Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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,T was Spring, a spring that came so suddenly that it was ahnost ahirming. Perhaps that may account for it. What the class, it matters not. Let it be sufficient to say that no questions were being asked. Aly eye was first distracted by the nume- rous pictures of j ' oung ladies of former gra- duating classes. One face particularly held my attention. It grew in size, diminished, and sud- denly a small body attached itself to the head, and a sweet, plump little person with a shining pompadour and an expression of immovable piety floated quietly over to my desk and arranged her- self on my inkwell. I was surprised, but could only be civil, so I leant forward to say How- do-you-do ? Hush, she answered, do be quiet. Don ' t you know that I ' m not supposed to be here ? Why, then, you ' d better go back. Surely your conscience is troubling you. You look so good. She turned to me with a twinkle, nay even a wink of her e.ye. Oh, that ' s where W3 of twenty years ago are ahead of your day and generation, my child. We practised that we might look angelic at all times. Your desire of appearing a little wild in the presence of those of your own age is so great that you do not mind creating suspicion in the minds of your elders. Policy ' s bad ! So you came to give me the advice to pretend to be paying attention even though I ' m not ?■ ' ' ■ Xot at all. I came because of my fellow-feeling for your thoughts. I too designed many unheard of clothes while the sparrows were twittering outside the form-room window. Oh, the sweet, puffy little sleeves, the lace and the bustle which were to make my first evening dress so charming ! Alas (take warning hy this) I broached the subject too suddenly to Mama and she wouldn ' t allow it till the next year. I began to get quite excited. I was think- ing about a black velvet with a silver girdle and long lines — only this would be my third. Your third ! What I can ' t understand is how you girls ai ' e allowed so many clothes when you can ' t even keep your hair tidy. Oh, well, it ' s the fashion. Oh, the fashion ! Then I quite approve. Mama always said I thought too much about it, but I think it ' s one of the few things that keep life interesting. Here she gave a polite yawn. — 13 —

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But who would bear the marcel waves of heat The oppressive locks, the poor fool ' s legacy, The pangs cf despised hair, the long delay, The tardiness of rising and the fear Of being too late for the most worthy school. When she herself might her redemption make With a sole scissors ? who would bushels bear To grunt and sigh under a weary load. But that the dread of bad looks after bobb ' d. The apprehended clipping, from whose bourn, No lengthy head returns, puzzles the mind And makes us rather keep the hair we have Than fly to shearers that we know not of ? Thus bobbing does make cowards of us all ; And thus the tresses long of indecision Are given o ' er to that great task of doubt. And discontentment that may come to torment With this reply its murmurs turn away, To leave the hair or bob it. E. S - V i T[ AM a blotter in the Fourth Form of Trafalgar. It may sound a humble position — per- A. haps even a degrading one. In fact, I once heard the pen that Miss Attlee uses for correct- ing exams observe that I never even get the chance to put M. A. on little slips of paper, or 15% on big ones. But then think what I do ! I blot all the things the Fourth Formers write ! If I weren ' t a blotter, and if I weren ' t in the Fourth Form, I ' m sure I wouldn ' t know that Popocatepetl was an ancient Greek philosopher, or th ' at Coue ,was a funnel-shaped object thorough which one called a long distance, or that Lloyd George Lad abdicated, or that the Ku Klux Klan had burned Notre Dame Cathedral, or — But why go on ? And besides being literary — I remember I never spent such a peaceful time as the night I was left inside The Faerie Queen — I am learning arithmetic. I know that when there are sixty-four days left till the holidays and one is scratched off, there then are only sixty-three left. Also I know that X +y= z, or some such nonsense. I don ' t hold much with Algebra. X-j-y = z ! I ask you ! Therefore, as I have pointed out, it is no small honour to be a blotter in the Fourth. Every day and in every way I am growing wiser and wiser. So may it be long before I join my unhappy comrades mopping up spilt ink, or before I am thrown into the waste paper basket. And long live Four A ! S. S.— IV a. — 12 —

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You encourage me, I said. Perhaps you aren ' t so studious as I imagined yo u in the picture. When did you graduate ? Ah, ha ! she said, this is History, I believe. I ' ll see what you can do. The sum- mer after I graduated I saw Queen Victoria, which was two years before she died. A voice interrupted my calculation. — I suppose the young people of Queen Victoria ' s age were rather staid, weren ' t they ? Something prompted me to stand. Oh, no they weren ' t, I said, something like us. I sat down and looked to my little friend for approv- al, but she was gone. A splodge of ink on the desk, and an inscription on the blotter, Right You Are, alone persuaded me that such an incredible thing could ever have happened. E. F.— VI a. I am the gong who stands in the darkest corner of the corridor on the second floor of the school. My motto is To look the world in the face and be a fresh sea-bree- ze. Some people make fun of me because of my broad, bronzed face and perpetual smile — but could I help smiling when I feel so happy. I love to think how useful I am, for you know, it is I who tell the teachers and girls when it is time for lessons, and one o ' clock. I am more or less looked up to for only r ' ixth Form girls are allowed to strike me. Some of them barely stroke me as if I were a pet cat, and when I try to sing the words stick in my throat. Some of them strike me with a firm, clean stroke — then I sing clearly and shi ' illy and am heard through the whole building. Then I really feci like a fresh sea-breeze ! I sometimes envy my neighbour, the fountain, whom the girls patronize after Basket- ball practices, and tell him how refreshing he is without even glancing at me ! Did you ever feel — but hush ! Here comes a prefect ; I know her by her gait. She ' ll strike me because it is certainly time that geometry lesson was over ! A. M. — VI a. I ' d love to be a daffodil Beneath the cool green trees. Where everything is calm and still. Except the passing bees. -14 —