Tillsonburg District High School - Tatler Yearbook (Tillsonburg, Ontario Canada)

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11 F I ,VV I,-4 Q 1 Z WHEE ! ! ! by Anita Hall, XIII A National Highway For Canadians A subject of no little controversy in our controversial age is the subject of a national highway. It is a subject that has ,held its own in the national melting pot for some years now, and it remains nearly as hard and unyielding as it seemed when it was first set into the tire, though it might be said that considerable heat has been applied. The subject has held its own in a hard- pressed Parliament through tides of war, threatened war, threats of internal collapse, and the political spring tide of national elec- tion. lt seems that no matter what import- ant discussion is waging in the House, some insignificant member from some remote constituency of some remote province is bound to rise from his chair, clear his throat, and shout, Mr, Speaker, question please! Now, Honourable Gentlemen, ex- actly why should we not have a national highway? Such a question raises a stubborn prob- lem. Whether to, or whether not to have a national highway supposedly was decided during the course of the Second VVorld VVar. Finding an answer to satisfy our inquisitive gentleman is therefore, rather difficult, and not a little ticklish, for a subject that has hung for so long over the heads of our venerable authorities is bound to rule on their jostled nerve ends with an unpolished edge. First, the questioner could be told that a national highway is essential to national communication over the length of our vast dominion. In the event of war such a road would, in fact, be most vital. The German super highway, which gave excellent traffic circulation and provided almost impossible bomb targets, was a factual illustration of this use. Also, the tourist has long sighed the lack THE TATLER I of high-grade roads in Canada, and in view of the nation's dwindling monetary re- serves, any good new road is important be- cause it would increase the American tour- ist trade, which already is no small source of dollars. Another point to be made is that a highway between the provinces would foster good interprovincial relationships of which our nation, sprawling as it does over a wide area and supporting many differing indus- tries, has an urgent need. Then, too, a growing nation such as Canada needs some- thing of which it can be justly proud, some- thing to which we, the inhabitants, can point and say with chesty tones, Now this is our national highway. It would be like a new suit of clothes, and there is no doubt that johnny Canuck needs a new suit of clothes. VVhile mulling over the need for coast-to- coast highway we might also bear in mind the vast mineral deposits that were un- covered during the laying of the transcon- tinental railroads. No one then had dreamed of such hidden wealth, and who knows to- day what may lie beneath the roadbed of a new highway which stretches from one sea to the next and in its course passes through great regions that have never before been closely examined. The main trouble between us and our prospective road is getting the project off the drawing board and, as it were, onto the map. In short, the project would cost money, as most good things do. Such an enfolding artery as is now proposed would quickly pay for itself but the provinces, over whose rugged terrain the road must be laid have had no end of objections and, like cats and dogs bickering over the delicacies in a juicy bone, have reached little agreement. Any question regarding a national high- way is therefore a debatable one, and here- in, I believe, lies the greatest importance, the greatest service which the road can achieve. It is no small task to build this road, but it will be done. We all want it to be done. Through the bickering, the finan- cial problems, and the surmounting of large obstacles, there will come a new and broad- er understanding within Canada and among Canadians, and a fine new pulse will be felt which will travel unhindered along a great new artery-our new national highway. Donald Lee, XIII. 41

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ON HAVING NOTHING TO D0 My examinations finished and should be handed in,- The people round me study, in fact, they all have been Doing so for half an hour. Alas! I cannot follow their tedious occupation, For I left all books but French at home, in dread anticipation Of a tiring, gruelling, time-consuming, quite horrible ordeal, And I thought for sure that all my time would be completely sealed With verbs and authors, sight translation, I participe passe, And the hundred million other things we're s'posed to know each day. But now I'm done, I've checked and checked,' no error can there be! And I should like to study Latin and geometry. But woe is me! I cannot do, for of these books I've none . . . What good is it to me to have my French exam all done? Hence you will see, with chemistry, geo- metry and Latin All bearing down, reminding me that I am far from through, This morning I left these at home . . . at home just where they sat, 'n' Now alas, I sit and wait, for I have nought to do! R. Jones, XII. 0 My Impressions of the New T.D.H.S. flionourable Mention-Essayj September the third, 1950, I marched proudly up toward the flagstone terrace of T.D.H.S. situated on the southern slope of Tillson Avenue. There, I was greeted by a doorman who smilingly bowed and opened the door. As I stepped inside, I was met by a hum of pleasant voices mingling to- gether over the soft liquid mellow tones of Billy Ekstine. I walked freely, unhamp- ered by books, as a porter had previously relieved me of them. As I proceeded down the cool, wide corri- dor, stopping once for a cool tall glass of orangeade at the soft-drink booth, I peered into one of the many rooms, where plush- lined seats awaited their willing occupants. There, I noticed a new teacher writing on one of the huge blackboards. Changing her mind she pressed a lever and a sheet of new board slid in place of the other one, thus eliminating chalk dust and the weary work of cleaning. 40 I then proceeded to the second floor, taking advantage of one of the numerous escalators scattered throughout the build- ing. Nowhere was there confusion or commo- tion on this, the first day of school. Infor- mation booths were on each Hoor for stu- dents wide-eyed with wonderment and joy. Being a fourth-former I tried not to show my ecstasy over the chrome-finished labora- tories, where Mr. Sinclair would commence his teaching of atomic energy, the padded stools with their high backs and head-rests, the electric fans that would immediately remove any gaseous smell or odour, and the intricate and mysterious apparatus that would assist us in doing experiments in splitting atoms or making engines for jet- powered aeroplanes. From the laboratories I went next to the gymnasium. The skylight above afforded natural lighting, the yard-wide baskets would assist us in gaining needed points, and the padded walls and non-skid floor, all combined to make a gym each of us could be proud of. I ventured then, to the locker rooms with their wide, spacious closets complete with hanger and shoe shelf. The rooms were comfortably heated and nowhere was there any jostling or pushing. I visited next the Home Economics room with its beautiful Home Freezer, Bendix washing machine and all the accessories necessary in the up-to-date millionaire's home. Then I ventured into the Work Shop with its beautifully carved statues and models produced by the boys themselves. For the first few weeks of school, things went along very smoothly. I loved our Home Economics course with sewing and cooking, and I am sure the boys enjoyed their Arts and Crafts course, but there seemed to be no close harmony. No one A.B. would dare put L on the immaculate X.Y. polished desks. The live-foot span between desks eliminated tripping, and the two gyms even removed the friendly weekly quarrels between the boys and girls as to whose gym it was. Yes, strange as it may seem, by the end of September I was wishing for something I thought I would never want to hear again -that old familiar call of the desperate, To your classes! Clear the halls! Joyce Hibbert, XIA. THE TATLER

