Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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In Tibet ' s Holy City, Lhassa. dwells the Grand Lama, or high priest. He has in his possession, supposedly, two of Buddha ' s hairs, which thousands of natives pay to see every year. Major Cross was most interested in these ancient relics, and by dmt of much persuasion, finally managed to see them. He was very surprised at their appearance (they were each as thick as a man ' s thumb), and so began to question the Lama. Finally, the latter reluctantly admitted that the hairs had been manufactured in England ; but, he added, you have to have something to make these fellows pay for seeing, you know. Surely, even these ill-told titbits of Tibet will whet your appetite for real knowledge of this most interesting and unknown country. Marjorie Millar, Form Upper V. The Violet I scent the fragrance of it yet, As though ' twas but a day ago; I seem to see, sweet violet. The meadows green where thou did ' st grow. When oft beside a gurgling brook I wound my weary homeward way, I chanced upon a shady nook Where sweet the modest violet lay. Like maiden fair half hid from view It drew me onward in delight. For, dressed in softest green and blue. The violet bloomed half out of sight. I picked a fragrant bouquet then. To bring to her I hold most dear, A greeting from that leafy glen To whisper softly, Spring is here. Doris Zinsstag, Form Lower VI. City Fever (With Apologies to John Masefield) I must go down to the town again, where the cars go speeding by. And all I ask is the constable, to help me cross at Guy, With his peaked hat, and his stout club, and his shrill whistle blowing. And his strong arm to stop the cars, no matter where they ' re going. I must go down to the town again, for the need of a pair of shoes Is a strong need, an urgent need, the which I can ' t refuse; And all I ask is to find a pair the first shop that I try. The colour I want, the size I want, with heels that are not too high. I must go down to the town again, to the busy, hustling store, To the crowded way, the weary way, where I ' ve often been before; And all I ask is an empty seat beside some fellow rover, In a Westmount bus to take me home, when the shopping tour is over. Marjorie Harley, Form Upper V.

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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

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A Dog ' s Obituary A little dog walked down the street Sad and cold; A little dog with bleeding feet, And heart of gold; A little dog with eyes of brown, A little dog with head cast down; While people passing saw the hound. And kicked him as he slunk around, Weak and old. A little dog died on the street, And no one cried : A little dog with bleeding feet. And no one sighed; A darkey boy saw him crawl Into a shed, and saw him fall; But the darkey could not see The gates of all Eternity Opened wide. Janet Cameron, Form IIIa Dorothy Coristine, A Dissertation on Brook Trout (After Charles Larnh) SINCE the Indians baked them on flat stones, the rulers of Empire of Edibles have been brook trout. By brook trout I do not mean those flabby monsters, the grosser forms of delicate beings, lake trout, but the silvery dwellers of brooks and streams. There are four requisites for perfection. It must be the month of May. Later, the June sun will have heated the water and so softened their flesh, degrading them from Ambrosia to a dish fit for an Epicurean. They must be small. You sportsmen, who desire flesh not flavour, may eat your five-pound whales; I will eat my quarter-pound buds of trouthood. They must be eaten with- in four hours of their being captured, for only then do they still retain their flavour of youthful innocence. Then lastly, but most emphatically, they must be eaten m their own environment, the open air. Brook trout are not like any other fish. They are not bought at any market and therefore are far more interesting than any other food. In fact, they are so interesting that many a man who would feel lost in his own kitchen, when he sees the spoil of his rod and reel cooking, is drawn to the fire as by a magnet. See them now, their rainbow spots discreetly veiled in flour, while the pan sizzles buttery anticipation. Now they are done! They come to table respectfully guarded by the usual potato and the humble bacon. When the event — Oh, call it not a meal! — is over, the fisherman gazes on their skeletons and realizes that by some means he has invaded the culinary regions of the Gods. But, a word to the wise, banish all sauces. A pinch of pepper, a suggestion of salt, these are permissible, but that is all. Make no vain attempts to improve perfection for sauce to brook trout is as much of an insult as eau de cologne would be to a violet. Annie Rowley, Form Upper V. I 17I