Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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A LETTER TO THE SCHOOL GIRLS PAST AND PRESENT, OF THE TRAFALGAR INSTITUTE When Miss Cumming was SO kind as to ask me for a message to be put in your school magazine, my first thought was that nothing that I could say would be of much interest to the mass of the readers. The Past is by no means always interesting to the present. But on second thoughts I realized that the magazine must hope to include among its readers many, I hope very many, whose connection with the school dates, Hke my own, a long way back; and to them the mention of the past will not seem dull. But in case I should weary any one, I shall limit the few words I have to say to greet- ing and remembrance. I congratulate with all my heart the promoters of the mag- azine, and I wish it all success. It has often been talked about, this magazine that was to be; but I think that in former days we must have lacked courage and initiative, perhaps we were also afraid of falling short of material. I am glad that the present community has more daring. There is a proverb which tells us that it is the first step that costs. I am never quite sure of that; for there is often a wave of triumphant excitement at the begin- ning, which is apt, later on, to sink to a monotonous level. So I wish for all connected with the paper much satisfaction in a pros- perous start, and much continuance in well-doing afterwards. To the readers, as well as to the Editor and contributors, I send warm greetings. I do not personally know many of the girls who sit at the desks in the school-house now; but I still know some, and when I read the names of the newer-comers, I feel that I know, by reputa- tion, something of them too. But my memory goes not only to the girls who were in school when I left it, but to the girls who have been there since I knew it, the long procession of Old Girls, who separated from the companionships and interests of school- days to pass out to their own paths in life. It goes to the girls who, before the middle of their days went west , as our soldier lads say; these are not many, thank God, for the young should live to work and to enjoy. It goes to the long-familiar place, to the garden, and the house, and the school-house, and the mount- ain lying behind, where, about the time that this letter reaches Montreal, the glorious sunshine of May will be bringing out the young leaves, and the annual resurrection of life which makes the eternal youth of the world. It goes to the busy routine of the Household, and to the endless side-issues of daily life, plays and fancy-dress dances, tennis on the lawn and sliding on the mount- ain, which in the retrospect seem to stand out much more than the actual school-work. That too I do not forget; and while I am quite well aware that there were many girls who did no more 7

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ECHOES OF YESTERDAY As some crushed rose-leaves from an old world garden, Bring back the thoughts of happy days gone by; So may these voices from Trafalgar School days, Awake sweet echoes in the memory. 6

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than they could help, so far as classes were concerned, perhaps such are not unknown even now! it would be unjust to pass over those who gave not only promise but flilfilment, and who afforded that supreme satisfaction to the teacher, the satisfaction of having helped in the opening of a good mind. And though this is a mes- sage to the girls, for that very reason I do not forget my past colleagues; there were always among them those who, apart altogether from professional work, constantly and gallantly up- held by word and action the really great things for which schools are supposed to stand. One cannot mention names of these; but in calling up to memory of the past, there is one name that should not be omitted, because it suggests nothing but strong helpfulness from the very first, and never-failing interest, the name of Dr. Barclay. I never feel very far away. I am writing in perilous and critical days, when one cannot see far ahead, and the only thing quite certain is that we must all, old and young, deny ourselves in every way, and do all the work that we can, we must live up to the sacrifices that have been made for us, and for the life and free- dom of the world. But perhaps sometime I may see my old friends and my old haunts again. Meanwhile, I bid them all, the people and place alike, hail and farewell. GRACE FAIRLEY. Edinburgh, 10th April, 1918. IN COLORADO There are fields of blue anemones The softest, sweetest things. That bring back far off memories While the bright lark sings In Colorado. The mountains in the morning are A pale and lovely pink. Touched by the rising sun afar Beauty of which to think In Colorado. I love the lonely stretching plain From which the mountains rise, And some day I ' m going back again To see it where it lies In Colorado. HELEN DRUMMOND Form V. 8