Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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DANTE SITTING in the library, I have often wondered about the numerous happen- ings Dante has seen. As you all probably know, Dante is the large, white bust on the table in the library. He has attended all the Staff meetings, and heard each one of us being discussed. It is after these meetings that I really wish he could talk! He hears the plans and problems of the library representatives, hymn players and magazine committee. At recess on Thursday he sees and hears all the members of Barclay who come rushing in — some to be congratulated and some to be scolded, depending on the week ' s work. In the course of the school morning, Dante sees many of the sixth form come up to study; however, he usually ends by hearing of the previous night ' s activities. Then, too, he sees the girls checking in and out books, and looking up references. Quite often he notices Miss Harvie busily trying to tidy up the library. Dante has seen great excitement during his long life in Traf ' s library, especially at the times of the Gym Dem, Grad Dance, Carol Singing, and June Closing. At the Gym Dem time he sees the folk dancers g etting dressed in their brightly coloured clothes, just waiting to dance up into the gym. The library is used as a smoking room for the Grad Dance, so Dante sees everyone all dressed up, and overhears many exciting conversations. At the Carol Singing and June Closing, Dante sees the special choir all dressed in white, ready to put on a wonderful performance. Dante himself has gone through a lot of rough treatment. People are forever scribbling all over his face, therefore, every so often, he has to have a really good scrubbing. Lately, Dante has seen a new addition to the library — the new gold clock. Although many of you have never taken much notice of Dante, I ' m sure if he were to be removed from the library you would all miss him. Jane Torrey, Form Vb, Barclay House. WONDERING Did you ever stop to wonder If there were no flowers. What it would be like Colourful and gay. If there were no sun at day If there were no trees And no moon at night? To shade the sun away. If there were no stars To twinkle all night through, I think it would be miserable. Well, my friends, don ' t you? Barbara Schwartz, Form IIIb, Cumming House. [17]

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SUNSETS IN SCOTLAND I MUST CONFESS that I am deeply moved by the spectacle of the setting sun. During my stay in Scotland I witnessed some of the most glorious sunsets imaginable. I knew Scotland was famous for its sunsets, but I was unprepared for their splendour and beauty. It was a favourite pastime of mine to sit in Balloch Park, on the high, grassy hill that slopes down to the banks of Loch Lomond, and watch the ever changing scene before my eyes. I remember well how at first the sun would be a harsh, glaring ball of white intense light, reflected as a wide silver ribbon shimmering the length of the Loch; then how, imperceptibly, the mood began to change as the sun started to decline. The harsh intense light would grow softer until it emerged as a wonderful orange hue, diffusing an orange-pinky glow over all the western sky. Gradually, subtle shades of lavender to deep purple would become evident, then, shooting from the sun itself like giant arrows, great shafts of light would gradually become firmer and emerge as golden rays, overlying and dominant. The colour of the sun would now start to deepen xmtil it became a crimson ball of fire, tinging the edges of the clouds; those nearest the sun would be crimson, and as the area widened the colour became more delicate until the fringe was just the palest pink. Like the crescendo in a symphony the colours seemed to blend into a wonderful vibrating rhythm, and then the sun, as though exhausted with its effort to pour so much beauty into the sky, would slowly sink behind Ben Lomond, leaving a wonderful afterglow and a sense of beauty and peace. Stephanie Windsor-Pleydell, Form Vb, Gumming House. AUTUMN Autumn is many things. It is the haunting cry of mournful geese, Which echoes through the grey-coat sky above As they fly south before oncoming frost. Then, too, it is the bright and brilliant note Of autumn ' s messengers, Leaves, orange, red and gold. Which, blown by chilly breezes, gently float To earth below. The endless trees, black and bare Without their pretty leaves. Stand out like silhouettes Against the crimson carpet on the ground beneath. And days of changing weather, never still, With first the sound of raindrops Always falling; And next, bright days of sun, and warmth, and life: No promise of the weary times to come. These things make autumn what she is: A time of change, a time of restlessness, A time for thought. Bette Shannon, Form IVa, Gumming House. [16]

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THE VERDICT THE JUDGE, with his wig sHghtly askew and his glasses on the edge of his nose, sat calm and silent, waiting. He had become accustomed long ago to this moment, before the jury gave its verdict. As for the rest of the court room, they sat with tense, anxious faces — particularly the accused, for to him the verdict meant life or death. The foreman began to speak, and a deadly silence fell over the room. He made it clear that this had been a difficult case to decide, but the jury had finally agreed that the defendant was guilty of murder in the third degree. The defendant slumped forward, his face ashen, his hands desperately clutching the arms of his chair. Suddenly his body went limp, and he was carried out of the court room to be revived. Immediately there was an excited buzz of voices, and the judge ' s hammering on his desk with the gavel went entirely unheeded. Clearly, this was not the decision the public had been expecting. A woman sat apart from the crowd, silently weeping. It was her son that had been found guilty, and now was going to pay his debt to society. Utter despair was written on her face, for there was no hope left, although she knew in her heart her son was innocent. The court room was in complete sympathy with the defendant, and most voiced their opinions loudly. Others sat shocked, too stunned to move. In the far corner, a group of friends gathered around the victim ' s wife, saying how lucky it was the guilty party had been brovight to justice. The attorney for the defence solaced himself and the defendant ' s mother by saying that there was a slight chance for another hearing, but he did not sound very reassuring. The court adjourned, and the people dispersed, still criticizing the verdict. Perhaps justice had been done, perhaps it had not. Whatever the case, the accused was in God ' s hands, to do with as He saw fit. Ann Manthorp, Form Vb, Fairley House. H O AND ROVER To ANIMAL lovers who own dogs I would like to dedicate this story. It ' s lovely to own your own dog, to be able to play with him, and to know that when you come home from school he ' ll be waiting for you. But owning a dog, or any pet, is not all fun, for the dog as well as for you. There comes a time when Rover must have a bath. After finding the tub and pouring warm water into it, you get the brush and soap. Then you walk into the living-room to look for Rover, who is usually lying on your mother ' s best chair, but to your surprise he is not there. It seems that Rover, on hearing [18]