Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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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]

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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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remember Gloria Castro? She decided not to finish Form IIIa and is teaching chemistry at McGill. Katama Bonthrou and Caryl Churchill have opened a model school, and have turned out many glamorous pupils. Lately there has been much talk about Janet Bryce. She has invented a new plane which goes faster than a jet. Gail Fitzpatrick has taken up painting and has just finished her version of the Eiffel Tower. Carole Cayford, Form IIIa, Cumming House. VILLAGE LIGHTS OVER A LAKE Twinkling. Clear as a bell. Glassy. Dark is the night. An ebony that cannot tell The things that lie beneath, ) Sealed up so tight. Protected by the twinkling cover Of lanterns that hide the underneath. Breezes ruffling up the clearness. Tempting the unknown. Rippling. Rippling. Blurring. 0 brilliant sharp jewels, 0 never reveal the unshown. Waters still. Sharpness returns. Only the twinkle is stirring. A return of the dawn And a dimming of the sharp. Rejecting the twinkling, returning the lake. Christine Ohman, Science VI, Cumming House. THE CIRCUS FIRE FANNED by the wind, the hungry flames rose higher and higher; the billows of smoke became so dense that it was impossible to see or to breathe properly. Panic was in the air, and mass hysteria gripped the huge crowd. The pounding of feet and the clamour of voices grew louder as they surged from the circus tent. Like a tidal wave they swept all away before them, disregarding those trapped inside or trampled underfoot. Faster and faster they swarmed through the door, and ran in every direction without logic or purpose. They were terror-stricken, urged on by the crackle of the flames, and forgetting all. In a few moments a huge immobile crowd had been changed into a frenzied mob, permeated with only one desire — to flee to safety. Mary Home, Arts VI, Ross House. [31 J