Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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TO THE EVENING STAR O E eniiig Star, that thinnest there so brijrht. A {)arkHiig Jewel in Iwiliglit ' s velvet sk . From thine unending vigil, up on high, iiat ilost thou know of mortals here held tight In man s eternal war for power and might? hat is there held in store for us? What nigh That we must patiently endure, sent by Our Cod to test our strength to choose the right? But 1 am still a child. My time ' s not yet To do m work: the time when I must don The joyful cloak of my peculiar way To help mankind. O, let me ne ' er forget My duty! Thus do I. as night steals on. To thee, O E ening Star, half wish, half pray. Margo CronY-N. Form Arts I, Gumming House. THE TRAGEDY DAWX I The pale vellow rays of the sun crept over the purple mountain-tops, banished the shadows in the sleeping valleys, and gently warmed all rowing things. Mosquitoes began to buzz, ants scampered busily hither and thither, and manv-hued moths crawled into deep, dark crevices to drowse through the coming day. In an untidy garden, the last dew drops disappeared from the long blades of u rass. and in one sunnv corner, two flowers began to reveal their faces to the day. One was a young and beautiful violet. She had just this day achieved that perfection of form that mortals so often praise. Her leaves were large and as green as pine-needles. Although they appeared delicate, they were strong enough to protect the violet from the ravages of the elements and allowed only the gentlest drops of life-giving rain to touch their charge. The violet herself was graceful and shy. not vet fully aware of her beauty or its power. As she unfolded the tips of her exquisite petals to permit herself to see the weather, her shy glance was arrested by the sight of a magnificent marigold growing beside her. His petals, of the deepest, richest, velvety brown and warm orange, made her quiver with pleasure. She marvelled that previously she had failed to notice hini. Gradually she began to sense that her actions were being observed. She looked up instinctively, and saw the marigold watching her with open admiration. Quickly she averted her gaze, for she was embarrassed, and drew her petals around her tightly, but she could not quite conceal the becoming blush that suffused her petals to the very tips. The morning passed slowly. By noon, the violet and the marigold had shovNTi their glowing faces to the world. They were acutely conscious of each other ' s presence, but neither could be caught looking at the other. Presently, the violet, overflowing with joy and ecstasy at the mere thought of existing, stretched her leaves exultantly towards the blue heavens. In her joy, she had forgotten the marigold, but was suddenly forced to remember him when one of her leaves touched his stem. Quickly she shrank away in mortifica- [25]

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We are limited to House pins for accessories. As far as styles go, they are not very decorative. Ross pins are very colourful, but generally worn dirty. Perhaps you will prefer Cumming ' a sentimental baby blue? Fairley has an advantage over the others: the pins can be renewed or preserved with scarlet nail polish. There is little to be done for the poor Barclay girls: green is green, no matter what you do to it. Identification bracelets also add a great deal to the school dress. They make a delightful noise clattering on the desk as the wearer writes. They can be improved by such small, delicate charms as locker keys. Those lucky enough to be in possession of L.C.C. or B.C.S. pins can wear them to advantage on the inside of blazer lapels, where the wearer may gaze at them occasionally, but where authority may not. Long a problem of Trafalgar girls, wrinkled black stockings are still a source of trouble. They sag and rumple at the knees, causing the genteel habit of pulling on them continually. Perhaps this could be remedied by knee garters to match our House pins. Of course, all these problems may be solved by wearing a navy blue skirt to school, and putting on a colourful sweater on departing. Then, when con- fronted by a Prefect demanding the removal of lipstick, you may say with the utmost truth that you are not wearing the school uniform. Janet Deakins, Form Va, Ross House. THE NIGHT OF THE GYM DEM (With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore) ' Twas the night of the Gym Dem, when all through the school Every girl was so nervous she could not keep cool. Our garments were cleaned and put on with such care. In hopes that we should look at least somewhat fair. The parents were crowded around the small gym. All wishing their daughters would soon enter in. When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter I ran to the door to see what was the matter: It was only the piano being pounded away For the dancers who entered — the first on display. The bright coloured skirts, and the shorts of the men Made a pretty beginning for the ' 48 Dem. Many items were shown, and the hour was ten. As this year ' s performance was nearing its end. There ' d been marching and skipping and tumbling and vaults. Rope-climbing and balancing and somersaults. As we marched in at last with our heads in the air. We hoped that Miss Box was not in despair. The badges and stars were received with a thrill By the girls who had shown the most effort and skill. Three cheers and our thanks to Miss Box we extend; In spite of her strictness, she ' s still our best friend. Susan Racey, Form IIIb, Fairley House. [24]

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tion, and so deep was her feeling of embarrassment that her delicate petals began to droop, and one tiny tear fell to the ground. On seeing this, the adoring marigold tenderly stretched forth a strong, willowy leaf to comfort the weeping violet. Gradually her sobbing ceased. She looked shyly at her comforter and smiled her gratitude for his tenderness, but her eyes were held by his as by a spell. They continued to look at each other with speechless love and adoration. Lovers are oblivious to everything except their loved one; therefore the flowers did not observe the black, threatening clouds gather, or the sun disappear, or the wind drop until all was as silent as it was before life began. Not until the death-like stillness was suddenly shattered by the shrill cry of a robin, did the marigold raise his head in consternation, amazed at the sudden metamorphosis. The violet turned pale as she saw the menacing clouds, and drew nearer to the marigold, who comforted her with his strength. Now the wind began to blow and bring forth groans of torture from the straining trees. Rain came down lightly, then more heavily, increasing until the violet could scarcely see six grass blades in front of her. Then it stopped. All was as silent as before. The violet began to emerge from under the protecting leaves of the marigold and she expected the sun to break through the clouds momentarily. But the marigold was not so easily deceived. Where was the sun? Why were the birds so silent? Why did the clouds still remain? Why? Suddenly he felt rather than heard a faint thud on the ground, then another, and yet another. Hiding his fear, he quickly covered the shaking violet protectingly with his leaves. He was sad and without hope, for he had heard of this scourge of flowers, the icy, cruel hailstone, and knew the damage it could inflict. The violet and the marigold clung together for a few seconds, each of which seemed an eternity. Just as the marigold bent his head over the ill-starred violet to touch her quivering petals, a hailstone, guided by fate, penetrated the pro- tecting leaves of the marigold and crushed the life out of the exquisite violet. While the marigold, in the depths of despair, was looking at his love, another hailstone hit him in the middle of the stem so that he, too, fell to the ground, lifeless. Dawn! Again the sun rises over the purple mountain-tops, and again it banishes the shadows in the sleeping valleys. But in the unkept garden, a busy ant passes by a crushed violet and a marigold lying side by side. He, as the rest of the world, is oblivious of their tragedy, which is known only to their Maker. Enid Pascoe, Form VI Arts, Barclay House.