Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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Tliese people are slim and beautiful, (rail and yet strong, because of God ' s gift of freedom. Tliey do not know bow to work, but tbey are ricb and do not need to — or tbey are so poor tbat tbey bave no clotbes, tbey use newspapers and leaves to bide tbeir bony ugliness. Tbey are old and bideous, deformed and beginning to deteriorate. Tbeir bomes are sbacks witb no walls, built bigh above tbe untainted Svbite ' section; tbey do not belong to tbe tourist ' s idea of beauty except in tbe sense tbat so mucb ugliness creates beauty, for instance, tlie beauty of tlie billside at nigbt. Tlie trees are splashy greens; tbere is jungle and a weird beauty that baiuits forever tbe eyes of the onlooker. Tbe roads are red, tbe sky, an un- clouded blue. Tbe people are dressed in colours tbat clash so strongly tbat tbey blend together into a harmonious rainbow. This helps to explain tbe tempera- ment of tbe people, who crave loud colours and music so strongl) tbat though it hurts tbe unaccustomed ears and eyes, it is beauty to them, and because of them, to us. Tbeir voices are harsh and crvide; they babble forth an endless stream of sharp sounds. Tbe nerves of tbe eyes are shocked and grated by tbe brightness and splendour of the sun against the world. Tbere is a magic mountain of Corcovado, and in tbe jungle on its summit stands the statue of Christ, a Christ who stretches forth his hands to bless all men who enter tbe harbour of Rio. At nigbt the Christ radiates a warm glow ibat can be seen from all directions, and as tbe plane rises from tbe airport, tbe statue waves a friendly good-bye, assuring the leaver tbat whenever he returns be will be welcome to take his place in a world of sbowy splendour. Reni Roberts, Form Arts VI. Fairley House. THE VISITOR The iiortb wind bowled, tbe snowflakes swirled in the solid blackness of the nigbt; Tlie snowdrifts piled outside tbe cabin, and the fir trees moaned; Tbe windows sparkled and glistened witli frost and ice; the cabin groaned. And I sat comfortably inside before the crackling firelight. A ()Ot of venison 1 placed before me. a mug of ale was on tbe floor; J [)repared to eat my supper, warm beside tlie fire, X atcbing tlic flames shoot uj) tbe chimney, slowly mounting biglicr, ben quite suddenly T heard a knock upon tbe cabin door I I opened it, and looking out, bebeld a man witb cold blue eves, White, snowy, sparkling robes, an icy beard, and long white hair, Icicles riangling on bis ears and nose; bis hands and feet were bare! His .skin was covered witb ice I He towered above me and was of great size.

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iHASTA LUEGO! THERE IS a wide strip of sand which stretches along the ocean of Rio dc Janeiro. It is the famous Copacabana Beach, lit at night by a string of pearls. At night, in the darkness, the pearls glisten and sparkle, ihe waves of the ocean lap the golden sand and creep up over the reinforced cement walks. There is a warm breeze that fans the faces of solitary walkers and rustles the petticoats of long skirts tliat twirl around trim, brown ankles of beautifvd senoritas. This is a world of soft colours, soft breezes, soft voices whispering sweet words, and eyes that speak messages of beauty. The mountains are lit by small lights that appear to hang from nowhere in a full sky of blackness. Close by the beach, across the road, another spell is being woven; there is a string of modern skyscrapers with large windows built to catch every breeze and bring relief from the stifling heat. From the doors and windows and outdoor cafes comes the vivacious sound of music and the laughter of many people who are selfishly glad to be alive, having forgotten everything except the present. There is dancing and music evervwhere, and a spirit of vinreality prevails over a gay world of haiipiness where all ugliness of decay is hidden under the mantle of blackness. All the Latin American countries have a high tempo which makes the blood beat faster; and their peoples are peoples of magic who dance and live with a joy and abandon that can be seen in the life sparkling in their eyes. Having once seen such expression in a face, it is impossible ever again not to be affected by its presence. Each person who has ever set foot on Spanish soil makes a silent vow to return and relive a holiday of memory and dreams. Rio in the daytime is entirely different from Rio by night. The ocean eats l)ungri]y and devours the sand as it climbs over the legs of ambitions early bathers. The sun is very strong, so everyone swims between eight and ten o ' clock. By mid-day the sun is too hot except for the natives, and they do not ap|)reciate their free beaches. Everyone eats outdoors in restaurants that crowd the bases of the hotels. The modern buildings add to the bright colouring of the sky, the sea, the ocean, and mountains and the people. [18]

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Without a word he strode right in, sat down and began devouring the meat. He kept away from the fire, though, and never spoke a word. I noticed all at once, the wind outside could not be heard. And strangely, the snow and ice remained on my visitor ' s clothes, and hands, and feet. Curious and puzzled, I paced the floor, then went and looked out though the window-pane. What I beheld made me rush to the door to see if it were true. After a suspicious glance at the stranger, outside I flew. To be sure, not a vestige of snow or a sign of the stormy winter did there remain. A clear moon shone down on snow-free trees, sleeping (lowers and sweet-smelling grass. Brown owls hooted lazily, drowsy birds twittered and chirped the end of the day. The night-breeze was warm. A chipmunk, startled, ciiattering, ran away. Fireflies sparkled, an animal swiftly and silently in front of the steps did pass. Wondering, astounded, I picked a handful of grass and flowers, then went in; Straight to the man I marched, my feelings holding full sway. What do you mean by coming here? Speak vip, I say! Explain your behaviour, sir, why do you devour my supper, and drink all my gni . ' ' The strange man smiled a secret smile of satisfaction, then arose; He smiled again, and said in a mumbling voice, Many thanks for the meal, I hope to continue my duties now that I ' ve eaten. I feel Much better! Then he went to the door. An icicle fell suddenly ofl his nose. He stretched, he yawned, he stepped outside, and was immediately lost in snow. Down came the flakes, the fir trees cracked, the ground became white again. I closech the door and went slowly inside; the north wind began to blow. Thinking tliat surely it was a dream, I laughed my remaining fears away. I wonder if that was King Winter, I thought, then my fears began anew: There on the chair was the ale, the fresh grass I had picked, and the (lowers too. The half-eaten meal was where he had left it; and on the floor the icicle lay! The north wind howled, the snowflakes swirled in the solid blackness of the night. The snowdrifts piled outside the cabin, and the fir trees moaned; The windows sparkled with frost and ice; the cabin groaned. And I sat mystified, before the dying firelight. Jan Torrancp:, Form IVb, Fairley House. SPRING IN THE COUNTRY In the Spring when trees are budding. In the country I would be. In the woodland ' s sun and shadow Where the stream runs merrily. Pussy willows by the wayside, Underfoot the violets blue, All the air is full of bird-song Ringing notes so clear and true. As the daylight slowly passes. And the simset paints the west With its rose and gold and azure. Then all nature seems to rest. Purple shadows on the mountain. Silver crescent in the sky. One by one the stars come peeping, Soft winds sing a lullaby. Anne Carman, Form IVa, Ross House. [20]