Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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The Passing of the Country Road A LTHOUGH the country road is not yet quite a thing of the past, it is certainly passing, and in a few years will probably be a pleasant memory along with the horse and buggy. And both owe their downfall to that contrivance of the devil, the horseless-buggy of twenty years ago. No one would have believed it possible for such a change to take place in the country road, once the quiet thoroughfare from one village to another, and now the speedway connecting one hustling city to the next. But the change is more evident every day and it is only fully realized when the country road of today is compared with that of twenty years ago. It used to be that a country road was a country road. It wandered along between ditches luxuriant with wild roses and honeysuckle, daisies and dandelions. It was bounded on either side by rickety old fences on which, sometimes, whole choirs of birds gave cheery concerts. It passed through beautiful groves where the shade was delightful after the heat and dust of the open road. And if the heat and dust were too oppressive, there was always the chance of coming upon some lonely ploughman at work in a field equally as hot as the road; he was only too pleased to have some- one with whom to discuss the weather and the possibilities of good crops. Then sooner or later, the wanderer came to a comfortable farmhouse with barns and outhouses clustered in a friendly group and innumerable children and puppies and chickens playing around the back door. Here, after drinking a glass of buttermilk in the spotless, cool kitchen of the hospitable housewife, the passerby exchanged the latest tit-bits of gossip, and then continued on his way. In the village, at the post office and general store, where the country road invariably had either its beginning or end, a stranger caused several curious glances and whispered questions, a few tentative opening remarks, and then he was one of them. Compare this with what one finds today along the so-called country road. Instead of flowers and hedges, hot-dog stands and quick lunch shacks blossom beside the road. Every grove has its picnic grounds sign; every barn bears an advertisement for the latest brand of cigarette or patent medicine. Fences are plastered with year-old circus posters, soap advertisements, trespassing forbidden signs. The quiet and peace of the former country road is shattered by shrieking motor horns, and one would look in vain for a lonely ploughman; instead would be found an enormous tractor, roaring above the noise of passing cars. Gasoline and service stations adorn every cross- road and turn. Nearly every farmhouse offers tourist accommodations; all without exception boast at least one of the modern conveniences, either a phonograph, a radio or a tin Lizzie. Besides all these changes in the things that used to be characteristic of a country road, there is also the change in the road itself. Then the road was narrow and dusty, and since it was usually made of clay or sand, it became practically impassible after heavy rains. Now, of course, the roads have been widened and well-drained and are built of some material more suitable for fast driving. This change is the only one which can be said to have improved country roads and it was principally the cause of all the other atrocities now found along a country road. The greatest difference between the country road of twenty years ago, and that of today, is not however a material one. It is a change in the spirit of the road. The country road used to be friendly. It may have been full of inconveniences and have lacked many possible improvements but one felt immediately that here was a friend, and that on its narrow way a sense of peace and quiet prevailed. This feeling is what is chiefly lacking in the roads of today. The country road should be a means of enjoying nature and its beauties, not merely a means of making money. It is this change which chiefly constitutes the passing of the country road. Margaret Bell, Form Upper VI. I 14 I

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Mount Everest Mighty Everest stands unconquered, proud! Its wind-swept summit, by man ' s foot untrod, Is held the home of some relentless god Or demon. The pitiless snows enshroud Those gallant men, with courage great endowed Who, burnmg with high hope, came from abroad To take the challenge of the boastful god, With icy sceptre, and for crown a cloud. But daring is not dead, and more will go. And when the lofty peak at last is gained, Despite the bitter winds and shifting snow, The spirits of these men, with joy unfeigned, Will greet the victors, when they surely know The king ' s deposed that there so long has reigned. Margaret E. Murray, Form Upper VI. In}

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Tibetan Titbits HAT do you know of Tibet? Personally, I don ' t know very much; and until a short time ago, I knew nothing at all, save that often it has been called the dirtiest country on the earth. This meagre knowledge added but little zest to any desire I might have had to learn more of the country, its people and customs; and consequently, for a long time I have remained contentedly in total ignorance of many interesting and astonishing facts about Tibet. A visit, however, from Major Cross, who has lived in this mysterious country, soon made me ashamed of my neglect, for by his clever tongue I learned a little of the strange and very interesting life of this hidden race. The Tibetans, it seems, are a very sturdy people, tall of stature and long of life. As a matter of fact, the oldest man m the world dwells in Tibet, or so declares Major Cross. The former, a veritable Methuselah, holds an exalted religious and spiritual position among his fellowmen, rather corresponding to that of the Red Indian ' s Medicine Man. One of the several powers attributed to him is the ability to foresee various important events. For instance, he is supposed to have predicted the World War. However, he also declared that a member of the Royal Family would die in the February of this year. Fortunately, this sad event has not taken place, so we have a definite proof that even the oldest man m the world makes mistakes. The average height of the Tibetans appears to be well over six feet; here again, I refer you to Major Cross, who told an excellent story about one of these dusky giants who was seven feet tall. The Major, his wife, and little daughter were travelHng to England accompanied by this huge person, the child ' s ayah; upon landing, there was some trouble about the woman ' s passport and a pohte bobbie endeavored to lead the Tibetan to see about it. She absolutely refused to move, thinking this terrible ' looking man was going to kidnap her charge, or do something fully as drastic. The bewildered policeman finally left her, but soon reappeared followed by several burly-looking fellows in their blue suits with brass buttons. Instinctively, the ayah realiz;ed her danger, placed her strong back against a wall, put the child between her knees under her long skirts, and, as an animal at bay, with flashing eyes awaited the attack. Onward, onward came the foe — -the woman did not move. Undecided, the men stopped two yards from her — that cost them the battle and sore heads — for quick as lightning, hard as thunder, two mighty fists shot out and — four dignified bobbies lay sprawling on the ground. Certainly this powerful Tibetan, who swats men down as flies, would make an excellent bodyguard; but, personally, I wouldn ' t care to have her near when she was in a temper or felt particularly hungry. Husbands in Tibet, as in various other countries, are greatly in demand. However, they are not difficult to get, for if you marry one man you are sure of at least a dozen husbands. A Tibetan woman not only marries her husband but all his brothers — and families are large. Considering the simplicity of marrying so great a number, it seems strange that dead husbands should be of much account, for to a woman one dead husband is worth two of his living brothers, in Tibet. After her husband ' s death, a widow enjoys all his earthly belongings, something which she did not do when he was alive. If this does not suit her, however, she may sell her marriage rights to another of her sex. Thus, the women of Tibet frequently marry dead men. Instead of a ring to signify mar- riage, earrings are used; a certain design for dead husbands, another for those still alive. Major Cross declares that these earrings are soon to be the style in Pans. I suppose only those in the best society will be allowed to wed Napoleon or Louis XIV ! Superstition forms an integral part of the Tibetan ' s religion. Laziness appears to be its supple ' ment. Rather than pray, prayer-wheels do the work for them. These rounded boxes are either turned by wind, swift water, or a man hired for the purpose. Every turn of the wheel constitutes a prayer said; so on a windy day the Tibetans are very religious. Rather than worry about being deserving, they prefer to spend large sums of money for a tiny, dirty slip of paper — a pass to enter Heaven. Major Cross was asked by an old fellow to buy one of these valuable papers, but, being rather doubtful, said that there were so many holders of such documents that he was afraid there would be little room for him. The Tibetan assured him, however, that he had communed with the spirits and that he, the major, would have precedence of all others and would even be allowed to sit on the Almighty One ' s right hand. Major Cross will assuredly die happy — ■ he bought a pass. f i5l