Trafalgar Castle School - Yearbook (Whitby, Ontario Canada)

Page 31 text:

At the door of the Editor ' s office Helen leaves me, making me promise to go with her later to the Foster Orphanage, to see Vesta. She tells me Vesta is very popular with the youngsters, because she gives them the same kind of meals as were served at O.L.C. so many years ago. On re-entering Mary ' s office, I hear a woman talking most excitedly. What does that doctor mean by putting in the paper that snakes ' brains boiled in water make a good complexion cream? By the way, who is that doctor? This voice does sound familiar to me, and while Mary digs into her files, I hear Suffering snakes, how did you get here? And who should it be but Ruth Allgeier! At last Mary, feigning seriousness, says I am sorry to say, Dr. Allgeier, the person to whom you were fling- ing all those remarks is no other than our dear friend, Dr. Muriel Wilford. Ruth a doctor? She says to me, I am doing research work chie fly with snakes and spiders. After Ruth ' s departure, Mary informs me that Willie is in China doing medical work, and one of her discoveries has evidently caused disagreement. Talking about Willie turns my thoughts to Norma. At the mention of her name, Mary smiles and says Wait ten minutes. A gay voice interrupts us here, Have you heard the latest? and in trips Velva Brooks. After greeting me she proceeds with the latest. Did you know that Mary Beckman has been married for years? I am going to put her photograph in the paper with her two children, Pierre and Lucienne. She is Mrs. Parley- Vous Francais. Mary adds, Velva edits the Society Column. What do I hear now? There is a buzzing and crackling, and behold, on the wall a form is appearing. Slowly it becomes clearer and there, in a luxurious room, I see Norma lounging in a deep chair. She sings to her Chinese servant, Tell master no can come chop chop for tennis. Then she turns toward an instrument at her side and sings into it, Hello, old editor, are you ready for my report? The latest news from Shanghai is sung to us, and as she finishes, she slowly fades and vanishes. Mary notices my astounded expression, Haven ' t you heard of television? Norma is our singing reporter in the Orient. She obtains all sorts of inside information, and is having a gay time. How can you make the ' Ladies ' Never-at-Home Journal ' so well known? I de- mand of Mary. Oh, haven ' t I told you that Dorothy Friedman is Circulation Mana- ger? She travels all over the continent. Her husband edits a rival newspaper called Men ' s Rights. We here are interrupted by Ruth Allgeier, who strides in with her golf bag. Come on here and join Marjorie Ruddy and myself in a game. Marjorie has just returned from a trip around the world. You know she is travelling correspondent for this paper. On my way home, I bump into a short little woman who thrusts some sort of picture in front of me. I look and exclaim: Marian Crow, as I live! Marian explains that she needs money badly, and I take the picture she hands to me. I turn it one way and another. What is the matter? Don ' t you know a picture when you see one? I acknowledge my ignorance as to what it represents. Haven ' t you heard of my famous ' Much of a Muchness? ' It ' s very well known. As I leave Marian, my parting word is You know, Marian, I could not possibly pay you what your picture is really worth, and she thanks me for the compliment. After this eventful day, I drop into my armchair, and picking up the Ladies ' Never-at-Home Journal, my eye is caught by the headline, Miss Margaret Day Asserts Eastern Climate Bad For the Heart; and reading the article beneath, I gather that our old friend has entered politics and is still standing up for the West. It is my habit now, to sit down in comfort every evening, and read the famous Ladies ' Never-at-Home Journal.

