Trafalgar Castle School - Yearbook (Whitby, Ontario Canada)

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vox COLLEGII 27 sired she had returned to Algonquin Park. There she has organized a num- ber of classes for the women guides and the two of the classes I remember her mentioning particularly were a class in Art Needlework and one in Public Speaking, so every woman would be able to fluently describe the beauties of the park. Our trip came to an end, and not wishing to lose track of Myrtle again I asked her if she would write me once in a while. Slowly shaking her head she said No, I write very few letters now. Once a year I write my husband to remind him to pay his life insurance premium but that is about all. Slowly I mounted the hotel steps and stood a moment to watch her retreat- ing figure. Wafted back to me on the breeze came the words clear and dis- tinct, sung in an alto voice, Charlie was my darling. Reva Richardson For I look into the Future, Far as human eye can see, And I see a mighty vision Of what Reva Richardson is to l)e. The years have sped by since I was a girl at boarding school, and I am now a matron of forty. I have never been in New York, and so decide that I shall take a holiday. I arrive safely at my destination, hav- ing had great experience in travelling in my college days, when I used to take the perilous journey from Whitby to Oshawa quite frequently. I find a suitable hotel, and after re- freshing myself, I stroll up Broadway to see the sights. I do not get very far before I find the street obstructed by a huge ladder. Half way up is a fat man or woman, I can hardly tell. Yes, 1 believe it is a woman, for her hair is screwed up in a tight Maggie Jiggs knob, at the back. This grotesque figure, that weighs, I should judge, around two hundred pounds, is wearing a pair of Peabody ' s Overalls. Two or three bright colored patches are inset in the side, to make the garment fit a little better. As I gaze up, watching with interest her studied movements, regarding the painting of a sign advertising Reduce to Music Records a huge drop of paint falls and hits me in the eye. Before I can compose myself, the of- fender has reached the ground, and is offering all kinds of apologies. Before I can open my eye I recog- nize something familiar about the voice of the speaker, and as soon as I can again use my optic, I see a face before me that I can not mistake. Though she boasts two dimples and a triple chin, it is unmistakably Reva Richard- son. My hand instinctively goes out to her, and forgetting my 1)lack eye, my ruined dress, and the sensation we are causing, I put my arm through hers, and together we walk back to my hotel to talk over old times. Jean Dickinson As I gaze at the curtains that hide from our view the things, and years that are to be, there is a slight move- ment, and slowly, the curtains draw aside, and before me pass the years. I am given a choice to look upon one day. in one year, and I choose Aug. 30, 1948. As the years roll by, I watch for 48, and as it crosses the page, I press a le- ver, and the year stops in front of me. As the days of the year are flashed quickly before my eyes, I occasionally recognize a familiar face, a graduate of ' 23. Fate, blind folded, is showering her joys and sorrows impartially upon us all, and many are the spheres in which we work. Finally, Aug. 30 arrives, and the scene I see before me, is one of colour, noise, and people, for the setting is the midway of the Toronto Ex. It is not greatly changed since we used to raid the side shows back in the twenties. Above the noise and clamour of the midway I heard loud angry voices of

