Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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A FAMOUS FOURSOME THIS storv takes phue, as the American Indian mi Ut have put it, in The Happy Hunting Grounds . e might call it the home of Gahriel and his horn, but at any rate, we find ourselves in a heautilul garden in hea en. Four men, sitting around a little pond, seem to be fully relaxed. I am sure if any of you met anv one of these men, you would be sure to recognize him. You know, F. D. R.. I think we are extremely lucky to be uj) here, peace- fully taking things as they come. The world is in such a state. It seems to me, J was verv luckv, being horn when I was, instead of a hundred years later. This was spoken by a distinguished looking gentleman with grey hair and a kind, thoughtful face. He could easily he recognized as Sir W ilfrid Laurier. The man addressed as F. D. R. who i . of course, the unforgettable Franklin Delano Roosevelt, thougiit for a moment before answering. Mv friend , he said, I think 1 lived during the most important part of the world ' s historv. Through the years I was on earth there were two world wars: atomic energv came into reality: automobiles went into production: radio came: airplanes: and so many other things. Fm glad 1 Ii ed hen I did. Sir Wilfrid, even though there were countless unpleasant and evil things thriving during that time. ' hen von mentioned atomic energy, it made me recall an article I was reading in the Roman Daily Chronicle the other day. This article stated that if we had had atomic energv during our wars, there wouldn ' t be any world today , said the gentleman known as Caesar, — Julius Caesar, in full. ou know gentlemen, when I w as in command of the army in Greece, it was not necessary for me to have all these weapons w hich are now being used. Why, I conquered the world with what I had . The speaker sat back and puflfed on his pipe contentedlv. Yes, I think I was about the greatest leader that ever lived . The other gentlemen just laughed. They were used to hearing him talk that wav. You know, Alexander , said Caesar, after all these years you are still as conceited as ever. But no matter, y ou come in very handy for a foursome of bridge. This last remark w as said jokingly. Have you read any good books lately? asked Alexander, trying to change the subject. Will Shakespeare just finished another play. He calls it ' Those Higher Prices . It is really excellent. In it he ridicules the rising prices on earth and he really makes it quite humourous. The other tliree gentlemen seemed interested at this announcement. ou know , said Sir Wilfrid, it is easy to make things like that humourous up here, but really, they are quite serious. Why, just the other day I saw an incident take place in New York city ' s east side. A poorly dressed old woman entered a grocery store and asked the clerk the price of a pound and a half of mince meat. She remarked that it had been almost two weeks since her family of six had had meat to eat. When he told her the price, which was outrageous, she just stared at him blankly. Oh , she said, I ' m afraid I can ' t afford that much . ith that she turned and walked out of the store. Poor soul. es , said Caesar, it really is getting very serious . Looking at his watch, he said, Oh my- goodness, it ' s nearly five-thirty. I ' m afraid I ' ll have to leave, Calpurnia asked me to stop in at the store on the way home. He got up from his seat and rearranged his toga. These women . Sir ilfrid and Alexander rose also. bile they were getting together their [27]

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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.

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various belongings, a little black scottie dog came rushing through the garden, running straight to Mr. Roosevelt. Falla where have you been all day? My goodness, what a dog I have, but, you know, I don ' t know what I ' d do without him. With that Mr. Roosevelt bade good-bye to his friends, and walked into his beautiful home. I may add, he walked without the slightest limp. Anne Berry, Form IVb, Ross House. A DREAM THE night was dark and snowy, the wind howled dismally, but a fire glowed on the hearth, cheering me up and bringing before me vivid memories of days at school. Then, built by the yellow flames, a picture flashed into vague outline before my eyes. Was it? . . . Was it? . . . Yes, it was! Trafalgar School for Girls! I could see plainly now; the scene was brighter, hurrying figures were ascending the steps. Girls, girls, and more girls thronged the halls. I heard a gong sound; a benevolent, yet dignified lady appeared, and there was silence in the assembly hall. Figures vanished from the halls, and I next caught a glimpse of students congregated in Form IV. Some of the students looked wise, some foolish, but, as the mistress entered the room, all were trying to appear quiet and attentive, though not all of them succeeded. A coal fell, and the flames lept up anew. And what was this? Oh! I remem- ber, it was the House Competition. The girls from each House were in certain corners of the gymnasium, representing a certain country. A tall, red-haired lady, accompanied by another lady, seemed to be judging the entries. A door opened and closed behind me, causing the flames to dart up and flicker again. Scenes came and went. I could see student after student pass quickly by, looking, oh, so thin and worried. What could be wrong? Why did they carry so many, many books? Ah! A light broke upon me: it was the nerve-racking, heart-breaking time of Christmas examinations. But in the next instant the worried look had vanished, and, mirrored in the flames — this must be — oh, yes, this was the Christmas concert. The Christmas play was being acted, while the rest of the School, all dressed in white, sang carols. Then I found myself gazing at the Fourth Form. It was night time. Every- one was worried and in a flutter. The next moment they were in the gym, marching in front of a large audience. Of course, now I recalled, it was the night of the Gym Demonstration. I leaned forward and stirred the coals with the poker. The scene changed; again all w ere thin and pale, laden with books, and tottering beneath their burden of knowledge. But what meant that desperate air of finality? Oh, if my memory served me correctly, those were the final and fatal examinations in June. Once again the scene changed, and I saw the school all gathered in the assembly hall in white dresses, the Sixth Form wearing pink and white corsages. On the platform were many distinguished ladies and gentlemen. What could all this mean? Oh, I remember! It was the June closing, at which prizes and cups were presented. This picture faded slowly; I lapsed into a state of happy unconsciousness . . . Ouch! My head hit the back of the chair with a bang, and I awakened suddenly to find the fire out, and my fond dreams of days at school entirely destroyed in the stern reality of a cold night with no fire. Elizabeth Webb, Form IVa, Fairley House. r28i