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

Page 65 text:

were absent, and for my initial attempt, I ,chose a remote section of the road. It was a brisk fall afternoon, but from the moment I teetered on the seat of the bike, the sun seemed to shine with increased heat. Clenching the handle bars, I moved forward a fraction of an inch. VVhy did the machine wobble so cruelly? In an effort to keep my balance, I left my left shoe free to draw along the ground. Surely, having had re- course to such a precaution, I could remain upright and dignified. Stubborn, unman- ageable wheel! How could one be expected to steer, and at the same time concentrate upon pedalling and maintaining balance? I felt my pigtails falling already, with frustra- tion and annoyance. The bicycle and I staggered a few paces along the road. Two four-year-olds popped out from the hedge to witness this unusual scene. It ain't going right, is it? You can't ride yet, can you? Dear, little round-eyed cherubs! With an effort, I strained my frozen face-muscles into a smile. Joyce is just learning. Everyone has to learn, you know. My audience, without replying, disappeared. A few minutes later they returned, each sailing by on a red tricycle with a speed which left me far be- hind on the road. Now along the road pranced the most en- terprising ten-year-old in my Sunday school class. Smug in the possession of a new bike, which he had learned to ride after one day's effort, Spud folded his arms across his chest. Thus in a typical attitude of mascu- line disapproval, he surveyed the solitary rider. Do you think you'll ever make it go? I moistened my lips, and felt grateful that the boys in our family realized they had a sister. Of course. You wouldn't ex- pect me to get on and ride the bike right away. VVould you like me to get behind and push you? With a start of consternation, I waved him away. No thanks, Spud. I'd rather go alone. At this moment Spud's mother summoned him to perform an errand. Never before had I felt so tender towards his mother. After more than an hour's panting and THE TATLER straining, I still had not improved my tech- nique. The handle bars proved no less rebellious now than at the outset of my les- son, and the front wheel refused to co- operate. A few minutes later my bicycle vaulted up the terrace and precipitated its rider upon the grass. As I toppled, I had to dodge sideways to avoid embracing the hydro pole. Now the voice of discretion made itself audible. Better say 'quits' for the day and try tomorrow when you're not so tired. Painfully l wheeled our bike into the shed. l was trying to recall that poem about keeping on, keeping on! The following afternoon, before the lesson began, I padded the brutal seat with three folds of pink brushed cotton. Mother pointed out that the colour of my improvised cushion was, to say the least, a little conspicuous. I assured her that I was more concerned about com- fort than about appearance. The day before, when I first braved the road, Smutts, unaware of her mistress's ad- ventures, had been slumbering in the back kitchen. On this second occasion my faith- ful canine, with a twinkle in her eyes, fol- lowed me out. In the next two hours her respect for me must have dwindled appre- ciably. She pattered behind, as I straggled along, pedalling like a stork with only one leg. Never a whimper or a snort of ridicule but Smutts' behaviour betrayed boredom and resignation. VVas this grim, pig-tailed Being really her Heroic Heroine? Then it happened! just for a few sec- onds. I kept two feet on the pedals, and at the same time. This realization startled me so that I ran berserk, and found the bike and myself on uncomfortably intimate terms with our neighbour's garbage can. VVith bleeding knees I limped home and deposited the two-wheeled vehicle of tor- ture in its accustomed place. Before mother came I had administered Hrst aid to my knees, and before she could comment on the purple bumps which bore witness to many anguished moments, I explained, Well, anyway, I can ride just a little, mother. The next day Perry rushed up the road just in time to see me see-sawing along on the Green Hornet , as our machine had been named. Aware of a critical audience, Continued on Page 79 E3

Page 64 text:

