Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 31 text:

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 }

Page 30 text:

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

Page 32 text:

to come. Perhaps they hold more charm for us because they are so far away and shadowy, and things we dream of are given a certain glamour by that touch of dimness and uncertainty. They are fragile things, the castles we build on clouds. A touch will send them tumbling about our ears leaving us to contemplate a disordered heap of stones which once composed a fairy palace fit for Queen Mab herself. But lo, a dream house, fairer than the last, has sprung up as if by magic! Whence did it come? Who knows? Its foundations may he laid by the merest trifle, which passes unnoticed by those around us. It may be only a fluffy cloud, chasing its fellows across the summer sky, or perhaps the lilt of the song-bird at twilight which sends a fairy fancy flitting across our thoughts commanding us to build for it a home whose turrets shall reach to the very skies, so high are our aspirations. Betty Hurry, Form Upper V. Why is an after ' dinner speech hke a wheel? Because the longer the spoke, the greater the tire. The Influence of the Sagas upon Scandinavian Life and Thought FROM time immemorial, poetry has been a natural means of expression of primitive people; it has been one method of recording the history of their achievements, the legends and deeds of their forefathers. Poetry is the next rung on the ladder of recorded history above picture ' writing, and its degree of excellence is a measure of the civilization of its composers. In Germany, the ancient poets found voice in the Nibelungenlied, while the Scandinavian myths were set forth in the Sagas and Eddas. Saga in Norwegian means saying or story; the exact meaning of the word Edda is unknown, but, as many of the poems in the Eddas are of Icelandic origin, it is thought to mean the Book of Oddi, a small town in southern Iceland. During the Middle Ages, the minstrels were most welcome at the entertainments in the courts of the kings and nobles, and it was on such occasions that the Eddas were sung. As one historian says, The poet was at once the chronicler, entertainer, musician, and lyric artist, and It is to him that we owe a record of the happenings of his time. He lifted up his voice in exultation after victory, mourned the dead, lamented misfortune, and satirized the enemies of his patrons. The poems of the Eddas, which, fortunately, have been preserved in their original pagan form, were written during the general period of from 900 to 1050 A.D., previous to the introduction of Christianity into northern Scandinavia. For this reason, they are of more present day interest than the Danish ' ' Beowulf, which the early Anglo ' Saxons somewhat altered and Christianized. The Eddas were not the compositions of any one man or group of men; they were, rather, the out- pourings of the minds and imaginations of hundreds of people who lived far back in the days of which we have no other record, and the tales and beliefs which form their foundation have been called by some the Bible of the old Norse pagans. These poems and Sagas do much to reflect the life of the people whose work they were. The massive mountains of Scandinavia, the turbulent rivers and great rocky crags give one an impression of the omnipotence of a Supreme Power, and make one feel the insignificance of man. It is for these reasons, perhaps, that Norwegian literature has an underlying feeling of melancholy, and, not unlike Greek drama, is intended to demonstrate the remorseless power of Destiny over man. The general view of things is inclined to be somewhat gloomy and depressed, as is a great deal of the modern work of Ibsen, Gunnarsson and others, and there can be little doubt but that the creation story of the ' Poetic Edda ' has lent its sombre colouring to Norse life and thought. On the other hand, in some of the Lays of the Gods there is a sprinkling of a jolly humour, an attribute almost entirely lacking in the greater part of Germanic poetry. On the whole, however, there is something so satisfying and uplifting, so thoroughly Scan- dinavian about these ancient stories, that it may be truthfully said, The Sagas and Eddas were the epitome of the life of the people, and offer the best indication of their character and customs. Alice E. Smith-Johannsen, Form Upper V. I 30 1