Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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There came a milk-white mare, A lovely head had she, And now I know she ' ll ne ' er be sold. As she belongs to me. Marion MacRae, Form IIIb, Ross House. PEOPLE AT PARTIES A FEW weeks ago I was invited to a party where I knew no one but the hostess. For an hour I stood smiling inanely at everyone. Teen-age parties can be hideous if you don ' t know the gang. I was contemplating trying to steal out and go quietly home to bed when I saw my salvation — food. Nearly always the food is put on a table and everyone helps himself, buffet style. I pushed my way through to the table and grabbed the nearest plate, which happened to be cup cakes — not my favourite food but popular with nearly everyone else. I started to pass the cup cakes. Do have a cup cake, I murmured persuasively into the ear of a lone male. He whipped around as though I ' d pinched him, glared at the cup cakes and then at me and stalked off. I felt a little deflated but continued, bound someone was going to have a cup cake. I advanced towards a little, dowdy girl, standing with someone who looked so much like her he must have been her brother. Will either of you two have a cup cake? He ignored my question and asked instead, Could you settle our argument? Who wrote ' The Mature Mind ' ? I knew that to be a barbed remark, so, feeling very immature, I left them to their discussion. Once again I approached a lone male, Do have a cup cake? He flicked his cigarette, raised one eye-brow, winked, and then a horrible leer spread all over his face, Baby, where have you been all my life? he murmured. Terrified, I forgot the customary Avoiding you , stuttered, blushed and fled, but not before I ' d dropped a cup cake into his upturned palm. Next I offered my wares to a large crowd. They nearly all took one, but not one of them noticed me. I was discouraged. I decided that just one or two people together were more likely to speak to me. I changed my tactics. I marched boldly up to a sweet-looking girl and a dreamy-eyed boy. I know you ' d love a cup cake. The girl took one quick look at what I had to offer, then looked back at her boy-friend. I became rather embarrassed after a few seconds of silence as they gazed at each other, and I quietly tiptoed off. It was then that I saw the cutest-looking boy approach. I stared at him and completely forgot my cup cake business. As the plate began to tip, he grabbed it, set it down on the nearest table, gave a wonderful smile and asked Dance? I nodded. If you pass cup cakes you ' ll be sure to meet people at parties is the advice I have been giving for some time now. Anne Johnson, Form Arts VI, Barclay House. 1.29]

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A WINTER SCENE S I stood silent by the beautifully frosted window, it was plain to me ■LX- that Jack Frost had been there not long ago. Oh, look! I do believe he ' s painting the needles of that great old pine standing beside the winding path, f or its branches are drooping slightly as he hops from bough to bough. And now he ' s dancing around the little pond with his wee brush. The wise old evergreens that grow at the edge of the pond lean over every now and then, for they wouldn ' t want Jack to be interrupted in his great work. I gazed with rapture at a scene wondrous to behold. It was down in the valley, beyond the sparkling pond where Jack is now so busy. A little French- Canadian village lay tucked in among the many hills and mountains, the dark shiny green of the hemlocks framing this picturesque scene. This tiny village is softly blanketed with new-fallen snow that glitters like precious gems in the bright sunshine. The pretty little stone church with its spire that seems to reach to the heavens is the centre of all the activity. I could even hear the merry sleighbells as I watched the horses pidling the sleighs fille d with jovial French-Canadians. The sleighs, nearly all a bright red, were taking the people from church to their homes. Most of their houses are very old, dating back to the early pioneer days. They have roofs sloping almost to the ground, and porches, supported by heavy evergreen logs, running along two sides of the house. I could well imagine the thickness of the walls in those French-(]anadian homes. If I were standing a little closer to this village, I would surely see the children ' s lavighing faces as they built a jolly snowman or slid down the slanting roofs to land in a huge pile of fresh snow. These youngsters would be clad in brightly coloured garments probably spun by their mothers. All French-Canadian people love glowing hues. My eyes shifted as I wondered what little Jack was doing. Do you think I could spot him? You know he ' s very tiny. I saw a! furry shape hopping along at a great speed. I do believe it was Peter the Rabbit. Peter stopped and perked up those pink ears of his to listen. Can you guess what I saw? Of course — little Jack Frost. He was perched on one of those big, soft ears of Peter ' s getting a ride to that little cedar at the other end of the winding path. Susan Hallett, Form IIIb, Barclay House. THE HORSE FAIR ' Twas on a Monday morning That I went to the fair. There was a sorrel mare, A foal was by her side. There was an Arab colt And all the village people Were gathered in the square, Which I should like to ride. There was a chestnut stallion With muscles bulging out. There was a dappled gray With legs so firm and stout. There was a small black gelding Which then and there was sold. There was a horse from Spain, Its coat was shining gold. [28] .1

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TRAFALGAR: WEEKEND Deserted. Neat and tidy and deserted. I feel the world must hear each step I take. Walk, almost tiptoe, to familiar places Bare of faces. Quiet, deserted. Every step I take is clear. What ear That has not heard? Quiet classrooms. Blackboards bare. Tomorrow I ' ll forget that this was ever still. Two hundred rushing feet will fill the hall. All Will be returned. Two hundred talking voices, Laughing faces. And more are coming, climbing up the hill. But all the noise combined won ' t be As loud as that made now, by me. Caryl Churchill, Form IIIa, Cumming House. FORM IIIA PROPHECY REMEMBER our class president, Judith Bennett? Well, only last week she was seen hanging out a shingle which read: The Bennett House of Hairstyling . We also hear that Jane Brow is applying for the job of wash- woman in the same building. Hope you make it, Jane. As we take a stroll down the quiet refined boulevard where most important businessmen have their offices, we meet Elizabeth Dingman with her spy glasses in one hand and her bloodhound on a leash. She tells us she has been appointed to the difficult position of woman reporter, and has just finished an article on Martha Hicks. Martha has improved several theorems in Inter- mediate Geometry and is doing a wonderful job as Maths teacher at Bishop ' s. On the sports page of our newspaper we find that Frankie Galland has gained the title of Athlete of the Year in wrestling. She has won seven matches in a row. I wonder if her manager and trainer — Benita Haslett and Ann Kampouris respectively — will be able to produce more champions from the training fields on the Trafalgar Plains? Fotini and her dog Fifi have entered the theatrical field at the M.G.M. studios. Her latest picture was Mother Wore Tights . Susan Kilburn is her private chauffeur. Remember Kristin Liersch? She is now the famous cross-word puzzle cracker, and Judy Bourdeau is working as her nursemaid. Talking about news, Joan Branscombe is up in Mars. Evidently she didn ' t believe Mrs. Clayden who told her life simply didn ' t exist on that planet. Joan felt she had to prove it and we ' re still waiting to hear from her. Write soon, Joanie. Brenda Keddie has been appointed French Inspector in the province. Also, [30]