Toronto Teachers College - Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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PRIZE POETRY Prize Poem Was if a 'vision or a waking dream? Fled in that music ..... I often have this strange disturbing dream- Of half-forgotten things of some dim past, Some distant bourn .... A time remote from this I once felt Life . . . Once I knew those eager faces Searching mine for recognition, Silently They steal into the dim recesses of my mind. Behind them lurk a thousand shadowy memories Of joys once felt, of dreams once dreamt .... 0h days of sudden yearnings, reaches of the heart, Come back to me! Once more to cast away the trammels and go free Amongst an endless ocean of to-morrows: To leave all space and time And walk among the infinite margins of the universe .... Be still, you ghosts! Be hidden by a song, a smile. These silver tapers lighting up the dark Are thoughts that lie too deep for words or tears. The Land oi Poetry No greater joy in anything Than hearing how the poets sing Of gladness, sorrow, and renown, Of warrior, statesmen. king and clownf For once we feel the breath of life. Away from all this noisy strife: And sheltered in some quiet nook We find sweet solace in a book. They take us far from our dearihomes just by the magic of their poemsi And lead us into Mystery-Land Far to a dim and unknown strand. The beauty of another world Is in our wondering eyes unfurled. And to our gaze there comes to View A galaxy of marvels newg Glorious visions of days gone by They flash before the inward eye . Then back to the familiar shore-A-A But something greater than before . . An empty life this one would be Without the Land of Poetry. fllariau Peters Page Twczziy-sewzz

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She was alone took- except for grandfather, Very soon, there They exch Prize Story E V E N I N G S T A R A. Strickland Rosemary stood playing in the dusk as she had every evening since she could remember. Under her skilled little hands, the violin wailed and sobbed. Grandfather would be asleep in a moment or two. He always fell asleep after an hour or so of Rosemarys playing. He was nodding now. There was one lock of white hair tumbling over his forehead. It might waken him. Rosemary trailed her music to a conclusion. She tip-toed across the roomg lifted that lock of hair gin- gerly and smoothed it back. Then she scampered madly over the rocks to the sea. Silhouetted against a sky of Chinese blue, towered one lone rock. .Xbove it. gleanied the evening star. Even when the sky was lit with thousands of tiny stars, like the sparks of a giant sky rocket, Rose- mary always knew the evening star. It was dull gold. The others were glittering silver. Rosemary perched on the rock with the waves dashing into spray at her feet. The evening star twinkled far up in the blue. Rosemary loved it best. She was sure it was lonely all by itself in the great blue sky. The others came out in twos and threes. it was always alone. wouldnt even be grandfather, for Rosemary was twelve now. She was In be sent away to High School. Every one in the village predicted that no good could come of it. But it could make little difference. for Rosemary had always been queer. She would sit by the hour on that rock, her chin cupped in her hands, her eyes staring far out to sea. She invented the wildest games and strangest stories for the village children. But as they grew older, the children became wary of her make-believe. To-day, with the sea roaring about her, the child felt that in all the world only she and the evening star had always been alone. Three weeks later, Rosemary sat in the Collegiate schoolroom, her chin cupped in her hands. The class was massacring Macbeth after the usual fashion of Literature classesvall except the girl who was Lady Macbeth. She had chestnut hair and slanted blue eyes, which even at thirteen displayed a good deal of the cynic. She whipped forth the lines Inform of purpose give me the dagger! The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures. 'Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil. Page Twerziy-six The class listened with a shiver of genuine admiration. Rosemary thoughtg HI believe she'd do it too . Rosemary grew to idolize jane. She watched her till she could tell exactly how she would laugh, shrug or arch those wicked little eyebrows. Janes conversation scintillated. Her answers came like the crack of a whip. She was never without an answer. One evening, she and Rosemary walked home together. It was not the way that Rosemary should have gone home: but she went miles out of her way weekly to be with Jane. It was raining a fine silver spray: but, neither of them cared for that. When Jane left, Rosemary leaned against the little bridge at the top of the hill and watched her out of sight. It was thus Rosemary remembered her years afterwards- in her green tam and slicker, her chestnut curls flying in the wind and rain. Jane never looked back. Then, followed four years. For four years, they hiked together in Spring for May Bowers: they hung over the bridge by the brook and exchanged confidencesg they sat in the moonlight on the old porch with their hrst dates. And at the end of the four years they parted. anged books on the last day. Rosemary inscribed her gift sentimentally, 'fOnce a friend always a friend, or, what is life for? jane, thinking of Rosemarys worship laughed a little cynically as she scribbled ffAnd in me there dwells no greatness save perhaps it be that far-off touch of greatness to know well I am not great. Jane promised to write. Rosemary gazing at the evening star, knew she never would. She never did. 'lf Pk His bk They both became rather famous. Rosemary read of Janes stories and hunted out her old relics and snaps. After an hour or so of mem- ories she would sigh and put them away. Once again, Rosemary like the evening star was alone. jane used everyone for her own ends till they ceased to be of use. Then, she forgot them. She was alone, too, but she explained it half-bitterly- Down to Gehenna or up to the throne, he travels fastest who travels alone. One night, she read that Rosemary had become engaged to Peter L-. Jane laughed a little wryly for Peter was next on her list of necessary conquests. She need- ed him for background. Continued on page 88.

