Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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I WONDER IF THEY WERE THE SAME I wonder, fifty years ago, when Traf just got its name, If Grandma and the Gibson Girl weren ' t very much the same As we at school, in modern times, who often think, I fear. That all those school girls of the past were really very queer. Though in our social life, I think, we ' ve changed from Grandma ' s days, When formal speech, the stately waltz, and ' cycles were the craze. To now, when slang, the jitterhug and radio are stars, In school life at Trafalgar, their ways were much like ours. I ' m sure they felt that same old chill when Mam ' selle sprung a test, And no one knew her French at all, and yet they did their best. When Nepos and Pausanias pugnabant in hello , And Cimon, Vergil and the rest were not sure where to go, I wonder if they primly sat and wrote the best they could, Or if they worried, fussed and fumed, and said they were no good . When Henry, John and Edward III through history notes did pace, I think they also were confused as to who, and in what place. If X plus y, and angle a, could ever equal nought, I ' m sure they thought the same as we, There ' s something I forgot. In English Literature and Comp. I ' m sure they were quite bright, For many famous writers, about that time, did write. In Spanish, Physics and the rest they must have had their days, et, nowadays, we think their brains were never in our maze. On sunny, warm spring morns at school, I ' m sure they yearned to seize Their books, depart, and then be free to do the things they please. We think of them as girls of books, and not of sports and play, But in their lengthy hobble skirts, I ' m sure they had a way To somersavilt and run and ski, — do other sports as well. They may have quite outdone us all, that you can never tell. In singing classes, did they stand with earnest upward glance. Or did they pass the latest news about this boy, that dance? Now all these thoughts may be quite wrong, but how am I to mend My ways, when, reader, even you were hardly living then? Anne Cadman, Form Vb, Ross House. [26]

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voii went even farther, you would suddenly come upon it and feast your eyes on as pleasant and wonderfid a sight as you could ever hope to see. The foliage overhead was not so thick here as in other parts of the forest, and the sunlight came through in dancing rays of light. The water came hubbling down the rocks like a miniature waterfall, and for coolness and taste I have never yet seen any hrook to equal it. Beside the miniature waterfall a great weeping willow stood and spread out her drooping branches, as if to protect it and add to the beauty of the place. On the other side of the brook, a doe was quietly lapping up the cool water. Suddenly I moved my foot, and a twig snapped. The doe looked up, alarmed. She regarded me for a moment with a look of frank curiosity, and tlien, swiftly turning around, she fled noiselessly into the forest. I felt guilty at having disturbed so lovely a scene, so I turned to go home. As I came out of the forest, I turned to have one last look at it. The sun was setting in the west, and the trees were bathed in the bright colours of sunset uhioli slowly darkened, as the night put the forest to rest. Janet Quinlan, Form IVa, Cumming House. RETROSPECT OF 195 0 A was for Albert, always alert. B was for Berry, somewhat of a flirt. C was for Carolee who lived in a whirl. D was for Davison who was our Head Girl. E for Emita, in games she was wise. F was for Fleming who had big blue eyes. G was for the gym where Miss Box held sway. H was for Heffernan, happy and gay. I was for me who now sits and wonders. J for the Judies who were with us in numbers. K was for Kenkel who was an old dear. L, Mrs. Leonard who struggled that year. M was for Magor who was quite a brain. N for the no-goods who laboured in vain. 0 for the others who made up our class. P was for Pippa who was quite a lass. Q was for Quinlan who was our school deb. R was for Rutli who studied in Feb. S was for Sylver who was lots of fun. T was for twins of which we had none. U was for us who hoped we ' d all pass. V for Virginia, the wag of our class. W for Wendy who had all the luck. X for the unknown at which we all stuck. Y was for Yale, I ' m sure you ' ve all met her. Z is an extra and unwanted letter. Ann McDougall, Form Arts VJ, Barclay House. [25]

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( Continued from page 22) tliat chills the very marrow of their bones. The women huddle in their furs, while the men stamp their feet and rub their beards to prevent them from freezing. A few hardy souls make their way down through the huge drifts to St. James Street, the main shopping district, while the wind howls and roars around the buildings and over the open spaces, swirling the snow high into the air and into their faces with a driving force. St. James Street is brightly lighted and thronged with gay Montrealers doing last minute shopping for the holiday ahead. Every now and then a sleigh, crowded with city people off for a sleigh-ride in the country, glides swiftly by, their gay songs filling the air. Back at the station, the baggage is finally stowed, and off they go, in all directions, some to the older part of Montreal, below Dorchester Street, others to Westmount, where many of the city officials live, or even to the wilds of Notre Dame de Grace or Verdun. Up Peel Street they go, past the brightly lighted W indsor Hotel, where the elite will celebrate the turn of the century. Already there are throngs of people alighting from sleighs, the women in rich furs and jewels, with their escorts in tails and the inevitable silk hats. Turning the corner, they continue along St. Catherine Street, lined with houses, but revealing a few stores — perhaps a prophecy as to what the future will bring. As they pass side streets, large open spaces between the houses, now buried in several feet of snow, reveal that in summer there are beautifid orchards and gardens to be seen. A few blocks east of Guy Street, a church bell [)eals its message, calling people to worship, and once again there are crowds, this time entering a church before beginning their celebrations. The sleighs pass many more such scenes, indicating that Montrealers are conscious of their duty to God, as well as to man. Once on Sherbrooke Street the telephone poles disappear, for only a small portion of the city has phones, and the old gas street lamps are still in use — there is none of the influence of Edison or Bell here. Large, recently built houses, widely spaced, with gardens and rows of ancient maple trees, now bare and dead looking, — Guy and Sherbrooke, 1900. As the horses struggle up Cote des Neiges Hill, the scene is a lonely one, for although the lights of a few houses can be seen here and there, many are dark and deserted, as their owners celebrate the beginning of the twentieth century. The power of the wind seems to be intensified here, and it shrieks and screams around the sleigh, causing the occupants to shiver, perhaps thinking of the warm fire and hot tea awaiting them. At last the horses stop in front of a large, attractive house. Through the brightly lighted windows, gaily clad figures can be seen dancing the lively quadrille. From one of the top windows, two little boys shout frantic greetings, and then disappear, only to throw themselves on their parents as they come in. The cheery warmth in.side is inviting, and as the door closes on the happy group, it is our hope that the new century will bring peace on earth, good will to men. .Sudili 111), ill) ( liur( li hells peal once more, and a cry rings out, destined lo be heard again and again, down through the centuries — — Happy New Year — Wkndy Chim), Form Arts VT, Cumming House. (27