Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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FLIGHT MAN is forever searching for an escape. His tortured and confused mind is obsessed with the desperate dreams of fliglit from this world of illusions and bitter strife. He must find a place of solitude, a haven for his soul, a land of the heart where he may possess that most blessed of benefits — peace of mind. He travels through the world of existence, constantly searching for, beseeching a gate wliich will lead him to Life and Truth. In the midst of his search, with his disturbed mind whirling in the empty spaces of incomprehension, he perceives the warm glow of a fellow soul reaching through his labyrinth of discouragement and disillusionment, ready to draw iiim from out himself and into the world of day. Hesitantly, he advances, and, a little fearful, steps for a few brief seconds into the light. Glancing about him, he perceives visions of distorted reality, and hears the clashing sounds of discordant music. Everything beautiful appears to be deformed and ugly; all that had been serene and dependable is mocked and made ludicrous by burlesque. Turning to look at the friend who had drawn him into this land, he saw before him only a twisted desiccated shell of what had once been a man. His clawlike hands still clung to his wrists, and it was with a tremendous effort that he was eventually able to free himself from the deathlike grasp. Whither was he to travel now? The strangling blackness of confusion and incomprehension is once more upon him and the heaviness of it weighs upon his desperate soul even more painfully than it had previous to the short sojourn in the land of false light. Surrounding him on all sides were limitless cliffs, towering to eternity, and here at the foot of the crags he stood, meeting defeat wherever he turned. Yet beyond those peaks lay the land of escape, he felt sure. To reach it, to leave this dungeon of drudgery and futility was his sole dream now — it obsessed his very being and his frame was wracked with the over- powering desire. As days went on, his mind grew dry, his thinking narrow and his heart unresponsive to any requests of entry. His twisted soul was never allowed to gain rest — that sweet rest which is the only salve man can be assured of receiving. Something must occur to redirect this misled creature. He had no God now, for what was God but an illusion, as was every other beautiful thing in this detestable universe. Let other men have their God — the fools! He awoke to find himself lying on the firm warm earth. He lay in the shadow of a garden wall, and, protecting him from the eyes of any observers, were the arms of a hedge which pressed close against the inside of the wall. Unwillingly he opened his eyes to view the light wliich he felt caress his closed eyelids. Distrustfully he glanced about expecting to behold the same scene of depravation he had when last he came into a land of comprehension . But that whicli met his gaze was so serenely beautiful that he could but breathe his awe. A liitlierto unknown sense of peace crept through his limbs and body, filling his heart with a quiet happiness that he thought he had cast aside long ago with his cloak of idealism. The garden was so wonderfully lovely that when he spied the weeds entangled round the stem of the flower it came as a great surprise to him. Noticing the entry of a gardener through the gate in the wall, he wished to cry out to liini to destroy those weeds, for the glorious petals of the flower would .soon be torn were the pitiless thorns to reach tliem. Yet his lips could not move, |21|

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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]

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and his words went nnnttered. Lying still lie watched the gardener go about his work. After having completed any pruning, rearranging and plucking up that had to be done to the beautiful array of flowers and trees that peopled this garden, the gardener turned to the single flower with the divinely lovely petals, but which was being choked by the growth of weeds twined about its body. Taking his shears he began to root away the malicious murderers. While he cut, he spoke, and the man behind the hedge listened, first in disbelief, then in humility, and finally in great joy. The words he heard were these . . . This flower is mankind. When she was young she used to glance up to the great height achieved by her more experienced fellows. All she desired was to grow to an equal height, and so feel the glorious rays of the warm and friendly sun issuing life and beauty to her veins. But as time went on, the little flower began to suspect that never would she reach the desired height. Many of her companions had long since passed her in the race. At last, discouraged and despairing, she felt ashamed of her failure to grow. She sensed the mockery of her more successful neighbours and, humiliated, she drooped and tried to hide from the eyes of others. The deceiving weeds rushed to her assistance, oflFering their stranglehold embrace as an escape from the world. Once entangled in their grasp, she realized her mistake, and, in the hope of redeeming herself, ghe struggled onward, looking ever upward to the distant sim, forever conscious of the grip had by aliens on her body. Yet although she persisted, the weeds constantly gained power over her, until now only her petals remain free from their grasp. I have come to release her from these enemies, for I perceive that her soul lies in her petals. Yes, this flower is called mankind. The gardener tore from the stem of the flower the encircling weeds, and she slowly reached upwards until her petals kissed the face of God. The man under the hedge sprang to his feet and, at last understanding, he ran towards the gate in the wall and back to Life. There is no escape, no flight from life — it must be found within the confines of that existence which we call the Mind. Joan Lucas, Form Senior VI, Fairley House. FOR WHAT WE ARE ABOUT TO RECEIVE . . . S I BOWED my head at grace before our Thanksgiving dinner, many reflec- tions passed through my mind. . . . What would be the reaction of European boys and girls if, for one miraculous day, they were given the opportunity of going to a football game, as I had done that afternoon? There must be thousands of people whose one remaining link with the past was their dream to taste what was before me — the white slices of turkey, the bright green brussels sprouts and peas, with the orange carrots for contrast, and the fluffy mashed potatoes topped with rich, brown gravy. How long has it been since those people have looked at the trees for their beauty, rather than for the warmth they would bring this winter? I wondered how many of them had inhaled the air filled with the smoke of burning leaves and had felt it really worth while to be alive in this wonderful season of Thanksgiving. . . . May the Lord make us truly thankful. Joan Knight, Form Arts VI, Ross House. [22]