Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 23 text:

of an autumn scene, startlingly familiar and real! She plucked up enough courage to ask the teacher if she might stay after school and copy that scene. She was given permission, and at dusk that evening she stayed copying away with pencil and crayons with rapt absorption until she achieved a result which satisfied her. She hurried home and showed the scene to her grandmother, explaining that while the scene was not a good reproduction of the real woodlands, yet that was the scenery she had enjoyed for a few, short weeks. The grandmother set down her broom to look at the painting. She looked twice, thrice, giving Jean surprised, pleased glances. She said not a word but the next day a famous artist staying in a hotel far uptown, had a visit from a strange and seem ' ingly very poor old woman. She had in her hand a sketch, a woodland scene in autumn. The artist sat for a long while, looking at the scene. He asked how old the woman ' s grandchild was and when he was told her age a pleased smile lit up his face. He asked that Janet be brought to him. In the days following Janet had art lessons which prepared her for her great future career. Soon she travelled all over Europe with her teacher. Janet Mark became a famous artist, pinning her good luck on the beautiful autumn scenery which she had wished to keep with her always. Betty McCrory, Form IVa. The Three Little Pigs The three little pigs left home one day, To seek their fortunes far away. The first one was lazy, the second was shy, The third one was busy and clever and spry. Their mother had said to them, Children dear. The time has now come when you cannot live here. So the three little pigs kissed their mother good ' bye. And went on their journey with hardly a sigh. The first little pig built his house of fine straw. The second took nails and a hammer and saw, Then he fashioned his house of neat little sticks. While the third little pig made his house of strong bricks. Now, near to the pigs lived a wolf bad and bold. He hungered for little pigs, so I am told; To the little straw house he wandered one day And said, Let me in without any delay. No, no, said the pig, by my chinny, chin, chin. Said the wolf, Then Til puff and Til blow your house in. So he gave a big puff and the straw house fell down And the little pig fled for his life to the town. Two puffs blew the second pig ' s house to the ground And he looked for the pig, who was not to be found. He huffed and he puffed as hard as he could But the third little pig ' s house of bricks firmly stood. This little fat pig, said the wolf, I must get. Down the chimney I ' ll go, said the pig, You ' ll get wet. So he put a big kettle of water to heat And the wolf tumbled in and burned his poor feet. Then he picked himself up and scampered away And for all that I know he ' s still running today. Betty Brodie, Form IIIa [ 23 ]

Page 22 text:

A phantom in the broiling seas — A phantom in a chase — She took from every captured ship Rich hauls of silk and lace. And none who ever sailed the seas Could guess she hid from sight A crew, with knives and pistols armed, The boldest to affright. But once they fell upon a ship Whose strength they underrated; The lawless band was broken up, Their ship was confiscated. Her anchor ne ' er shall rise again; Her days are waning fast; A relic of a bygone age — A glory that is past. Barbara Ward, Form 4A. The Spell of Autumn NE autumn day in the grimy, shadowy alleys of a pitifully poor district, excitement relieved the drab monotony of life. A crowd of young street urchins could be seen clustering around a ramshackle bus with Carefree Farm printed on the side in large gold lettering. At last the more civiHzed world had penetrated into the hideous maze of alleys; a candle flame in a dark world. A small church of the neighborhood sent out a few buses each month for the poorest and weakest children. These buses were bound for the country. Janet Mark climbed into the bus this day with rather a dazed expression in her deep, sorrowful eyes. Soon she would realize that she was bound for the wide, open spaces that she vaguely knew existed. She was a favourite among the children and as she drove off there were many smiles of farewell on the faces she knew to be so often listless or angry. There were many children in the bus with her. Some had been on the trip before, and looked forward to it eagerly. As the car reached the outskirts of the city, houses became less and less frequent and the fields of ripening grain and pumpkins lay along either side of the road with an occasional tree flaunting its autumn tints. As night drew on, the car entered a deep forest, the freshness of which Janet drank in with a wholesome appetite. At last the car reached the camp and Janet was put up for the night in a small, refreshingly clean cabin which smelled of spruce boughs and the woods. She woke in the morning and looked out of her window. The forest lay before her in flecks of gold, green, and living fire. Janet dressed hurriedly and ran out into the beckoning colours. She followed the road with the red and gold dancing before her eyes. Her feet were light and she felt free; a gypsy maiden, and these were the gypsy queens, these resplendent trees. She sat down to rest and gaze at the autumn finery, till a rabbit, hopping by in search of food, reminded her that the feast of her eyes alone could not assuage her hunger, and she ran back to camp, eager and glowing. She visited the forest many times during her stay at the camp and on leaving took with her a precious bunch of tinted leaves, the last of many, feeling that her shabby, city home would be brightened by them. Janet arrived in the city late at night, the familiar streets dark and strangely forbidding, the house narrow and confining. She carefully put the leaves in an old vase, and put them by her grandmother ' s bed. But, alas! In the morning the leaves had lost their splendour. They were a dull, lifeless, crumpled brown! Janet pondered over this for many days. On one of the few days when it was her luck to attend the neighborhood school, she saw in the art room, a painting I 22 I

Page 24 text:

Simpson Street With legs commencing to ache, With a burning pain in her feet, A Traf. girl with a sigh does make. Her way up Simpson Street. Ruts ! — Ruts ! — Ruts !— And huge piles of snow all around; Here ! — There ! — Everywhere ! — Covering all the ground. Her feet are heavy as lead, Her head is heavier still; Her homework ' s undone — a mere detail ! Climbing this dreadful hill. Oh, why is it not the Spring, Or once more the Summer? she asks — When walking through filthy, sloppy slush, Is not among my tasks. Tramp ! — Tramp ! — Tramp ! She falls on a slippery spot. Arising with a groan she starts Complaining of her lot. At length the climb is over; The top is reached at last. The Traf. girl heaves a joyful sigh; Her daily trial is past. Bernice Bigley, Form Matric. I. ' The Young Visiters ' I ' HE other day I was looking through some old books, and I came across one entitled The Young Visiters. May I say that probably the first item that attracted my attention was the misspelling of visitors, which, you will agree, is quite unusual on the cover of any book. I turned the pages over idly, noticing awkwardlyspelt words here and there, and the preface by Sir James Barrie. I read the preface. To understand the book, I found, one must read it. The Young Visiters is written by Daisy Ashford. She was only nine years old when she wrote the book, so it is easily understood why her spelling is so atrocious. She wrote the book all by herself, and, I believe, without anyone else ' s knowledge at the time. It can only be described as a Perfect Scream. The heroine is called Ethel Monticue, and is described thus : Ethel Monticue had fair hair done on the top and blue eyes. She had a blue velvit frock which had grown rarther short in the sleeves. She had a black straw hat and kid gloves. . . . Which gives a fair idea of the spelling. Ethel was very parshal to red ruge which the young authoress mentions quite often. As she was leaving on a jorney Ethel said, I will put some red ruge on my face because I am very pale owin g to the drains in this house. Bernard Clark was the young hero, with nice long legs and fairish hair, who eventually married Ethel after a long stay at the Gaierty Hotel. Alfred Salteena was Ethel ' s dear friend who, although he wanted to marry her, never reached that point. [ 24 ]