Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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The desire of possession grew stronger in liini as time enl on. and one night he eauglit the delicate Madeline in his hnge arms, tryiiig to lake her ont of the water. Madeline slipped from him and attempted to advance further ont in the sea. She sneeeeiled in getting him far away from the shore, hnt at the same time she sas foreeil along with him. For several minutes she fought to free herself, but it was in ain. Madeline could no longer resist his strength, and slowly hegan to drown in the deptlis of the sea. Beelzehuh , thinking it was a trick, ditl not pay much attention to her: he tried to gain the shore, convinced that, in the end. when she could no longer stay in the water, she would have to do the same thing. A few minutes had passeil since he reached the shore, and still there was no sign of the beautiful Madeline. Fearing that she might escape, helped by the night shadows, he walked up to the top of the high Swallow Tail Rock, from where he was able to watch everv movement of the peaceful waves which would iiide the desirable girl. He vaited ami Nsaited for what ?eenu ' d to him hours, and finally an idea of what had really happened came to his mind, striking it so harshly as to make him lose control of his senses and fall from the high rock into the sea, dying instantly. All those thoughts came clearly into my mind as I iewed the picture. I could not take nn eyes away from it. Everything had seemed so real! When an old man. touching my shoidder. gently asked me to leave, I realized I had been left alone. The night had brought its shadows, and as I went out of the heavv doors, a feeling of calm, and a sweet sensation of quietness had overcome me. I was convinced that Cameron had painted this picture inspired by the Swallow Tail Rock of Bellamar Caves. Leticia Artola. Form Science VI, Fairley House. WF RE MOVING Cartons here and cartons there: Trimks and boxes everywhere: Furniture is piled up high : Things on top of this do lie: We ' re moving. The house takes on a different air: The rooms and halls look very bare; Each rug is stripped from every floor: The little house is ours no more: We ' re moving. Our house holds mem ' ries of the years. Of greatest joy, of saddest tears. et, now we leave it here alone For someone else to call his own: We ' re moving. To our wee house I give a toast, For it has been my proudest boast. An empty spot is in my heart. For now from here we must depart: We ' re moving. Our new house soon will fill that spot. It, too, I really love a lot. I know that now I shan ' t be sad, 1 ' or in my heart I ' m very glad We ' re moving. Anne Berry, Form IVb, Ross House. [211

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SWALLOW TAIL ROCK THE humidity of the dull day had disheartened me, and as I entered the massive doors of the Art Gallery, I seemed to he svirrounded hy throngs of people viewing with admiration various artistic masterpieces. I attempted to gain their enthusiasm, but the pictures were merely dabs of paint, until I was confronted by Cameron ' s Swallow Tail Rock . The scene contained therein struck a familiar note in my memory, and brought me pangs of homesickness. What a dear remembrance it brought to my mind! I could see it clearly: that rock at the entrance of the Bellamar Caves in Matanzas, Cuba; a place which has always attracted thousands of people, since it was discovered and the four-mile caves were explored. People continually admire the perfect and yet natural forms to which the waters of the Yumuri River have transformed after hundreds, perhaps millions of years, these rocks which rise up on the right side of Matanzas Bay. The painting reminded me of the entrance to this marvellous place, with its magnificent stalactites and stalagmites hanging down from the ceiling and rising up from the bottom of the caves. The picture was no longer still, dead — it was now full of life. I could hear the murmur of the waves peacefully advancing to touch the very low end of the rock. I could see the movement of the white crests, up and down again, con- trasting magnificently with the dark brown stone. I began to remember, then, the legend of the caves, beautiful and yet sad, but above all true, although strange. It was the story of a beauitifui girl, a princess, as it is believed, who bathed every night, in this secret concealed place, under the eternal supervision of the moon and the stars. One day, it seemed that a horrible Beelzebub ' discovered her sacred place, and, without being noticed, he watched the beautiful white girl every night. [20]

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THE SCHOOL GYM AT RECESS AT eleven-ten every morning, from Monday to Friday, the work-ridden girls of Trafalgar go walking (perhajps) up to the gym for fifteen minutes of leisure in which they may lose all they have learned in the first three periods, and get their heads nice and empty so that they can fill them with the knowledge to be given them in the following three periods. As one enters the gym, a terrific din almost deafens the victim, but it seems that everyone gets used to the noise, for so far no distracted parents have complained that their child has turned stone deaf — at least not so far as any- one has heard. On the right, as one enters, all the Fourth-formers are sitting, talking about their latest heart-throbs, the movies which they last saw — one must remember that they have jvist lately managed to steal past the ushers ' keen eyes at the theatre — and what dances who has gone to when. From the piano corner of the gym we hear issuing the sweet notes of the Bumble Boogie or the Too Fat Polka , made by the more musically inclined members of the school. I might add that the piano can scarcely be seen, for there seem to be quite a number of the aforesaid girls. In the next corner, one finds a small, select circle of Fifth-formers, deeply engaged in a game of bridge. This is one of the latest additions to the numerous pastimes in the gym at recess. Our floor show is along the platform, where the more lively members of the Fifth Form practise the college and high school cheers with much physical violence. The quietest corner, which is not after all so very quiet, is that occupied by the Sixth Form who sedately sit and talk over school work ( ? ) . Now and then, about the time of the Gym Dem , one finds various members of the Form swinging clubs dangerously around heads, but this is a minor detail. Third Form is always scattered all over, well-armed with skipping ropes to rival the Sixth. One wonders whether one would rather be strangled or knocked out. In some places there are cozy little tetes-a-tetes being held by bosom pals who prefer the more quiet ways of life to those previously mentioned. Sad though it is, all good things must come to an end, and recess is no exception. The bell goes and silence reigns, or is supposed to, and once again the little recreation in tlie middle of the morning is over. Heather Adair, Form Arts VI, Gumming House. EXAM DREAMS The bell has rung, the Jordan crossed; Spenser, Bvron and all those guys Caesar has won, the senate lost; Wearing bright-coloured, modern ties. The Ides have marched and Brutus keeled, Romans in Forum having their fun — Smit by a look from Miss Stansfield. Triangles wrong, parallelograms square, With Euclid pulling Miss Cam ' s hair. There is death in the Archbaldian eye, As she picks up a molecule — lets it fly. Miss Harvie sells the chewing gum. Report cards weep o ' er shattered marks Miss Foster ' s devoured by laughing shar] The hand of fate a finger shakes At this poor writer when she awakes. CatharijVE Chadwick, Form Arts VI, Cumming House.