Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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MISS JANET L. GUMMING Principal of Trafalgar School for Girls from I ' ) 17 to 1940. Died at I ictoria, British ( ' olurnbia. on January 26 i, 1946. They are not dead who live In hearts they leave behind. In lives whom they have blessed They live, and shall live As time declares their good And proves their immortality. Trafalgar Girls, past and present, and many others associated with Miss Gumming, gathered at the Ghurch of St. Andrew and St. Paul, on Tuesday, January 29th, 1946, to pay a tribute of aflFection, respect, and gratitude for the life, service, and influence of a wise and great teacher, a great and good woman. The Venerable Archdeacon Gower-Rees in his address at this service put our thoughts into words: ■ ' For twenty-three years, which is a long time in so responsible and exacting a task. Miss Gumming guided the physical, mental, moral, and spiritual growth of the hundreds of girls who passed through Trafalgar School. This memorial rite is not a tribute to official service or literary genius, or popular and public distinction — it is homage to personal character. It is your and my declaration that a life of such transcendent purity of purpose, and of such utter unselfishness is an example which cannot fail to inspire all who ever came under her influence. It would be disrespectful familiarity to a woman of her lofty spirit, high ideals, her great soul, her rich cultural endowments, her long and honourable life to endeavour to weigli and estimate her character. Though she has passed from among us, she has left behind her, her better part: she has left us the legacy of her bright example, the memory of her noble life. She requires no memorial of carved wood and stone: her memorial is found in the hearts and minds of those she taught and loved. [15]

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LITERARY THE INDIAN GIRL LAST autumn I spent one short but memorable week in Caledonia, a tiny, old- f fashioned village on the shores of Lake Huron. While there I devoted most of my time to photography and canoeing, or perhaps I should say to a combination of both. Whenever I could, I borrowed the canoe of a little old fisherman wlio lived nearby. Then, taking my lunch and camera, I would ex- plore the meandering streams that branched off the main body of water. Along the way I took snapshots. My last complete day at Caledonia was spent in this fashion. I was idly drifting down one of these streams oblivious to everything except my dreams, when suddenly I heard the sound of distant singing. I caught hold of the paddle and made Celia speed down the stream in search of the voice. I realized I was approaching the singer as the tone became clearer and louder every minute. Finally, the river entered a miniature lake, on one side of which was located an Indian Reservation. Still, I could not find the person from whose lips that beautiful music was flowing, music unlike any I had ever heard. As the voice continued I was filled with a violent desire to leave civilization and live alone, always in the open; to be a comrade of birds and animals; to sleep with a soft breeze soothing me; and to feel the wild patter of raindrops on my face. Suddenly the music stopped and the silence was so complete that I wanted to scream. Instead, I reached for my camera and took a picture of all that was before me, so that I might liave something tangible with which to strengthen my memory of the singing. Slowly I turned the canoe around to begin the homeward journey, and after four hours of steady paddling I reached Caledonia exhausted. The next morning, before we left for Montreal, I developed the last pictures I had taken. Anxiously I awaited the results of the picture taken at the Indian Reservation. When all work on it was completed, I gazed at it in surprise. There was a perfect reproduction of the sun blending in with the glass-like lake, and the shadows of the hill above the water made a marvellous background for the wooden cabins in which the Indians lived. As I scanned the picture, I beheld something that had remained unseen to me the day before. There was a girl in the picture, an Indian girl, standing [16]