Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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SAGA OF SHIPS As swans upon an aqua sea The sailing ships appear to be, Their white sails fluttering in the breeze, So graceful, and so much at ease. Great liners also sail the main. Carrying people, tea and grain. Proudly ploughing on their way Through waves of blue and green and grey. The tvig ' s a busy little bee, Working oh, so frantically. Helping big ships o ' er the bar. Sending them on journeys far. Busy commerce of the sea. Ocean highways wide and free — How I long to sail some day To those lands so far away. Judith Cooke, Form HIa, Barclay House. CAMERA FISHING IN NASSAU THE boat ' s engines halted abruptly, and we drifted silently above the reef. Behind us we could see the silver sands of Paradise Beach, with its graceful palm trees silhouetted against the sky; before us stretched a calm sea, bluer than I had ever seen. Our native guide raised a finger to his lips, and cautioned us to be silent; then he carefully removed a wooden hatch, revealing a glass window set into the floor of the flat-bottomed boat. We gasped in admiration, for through it we could see a sight more beautiful than I have ever seen before or since. Delicate fans of coral, their pink and purple hues dimmed by the blue- green of the sea, cast fantastic shadows on the ocean floor. Through this lacy forest swam fish of every size and description; angel fish which darted swiftly across the picture and then disappeared, as quickly as they came; transparent silver fish which swam in leisurely fa. hion, one behind the other; and schools of tiny red and black ones, no bigger than goldfish. A large golden fish, streaked with orange, flicked its tail at an anemone, the most deadly of the beautiful creatures of the sea. As we watched this silent scene we lost all account of time, until a silver streak of light flashed across the picture, sending the brightly coloured fish scurrying in all directions. Our guide explained that we had just seen a man- eating barracuda, a fish which is seldom seen close to shore. Its arrival had frightened away the other fish, so we prepared to return to shore. It was not until we reached our hotel that we realized that the objects of our camera- fishing expedition had so enthralled us that we had forgotten to take any pictures ! Elisabeth McKay, Arts VI, Ross House. [29]

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is my favourite, and I am prepared to wear it on all occasions, however im- suitable, for in it he says I look a living doll . Perhaps Aunt Maud is right after all. She selects her wardrobe to suit herself, and if the fancy takes her to wear a picture hat to the opera she will do so, and what a brave man he would be who sat behind her and asked her to remove it! The success of this manner of selection is borne out by three husbands, who have adored her. As for me, I would wear only 1920 chemise dresses all the time, at least until I change him ; but when tomorrow comes I shall put on my gym tunic, which gives me all the charm and grace of a leggy giraffe, knowing full well that this is not the way to get three husbands. Stephanie Windsor-Pleydell, Arts VI, Gumming House. A VISIT TO AN ART GALLERY IT WAS a dull afternoon when I took one of London ' s old rambling taxis to the art gallery. Upon arriving, I discovered that I hadn ' t enough money to pay my fare. I swallowed hard, then told the driver that if he would be kind enough to wa it a few minutes, I would return with the necessary amount. He looked at me suspiciously, then decided to trust the flustered school girl. Rushing into the art gallery, I went to the office. There, I explained my predi- cament to the manager, who, after a phone call to my father ' s office, gave me the required sum. When I appeared at the door, I saw the taxi driver ' s face lit with agreeable surprise, for I had been absent for more than ten minutes! Returning into the building, I was met by the manager who had decided to guide me personally through the gallery. What a pleasant surprise! A dis- agreeable situation had for once turned out for the best. As we walked around, the manager gave me a very detailed history of each painting we saw. I greatly admired the Renaissance paintings and statues with their smooth lines. Suddenly I found myself amid a group of untidy-looking artists. Do you know where I was? In the modern section. The so-called artists surrounded the manager who cast a desperate glance towards me, which indi- cated that I had better continue my tour alone, for he would be stuck with those people for a very long time ! The first couple of paintings I saw were more or less realistic, but I could not say as much for the rest. I stood for several minutes in front of four paintings which belonged together. The first was composed of horizontal lines and a few blobs; the second of vertical lines and several dashes; the third of horizontal and vertical lines; the fourth of dots and dashes. What could they possibly represent? I looked at the titles — Paris in Spring, Paris in Summer, Paris in Autumn, Paris in Winter — and to think that I had visited Paris ! The next painting I puzzled over for about ten minutes. Aloud I said, It must represent a ship sailing through fog. A man at my side stared at me, then said, My dear child, this represents a warrior fighting with a dragon! From then on, I determined to look at the title first and then try to see the connection between it and the painting. However, I hadn ' t the courage to see all the modern paintings, and after a few minutes, left. At the entrance I met the manager who asked me if I had enjoyed myself. Of course, I replied. Thank you very much for having been so kind to me! I then departed, feeling slightly guilty. Simone Engelbert, Arts VI, Gumming House. [28]

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TIME Throughout the brief encounter here on earth, Our hves are ruled by one great master, Time; Our action, word, and deed all set by Him Who pauses not to ponder or foresee. For Time goes on. A child is born, and in the world he grows. He learns to think, to love and to be loved; Till, past his childhood, comes to that great time When he has mastered youthful life, and is A man. Then he, with self-esteemed strength, must do His share to make creation ' s wisdom store, Through his experience and daily task. Prosper and grow large. Then cruel Time, with one swift blow, ends life. What he has started he must leave undone; Though soon forgotten, he has done his part, And in so doing is not buried deep. And Time goes on. Bette Shannon, Form Va, Gumming House. THE PLIGHT OF THE PAMPERED POODLE I AM a white poodle. My name was originally Sir Derwent Mucklestone, although I am never called that. My mistress is Lady Celia Rottenheim. She is a middle-aged woman and rather oversized, and when our proportions meet I feel like an underfed rat. Lady Celia takes great pride in me. I really feel it is too much pride, for she is always clinging to me as if I were her one and only hero. We live in a lovely penthouse overlooking New York City, and each day we go shopping or calling, which is extremely boring. Upon meeting friends, she quickly exclaims, much to my disgust, Look who I brought along — my itty bitty cuddly lovey dovey doll of a poodle ! Doesn ' t he look absolutely human today? We just came from the dog salon. Didn ' t you just love that, sweetie pie? Of covirse I loathed it. Upon arriving at home I have a miserable dinner of filet mignon. Then my mistress places me in a chair with her and starts cooing to me, playing with my hair, and occasionally tweaking my nose. At six o ' clock Sir Herbert comes home and has his dinner of spaghetti and meat balls. Oh, excuse me; I forgot to tell you about Herb. Well, he is Lady Celia ' s poor husband. As soon as he walks in the door, his wife starts nagging and whining at him. This is my rest })eriod, for I can get away from her, crawl under a couch and sleep peacefully. Herb and I are great pals. I like him because he calls me Mack, which makes me feel like a dog. After dinner Herb sits down and reads the paper with me at his feet. It is heaven! But as soon as I am settled, Lady Celia decides that [30]