Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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SUCCESS Success is not found overnifjlit Instead with time it grows, Then it becomes a richer liarvest, And springs from seed it sows. The road is neither straight nor even But rough and very high. And as we climb, it seems to stretcli Still farther in the sky. The path, a steep and narrow one, Hard, and jagged of stone, Yet upward, onward, let us plod, Undaunted and alone. Success is not in merely fame, In glory or great wealth, Instead, the greatest victory Is mastery of self. Beverley Van Horne, Form Arts VI, Fairlcy House. FARM AUCTIONS SUMMERS in the country are enlivened by farm auctions, to which my friends and I go in cycling hordes. These auctions, which are held from time to time on the many farms in the neighbourliood of Rosemere, are never- failing sources of delight from the point of view both of the odd purchases to be made and of the people whom we rudely refer to as characters . Both the time and the place of the auction are given in the local paper, La Voix des Milles Isles , along with a long list of articles and the reason for the sale. The location of the farm is usually given with a fair degree of accuracy, but, by adding from two to three hours to the time stated, we usually arrive to find the auctioneer having a pre-auction guzzle from one of the two bottles carried in his hip pockets. To these bottles, one of which is usually rye and the other scotch, he refers at frequent intervals, all the while remarking that the day is un peu froid . Somehow, the day manages to be un peu froid even when the thermometer is hitting eighty degrees in the shade! Having sufficiently warmed himself, the auctioneer proceeds to read the conditions of sale in a rapid and confusing version of the French language. This we do not try to deciplier, but wait instead for the fun to begin. The wait is short, for soon the contents of junk sheds, storage houses, and barns are brought out. Cardboard boxes full of such objects as carriage lamps, powder horns, sleigh bells, sugar moulds, and the occasional piece of beautiful old china are soon being disposed of for about twenty-five cents each. Hand- blown bottles, of the true bottle-green, make lovely lamps and may be had for [24]

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about five cents as none of the farmers wants them. These farmers are interested onlv in farm implements and animals, and no doubt regard my friends and me as excellent examples of the daftness of modern youth. We, in turn, never cease to be both amused and amazed at the antics of some of these farmers. One day, a man bought a large barrel of lime which immediately split down the side. Instead of saving his lime, which the wind svas blowing away, the farmer stood shouting dire threats and demanding his quarter back. To the onlookers, the sight of an irate farmer hvigging a large barrel of lime was quite amusing, and served to send the assembled company into loud guffaws at their neighbour ' s plight. Another amusing character is a little man who comes to every auction, not to buy, but for the sheer joy of being there. He bids a half cent and is very much annoyed when the auctioneer disregards him. For these occasions, he has 1 vocabulary of choice words with which he bombards the auctioneer. Luckily, my vocabulary is not equal to his, for his face and actions take on a truly ferocious cast when some jokers suggest that he might try bidding a whole cent. Attending farm auctions, as well as being amusing, has a purpose. Old pine tables, chairs, cabinets, and chests may be bought for very little. These are covered with layers and layers of homemade paint, but, when this is removed and the object rubbed down with sandpaper, and waxed, a very graceful piece of furniture is acquired. Our dining-room is completely furnished in old pine for which a dealer in Montreal would charge about four hundred dollars. Spinning wheels, hand-woven rugs, old balances, and many other such articles are among the objects which my friends and I buy at auction sales. Among the local farmers, we have the repvitation of being slightly mad, especially since the day last summer when we were seen driving home in an old horse-drawn buggy with our bicycles and a carved pine bed loaded on behind. However, be that as it may, I cannot think of a cheaper or more delightful way of having an afternoon of good, clean fun, devoid of the super- fluous frills of city life. Anne Pattison, Form Science VI, Ross House. A DOG HERO TflK most famous veteran of 1918 was a mascot, a friendly little bull-terrier named Stubby. He never joined up in the regular way. He never went to a K-9 camp for basic training, as did all other dogs. Stubby went to Yale — that is, he had the run of the Yale University campus. He seemed to belong to no one, but he was the favourite of everyone. Stubby liked to watch the students training on Yale Field, and when orders came for them to go to camp, they took the little brindled bull-terrier, ,sith the friendly bobbed tail, along in the supply car. Later they smuggled liim on board the big transport that carried them across the Atlantic. Once when his friends were sleeping, he saved their lives by warning them of a gas attack. He warned his friends again when he found a strange man near the Ani ri( an trenches. When the stranger was caught he proved to be a German spy. Twice Stubby had to go to an army hospital — once when he was gassed, and again when he was wounded by a splinter from a German grenade. But