Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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Sunset on the Laurentians The sun is setting in the West Over the Laurentian crest. Purple mountains miles away, Tinted gold at close of day. Enchanting purple mountains lie, Sharp edged against the April sky. Snow in patches gleaming white. Reflects the hues of waning light. The birds are singing sweet and clear, The calm of evening now is here To kiss goodbye the day that ' s been. And in the West that lovely scene — Enchanting purple mountains lie, Sharp edged against the April sky. Anne Byers, Form IVa. Rare Days in June Hurried footsteps through the halls. Voices low and whispered calls; On the desks no books are seen, Only papers white and clean; Faces pale, and faces long. Waiting for the clanging gong; Worried glance and anxious brow. What has happened, when, or how? ' Tis June — so farewell fun. Examinations have begun ! Carol Ross, Form Upper V. Radio Reflections Thoughts of a Radio ' ' Fan ' J SANK down in a comfortable armchair before a table, on which rested an oblong mahogany box that might have been mistaken for an ordinary silver chest had it not been for the dials and mys ' terious ' looking knobs which decorated the side facing me. Having consulted a column in the newspaper which was headed to ' day ' s programme, I reached towards the mahogany box and turned the dials slowly to the right. For a moment all was silence and then, from apparently nowhere, came a whistling, wheeling sound, intermingled with strange cracklings and rumblings which sounded very much like the noise made by small boys when setting off firecrackers on the twentyfourth of May. What static! I murmured, twirling the dials frantically around. The noise still continued however, and seemed, if anything, to be growing louder, when suddenly the strains of music burst upon my ear. The rasping, cackling sound ceased, and giving the dials a last turn I settled back smiling to enjoy a selection from Tannhauser. Had one of my ancestors chanced to be in the room that night he would no doubt have Hstened astounded to the music which was apparently coming from the mahogany box on the table, and then, with much shaking of the head, have pronounced it as ' ' witchcraft crossing himself devoutly. In modern times, however, if you were to question the smallest child in the house as to the mysterious box on the table, he would answer with apparent unconcern, That? Oh, that ' s only I18I

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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

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the radio! and run off to play with the new electric train that Dad had brought home. For it is with very little interest, if any, that the modern child regards these marvels of inventions with which the twentieth century is endowed — chiefly, because, he has never been without them and takes them naturally as a matter of course. The radio, however, is still in its infancy and thus attracts more attention than other equally important inventions. Well — as I said before, I sat back with satisfaction to listen to one of Wagner ' s masterpieces, and as the strains of the well-known opera drew to a close, I murmured for about the hundredth time, Why, this is as good as being in the theatre! In fact, in some ways it is better, because in the place of sitting in a stiff hard-backed chair all evening, I can enjoy the music in a comfortable arm-chair before the fire, with a novel and a box of chocolates by my side, and a perfect right to shut off the music without appearing rude, if it happens to become boring. At this moment the orchestra finished with a grand flourish and silence reigned. I was almost beginning to applaud from force of habit, when a deep bass voice announced with the peculiar intonation affected by radio announcers, that I was Hstening to the orchestra from the mam dining- room of the Chateau Laurier, Ottawa, Canada. The next number on our programme, the voice continued, will be Rossini ' s famous overture to the opera ' William Tell ' . Hurrah! I shouted, my favorite overture! and in a minute I was hearing once more the joyous trample of horses ' feet and the sweet silvery tones of the shepherd ' s pipe on the hills. When this was finished, the station announced that they were signing off for an hour and requested their hearers to stand by till the next performance. I switched the dials around, however, and in a second the lively strains of the latest jazz came floating through the air from New York. After half-an-hour of this I tuned in on local and just caught the announcer giving the score of the night ' s hockey game. As the side I was in favor of had won, this was pleasant news indeed, and saved me telephoning the Forum for half-an- hour, vainly trying to find out the result. Moving the dials slightly, I found myself listening to a lecture on dressmaking, which, al- though instructive, failed to arouse my interest for the moment, and I moved on to the next station. This proved to be a concert given by a negro quartette whose rich, mellow voices singing the old spiritual songs, trembled with the note of sadness which characterizes all negro singing. After listening to this with delight for some time I tuned in again on local, and heard with rapture a violin solo played by a celebrated French artist. At the close of this selection the correct time was given by the courtesy of Mappin and Webb, and I found with dismay that it was long past my bedtime. shutting off the radio with reluctance I yawned myself to bed, feeling that I had had a most enjoyable evening with just myself and the radio. Dorothy Ward, Form Upper VI. Radio Reflections — Continued Another Point of View THE radio, ever since its introduction into the home several years ago, has roused many feelings, good, bad, and indifferent. Few people, however, have remained entirely indifferent either through incHnation or environmen t. I myself have not remained indifferent, but my feelings towards the radio are not entirely those of interest and enthusiasm. Interest in the radio cools swiftly, when all one ' s neighbours insist upon explaining how they got music from Miami or Chicago, and inquire jealously, whether anyone else has heard music from station WKAZ or YXDM. When working, nothing could be more annoying than to hear very bad voices, interrupted by static. For the last few years, the golf fiend, who once held full sway on the club verandah, has had to fight for his place against the radio fiend. Nothing could be more unpleasant to the principal characters, or more amusing to distant onlookers, than a golf fiend and a radio fiend, who, having just been introduced by the hostess, are obliged to make conversation. The golf fiend explains exactly how he made a difficult hole in one, and he relates in detail all the clever strokes he has ever made. During this recital the radio fiend looks bored and unhappy, or if he is very polite he sometimes smiles weakly and shows faint interest. Usually, however, he only waits f 19I