Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 18 text:

A BOX FOR A BIRTHDAY MARIE, SLIPPING on the loose stones, ran down the drive and onto the road, which was hard under her feet as she came into the town. It was a glorious day, she was away from her aunt, and she didn ' t have to be back until lunch-time. She ran faster, the ground stinging the soles of her feet, and then slowed abruptly mingling with the casual stream of people as the hill joined the main street, her cheeks scarlet and her hair windblown. It was pleasant to walk slowly along, with the sun warm on her back and the breeze cool in her face, looking at the shop windows, at the people, and thinking how nice a small town was — how very much nicer than boarding school. It was extremely inconvenient, she thought, that her worst aunt should live in the nicest place: her favourite aunt lived in the city, and she hated staying there in the summer; the middling aunt lived in an extremely popular simimer resort — far too popular for Marie ' s liking; and Aunt Jane lived in a lovely country town, which even her fussiness, her insufferable fussiness, couldn ' t spoil. So Marie was here for the summer, rather than anywhere else, while her parents went on another of their countless trips. She stopped to pat a cocker-spaniel, and looking up saw an antique shop, full of dark, indistinguishable objects. She moved closer, and ran her eyes over the assortment in the window. Perhaps there would be something here for her mother ' s birthday. There was an old clock — rather like Aunt Jane ' s, actually. Aunt Jane: Marie remembered her at breakfast, looking worriedly at the reports of accidents in the paper, jumping when the telephone rang; her thin face lifted, her eyebrows raised, to hear who was at the door when the maid opened it, and her half-smile of relief when it was only the milkman. Aunt Jane lived in daily fear of telegrams — whenever it was her birthday they had to remember it in plenty of time because Aunt Jane would be so worried by receiving a telegram, even if it only said ' Many Happy Returns ' , that she would never enjoy herself. And now, of course, when Marie ' s parents might have an accident any time — ! Marie ' s attention came back to the antique shop with a jerk as a fat, well-dressed woman marched in, opening and shutting the door to the loud ringing of a bell. There were a set of silver spoons, a small bookcase full of old books — Marie tried to read their titles, but it was too dark inside to see much — a china shepherdess, a little black box — Marie looked at this with greater interest. It was possible to keep almost anything in a box like that — jewellery perhaps, thought Marie, pressing her nose against the window in an effort to see it more clearly. What was it made of, she wondered? How much did it cost? She moved along a little, trying [16]

Page 17 text:

MISS CAM E ARE SAD to know that Miss Cam is retiring from Trafalgar, » » after twenty-three years as teacher of Mathematics and Physics. She has been a loyal and faithful worker, serving the school with great devotion. Her scholarship, and her wide and cultured back- ground have been an inspiration to her pupils. Apart from her teaching. Miss Cam has always shown great interest in all school activities. Many of us remember her at Hallowe ' en parties in her ingenious masquerades: The Penguin , The Wise Old Owl , Stop, Look, Listen and others. She has been an enthusiastic Head of Cumming House, and has never spared herself in her efforts to develop in the girls a loyal spirit and a high standard of work and conduct. As co-worker in the Department of Mathematics, I shall, in Miss Cam ' s departure, experience a real personal loss. During the twenty-three years, we have worked together happily and in the fullest co-operation. We hope that she has many, many happy years ahead of her to enjoy her home and garden in the beautiful English country-side. With affection and every good wish Trafalgar bids her Farewell. G.I.L. [15]

Page 19 text:

to see the price tag, but it was facing inwards. She put her hand in her pocket to feel the five dollar bill again. She didn ' t want to spend it all at once . . . She pushed open the door, and the bell rang out to announce her, as she stood looking at the clutter of Georgian chairs and Jacobean bedsteads that seemed to surround her, and hid all but the head of the assistant who was talking to the fat woman. Marie watched them, hardly liking to make her way over to the box in case she knocked anything over. It was an ideal present. Even Aunt Jane would think so, and her mother would be delighted. She wondered where her mother was, now. Probably still in Italy: they weren ' t leaving there till Friday, she remembered. She might even spend the whole five dollars, if it cost that much. Why didn ' t the fat woman decide whether or not she wanted the repulsive china dog? The box could be wrapped in red paper: her mother liked red, and Aunt Jane had some of that — Can I help you? said a voice, and Marie turned round hastily, lost her balance, and almost knocked over a warming-pan. Er, yes please, she said, wondering why she hadn ' t thought of looking for a second assistant. There ' s a box in the window — a little black . . . Her voice faded away, and the assistant, producing a large blue one, said, Do you mean this? No, it ' s black, said Marie more loudly, turning rather red. The assistant emerged from between candlesticks and bookends with her box. How much is it, please? asked Marie, hoping three dollars, expecting four, and prepared for five. Nineteen ninety-five, said the assistant blithely. Extremel) good value for something of this kind. It dates from . . . Marie ' s expression was disbelieving, horrified, and miserable in rapid succession. Oh. Thank you, she said, and went out, leaving the assistant extolling the virtues of the box. The bell clanged behind her. The assistant shrugged his shoulders, and wormed his way between the bookends and the candlesticks. Marie walked off among the drifting crowds; her hair was untidy, her face was dirty, and she was almost crying. There was no point in looking for anything else before lunch; she might as well go home. She thought dimly that it was silly to mind so much, but it was such a lovely box, with its smooth black sides and the gold pattern on top. She felt there was nothing pleasant at all in her life. She was in a dull town, with a fussy aunt, without her parents, it was too hot, her legs were tired, the hill was steep — there were endless things to be miserable about. She walked heavily upwards. She had a stone in her shoe. Her parents would be in Rome now. She had never been so miserable in her life. She couldn ' t possibly be more miserable. She turned into the dusty drive, and saw Aunt Jane standing at the top. Aunt Jane would probably tell her to stop being so gloomy. She had every reason to be gloomy, she would never save twenty dollars. She looked up, frowning. And then she saw Aunt Jane ' s white face, and the telegram in her hand. Caryl Churchill, Form Vb, Cumming House. [17]