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pnior (Hi 3BB Jropfypnj Alice Carscallen Thirty years from now! Thin and spent, I drag myself back to Canada. My five volume work Chinese Birds and Stars, How They Chirp and Twinkle, has been too much for me. During my long siege, many things have happened. I pick up a copy of a new Canadian newspaper, and at first glance am struck by its name, Ladies ' Never-at-Home Journal. Hurrah! At last woman has found her place. I eagerly devour the contents of the paper. Excellent! I must see this Editor! He ought to be congratulated! Forthwith I dash for the newspaper offices. Down the corridor I see a woman with queenly bearing coming toward me. Why, Joy, what are you doing here? I asked. Oh, I was just seeing the Editor about a misprint in my marriage announcement. After teaching so long, I have decided to marry and the man has accepted. The Ladies 1 Never-at-Home Journal didn ' t even mention that he is a farmer. Well, I spoke severely. A door confronts me with this inscription: M. Macbeth, Editor-in-Chief, Mana- ger, Secretary, Treasurer, and Stock-Holder. Well, this Editor has enough to do! I press a button and the door flies open. Before me is a large room, and seated at a desk is a woman. Fine! So the Editor is a woman. I might have guessed from the title that a man wduld not be responsible. The Editor, her hair flying and her glasses perched on the end of her nose, is frantically delving into a pile of papers. She looks up. It is Mary Macbeth! Our greetings are suddenly interrupted by a deep voice which says, Mary, what do you mean by omitting my advertisement from to-day ' s paper? Why, I supply the Ontario Ladies ' College with mattresses, and I know they need new ones this year. Standing before me I see a very smartly dressed woman. If it isn ' t Evelyn Bridges! I say. Mrs. T., if you please, of the Everlasting Mat- tress Company. Well, Alice, you are a great deal thinner, and, turning to the editor she adds, As for the advertisement, I see where my business goes. I ' ve got to support my husband and precious little girl. A sudden ringing of bells vibrates through the building. Is that a fire? I ask. Oh, no, that is for Push. I have never lost the habit I got at O.L.C. Who do you suppose takes the bread line for my employees? Helen Bowden! She supervises gym classes and dancing. By the way, I wonder what ' s detaining my egg-nog? In sails Helen Bowden. After profuse greetings, Helen drags me off to see the Pal Mai Tea Room, explaining, A couple of your old friends are running it. We cross the street to a tea room with a tennis racquet sign. What is that for? Oh, that indicates that you can play tennis between courses. Going in, we bump into Jane Rittenhouse. Meet the Hostess, says Helen. Jane leads us out into a tennis court surrounded by a beautiful garden. There, Grace Mallinson is teaching a tall young sheik how to serve. She is so engrossed that she does not see us, but Jane hurries us on to a hot-house. A girl in a dirty smock and rubber boots is digging away, with six dogs tearing about her. This is another partner of mine, Alice. She prefers the flowers to the tea-room, though once in a while she keeps our accounts straight. Why, Helen Pickings! I cry, I did not know you loved flowers so. I ' ve changed since my O.L.C. days, replies Helen. On re-entering the newspaper building, who should step out of the elevator but Marjorie Hyslop, dressed in the most daring clothes. Wasn ' t your hair blonde before, or am I just imagining it ' s gold? I ask. Don ' t you know that gold-dust blondes are the rage now? Gentlemen prefer them to platinum blondes. This is just a wig, she adds. But I must hurry. I have a heavy date. You see, I am designer for Patou in Paris. Twenty-Six

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Our graduating year of 1931-32 has drawn to a close, and we as a class, pause to view this great step that is before us. Behind us lies the smooth path of happy school- girl life, before us lies the broadening road of greater things. Although these roads diverge in every direction, each one of us will cherish some of the same memories. We will remember the stately old castle surrounded by spa- cious lawns and great trees. In memory we shall see here and there a patch of bright flowers, smell the perfume of lilacs, hear the song of birds and from some window will seem to float the sound of happy laughter. Perhaps even dearer than these memories of beauty are those of friendship. Some of these will be saddened by separation, and it is comforting to remember the words of the Persian prophet, When you part from a friend, you grieve not; For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. Whether separated or together, the wealth of the companionship and friendship we have shared within these walls will never be lost. To Dr. Carscallen, to our honorary president, Miss Maxwell, and to our class teacher, Miss Beer, we are very grateful for their inspiration and help at all times. To the other members of the Faculty and to the Staff we are also grateful for the interest they have shown in each of us. We have felt the co-operation and under- standing of the younger classes in everything we have undertaken. The Junior Class, who will be the graduating class of next year, will take our places, and we hope that our work of this year will form a foundation on which they may build. From the sheltered walls of O.L.C. we go into the world just as Seniors for years have gone, wondering what life will hold, how vast it will be, how unfriendly. This year, more than the preceding years, holds doubt for the fulfilment of our dreams. At the present time the economic situation which the world is enduring will naturally affect us and it will be harder for us to attain those heights which we have set for ourselves and you expect us to take. Yet, within these halls we have learned to fortify ourselves against failure and surely the strength our Alma Mater has taught us will enable us to open the doors of opportunity and go forth to become builders of roads that lead out, rather than builders of walls that close in. When we consider that we are leaving our Alma Mater, perhaps never to return, a wistfulness fills our hearts. Though duty calls us, we feel we would postpone this parting. Then the words of Ulysses come to us: I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro , Gleams that untravell ' d world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish ' d, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life. ' 1 ' ' We come from sea to sea and are returning north, south, east and west. To see our class thus broken and scattered is enough to sadden the bravest of us. Still there is one thought that comforts us and shall always link us together, and that is, that no matter where we go, or what we do, each one of us will still be a Senior of thirty-two. Muriel Wilford. Page Twenty-Eight