Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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THE HAND THE liand on Iier wrist was firm, but pentle, anrl tlic voice slie liearrl far away was soothing. As she fought lier way through the mist to conscious- ness, she reahzed she was in a hospital, and knew the hand was that of a doctor. How strong and comforting it was, and what miracles those hands could jierform ! They could save lives, make scars unnoticeable, and inspire great confidence and hope. The cool hand on her head must be that of a nurse. Then her thoughts drifted to another hand — the one she loved best. These hands had slim tapering fingers ending in nails like polished jewels. They were small, smooth and soothing, with the faint fragrance of gardenias, and could do such wonderful things. When running over the keys of a piano, these fingers had the power to transport one to an Utopia of mystery and haunting melody, or of gay, swi rling dancers. They could take thread and transform it into lace as delicate as Arachne ' s, and could paint the loveliest scenes. Such comfort and love were in those hands when they lightly touched someone in sorrow or pain. How slender and dainty they looked, folded in her lap, arranging flowers, or holding a fragile glass. Then there flashed into her mind another picture. This hand was large and rough from hard work. There were callouses on the thumbs, and the fingers were eaten away by the pricks of a needle. She sighed to think that this hand, which could also be so loving and kind, was not so beautiful as the first, for she loved it almost as well. Once again a hand appeared to her — small and chubby. How soft and dimply it was! With what confidence it clung to her finger, and how little it hurt when it hit her or tangled in her hair. The next hand which danced before her was small too, but grimy, with broken nails. It hurt when it pulled her hair, and although she was really very fond of it, there were times when she would gladly have broken it. [18]

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There is something monstrously beautiful about it. Huge, emotional and beginning to be more than ever aware of its power, it totters as a giant child, in order to stabilize itself in a new and unknown world. Anyone would agree that, when something becomes powerful, it does not succeed and is not able to exist by itself. Thousands of factors, powerful in their own way, must surround or compose that certain object. In the same way, the mass of the people is composed of individuals, each exercising a diflferent influence in his own sphere and as a whole representing a leading unit. More than ever before, our century, overlooking class, race, and creed, has given to every man the opportunity and right to do something for himself. Any successful outcome of this may not be kept by an individual or a group of somewhat privileged people, but is used for the benefit of the majority. ) Having thus taken the greatest step towards stabilizing their position, the twentieth century masses are the life and spirit of all endeavours, and their aim is to be able to do the little things, for from the little things are built the great things . MADEMOISELLE JUGE Five years ago, we paid tribute, in Trafalgar Echoes , to Mademoiselle Juge in honour of her tiventy-five years of service on the teaching staff. Aoic, after almost thirty-one years, Trafalgar is bidding her farewell. During nil this time Mademoiselle Juge has been a devoted and inspiring teacher, and hrr many pupils, both past and present, must recognize the great contribu- tion sill- has m ' ulf lo their liberal education. Although we deeply regret losing her. }( ■ fire glad i think that she trill now have leisure to enjoy the exercise oj her many and varied talents in the congenial atmosphere of her beloved I- ranee. One and all, u e wish her a long and happy life. [17|

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Finally there was the hand of a man. It was large, but how gentle it could be. Of course, wlien she was naughty, it could hurt, but more often there was hidden in it a small present for her. What fun it was to be picked up and tossed in the air by those strong, brown hands! Suddenly they all appeared before her. The small white ones and the large brown ones held her tenderly, the chubby ones tangled in her hair, and the small grubby ones for once did not hurt as they clung to her arm. All at once there was a loud crash, and above her she saw a tremendous black hand. The hands on her let go and vanished into mist. She was picked up by the forbidding hand, and, as it bore her up into the darkness, she felt she wovild never again see the other hands she loved so well. Judy Vkooman, Form Arts VI, Barclay House. EXAMS ' Twas the night ere exam day, and all through my head, Everything was so muddled, that when I went to bed, All I dreamed of was Latin, and theorems, and stuff. In hopes that these horrors would not be too tough. I prayed that by morning my head would be clear, But all my hopes dwindled, as that time drew near. At last, to my sorrow, the dreaded morn came, And I rose from my bed in a very bad frame. As I entered the school with a feeling of woe, I ' m sure I forgot everything I did know. It ' s now one o ' clock, and this session is o ' er. But, oh, for tomorrow, when we ' ll have two more! Margaret Sparks, Form IVb. Ross House. IT HAPPENED AGAIN MK. AIVl ' HONY sat frowning on the doorstep of the apartment building, liis chin in his hands, and his bespectacled eyes staring unhappily into the bhie. All around him, people were tripping to and fro: gaily bedecked matrons with squealing babies, stout, bearded gentlemen tapping their canes importantly on the sidewalk, whistling newsboys shuffling along, and busy housewives bustling here and there, their arms filled with bundles. Mr. Anthony sat moodily on the steps. It had happened again! He had been, or rather, was about to be, evicted from his small three-roomed apartment. Ah, yes, this was a common occurrence, with the same complaint every time — mice! Mr. Anthony had a passion for white mice, and kept thirty-three in a large cage under his bed. Many people thought Mr. Anthony eccentric, but indeed he was far from it. He was just a gentle old man who loved bacon and eggs for breakfast, and went to visit his relatives at Christmas time. Although they (lichrt encourage his hobby, (the mice had to be boarded, at those times, at ilhirds ' , a reliable pet shop ) they never said anything unpleasant about the subject, as they were not really interested in mice or Mr. Anthony. [19]