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A Glimpse of Vancouver VVhile perusing my joumal de voyages which I kept during my trip out west last summer, I came upon my written impres- sions of Vancouver, and this prompted me to write a short article on my visit there. Vancouver, the Gateway to the Orient, harbours within itself a little Chinese col- ony. There, in the older section of the city, the musty Oriental shops offer such bizarre items as bean paste, syrupy ginger and jas- mine tea, all considered great delicacies by the Chinese. Herbs are also imported from China and what through my eyes was a bunch of limp weeds was sold for tonics and medicine. Gullible tourists payrthirty cents for min- ute, crumbling plaster figurines of coolies, rickshaws and pagodas and I imagine the Chinese proprietors smile to themselves as did our forefathers when selling beads to the Indians. Cleanliness didn't seem to be a prominent aspect of Chinatown and I was quite reliev- ed to leave that rickety old section of the city and delighted to learn that I was to have supper in Stanley Park and later see a stage production in the outdoor theatre there. Stanley Park, spreading over eight hun- dred acres combines a Marine Drive along the Pacific with magnificent flower beds, totem poles, bridle paths and a zoo. A host ofgardeners care for the spacious beds of various flowers. VVhen we praised the carnations to the caretaker he gracious- ly picked one for each of us, commenting that he knew a hint when he heard one. Taking advantage of the fellow's generosity I snatched a shiny holly leaf from a nearby bush and dropped it twice as quickly when I felt the sharp edges cutting my hand. After a lengthy tour of the park we arriv- ed at the Theatre under the Stars where plays and musicals have been presented for the last ten years. The citizens of Van- couver who own and operate the Theatre through-a Board of Park Commissioners have reason to be proud of the success of this unique Canadian venture. We took our seats out in the open and listened to the Pacific rolling in on the shore as the evening darkened and Bloom- er Girl began. Such minor disturbances as the peacocks quarrelling or the park cannon loudly resounding I only vaguely remember 42 as part of that very fascinating night. We left Vancouver by the Fraser River Canyon the next day and as we jolted along the steep mountainside I was still scribbling Vancouver's praise in my diary. Ann Dean, XII. A Nightmare-Its Cause and Effect I was extremely hungry that night and my raid on the ice-box yielded a luscious treasure-cold chicken, dill pickles, salami, and cherry preserve! After I had glutton- ously stuffed myself until my tightening waistband warned me that it was time I terminated my feast, off I toddled to bed. Sometime during the night I found myself precipitated into the midst of a horrifying nightmare. Huge dill pickles marched be- fore my eyes, leering at me and continually bobbing up and down in some fantastically primitive rhythm! Limbless chickens with dismal, dismembered visages, accused me, in spectral tones, of devouring their legs! Bunches of succulent cherries dangled tan- talizingly in front of my nose, just out of reach! Cherries, cherries everywhere, and not a bit to bite! just when I felt myself to be on the brink of insanity, terrified by these hallucinations the pickles became reinspired into even greater animation! I lunged forward to attack them! The frightening repercus- sion, caused by the bed-springs giving way, startled me into wakefulness and I knew that the whole horror had been just a dream. Now some people may surmise that my midnight snack was the cause of my night- mare. Fortunately I am not cursed with such credulity, because I happen to know that the only food which makes me dream is limburger cheese! I don't even have to eat it. The odour is enough! Besides, no dill pickle has ever turned traitor on me, except when I had the mumps! jean Scrimgeour, XIII. jx- K ir, --ll-i I Miss McIntosh freading from Romeo and Julietj: 'XVhat's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet.' Richard, paraphrase this. Richard Jones: NVhy are names impor- tant? This play by any other title would be as bad. THE TATLER