Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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over and let that monster by? Not a bit of it ! The process known as j ivin her gas is accom ' plished and the car bounds ahead. The needle flickers fortyfive, fortyseven, fifty, and mounting steadily. A glow comes from the owner ' s heart to be quelled only too quickly. The merxacing put of a motor cycle can be heard behind. With a sick feeling the owner slows the car and faces the begoggled gentleman who politely requests to see the licence. Then he makes impressive notes in a black book and enquires the address of the luckless one. After noting this he departs, leaving a trail of woe. Starting to recover from the daze the owner looks about him. Where, O where, is the Packard Roadster? Surely it too will be fined; deriving some comfort from the thought the owner again looked about him. It is not there. The cruel truth dawns, the Packard must have turned up the road to the golf-course two miles back. And he had got himself fined for speeding when The last horrible truth was too much for the developing Speed Fiend. A firm resolve was made and kept ever to be a law abiding citizen. In the chastened owner who presented himself in due time at court all signs of the Speed Fiend had vanished. Joyce McKee, Form IVa. A Scotsman wished to fly across the Channel without paying the required fare. An aviator agreed to take him, with his wife and son free of charge, if he would keep absolute silence all the way. At the end of the trip the aviator congratulated the Scotsman on his silence. He replied, Thanks, but it was very hard, especially when my wife and son fell out. After a lesson on combustion, in which the girls were told that decomposition in plants and animals gives the same products as burning, one bright Third Former wrote: — When people die, some are cremated: others are buried, but they burn just the same. Moonlight I watch the sunset fade upon the snow, I see the pearl of evening in the skies, I wait the first bright star, and then I know That moonlight floods the Vale of Paradise. Rising clear and full above the crag. To sail in starry splendour through the night. The moon looks down, and on a silvVy dale She sheds her beams of soft, ethereal light. The icicles upon the cliff become A gleaming robe of white and silver lace. And crystal pendants, hung on chains of pearl, Peep through the misty snow that veils her face. With such a vision in my mind, I dream. When, citybound, my daily cares arise. And to my tired mind there comes a peace — ■ Like moonlight in the Vale of Paradise. Alice F. Smith ' Johannsen, Form Upper V. Parad)se V;illey in the Laurentians. II I

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Nicknames of Famous Regiments SCHOOL and army life have many things in common, and, just as the popular fellow always has his nickname, so the good regiment is usually known by a title not to be found m any official publications. Regimental nicknames are many and varied, but almost of all them owe their origin to some interesting episode in the history of the particular unit. Mention the Cherry Pickers to a soldier, and he will know at once that you are talking of the nth Hussars, though he probably will not remember that the soubriquet dates from the days of the Peninsular War, when a detachment of the regiment was captured in a fruit garden. The Royal Scots boast the distinction of being the senior line regiment in the British Army. Their regimental records go back for nearly four hundred years, and the army knows them by the affectionate title of Pontius Pilate ' s Bodyguard. The Queen ' s Royal West Surrey Regiment has as irs badge the crest of the house of Bragan2;a, the Paschal Lamb. The regiment served under the famous Colonel Percey Kirke, both at Tangier and during the suppression of the rebellion under Monmouth in 1682 . The name of Percey Kirke was known throughout the West, for his vigorous and merciless methods, and the Queen ' s, in sly allusion to their badge and their former commander became known as Kirke ' s Lambs. Cleanliness and smartness are the keynotes of a soldier ' s life, and yet one regiment has every reason to be proud of its name, The Dirty Half Hundred. This apparently uncomplimentary title is bestowed on the Queen ' s Own Royal West Kent Regiment, which as the 50th Foot, fought with great distinction at Vimiera. Their tunics at that time had black facings, and it is recorded that the faces of the soldiers were so begrimed with powder, that they were as black as the collars and cuffs of their uniforms. A better known title is that of the Middlesex Regiment, The Diehards. Such stubborn valour did this regiment display at Albuera that after the battle only one officer and 168 other ranks survived out of a strength of over 600. Their commanding officer, Colonel Inglis, even in the thick of the battle, rallied his men with the cry, Die hard, men, die hard! and to this day the whole army commemorates their bravery by the simple tribute of those two words. Phyllis Green, Form IVa. Speedometer Thrills EARLY in the spring the call of the road begins to ring in the ears of motorists. Anyone who possesses a vehicle with four wheels and a motor — of sorts, may be included in the fraternity. The urge will not be quieted until with pride the owner discovers a road where he has the dis ' tinction of being the first one of the season to sink his car to the hubs in mud. There is something really fine in being the first to traverse some remote country road. It is at such times one has a fellow feeling for Christopher Columbus, Marco Polo, and other distinguished brethren of the profession. As the season advances, and the roads become smooth and hard, eager motorists penetrate every secluded lane, and one requires some new thrill to replace the joy of pioneering. This is found, in speed. Perhaps it begins with a long stretch of smooth, straight road, the owner ' s hand is drawn to the accelerator and the speedometer registers thirty. This is but a pleasant speed, yet it leads to worse; having once felt the lure of speed the seed of evil is planted. Again, the owner indulges in the love of speed, perhaps this time the speedometer ffickers over forty and it seems no harm would come if forty ' five were touched. These are dangerous thoughts and the owner realizes it. Severely he tries to repress them and decides to break the speed limit no longer. Alas, for the good intention of men, temptation proves too strong! Behind him the horn of a Packard Roadster sings contempt. The pride of the owner is stung. Move f 7 I

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Oriental Rugs ORIENTAL RUGS! There is something fascinating in the very name; they seem to bring the mysterious, scented East very near. Their color is not that of the West; it is richer far, for have they not the Art of untold years? The rich shades blend into each other and change as the light touches them with bewitching charm. What history do they relate with their strange symbols? Do they tell of the age-old civiliza- tions from whence they originated? It is not known. There are some who read the bald story, but surely no Western tongue can reveal all the Oriental tale. One of the chief delights of an Oriental Rug is the luxurious suppleness. That soft flexibility brings a vivid picture of the patient workers toiling at their knotted strands. What great Masters the West would have proclaimed them, had they been of her race, yet in the Eastern World they lived and died — unknown — perhaps bequeathing their strange souls to the rugs they wrought so well. Though all these rugs are called Oriental, there are many different kinds. The Mongolian Rugs have a beauty distinctive from the other types; a few simple sprays on a plain background. But what centuries of knowledge gave each minute detail its perfection ! The Iran and Lilihan Rugs are far more intensely Eastern than the Mongolian. They seem to pulse with the life and intrigue of the East. The rich, throbbing colours have a subtleness that is very foreign. It is from an ancient civilization that the secret of the Oriental Rugs came. Always they will hold the fascination of the unknown for the Western World. Joyce McKee, Form IVa. Memories Behind me now those happy years I spent. Those glorious months of careless winter play. When books and skiis were mingled in a day Of healthy fun. How little it all meant Just at that time ! And yet — and yet, how much ! Those mountain peaks, how far away they seem, Those paths of sparkling white, that sunset gleam, Those lakes and trees, the moon ' s soft silver touch; I loved them all. God grant I come again To wander down those gleaming aisles of snow. When all the world is bathed in rainbow light, And slowly, as I pass the winding glen, To see the mountains linger in the glow — • Then softly fade into the starry night. Alice E. Smith- Johannsen, Form Upper V. Castles in the Air WHAT fascinating things they are, our castles m the air! Built of the shining stones of our fancies and desires, they are more beautiful to us than the sturdy towers of reality. For these dazzling structures are built for us alone. No one else may enter there except with our permission. Through their vast halls we may wander at leisure, dreaming of the unknown days ![ 29 }