Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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Storm A low protesting murmur fills the air, As on the wind there comes the breath of storm. How fitfully the whispVing trees are swayed! How powerless they watch with growing dread The shapeless, changing clouds that send and whirl In maddened haste across the frowning sky , Like broken regiments who flee before The dark, relentless fury of the foe! The trembling aspens stagger in the gusts That shake the very oaks from crest to root. • — And now, for one still moment there is calm; A hushed, foreboding silence — then a roar. And with a mighty rush the storm descends: The rain beats down in frenzy unrestrained. The proud and haughty pines which once have stood. Accepting due obeisance from the trees Of lesser rank about them, now must bend In meek submission to their conqueror. And bowing, stooping, bending, they in turn Must pay their homage to a greater reign. The winds about them howl and mock their plight. Compelling all to kneel again before The victor, as he charges madly on To further conquests, and unrivaled power. Thither he departs, but in his wake Are heard the sighs and moans of conquered kings. Slowly then the sounds of tumult cease, And leave the vanquished, humble and subdued, To weep their grief in silent, glistening tears, And wait, disconsolate, the peace of night. Alice E. Johannsen, Form Upper VI. Enter Nineteen-Thirty WITH the drastic change in fashions this year, the manners also underwent a revolution. Just as a 1929 dress differs from a 1930 dress, so do 1929 manners differ from those of 1930. Last year skirts and hair were short and the boyish mode was fashionable. Now skirts and hair are long, and femininity is popular. Dresses today are fashioned on graceful, flowing lines, influenced by the Greek, mediaeval. Empire, Directoire, and even the much-ridiculed Victorian periods. And the frocks capture something from the charm of the past, although they adopt only the best features of these eras. All the dresses are longer and knees have disappeared. Sports dresses come just below the knee — let us hope they will never be longer — street clothes come about twelve inches from the ground, formal afternoon dresses just reveal the ankles, and evening gowns trail on the ground, some even boasting trains. Greek influence is shown in a gown of satin cut on classic lines, Empire in the high waist line and flowing lines of a soft chiffon dress, and a ruffled tulle frock with a huge bow at the back reminds one of the bustle of Victoria ' s day. [22]

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the east end is dedicated to the Royal Navy. The west bay is a memorial to the Women ' s Corps and to the Argyll and Sutherland and the Cameron Highlanders; while the east is a memorial to the Royal Artillery and the Royal Engineers. Opening off the Hall of Honour, opposite to the entrance, is the shrine, a miracle in stone. The fan-vaulting of the roof sweeps upward, and hanging from the centre of the vault, carved in oak, is the figure of St. Michael triumphing over the Spirit of Evil. Around the shrine runs a bronzie figure on which every type of Scotsman and Scotswoman, who took part in the war, has a place in the long procession. Beneath the central window the Castle Rock seems to have thrust its way through the floor, to support an altar, carved exquisitely from green Italian marble. On the altar rests a beautifully wrought steel casket, presented by Their Majesties King George and Queen Mary, in which are recorded the names of all those who gave their lives for Scotland. No one part of the Scottish War Shrine is more beautiful than another. The whole is perfect in harmony, grace and splendour. It is the crystallization of a glorious lament; it haunts one ' s imagination; it speaks to one ' s soul in the words of Rupert Brooke — There ' s none of these so lonely and poor of old, But dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy; and that unhoped serene. That men call age; and those who would have been. Their sons, they gave, their immortality. Cynthia Bazin, Form Upper VI. |[Editor ' s Note — The following fragment, written by one of the House girls after a visit to the Battlefields, suggests a memorial of a different type, the simplicity of which means as much in its own way as the thought embodied in the great monument to Scotland ' s heroes|. A marble cross! A small marble cross contoured against the blue, blue skyl Not one cross but hundreds and thousands marking the place of the young and old men who died for their country. Great men all, but men with no epitaph but their name; no fame but that of thousands of others. As I looked up and down the columns, the word Unknown magnified itself before my eyes. Somehow as I stood there I shuddered and yet I thrilled. It was a tragic but yet a glorious sight. They sought the glory of their country. They see the glory of their God. Patricia Mitchell, Form IVa. [21]

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This season, long gloves for evening wear are fashionable, some in pastel colours to match the gowns, others white, and with a black frock rather short black gloves are smart. Hair is long, or longer, and softly waved. No more boyish bobs! Hats have brims again, although brimless ones are still worn. Jewelry is not so much modernistic as antique. Altogether the mode of 1930 is a graceful one, feminine in every way. And so, with longer skirts come different manners. A Frenchman said the other day, With long skirts, women will not think of discussing the same things as they did when their skirts were short. Dancing is slower, as one can ' t jazz in trailing skirts. And dance music is softer, not so blaring. Hence the popularity of Rudy Vallee. Books written long ago, in a sentimental age, are being read again. There was a revival of Charlotte Bronte ' s books in London this winter. We who have grown up after the war have never known a period of formality. So we enjoy the novelty of long skirts. But we hope that this romantic revival will not bring us back to the days of blushes and chaperones. And we rejoice in the freedom of our sports clothes, for skirts swishing around the feet get a little tiresome at times. Betty Stewart, Form Upper VI. o s Northern Lights Across the sky chameleon trails of light. In trembling peaks that ever fall and rise. Enlighten with their beams the drowsy skies, Dispel the peaceful darkness of the night, Arouse the lurking shadows, and make bright The gaudy city skyline; the light dies. And shadows fall, but once again our eyes Behold the dim last glory of their might. Then truly all is darkness; gone the glow Of everlasting mystery from the heav ' n. As quickly as an autumn leaf, wind-blown. And o ' er the earth the shadows braver grow. And that unveiled praise which is God ' given Returned from whence it came, to man unknown. Janet Cameron, Form Upper VI. Sonnet— The Sea I never gaze upon the stormy sea And watch the waters, foaming, wild and gray. But that I think of one tempestuous day When fiercest waves came dashing, black and free. Onward, with white-capped crests that seemed to be — As they came racing on into the bay — • Wild white horses; and though formed of spray They seemed alive, and broke incessantly. The sunset flamed in the Western sky All brilliant orange red and colours bold. And now the gentle crescent moon rides high. And turns the tranquil ocean into gold; The sky has darker grown, and stars so bright The velvet darkness pierce with points of light. Vivian Stewart, Form IVa. [23]