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Page 57 text:
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Down By The Riverside B. W. ROWE Putting on a smug look, Rat turned himself over languid- ly on the sun-warmed river bank, and scratched his tummy. His was a languid way of life. The more he thought about it, the more languid it got. Languidity suited him, he re- flected. It always had, and it always would. Just then, swimming on his back, nonchalantly, a fellow muskrat waved to him from the stream as he feathered with his other paw. He nodded back, with what might be described as a languid, yes, a languid nod. Rat stood up. He scratched his tummy again. He must have food, he thought to himself. What would he like to- day for lunch? A change of diet, perhaps, maybe some- thing languid? He moved one foot ahead of the other. He shuffled, yes, he shuffled, forward. There was no hint of excitement or, or, anything, except, of course, and perhaps, languidity. Yes, one must eat - even if it did temporarily interfere with the business of living. Life, lying on the river bank, that was the important thing. A philosophy with him, Rat, that is, you might say. Yes, the river bank was his way of life. His very own. After lunch, he never revealed what he had - that was a principle with him, - after lunch, Rat returned to the River bank. He was iust in time for the waterbugs' daily competi- tive floating races. A mad lot the waterbugs - always do- ing things. They had no use for lying on the bank, the river bank, his home, his way of life. They darted, hither and yon, then yon and hither, at least they so darted, when they weren't having races. Darting was their way of life. When they raced the darting became tacking. Oh how they tacked! They tacked, and they tacked, and they tacked, and they tacked. Always they tacked. They even seemed to enioy it. The tacking. Back and forth. Back and forth. Fol- lowing one another. Racing. Darting and tacking. That was their way of life. Their philosophy. They had no other. Rat stirred, The race was over. He scratched his tummy. His now well-filled tummy. He scratched it again. This is my kind of life, he thought, the languid one. And he went to sleep. And the sun shone. And Rat slept on. , 'S-.f e X its 5 3 -,-1 X i 5 S ,S Q .Q ff -1 K7 X! f' arf
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Page 56 text:
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Vous Etes Bienvenue ROSA M. McCLELAND Four months had passed since we left the little rail- way town of five hundred people with its twelve na- tionalities, its bilingualism and its two major religions. lt had been an exhausting year teaching Grades five to ten in one room - thirty assorted boys and girls, brothers and sisters, friends and enemies. We had ex- perienced all its moods, all its seasons - except one - summertime. Early in the previous Fall of l964, before Thanksgiv- ing, the coloured leaves clothing the maiestic trees, sentinels along the wild rough road, had fallen. The Indian Summer, referred to hopefully, never fully ma- terialized. Days grew colder, snow fell and froze where it fell .... Snow drifted and piled ten feet high. . . . . The road out of town became a nightmare. Two weeks before Christmas we travelled along a glacial road, piloting four trusting but neglected children to the Optometrist, seventy miles per hour, the car tilted at a horrifying angle on the unbelievably torturous, rural road. New Year's came, and the temperature fell to forty below - hydro was cut off - the main street was on fire - not once, but twice! Everyone mourned the loss of a restaurant, the post office, a hotel, a bank, a ware- house ,a pool room and a liquor store. Half the town had burned down. We learned to live with the small flies, large flies, black flies and mosquitoes. Children caught fish, demanded hikes, picnics, ball games, field days, the battle with the elements, both human and natural was drawing to a close. July i965 came, and home at last! Toronto. City life. All the conveniences! Cold reason was re-established as was the eternal fight for financial survival. We re- newed contacts and planned for the coming Fall. There was a shoemender downtown, a hairdresser in the next street, mail delivered, movies and theatres winking their neon lights. Toronto is a city where the struggle- toughened, ambitious Northerners come and plough Teachers Thou Shalt These rules for teachers were posted by a New York City Principal in l872. l. Teachers each day will fill the lamps, clean chim- neys and trim wicks. 2. Each teacher will bring a bucket of water and a scuttle of coal for the day's session. 3. Make your pens carefully. You may whittle nibs to the individual taste of the pupils. 4. Men teachers may take one evening each week for courting purposes or two evenings a week if they go to church regularly. 5. After ten hours in school, teachers should spend the remaining time reading the Bible or other good books. 44 their keen, deep furrows. They are the second and third generation pioneers from the great little towns of Ontario. We may look around and see the result of sacrifices made by hundreds of parents in the name of Education. School for their children was often in another town, paid for with hard work and years of separation. Ontario's big cities are nourished by the talent flowing from the North. lt comes in a constant stream of highly motivated humanity - lawyers, doc- tors, politicians, nuns, nurses, and teachers. A return visit to the little town up North , was for us a thing of warmth and pleasant memories. Snow fell in October as the train hissed into the station at six in the morning. Breakfast, followed by talk, news, people dropping in. D - - who now had a dark, un- wonted beauty instead of awkward untidiness, was doing her best in high school, her brother was secure in a iob, and looking contented. Enquiries, greetings, wafm handshakes - mature comments on Grade XI lessons. B - - the brilliant fugitive from responsibility, now a pleasant-speaking student living away from the temptations of the gang. Girl Guides - the new captain - the teacher of the Junior Room - M. Le Curie - all old friends. Old opponents now welcoming, and hold- ing the flag of truce. How love wells up unsuspected from the heart. Where did it all start? Was it in the battle over algebra, geometry, methods, curriculum? Was it in the struggle for discipline and order, beauty and creativity? Maybe in the grudging acknowledge- ment that tradition should yield to progressive meth- ods, and a subject-centered curriculum move toward a child-centered one. Whatever it was, wherever the heat had touched, it had synthesized and the children had grown emotion- ally and socially. A mother cannot feel more delighted than a teacher does when a child becomes an inde- pendent, well-motivated pupil on the way to useful citizenship and this had happened the way we secretly hoped it would! 6. Women teachers who marry or engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed. 7. Every teacher should lay aside from each pay a goodly sum of his earnings for his benefit during his declining years so that he will not become a burden on society. 8. Any teacher who smokes, uses liquor in any form, frequents pool or public halls, or gets shaved in a barber shop will -give good reason to suspect his worth, intentions, integrity and honesty. 9. The teacher who performs his labours faithfully and without fault for five years will be given an increase of twenty-five cents per week in his earnings pro- viding the Board of Education approves.
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Page 58 text:
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Quiet Bite The snack, in fact, You gave me back, Srnacks nicely of Quintessence. Round, sugary, buttered things, Toast, muffins and doughnut rings . Undunked. Ovened fine and fittingly, Almond paste besmittenly, Enlorowned. Round and round, The plates they go, The plates they 'go. Do have another cup Of coffee. C, B. ROWE 5, X KJ
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