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Prize ESSBY TEACHINGS MY DESTINATION A-Strickland In a few weeks now, each of us will leave Normal School-most of us forever. For nine months we have worked and played together. We have each gained something and lost something. We entered as High School children-we leave as adults. teachers of the Province of Ontario. From the mazes of hectograph ink, Science of Education and teaching, a few memories remain etched vividly in our minds. No two of us have the same major impressions though we have had the same major experience. To me one incident looms. You all remember it. The scene is an ordinary classroom, The C1355 ig gjngll, The time is eleven o'clock Friday morning. There are six pupils--two boys and four girls. They are about eleven years of age, normally attractive children to all appearance. We know they are deaf. It is a shame: but. we aren't terribly impressed. The little red-haired girl acts as spokesman. The childs voice jangles forth in broken syllables. We were prepared for that. Re- member the children as thev clustered about the piano--the little lad with black curly hair which had been soaked to lie flat? You see doz- ens just like him every day. The piano is sweet and melodious--a trifle loud perhaps: and then, the children begin to sing. Above the music breaks the clash of six voices scarcely human in sound. iflach syllable rasps forth in six different interpretations. We close our eyes, and the picture of six pretty children about a piano fades and in their place rises the figures of old, wild prisoners of the Bastile or similar dungeons. That mechanical grating might belong to old men and women, who have been shut off from their fellows and suffered agonies of loneliness. What right had it to belong to children? They are jangling forth the verse- He loves me too, He loves me too. One of the students whispers, If you have the least bit of cynic in you, you can't help wondering if He really does care. Uo you remember laughing at little Emily of New Moon and her flashes? ln that moment came my flash. There isn't much we can do for that special little class of children. They are doomed to be shut off from their fellows. They must live forever in a world of silence. But what of the hundreds of other children, the mentally de- ficient, the problem cases? Do you remember the startling state- ment of the principal of one of those schools? ln every problem case -truancy, misconduct or sullenness, we have not found one where the Pzljigf' Twrzzty-riglzl child was to blame. Sometimes it is necessary to remove them from their homes and in every case the child improves mentally and physi- cally. But the force of the statement lies here-A few years ago those parents were school children. To-day they are discontented, irrespon- sible parents. a handicap rather than a help to those whom they love most. There is a serious deficiency somewhere. Are our pupils to be incompetent parents, poor citizens, irresponsible waverers or worse? Those problem children are given a chance. They are trained for a vocation. and they are taught how to be independent, self-respecting. sympathetic men and women. The girls are taught how to be good wives, and good mothers, good business women. The boys to be ef- ficient, self supporting, self reliant men. While our normal and superior children receive-what? Each year thousands of boys and girls emerge from our public schools, high schools and colleges with little training --few qualifications that are counted as significant in the world to- day. These intelligent. educated but discontented and unskilled stu- dents become discontented, dangerous men and women. To-day our two great fanatical forces-Communism and Fascism are being fed from their ranks. If we as teachers send children from our schools well versed in Latin, Algebra and other Academic subjects and nothing else, we have failed miserably. Gur children are living in the midst of a fren- zied, unsettled world. Our politics, our governments and religion are all changing. Speed, excitement. frenzy rule. Peace is a far-off dream. Nothing is certain for our child and yet no child was born under such propitious conditions. He can succeed where our generation has failed if we will but give him the key. This following might serve as a guide to this graduating class of 1937: til May I never fail to see in my boys and girls of to-day the men and women of to-morrow. t2l May I give not only academic and vocational training but some equipment to aid them meet life. t3j May I never lose sight of the goal-peace and contentment- towards which we are striving, however blindly. t4l May I never reach the point of satisfaction with my own work to the extent of losing all desire to improve. t5l Above all, may I strive to be the example I would have my children follow, and may I be guided to do my best despite my failings and restrictions. Upon our schools lies the responsibility of the future of Canada: and you and I are the schools. Let us never forget it.