Trinity College School - Record Yearbook (Port Hope, Ontario Canada)

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12 TRINITY COLLEGE SCHOOL RECORD LATE SEPTEMBER Late September, that month of mists and mellow fruitfulnessn, has never failed to charm me. Men may speak of the delights of early spring, of the joy of mid- summer, or the beauty of winter, but for me the sweet o' the year is still the autumn. I have seen Canadian auturnns, the glorious red and gold tints in the trees, the fresh nip in the air, and I have seen English autumns, the grey mists, the early morning cub-hunting, and the agri- cultural shows, and it has left me satisfied. Autumn is the season of plenty, the season of content. The farmer has gathered in his crops and is free to stroll the uplands with dog and gun. The Man-about-Town , released at last from the giddy whirl of the London season ,can turn again to his horses and hounds. Each and every one of us feels a new sense of wellbeing stealing over us as we watch the leaves slowly turning. Not for me the uncertain, and oftentimes rainy and cold, months of April and June. When Nature is awaken- ing and beginning to pulse with life, such a time is not for lazy and slothful souls like myself. The sultry and oppres- sive days of midsummer find me prostrated in the nearest armchair, eagerly lapping up liquid refreshment. Surely no life for a man! The bleak days of winter seem too desolate and bare of beauty to find a champion, yet sundry persons of my acquaintance have lifted up their voices and declared that it is indeed the best part of the whole year, old chap. It is not until the first mists and showers of autumn alight on the parched land that I begin to expand. Moreover. do not the all-wise beings who govern us choose autumn as the best time to make war? As soon as the last sheaf has been carried in, the war drums begin to beat in the land. In Africa the raiding season is after the crops have been gathered, when the warriors, full-fed. grow restive and prideful in their native villages. Is it not likewise with us, the children of a noble race?

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TRINITY COLLEGE SCHOOL RECORD 11 You'1l hear familiar words and you'll do familiar exercises. Why? Because, right now, you are under one of the finest instructors in Canada. Watch him work. Study him. Then, students, remember his teachings. After a few days, when the P.T. becomes like break- fast to you, wait until after dismissal, when some of your buddies lie gasping on their bunks, muttering impreca- tions against drill sergeants. That will be your moment. Then you can turn non- chalantly on your side, raise experienced eyebrows, and say with perfect truth: Not bad to-day. But Wait until I tell you about Working under a really tough S.M. He was at T.C.S. and his name was Batt. That ....... -Sandy McPherson V26-'28l x91- 5- ' Q. V E I, ' ' 7 ' H112-.Ei 1 .'?f'? 7' I - 93, 1Q . F 65-4944 Y . ,A f f-. -f - ' N' f Y 1 f E .- Lf., Pie M - - 1g 'f-E5-'ffE:,., , K .4'f-' f N.. 1 f -I 's-Q,-1. -- mjrrf ' -E f- M55 1:53 :gif .E'-Z...-f --ii' f ' ,Rf , ,, W- L , ,,q.,.:,.,: , g 7 . , , 1, ' A' ',7f,Aiigg 3-if--', f ' Q f -cw--','I.: 3 . 2. Y , , ex Q Y ', fs f .- V 'gtffjzg f'sUPERMAi11NE SPITFIRE I. H. Layne

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TRINITS COLLIQCE SCHOOL RECORD 13 Above all, this autumn will surely remain fixed in our memory. For this September, Hitler let slip the dogs of war, and we are again fighting for our very existence against a tyrannous and oppressive people, who, neverthe- less, recognise autumn as der tag. Oh God of our far- flung battle-line, grant that we may once again tread the uplands and look down upon the farmer gathering in nature's bountiful store, secure in the knowledge that the Angel of Peace has once again spread his wings over the land. -J.D.J. VALE I dreamed a dream . . . and in my dream I seemed to be walking, alone, in a huge, sandy valley, bordered on all sides by purple hills. Nothing stirred in the whole length and breadth of this vast plain. The sun was torrid and I sat down to rest awhile. Something moved as I sat, and I perceived to my horror that I was sitting on the hali- buried skull of a man. As I looked, a thin, reedy voice seemed to issue from the iieshless jaws and cracked teeth, and the dark shadows of the empty eye-sockets seemed to fix me with eyes long dead. The thin, high voice, like the sound of the wind Whistling over a bleak moor, addressed me: Look on me, O Earthling, and take heed. Many aeons ago I, too, lived, laughed and loved. I gave no thought to the passing of the years, and here I lie, buried in this silent valley of the dead, doomed to lie all Eternity in this dread canyon of no return. The voice trailed off, and I realised with sheer, stark horror that I was listening to my own ghost. I HJ.D.J.