Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 25 text:

AUTUMN I otten s ijih to walk, tliroiigli woods of leaves And see tliein sparkle in the sun ' s bright rays, Tlie jjolden colours of the autumn sheaves Whose shades seem nearly clear as yesterday ' s. 1 used to think that those untouched by rake (.oncealed a fairy hidden from my view. And as I walked. I feared that I should wake Them, from their airy beds of morninj: dew. Although I should not see them, I should hear Their joyous, happy presence ever near. Their souls seemed so exquisite yet so real. iow while 1 think of them, 1 shed a tear For all both voiniij and old, who ' ve never seen Within an autumn leaf a fairy queen. (.ATHAKINE ( .HADWiCK. Korm A. Cummiug Hou.se. ON GOING TO THE THEATRE 1 THINK there is nothing so lovely as the feeling of going to see a play. If it is a week night, there is the delightful rush of getting homework done and then of dressing for the performance before dinner. If the play is Shakespeare, a copy of Lamb ' s Tales accompanies the roast beef : if it is a modern play, we just discuss it. On the street-car we meet various friends and relations, also bound His Majesty- wards. If the company is old, the parents talk of when they saw so-and-so in such-and- such a play in by-gone days. We leave the tram and go into the theatre. How I love the atmosphere: people outside talking and meeting friends, the crowded lobby, and having to elbow my way in, and then being led to my seat and reading the program which I alreadv know bv heart. [231

Page 24 text:

HOW TO SKI — IN ONE EASY LESSON STARTLED by the clang of my alarm clock, I jumped out of bed to turn the noisy thing off. I stood in the middle of the room wondering what day it was, and why I was up so early. The thought came to me, as I was swaying in the cold darkness of my room — I was going up north for the day. During the past week I had bought a book entitled How to Ski — In One Easy Lesson . The man at the store said it was guaranteed to teach the reader how to ski — if not, the money was refunded. All you had to do was read the book, practise the posi- tions in any room — called dry skiing I think — and you were ready for any hill in the Laurentians. Now I was going up North to Shawbridge to try my luck. I hastily donned my new red ski-sviit ( Irving ' s of course), washed down a piece of toast with some cocoa, grabbed my skiis and knapsack, and tore for the streetcar. I never realized that it was such an art to get skiis on a streetcar. I went in one side of the door and my skiis, somehow, got in the other side. I finally adjusted myself and sat primly at the back. I noticed two boys looking me up and down, and nudging each other with what I thought were signs of approval. Just then we rounded the corner at Claremont and my skiis went crashing to the floor, hitting the two boys on the way. Why do such things always happen to me? We arrived at Shawbridge and I was anxious to put on my new boards (the local name for skiis) and see if that book was really right. My skiis seemed to go in the right direction anyway. This was not my first time on skiis, you understand; I had tried them years ago but I had given up the sport as a bad job. I had heard that all tows went so fast that it was hard to concentrate on both your hands and feet going up. I grabbed the tow and hung on for dear life. I hardly moved at all. I decided to get out my book on How to Ski . . . and brush up on a few facts. The next thing I knew, I was at the top of the hill, lying with my face in the snow, and a pile of people and skiis on top of me. I stood up, regained my composure, and started down the hill for my great per- formance. I tried to turn, but nothing happened. I went faster and faster. I couldn ' t even fall. I seemed frozen into position — and what a position, as I heard some- body say. I headed for a clear space, but that space seemed to fill up with people as I neared it. I grabbed somebody in order to try and stop myself, but I kept on going. I saw the tow house coming nearer; then everything went black. The next thing I was aware of was being strapped on to a toboggan. I saw my new skiis broken into smithereens, and I saw a big piece of red cloth on the side of the tow house. I presumed it was part of my new ski-suit. I went down to the city in the baggage car. I was all ready to go from the station to the store and get my money back on that book, but I was put in an ambulance and spent a few delightful months with both legs in the air. Margaret Patterson, Form VI Arts, Gumming House. [22]

Page 26 text:

At last the orchestra climbs into the pit and tunes up. Then the lights dim and people make a rush for their seats. The music plays softly and then bursts into God Save The King. I am afraid I never think much about the King, except that I pity him not being with me. Ah ! the enchanting hush as the curtain rises. Our eyes grow accustomed to the bright stage, and we see people dressed as we are, or, according to the play, in the costume of any age or place. To continue this as being at a play would not be correct, for I am in England, Africa, or Japan, or wherever the story takes place, and I am not myself, but each character in turn. So I shall skip to the intermission. The curtain falls, and I come back as out of a dream. I get up and stretch, and try to realize that it is an hour, not five minutes, since I sat down. I wander into the lobby. I love the friendly lobby, where the smoke is so thick, and the people are so crowded. I return to my seat, and enter a wild discussion as to whether so-and-so over-acted and somebody else hurt himself when he fell. The lights dim for the second time, and there is the bustle of people returning to their seats. The curtain rises once more on the enchanted stage, and I am oblivious of my surroundings. The plot becomes more and more exciting, and finally everyone is reconciled — or dead. There are the last few speeches, and the curtain calls, in which to catch a last glimpse of the actors. The play is over, or rather the performance, for the play will never be over for me. I have made new friends or renewed old friendships this evening. Finally I am dragged away by a sleepy family and once more I say good-night to the magic land of the theatre. Margo Cronyn, Form Va, Gumming House. THE JOYS OF WINTER The overshoes are jumbled by the cottage kitchen door. There ' s frost inside the hallway and there ' s snow upon the floor. The overcoats are steaming and the gloves are hardly dry, The scarves are hung like dishrags and the caps are shrunk awry. There ' s father in the basement, and he ' s furious and gray, For he ' s shovelling out the ashes ; it ' s the second time today. The eaves are hung with icicles; the sidewalk ' s thick with snow The children are indoors because there ' s nowhere else to go. The temperature is falling; there ' s a blizzard in the air, There ' s a drift beneath the window, and there ' s ice upon the stair. When I write of joys of winter, I can think of better topics. Like hibernation, summertime, or living in the tropics. Johanna Leipoldt, Form IIIb, Fairley House. [24]