Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 14 text:

THE school year has rolled round to a close once more, much to the delight of some and the sincerest regret of others. The expression time flies has often been quoted; but it takes the last year of one ' s school days to make one realise the truth of this saying. The longer one stays at Trafalgar the more fond one becomes of the school and its ways. It has a background built of wonderful traditions standing for all that is fine and true, and many of the noblest Canadian women have been, and are, old girls. Every day the highest standards neces- sary for good community living are held before us, so that the training is educational in more than one way. All these combine to throw down to us who are leaving this year, a very real, sacred challenge, and we are setting out with the determination to play up, play up and play the game even as those who have gone before us have done. Miss NichoU ' s return to England caused us many regrets. She had taught gymnastics for many years, and had become very well liked by all the girls. Her place has been taken by Miss Booth, who is extremely popular with us all, and has been termed a good sport and lots of fun. The school was very proud to have Winnifred Kydd come and speak at the end of April. It is rather awe-inspiring to think that, out of the two women delegates chosen to represent their countries at the World Disarmament Conference held in Geneva, one should be an old Traf girl! Hearty congratulations are due last year ' s graduates for the places they achieved in the Matri- culation Examinations. The list was headed by Barbara Dean, and our next girl was Joan Henry. This class brought real honour to the school and we are justly proud of them all. A remarkably keen spirit has been shown in the sports this year. The basketball team has done particularly well, not having lost a game, and so once again we have won the Inter-School Cup. Hockey and tennis have been renewed with enthusiasm, and the Juniors played a great deal of badminton. Altogether this has been a very successful year, and we, who are leaving, hope it may continue through our Matriculation Exami nations. [ 12 ]

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3n iWemoriam The Late Mr. Alex. F. Riddell Mr. Alexander F. RiJdell, whose death occurred on the 24th September, 1932, acted as Secretary of the Institute from its foundation in 1877 until his resignation on the 30th September, 1929, and thereafter as Governor. From the first he took the keenest interest in the welfare of the School, and infinite pains to further its advancement. He was a man of gracious and winsome personality; of outstanding business ability; of sound judgment and foresight. Mr. Riddell will be remembered tor his strong convictions that nothing could shake; for his tolerance that knew no envy and sought no reprisals; for his quiet and unassuming demeanour, his untiring labours, his literary gifts, and for much that he did in promoting education and learning in this city. He possessed to the last a youthful and buoyant nature and an overflowing joy in life. He had a kindly heart, a great love for children and a quick under- standing of youth. His death was a great loss to the School and to all therein who loved and respected him. The growth and prosperity of the School are in great measure due to his faithful service and sound judgment in all things that concerned its welfare. He has left behind him a lasting and fragrant memory. I 11 ]

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LITERARy The Forgotten Kingdom ' HE last rays of the setting sun shone through the stained glass windows of a spacious room and fell directly on a glass case. A girl was examining its contents. At last her searching iingers found a deep green stone. Turning around, she held it up for her friend to examine. The sunbeams seemed to strike the stone, sending out a myriad sparkling diamonds. This gem, said its owner, is one of our most prized possessions. It was found by my brother on an island near Greece. This island is quite small, and is covered with thick vegetation. No one lives there or knows anything about it. Yet my brother found this beautiful gem. Perhaps some rich traveller exploring the island lost the stone out of a ring. No, it had never been in a ring. Many centuries ago it had looked down upon a race of people dwelling on the island. It had glowed upon many generations. To some it seemed cold and cruel, to others warm and bright; but always mysterious and fascinating — for it was one of the eyes of their great god Sirol At the height of its prosperity, the town had been a very beautiful one. The forested Mount Siro, with its lower slopes covered with grape vines and olive trees, served as an excellent back ' ground. In the foreground the bright blue sea curled into white wavelets on the beach. The houses were large and built of white stone. Each house had a spacious lawn, sometimes a fountain, but always flowerbeds. The people were very fond of flowers. The cool, moist woods and shady trees relieved the dazzling white of the streets. Built on the slopes of Mount Siro stood the temple. Its walls were of white marble carved in intricate designs. Its garden was the most beautiful in the town. Fountains threw their sparkling waters into the sunshine; flowers grew in profusion, filling the air with their fragrance. The inside of the temple was even more beautiful. It was dark and hushed. The very silence could be felt. The roof and floor were of mosaic work. Faint tapers flickered in the gloom. At the end of the room, on a black marble throne, sat the god Siro; he was made of pure silver. On his head he wore a cap of jewels; his face was that of a man; his expression was both sinister and fascinating; his thin lips curled in a mocking smile; his eyes glittered; his body was clothed in a garment consisting of precious jewels; in his hands he held a bowl in which incense burned. Thus sat Siro, watching his people from generation to generation. It was the night of a festival. The moon, a silver disc in the sky, accompanied by a host of stars, shone down on the gay scene below. The dark waters lapped gently on the white sand. The sound of laughter and music floated on the breeze. Coloured lights glowed amongst the foliage of the trees. Suddenly great volumes of smoke issued from Mount Siro. Then flames of [ 13 ]