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

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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

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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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A Country Store One bright Saturday morning I arose in good spirits. The thought of being con- fronted with the four grey walls of school was far from my mind, but I was soon to be forced into view of a still more drab struc- ture than school, for a small village west of Tillsonburg is unique in having on its only corner a structure as old as the tiny village itself. I hopefully strode under the upheld re- mains of the once-massive veranda, and pulled the door off its hinges as I hurried into the entry-way. There are two doors through which a persevering customer has to enter. The dilapidated storm door opens in, and has no window to warn you of an on- coming pedestrian: whereas, the heavy main door opens out. There is scarcely enough room through this needle eye, for a dozen Grade A eggs in the hands of a be- wildered person occupied in manipulating the uncommon door system to avoid be- coming a dozen cracked eggs. After having overcome this obstacle I ventured into the dismal interior of the store. This mid-Victorian structure se1'ves as a grocery, paint, hardware, shoe, and dry- goods store, post office and butcher shop, as well as a town hall and business centre. The ceiling presents an appearance not unlike that of a war ship with its dark grey paint. The once adhesive plaster is now draped halfway to the floor and the strands of paper are spattered where over-anxious cans of tomatoes have fermented ploded. - and ex- My eyes stealthily followed the lines of interwoven electrical wiring, left exposed on the ceiling, to the back of the store where two by the post office twhich measures fourj is situated. The former owner, now retired, still retains his job as post-master and hides in this den throughout the day. The Christmas rush of parcels and cards is quite a challenge to his ailing eye, and feeble hand. To preserve the ancient at- mosphere a sign near the post office reads, For a Merry Christmas, mail early. but, after all, the overloaded display window is still hung with red and green decorations and contains two cards of sun glasses. At the rear of the store, generally looked upon as the hardware section, hang seven dusty brooms from the old-fashioned rack nailed.to the ceiling. Also from this rack hang stable forks and manure brooms, not to mention the fly sprayers and coal-oil lanterns. Around the stove are placed four or five chairs, which have seen better days, for the benefit of the man who used to chase buf- falo out on the prairie, the one who shot the big buck up north last year, and any others who have nothing to do but spend an educa- tional afternoon around a hot stove. The tinny clank of the clock struggling desperately to strike ten o'clock startled me out of my stupor and I walked up to be waited upon. The store seemed unusually crowded with customers. I counted them. There were seventeen, but only three clerks who were doing everything humanly pos- sible to get us out of the way. Pushing my way through the rows of farmers who had been ordered by their wives to purchase the necessary domestic supplies for the coming week,'I served myself to a loaf of bread and squeezed out of this amazing structure, a country store. Bud Iietchabaw, XIII. Editorial tfontinued from I'age 181 spirit at all times and let it serve as an ex- ample to us in our studies as well as our sports, our extra-curricular activities and our daily life: let us try hard, be good sports, and above all, play fairly. For the memories, the school spirit, the fine example, we are grateful and for them we say, as we take our last farewell, Good- bye, old T.H.S.! goodbye and-thanks! , JUNGLE PHENOMENON . ' T -I v . A In A '. ., , if I' A . ' Papa Criss, Mama Cross, and Baby Criss-Cross THE TATLER . . -B. Grey, X ll 43