Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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Mr. Anthony lived cautiously, that is, he was careful about spending money, but he hated going to the bother of hunting a new apartment. His thoughts were therefore troubled as he watched the passers-by, and his gentle mind was stirred up against the wealthy Widow Atcherby, who, with honourable intentions, had tripped to his rooms that morning, and had entered the living-room, intending, as she discovered his absence, to wait for him. Unfortunately, no one except Mr. Anthony had known that the mice were having their morning stroll, and as a result, the other occupants of the building had seen a wonderful spectacle — that of Widow Atcherby rushing out of Mr. Anthony ' s apartment, shrieking furiously that the ferocious beasts had bitten her, made runs in her stockings, and got into her furs. She complained to the landlord, dramatically claiming that either she or that dreadful mouse-man must go! Mr. Anthony was evicted, and was not at all surprised. The trouble with humans, thought the old gentleman, is that they do not appreciate mice. He protested that his mice were not at all fierce, but indeed very gentle, and what if they did have certain dislikes and likings for the human race? Every man and mouse is entitled to his own private feelings. His argu- ments were overlooked, however, and he was told firmly that he would have to leave. Sadly, Mr. Anthony arose from the steps, went to his rooms, and packed his belongings. A little while later he was down on the street once more, a bag in one hand, and a covered cage in the other, a gentle figure with kindly eyes shining behind his spectacles. He paused, then started slowly down the street, where we leave him for now. But does no one appreciate a kind old gentleman and his thirty-three mice? Is there no place for him to stay permanently? Ah, but there is, there is indeed. If you will look up at the sky, you will see a soft fleecy white cloud floating along. On that cloud reclines a gentle-faced angel, an elderly angel with spectacles. But what are sitting beside him; what are curled up by his toes and ears? What are those little pink and white blobs that are sitting on the cloud with him? Why, they are mice, white mice! Mr. Anthony is at peace l st! Jan Torrance, Form Vb, Fairley House. POET-TRY If I could write poetry, prose or a song. My homework would never have taken so long. But my mind is a blank when the editor rages For something to print in the magazine pages. Like the student of old who did ponder all night, I thought and I tried till the dawn became light. I thought of success, and of courage, and hope. Oh, for the genius of a poet like Pope! If the words and their metres would pour out with ease, — Then I wouldn ' t take time writing rhymes such as these. My efforts are fruitless and far from worthwhile, I command neither language, ideas, nor style. So, to mottoes in Latin — Spem Successus Alit . I ' ll stick to my lessons, at my desk where I sit. Susan Racey, Form Va, Fairley House. [20]

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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]

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A JOURNEY TO ATHENS IT all began last Tuesday night when I was doing my history homework. That day in school Miss Harvie had been telling us about Alcibiades and the Sicilian Expedition. As I sat there, my head spun around and my eyes went blurry and I felt myself fading away . . . then all of a sudden everything was clear, but where was my history book, my bed, my desk? In place of all these things was a strange marble building and a man standing on the steps. He looked very familiar, not my cousin Joe, not Uncle Jack — who else but Alcibiades! I walked over to him and introduced myself. I ' m Mary Cliff from the twentieth century A.D., I said. He stared at me and then said he was Alcibiades, son of so-and-so (some name that I can ' t spell). Al, I said, it would please me very much if you would take me on a conducted tour through Athens. He replied, We shall just have time, because I am not due to deliver my speech for a while yet. We started off down the streets, heading for the Acropolis. I must admit that I was very much pleased at having such a handsome man leading me about the strange city of Athens. The people seemed to know him, and made way for him. I saw Pericles ' house which was very beautiful, and many others. As we approached the Acropolis, I could make out the Parthenon, which is the greatest building on the Acropolis. At last we arrived at the foot of the long stairway leading up to the top. After pufTing and panting, we reached the top, and I am sure that I have never been in a more beautifvil place in my life. The view of Athens was simply superb, and as I gazed up at the huge Parthenon my heart went pit-a-pat. We stepped inside the massive doorway into a gigantic room. In the centre of the room stood the beautiful statue of Athena, all made of gold and ivory. At her pedestal two people, a man and a woman, stood talking. As we drew nearer, I noticed that the man was Socrates, and the woman was none other than Miss Harvie. I was never more surprised in my life, but she was most likely as flabbergasted as I was. Miss Harvie, I want you to meet Alcibiades, I said. Mary, I would like you to meet Socrates, she replied. We all shook hands and chatted awhile, then Al and I continued on our tour, and let Miss Harvie and Socrates continue their conversation about philosophy. After going through the buildings on the Acropolis, Alcibiades took me to the beginning of the Long Walls and to the market places where the dicasteries met. As he was showing me these places, he told me his plans for an expedition to Sicily to try to end the wars between Sparta and Athens. They were wonderful plans and I told him that I hoped they would turn out successfully. It was nearly time for his speech, and as we had done so much walking, I was feeling very tired. I saw a stone bench that looked comfortable, so I walked toward it, but before I could reach it I slipped and fell with a thud and niy liead grazed the bench. I felt myself floating through the air with a k tni t before my eyes, then the mist started to clear up and I felt myself ittiiig on a liard cliair. Everything seemed familiar, my Myers ' General History, ni hid and my desk. I then realized that I must have fallen asleep. I really (l it I n lightened ahoiil Athens, but I was very glad to be home. Mary Cliff, Form IVb, Ross House. 121]