A Rude Awakening tlelonourable Mention, Short Storyj I was twenty years old and my name was Anne Matthews. I had just graduated from XYoodlark College for Young Ladies and this was the night of the Graduation Ball. My escort, Tommy Landers, was to call for me at nine. All through that day I kept peek- ing into the closet at the beautiful blue vel- vet gown that hung there. After a- flurry of excitement to get ready for the great occasion I was all decked out for a heavenly time. Sharp at nine Tommy's Cadillac convert- ible drew up in front of the house and with my gardenia corsage pinned to my coat, Tommy and I were off to a gala evening. VVe arrived at the ball-room at the same time as a throng of other gaily-dressed socialites entered. The crowd was brilliant with gowns of all hues set against a back- ground of black and white tuxedoes. I went immediately to the powder room and after giving the final touch to my hair, pinning the corsage to my dress and exchanging ex- clamations of delight and excitement with the other girls, I proceeded toward the dance-floor. The imported orchestra played waltzes and then out of nowhere Mel Torme appeared and sang low and softly so that Tommy and I danced on a cloud till inter- mission. We helped ourselves from the punch bowl and to dainty little sandwiches and cakes. just as I reached for a little cake with pink icing I heard a startling noise- -Ianel jane! Get up! It's seven o'clock and you don't want to miss your bus! It was my mother calling me for breakfast, calling me out of the world of fantasy back into the mundane routine of school and books. My name was no longer Anne Matthews. I was just jane Martin. It was seven a.m., not midnight. It was the day of the At-Home and there I was with my year-old pink formal instead of my dream creation. I was seventeen not twenty, and Tommy Lan- ders was just the boy next door. I knew that the convertible would be a '40 Chev. and that the only man in tails at the Hop would be our jazzy French teacher. Consequently I settled back into reality and went off to school in a happy frame of mind at the prospect of the delightful time I would have at the Hop. ' Lucy Rokeby, XIB. 62 SHI Vnrr 72 TN: 013 ' Sgung, -H E- Ili! . my J L i 57. P-A. svn-en Lur .' A Iiltklill. Cycling Sorrows VVhen, after years of coveting such a prize, my sisters and I finally acquired a second-hand bicycle, our excitement had no parallel in family history. I was one of the shareholders in this won- derful new property, but, alas! I had never learned to ride. Worse still, I had never even summoned enough courage to mount the terrifying modern machine, colloquially known as a bike , ' My two sisters, both younger than I, as- sured me that there was nothing to it. You just get on, take hold of the handle bars, pedal with both legs, and when the bike be- gins to move, you're all right. You can't fall . Without being deliberately mislead- ing, my informants omitted a number of important details. Beth and Perry had been coursing about the countryside on borrowed machines, for five years at least. I-Iow different from their lean, timorous sister who, at seven- teen, had never yet clutched the clammy handle bars of a bike! My sisters were very noble about my handicap. If you can't learn, gurgled Beth, we'll refund your money. This patronizing kindness from a child four years my junior, was too much to suffer in silence. Come what may, I would master the intricacies of cycling, and by my own efforts. Two sisters tag- ging alone, exchanging quips at my expense, would only discourage and impede progress. Now determined, I donned an old jersey and a pair of faded slacks which could be rolled up, if necessary. With tattered and terrified locks braided into pigtails, I was ready for the struggle. I timed my first lesson to coincide with one of those rare occasions when the two potential hecklers THE TATLER

Page 66 text:

' I 1 . l l 5 , I 4 Back Row: D. Wilson, L. Schultz, R. Gillett, R. Milmine, W. Hessler, J. Cavers, W. Fitzpatrick, R. Lons- bary. Third Row: F. Manning, G. Beasley, J. Oliver, B. Milmine, B. Darnly, D. Heyrman, L. Burnett, Mrs. Dunbar. Second Row: P. Ireland, R. Smith, B. Franklin, P. Dreyer, H. Katona, R. Vandergunst, L. Campbell, P. Atkinson, D. Stover, M. Markham. Front Row: E. Pearce, L. Hodgson, R. Holmes, S. Popham, J. Love, C. Manary, B. Stroud. - -- 0 Back Row: G. Moody. A. Jackson. G. Lawrence, F. Hill, S. Ryan, R. Peters. Third Rows N. Pearson, I. Sedlacek, D. Humphrey, Mr. Wightman, M. Wallace, R. Esseltine, B. Reid, R, urnett. Second Row: B. McDonald, A. Esseltine, B. Boc, C. Skevington, J. Chambers, H. Vandewoude, A. Rosatik, B. McDonald. Front Row: P. Ryan, W. Trickett, P. Ryan, N. Muller. - V --0 IXC -,KY l Back Row: G. Glover, A. Kukula, IE.. Helsdon, Mr. Harden, M. Becker, E. J. Sundy, N. Dennis, N. Clarkson. Middle Row: N. Cooper, N. Cooper, JJ. Chute, R. Donais, G. Lonsbary, G. Tisclale, M. Anderson, M. Howe. Front Row: D. Gaskin, A. Nahr. H. Hessler. F. Grey, R. Cattell.