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26 VOX COLLEGII shabby and I mourued over the chang- es in the store as I laboriously climbed the stairs, (for I am not as thin as 1 used to be). As I turned a bend in the stairs my eye lighted on a worn, faded, bent woman who was scrubbing the steps Murmuring Excuse me. I was about to pass by when she raised her faded eyes to mine. Suddenly her glance be- came fixed on the lapel of my new Par- is coat, and with a startled cry she gas- ped Who are you? where did you get that? I gazed at my lapel and found that she was looking at my graduation pin. That is my Ontario Ladies ' College gaduation pin, I graduated in House- hold Science in June, 1923, I answer- ed in surprise. Household Science. she cried, Are you Maisie Bowman? I am I replied, and hope so to re- main. ' ' Don ' t you know me? she begged. 1 was Grace Mooclie. Then together we sat on the stairs, (I regardless of my Paris coat), while she told me her sad life story and our tears mingled together in the soapy water. Two years after graduating she had married a clerk on Eaton ' s fourth tloor. They had lived happily for some years, but he, being of a naturally fickle and restless temperament had left her and gone off to Europe and she had never heard of him since. She had waited for him, expecting his return, until her finances had be- come in such a state that she had to seek work. She had gone to Eaton ' s because of the old associations, and had begged for work and this was all she coulcL get. My keajt bled for her, but she would let me do nothing to help her. I had to leave her there and I had a dinner engagement, but I prom- ised to return this next day, and we would talk over old O.L.C. days. As I went up Yonge street, I thought with deep sorrow of the fate of the proud and willowy Grace Moodie, and I wondered what were the life stories of many others of my classmates whom 1 had not seen since leaving O.L.C. Myrtle Nesbitt While visiting Algonquin Park in the summer of 1935, some of our party wished to explore the interior of the Park and a guide was hired for the trip. AVhen the time came for us to start a tall, thin woman appeared to guide us. She had short, straight, black hair and wore no hat. We walked miles, the guide leading the way and pointing out spots of in- terest. Something about her attracted my attention. Was it the way she ran her liand through the back of her hair while talking so fluently on points of interest? I could not tell until 1 heard her start to discuss politics with one of the men of the party, then imme- diately turn and correct a lady with regard to the number of calories pres- ent in coffee. It was my old room-mate Myrtle Nesbitt. Of course, why hadn ' t I guess- ed it before? Many pictures flashed before my mind of the times I had seen her stand before the Civics Class at 0. L.C. and give us the U.F.O. Platform; the times we had figured out the hun- dred calorie portion o Fish eyes or Maccaroni and cheese. I felt I must speak to her and find out all that had happ ' ned to her in the years since we left our Alma Mater. She remembered me when I told her who I was and told me a little of her life since we had lost track of each other. After graduating she had taken the position as chief guide at Algonquin Park. This position she held for two years, leaving at the end of that time to be married. But she found married life and housekeping very monoton- ous. Her husband held different poli- tical views from hers, attended the Presbyterian Church and simply would not eat a sufficient number of calories per day ; and so her adventure in mat- rimony not being all that could be de-

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28 VOX COLLEGII men, who appear to be arguing over something ' . They are standing on the platform of the Roller Boiler Coaster, and in front of them is drawn up one of the little cars. The manager of the railway, a huge, foreign looking man, is vigorously shak- ing his fist in the face of a vei y small timid little gentleman. I hear the big man say If you don ' t get your wife out of that car I ' ll have the law on you, yes sir ! and then you ' ll find out that you can ' t hold up this coaster all afternoon, just because your wife, she too fat to get through the dooi — tell ine, how in the world did she ever get in? After this narration, I turn my gaze to the object in discussion, a lady of huge dimensions who is vainly trying to squeeze through the little door. At last her husband strikes upon a plan and hurries away. In a moment h? returns with several workmen and a rude derrick, and soon they have her safely transplanted on the platform, much to the satisfaction of the mana- ger. Her husband turns to her and says : ' Jean Dickinson you were two and twenty years ago. and Jean Dickinson I wish you were to-day, for since T married you, I ' ve had more trouble trying to get you through doors than I ever had with my mule. Is it possible ? Jean Dickinson ? Yes, so it is ! As the ciirtain falls I say to mv- self T-Iow time and people change ! Mary Souch We all know that every day and in every way women are coming forward more and more to fill the positions of men but what surprised me most on my visit to the large city of Hampton in the year 1929 was the sight of female taxi drivers and female motormen on street cars. It Vv-as about noon when I boarded a north-bound car which was fairly crowded with these conductors and motormen going home for lunch. One of the motormen sat next to me. She was a tall, slim, fair woman with dark brown eyes. She reminded me of some- one I had once met and I seemed to re- mind her of someone too, for she kept glancing my way. At last I spoke and asked her name; she quite surprised ;inc by saying that her maiden name had been Mary Souch. 1 told her who 1 was and then we talked about ths years which had slipped by since our gradu- ation. Mary said she had tried the Cole Inisiness but after a few years ot happiness her husband had died leav- ing her with hvo boys whom she had taken lionie to her mother. For the past two years she had been one of the head motormen in the Hampton Rail- way Co. The car stopped just then and 1 liurried away promising to see IMary again soon. Miriam Eckert Naturally interested in parades, I craned and pushed and squeezed until I could see the approaching riot at the corner of Richmond and Dundas street, London. What a commotion it caused in peaceful London ! And no wonder, for it was headed by a short, stout, masculine-looking speciman of human- ity, who wore her hair sleeked back and screwed up in a knot from which short ends protruding under the severe black sailor hat showed her to have been at one time a victim of the flap- per ' s fad for bobbed hair. From the black skirt and the tailored shirtwaist with the black necktie and the nose glasses held in place by a wide black ribbon her type was revealed. Behind the champion of her caiise came the Hilton-Strothers band and then the standard bearers announcing to th world in red letters — Why cannot women l)o preachers! We want to preach ! Give the women a chance! This subject interested me so T fol- lowed the procession to Queen ' s Park,