Trafalgar Castle School - Yearbook (Whitby, Ontario Canada)

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And white and negro, Anglican and Greek Catholic, fight side by side. Their intense loyalty and courage is shown significantly by the fact that Can- ada did not hesitate to enter with Britain in a war to safeguard democracy. Could we not have remained aloof and refused to aid the tiny island in her defiance of totalitarian Germany? Possibly, but it would be unlike Canadians as a people to neglect responsibility. Europe still remembers the valiant action of these soldiers. Whenever there was a dirty job to be done or an impossible victory to achieve, they sent in Canadians, knowing we would not rest until the job was finished. Is that not why so many of Canada ' s sons have resting- places in foreign lands? Were not Canadians loved all over Europe for their amiability and good nature? Surely then, this common soldier is worthy to bear, as his emblem, the Canadian maple leaf. Surely he is distinctively Canadian. The kinds of borrowers and lenders are innumerable: the sly borrowers, frank borrowers, meek borrowers and haughty borrowers are counteracted by the unsuspecting lenders, peeved lenders, condescending lenders and eager lenders. For the meeting place of all these species, the boarding school for girls is an ideal spot. An everyday event in a certain school is to see a pert blonde girl bounce into the room of a shy brunette, famous for her collection of sweaters. They are scarcely on speaking terms and eyebrows rise when the vivacious Shirley is seen chatting with the sedate Sharon. Their conversation can easily be imagined. Hi! My, what a darling room! Where did you get all those pennants? Hi, Shirley! Gee, thanks — ■ my Dad brought them. How would you like to go downtown with the gang to-day? We should just love to have you. Could 1 really? I ' d love to come! By the way, while I think of it, 1 need a beige turtleneck sweater for to-night! You wouldn ' t happen to have one, would you? Moments later the sly Shirley emerges victorious from the room of the un- suspecting Sharon. Mary is known for being frank and is not always liked for it. When she enters Martha ' s room and declares: I just came in to borrow your red dress for the show to-night. I knew you wouldn ' t mind! It is no wonder that Martha can be seen turning tO ' her room- mate afterwards and saying: Who does she think she is? Borrowing can be banned, shunned, looked down upon and shrieked about, but it will always exist as an institution until human nature stops be- lieving that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence . Patricia Earle, Grade XIII. Borrowing Ann Wellington, Grade XII. Page 25

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Distinctively Canadian What is a Canadian? What qualities does he possess which set him apart from a Scot or a Pole or a Spaniard? My quest to determine the answer led me back two and one-half centuries in time. I stood unseen on the shore of the mighty St. Lawrence as Champlain claimed our land for France, and watched as, despite trials, failures and dis- couragements, the little French settlements continued to cling stubbornly to the rocky shore and grow like a lichen as it spreads over giant boulders. Surely here was something admirable. This tenacity of purpose and dogged courage — surely this was Canadian, for no other nation has had to contend with such extremes of climate; bitterly cold winters, smothering the land in a blanket of snow, and summers when the sun blazes down, robbing the land of its vitality. No other land began in a tiny clearing on the edge of so many miles and miles of standing timber. No other people had to fight rapids and prairies and mountains. Here, in New France, I had found a clue to the Cana- dian character and so, my purpose here fulfilled, I moved on. I was in Ontario when the Loyalists came; those hundreds arriving on our shores, homeless, destitute, forlorn. Although friendless and poverty-stricken, they bore proudly that characteristic from whence their name was derived; loyalty. Their loyalty endured torture and imprisonment rather than deny their allegiance to the British throne. Yes, this was certainly a Canadian trait. Had Canadians not always refused to unite with the wealthy American nation, preferring to keep their freedom under a democratic monarchy? I heard gun shots on the warm night air in 1862 and saw a black man scrambling over rocks, to fall exhausted on the little beach that marked the beginning of Canada and freedom. I saw his pursuers, helpless, deprived of their captive, forced to return to the south empty-handed, seething with rage. But look! From behind bushes and trees, see how Canadians race to carry the fugitive to shelter without a thought that this man is ot a different race. Why should one colour of skin be better than another? Such a thing is not im- portant to the friendly, freedom-loving Canucks. Nothing could be more typical of them than their lack of prejudice. And so I moved on a few years further to 1867: Confederation. I watched the parade of the passing years unfold as province after province joined Con- federation, until Canada stretched from sea to sea . This nation, a perfect blending of French and English, Protestant and Roman Catholic, farmer and factory labourer, exemplifies the best traits of the home-loving Canadian toler- ance, adaptability and sympathy for all oppressed. Thus I had completed my journey in time and had learned what distin- guished a Canadian from his fellow men: courage, determination, loyalty, love of freedom for all, lack of prejudice, congeniality. But could I find one person or group of people representative of this ideal? This was not easy to decide as Canada is a blend of many races and cul- tures. But in my search I halted beside a solitarV figure silhouetted against a blood-red sky: the Canadian Infantryman or soldier. Like Canada, the mem- bers of the Royal Canadian Army are of many races, creeds and backgrounds. Page 24

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Pedro Twice a week the same thing happened: he would be awakened by his wife around five o ' clock, he would dress, drink his coffee and set out for the mercado libre . The fresh morning air, still scented by those tropical flowers, surrounded him and he always inhaled it with the same longing as a thief staring at a jewel. On his donkey, the heavy burden of fresh vegetables and fruits added colour to the scenery. But this morning, Pedro was in no mood for contemplation: he lacked enthusiasm and vigour. The stalls with their faded coverings were already set up and the market was teeming with life. Vendors yelled at each other and laughed at their own jokes but Pedro was gloomy. With simple indifference, he put his fruits out on display, the good apples at the top, the rotten ones below; here the melon, there a couple of guanabanas . The truth was that he was bored and his soul seemed lifeless. For how many years had he been doing this? Ten? Twenty? An infinity undoubtedly. The same faces looked at him twice a week, in their eyes the usual question: Vale, can you give them for a few centavos cheaper? They knew he could not, for after all he had to support his family but they were as obstinate as his donkey. Then the boys would sneak up from behind and steal the best oranges and he would scold them, patiently in the first few years, then later angrily in a blast of Spanish. Of course, he dealt unfairly with his customers, especially with those who hid their money under the mattresses and claimed to be poor. He gave them the dented vegetables and occasionally he kept a few centavos. They could not count anyway. If his wife had been there, she would have sent him to church to ask forgiveness. But Pedro shrugged his shoulders and pulled his sombrero down to shield his black eyes from the hot sun. He needed and earnestly wished for an event which would bring life back into his soul so that he could cry out with the usual gusto. Had he not pulled down his hat, he would have missed her. As it was he had to look out sideways and she was approaching from the north side. She was ghastly thin, very small, extremely dirty, Pedro thought, and definitely not a customer, so why look at her? But he had to do so, for the next time he looked around, she was standing in front of him, her eyes first devouring the big melon on the floor and then being raised to his with a tender longing. Pedro was not used tO ' being charitable because he thought that a penniless creature like himself had no money to give, and was not that the only charity? The woman ' s look told him he was desperately wrong and that she was ter- ribly hungry. He felt a jab somewhere inside and it was pressing hard. His blood began to move with fresh rhythm and he smiled. Her eyes became hopeful. Pedro stretched forward, raised the melon and placed it in her hands. Then Pedro ' s soul was in rhythm with his blood and he yelled: Come to Pedro. He is here and has the best! Renata Pennacchiotti, Grade XIII. Page 26