Trafalgar Castle School - Yearbook (Whitby, Ontario Canada)

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Mr. Donald Davis On the last Sunday of September we had the privilege of welcoming Mr. Donald Davis to our Sunday Evening Hour . . . Mr. Davis spoke to us about the actor ' s problem as he steps on to the stage — the problem of communicating ideas: first, the ideas of the playwright and secondly, of course, the emotions felt by the actor as he interprets those lines. The students listened with rapt attention while he read passages from various plays and poems. But the excitement of the evening reached its peak when Mr. Davis responded to the reqeust to read Mark Anthony ' s speech from Julius Caesar ' , ' Friends, Romans, countrymen. ' I have never heard such applause as followed this moving portrayal of Caesar ' s friend. For some of us who had seen Mr. Davis in this very part at the Stratford Shakespearean Festival a couple of years ago, it was like being at Stratford once more; for those who had not been there, it was a vision of what a professional actor could do. In the round table discussion that followed, the girls were loath to bid adieu. The film Martin Luther on October 5 gave much food for thought. After the showing, the Seniors were entertained by Dr. and Mrs. Osborne at the Cottage, A most interesting discussion developed and six persistent students so far outstayed their leave that they had almost to be chased out of the house. The Pickering College Dance, scheduled for later in the month, was can- celled. ' Flu was our rival in Newmarket! Trafalgar Castle News Page 18

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Routine Would it not be wonderful to get up in the morning just when I felt like it? I would not stay in bed long enough to moke my head ache. I would slip out just when I came to the point of realisation that I felt almost serene after my second stretch! However, would I have time for breakfast in order to be on time for work? I suppose my boss would never be lenient about that eight- thirty buzzer. His argument would be that there would be no sense in paying for work I had not had time to do. Maybe he would let me make up the time after four-thirty ... oh well, knowing my boss, that would be unlikely too. Now consider my day at the office. I arrive there every morning between eight-twenty and eight-thirty, according to the streetcars. The streetcars — they do not seem to have any real routine! I suppose they are ready to start out on time, but at least they stop and start at some different streets once in awhile. And they never seem to arrive anywhere at exactly the same time each day. There is a little variation even if they do travel the same streets and come within ten minutes of being exactly on time. Oh yes, and about my day at the office. Every morning when I go in the door, I see the same bleached-blonde in the same swivel-chair in front of the same straight rows of black telephones on her desk. You know, it really would not be quite so bad if perhaps she could have a diferent coloured cushion every other day. Then perhaps she could paint the end of those awful buttons any other colour but black and install one white telephone. Perhaps she could keep buttons to match her cushions. That would surely be an improvement and maybe even interesting to look for on entering. I go to my desk on the second floor in the south-east corner of the room and pass the same faces, places and typewriters. If one could come to work when one wanted to . . . there might be a few empty desks once in a while ... oh well, I have been through that before. At four-thirty, life begins to look good to me. The buzzer goes and in as few minutes as possible I am in the street below. I see new faces, different cars and shop windows. I can hurry home to dress for a date or I can linger over new displays. How grand! I can go home and cook my dinner or eat it in some pleasant restaurant I encounter en route. Afterwards I can go to a movie, stroll again, or return to my apartment and the novel I am reading. After work is certainly the time I like best. Unfortunately, in this leisure time I find my feet suffer. If only all my shoes were not so completely uncomfortable by three o ' clock! Then too, my stomach often tells me that it is not being properly cared for. It seems that unless I have my dinner between six and seven and do not eat two servings of chocolate ice-cream for dessert, I must suffer. Of course, there is my ironing that piles up, and the way my kitchen needs cleaning, the milk that goes sour, and the friends I have neglected to entertain. Oh, honestly, I must reform and learn to appreciate my alarm clock and my conscience! Georgina White, Grade XII. Page 17

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OCTOBER WAS A BUSY MONTH Page 19