman, with agonized face, threw herself upon the stretcher, repeating hysterically, O my poor boy! O my jack! For the first time the wounded man moved, he wiped a tear from his eye, kissed his mother and murmured, Don't cry, mother, I fought bravely and the good Lord has graciously spared my poor body for further service to my countryf' Two months later the railroad station was similarly crowded. More anxious mothers were awaiting the arrival of their wounded sons, and wives their wounded husbands. Again the arrival was awaited with hopeful anxiety. But the hope was only short-lived and as the train left its precious burden at the station, the worst was realized in many an aching mother's heart. Buoyed up by the hope of .again