Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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I delicately suggested to my ski-pro hostess in a small voice that I might like to learn to ski today, whereupon she bounded heartily out of bed with encouraging squeals and sounds to phone her ski-pro friends and inform them of my noble intentions. After consuming a dainty breakfast, and clothed in my swank new Irving ski-suit, I was sauntering out to the breezeway to look for a couple of suitable sticks , when my hostess attacked my elegant costume with piles of woolly garments. When the dust had cleared, I found myself doubting slightly whether I would ever be able to emerge from my cocoon of wool, but brushed aside all such irrelevant thoughts. After all, a few clothes wouldn ' t make the slightest difference to my skiing potential, would they? I was just beginning to perceive the tiniest doubt way back in my mind, but by this time, my self-appointed instructor had arrived and was champing at the bit, so there was no excuse for not going ahead with my plans. My long narrow feet were rudely thrust into short, wide lumps of unresisting leather, which someone called beautiful Swiss ski-boots . I kept my opinion of those beautiful Swiss ski-boots to myself, and clomped outside where the skis were waiting, reposing docilely on the path. Somehow the day didn ' t seem quite so sparkly as it had before, and I was sure I detected a blizzard coming over some not-too-distant mountains, but upon mentioning this, I was quickly informed that a blizzard would really liven up the skiing conditions. Myself and the skis became one, fastened together with a steel harness. I was given a couple of ski-poles and told to wait down at the end of the path. I could see that getting there was going to be a major accomplishment for me, but I bravely gave a small push with the ski-poles. I moved! How exciting! This was really an invigorating sport! Gently coasting along the path, I perceived my feet getting wider and wider apart, so I lifted one ski over to join the other. Somehow, their extremities became crossed, and I found myself sur mon derriere with two legs and skis entangled underneath me. Amidst peals of hearty laughter, I rewound myself back to starting position again. My instructor then took charge, and sent the others off to pack the trails while we were to practise on the gentle slope behind the house. The gentle slope didn ' t strike me as being too navigable, but I was determined to keep going. My fears were slightly assuaged, however, when I found myself describing huge circles on a flat field at the bottom of the slope. This was explained to me as getting the feel of skis , so I took it in my stride and spent the morning describing one symmetrical figure after another on the snowy field. My dainty breakfast had ceased to exist long ago, and hunger pains were creeping up and down my esophagus, but no food was forthcoming, and we apparently didn ' t want to waste any daylight, so I didn ' t complain. My instructor introduced me to the gentle slope by teaching me to climb it sideways. Since I moved a maximum of six inches with every step, I didn ' t reach the top until midafternoon, having suffered many little spills . Now, I thought, the sport would really begin, and I felt like a captive pigeon, ready and poised for instant flight. My enchanting thoughts were [23]

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mood, and girls in rustling formals dance with handsome young men, but from its gleaming floor to its top-most beam, it is still the same Gym. Very soon our class will have our last closing at Traf, but each one of us knows that we will receive a warm silent welcome when we come back to visit the Gym. Louise Dupont, Form Arts VI, Barclay House. CLASS-ICAL RHYME A is tor Armstrong, the belle oi our class, £ is lor Brooks, she ' s quite a lass! c is tor Cam, our form mistress she be. IS lor ciiiigence, tnat s iviarg to a i . 17 is lor Elspeth, whom R niakes quite dizzy. I? r IS for French that keeps all of us busy. G is lor Grossmann, she ' s really a dear. H is lor Harland, who reminds us she ' s here. I is the ink that we all spill about. T J is for Judy, a Tip-topper no doubt. iv IS for Korney , whose beau is in Europe, f is for Latin, don ' t worry kids, cheer up! IVf iTl IS for Margot, who skiis ( ? ) each weekend. N is for nees which creak when we bend. O is the oomph which Maure displays. P is for Packham, she ' ll sure be in plays. Q is for quiet, Jeannette has this blessing. R is for recess, which Vicky spends dressing. S is for Sybil, a really cute date. T is for trains, which Sheppard must hate. U is our uniform, the shoes need a blacking. V is for vanity, which our class is lacking ( ? ) W is for whizz , that ' s Pam in each lesson. X in equations keeps all of us guessin ' , Y is for you, have I wasted your time? Z is zee end of this Class-ical rhyme. Vivian Harland, Form Vb, Ross House. OH! MY ACHING BACK! IT WAS A sparkling sunny January morn, and the blue- white snow looked so-o-o inviting — from under my pile of quilts and blankets! I said to myself — Joyce, you ' ve got to learn to ski sometime. It can ' t be that hard — just sliding down a hill on a couple of sticks! (I wish that I had eaten those words right then and there.) [22 1

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cut off by a familiar slave-driving voice, and I was told to snowplow down the hill; this consisting of placing the feet as far apart as possible, toes pointing in, knees bent, head up, back straight, ski-poles out behind, elbows close to the ribs, and many other admonitions. Off I went with the help of a slight push from the rear. I tried to do everything he had said, but my teacher kept shouting slower or faster and other warnings, and suddenly I knew I was going to fall and break my neck. A tree sprang up out of nowhere. What was I to do? Go around? Over? Through? Jump? Turn? But how? The last I heard was some horrible cackling laughter before I succumbed to a blessed blackness. The next I knew, it was a sparkling sunny January morn again, and the new-fallen snow looked very inviting until — I moved — Oh! My aching back! Joyce Rubbra, Form Science VI, Ross House. THAT SPECIAL HOUR While souls amid the restless city rush. Amid last toils and duties of the day. The scarlet west creates a certain hush. O ' er green hills and meadows far away, A bell tolls soft and sweet. The countryside Ceases at once its labours and its run And stops to hear the beating of the tide. And birds ' last chantings to the sinking sun. For in this peaceful hour one may pause Considering all the follies of the day While waiting for the moon and her sweet cause Which is to tuck the wearied ones away; Oh pity those poor souls of cities ' power. Those souls who can ' t enjoy the special hour. Helen Holbrook, Form Science VI, Barclay House. THE CLOVER FIELD From the gate you look on a field of mauve Rustling in the breeze. From there you smell the clover scent And watch the working bees. Further on by the wooden fence You stop at a laughing stream. And watch it circle through the field As carefree as a dream. Still further on along the lane Gay daisies can be seen. And swaying to and fro so calm Are willows fresh and green. [24 1