Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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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

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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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( Continued from page 23) buses instead of aeroplanes. They were the days before 1950 when the climate had begim to change. From that time onwards the ski-tows in the Laurentians had gradually disappeared, and at St. Sauveur movie and television stars now sunbathed at the foot of Hill 60. The crowds at the Forum were cheering the Canadian team in the world tennis championships, as they easily defeated the Americans. Of course Canadians are able to practise all the year round, the mother remarked. No wonder they alw ays win. At home on their television sets eager Montreal hockey fans watched the Stanley Cup play-offs at Mexico City, while McGill students cheered their friends good-bye as they departed to take part in the Winter Carnival of the University of California. A t the top of Simpson Street, in the library of a building, a group of girls viewed the changing scene of the world outside. Under the eyes of the marble bust of Dante they discussed the forthcoming golf match with The Study, and the plans of the City of Montreal to put a street through their school. They looked at magazines and laughed at the uniforms their grandmothers had worn in 1950. The door of the library opened, and a prefect poked her head around the corner. I ' m afraid you girls have bad marks for talking, she said. Barbara Davison, Form Arts VI, Ross House. WHY DIDN ' T HE COME? I PEERED through the gathering darkness as the snow swirled around me. I was cold and wet. The books which I held in my arms were also soaking, and the ink was blurred. Why didn ' t he come? I had been waiting for over an hour. Why? Oh, why wasn ' t he here? I looked again. No . . . but wait! What was this? A faint shadow was taking shape. Could it be? Was it? Yes, he had arrived! The shadow grew larger and clearer. Oh, it was he! I smiled and stepped to meet him. He drew closer, opened the door of his vehicle, and I boarded the number fourteen street car. Audrey Allworth, Form IIIa, Ross House. MARCH 3rd, 14° BELOW ZERO Oh, to be in Bermvida, Where the balmy breezes blow. To be away from Canada, With all its sleet and snow! The silver sands seem calling. Their voices reach my ear. Though snow at home is falling, Down there the skies are clear. A picture comes before me Of houses, cool and white. While deep blue waters of the sea Reach far beyond my sight. If wishes, planes could only be. Far down there I would fly, To one white house beside the sea Where palms point to the sky, Anne Carman, Form Va, Ross House. [28]