Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 18 text:

LITERARY TO SPRING Arise, glad Spring, from thy sweet earthen bed! And dream no more of glorious days gone by; Delight and fantasy exist no more, But in dark graves of spite and malice lie. Put on thy robe of perfumed ecstasy. Bring light to brighten hearts with sorrow scarred. And souls, whose one rejoicing lies in thee; Thy joy alone by human hate unmarred. Cast off thy hoary coverlet of snow; Begem our earth with crystal drops of rain; Bring forth thy glowing grace to grief-dimmed eyes. Free from the taint of horror ' s ghostly stain. Gentle Spring, inspire the heart of Man, And let thy fragrant power kill his wrath That thine own bower, home of a joyful peace. Become forever more his rightful path. Ann Taylor, Senior School Certificate, Barclay House.

Page 17 text:

MAGAZINE STAFF Editor GwEN Williams Sub-Editor Mary Munroe Secretary-Treasurer Ann Puxley Sports Editor Claire Johnson Art Editor Alexa Macleod Flouse Representative . . . . . . . . . Denys Clarke Honorary Adviser Miss MacGachen MAGAZINE COMMITTEE Form VI. Joan Thackray Form IIIa. Margo Cronyn Form Va. Jan Henry Form IIIb. Vivian Pennington Form Vb. Patricia Witherow Upper II. Shirley Craig Form IVa. Rosemary Graham Form II. Barbara Magor Form IVb, Jennifer Thomas Form I. Eve Gordon THE GRIER CUP The Grier Cup, awarded to the most public-spirited of the Senior girls who at the same time has maintained a high standard of conduct and has shown devotion to work, was won last year by Jane Hildebrand. THE FORSYTH CUP The Forsyth Cup awarded to the Senior girl who has made the most of her oppor- tunities, showing herself friendly and helpful to all, was given to Marilyn Richardson. INTER-HOUSE SHIELD The Inter-House Shield, presented by Mrs. Wynne Robinson, was won last year by Ross House. [151

Page 19 text:

DAW HE GAY twitter of birds outside my bedroom window awakened me. I slipped X quietly out of bed, tiptoed across the room and looked out of my window. Dawn was breaking and I could just make out the grey-green waters of the Channel, the white cliffs, and the golden sands, lapped by the white-crested waves. As I watched the sky, the darkness began to fade and arrows of light shot out from the east, breaking the sky into little fleecy clouds. As it grew lighter, I could see the red sails of a fishing fleet coming in after a night ' s hard toil. The sand became a deep gold and the seaweed on the little children ' s castles glistened. The morning dew on the lawn before my window shone like pearls. The flowers which had closed for the night were beginning to open, and along the winding lane the milkman on his early round was singing. The freshness and beauty of this peaceful scene remained long in my memory. Three years later, I was staying in the same house — not for my summer holidays but because I had been evacuated from my bombed town. Early one morning, I was awakened by a thundering roar. I rushed to my window, pulled aside my blackout cur- tain and looked out. The scene on which I gazed was very different from that which I had seen three years before. No longer were birds singing in the garden; high up in the sky and flying swiftly towards the Continent, was a fleet of dark bombers, flecked by the rising sun. The sun was rising like a red ball shining through a thick fog, which I soon recognized as the smoke from an armada of warships out in the Channel, steaming on some perilous mission. On the sand there were no longer children ' s tunnels and castles, but instead masses of thick, ugly, barbed wire ; where there had been lawns, there were now neat rows of vegetables. The tops of the cliffs were all enclosed, and I could see projecting from barricades the noses of anti-aircraft guns searching for enemy planes. Where I had previously seen the jolly milkman, a dispatch rider was dashing along and a jeep stood at the side of the road. How war had changed even the view from my window ! But as my eyes turned upwards to the sun, it seemed to smile at me and remind me that for countless centuries it had witnessed many such changes — from joy to sorrow, from peace to war — and that soon it would rise again on the kind of world for which we are all longing — a world of peace. Denise Craig, Form VA, Ross House. [17]