Walkerville Collegiate Institute - Blue and White Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

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BLUE AND WHITE On Coming To Canada By Betty Ramsay, XI-F It was in the middle of July, 1940 that a telegram arrived at my home informing me that a boat to Canada would be sailing the following Wednesday. I was at school at the time, but on arriving home my little cousin who was to travel with me, excitedly told me the news. This is what I had been waiting for! It was the end of about six weeks of activity and suspense. Now that the time had come, did I want to leave my home and friends? I don’t think I shall ever be able to answer that quest¬ ion. My mind was in a whirl, so that I had no time to analyze my feelings and for this I was truly thankful. The rest of the week flew by. It was mostly spent in saying ‘Goodbye” to friends and relations, and in last minute packing. Naturally the day and time of sailing and the name of the boat were known to us, but we had strict instruct¬ ions to tell no one. I am afraid that I experienced an unholy joy at being able to tell my head mistress that I was not allowed to answer her question, when she asked me which boat I was sailing on! The day of sailing came at last, and my mother, my cousin, my friend and I went down to the Liverpool landing stage to embark. After much pushing and jostling, we got on board, found our berths, and said Goodbye to my mother. We left the landing stage that night but it was not until 10.30 on Sunday evening that we set sail for Canada. I will never forget my last glimpse of Liv¬ erpool. It was not yet dark and as we sailed down the Mersey, we could see Birkenhead and Liverpool clearly. The Liver birds, on the Liver Building, stood out against the sky. As I looked then they seemed to be bravely defying any German raiders to destroy them; they seemed to symbolize the feeling of the English people. Although Liverpool has been bombed since we left. I still pict¬ ure the Liver birds and the people of Liverpool daring their enemies to do their worst for they can take it. The next day, we left land behind us, and after that saw nothing but grey sea and skv . The passage was smooth, entirely without any excitement and we quite forgot about the possibilities of submarines. The route which we took was much to the north of the usual North Atlantic crossing, and so the voy¬ age took several days longer. We were beginning to long to set our feet on dry land again, when to our great disgust a thick fog enveloped us. It was like being wrapped in a white blanket. The sea was as smooth as glass, and the fog horn sounded like a ghostly whisper from another world. For a day and a night we scarcely moved, and we hoped to see a green field. We were moving slowly along in the af¬ ternoon when the fog began to lift. Never will I forget the sight which was unfolded before my eyes. I could imag¬ ine how Cartier and his crew must have felt when they saw the same land hun¬ dreds of years before. A new world! It was that to them, and it was that to me! I did not know’ what Canada was going to be like. What did I expect of it? I think everyone going to a new land ex¬ periences the same feelings as I did, as I stood on the deck and looked at Can¬ ada. I expected Canada to have all the good points of the Old World, and all that I had wished for in a New World. Yes, I expected to find my Utopia in that new country on the horizon. You may ask, was I disappointed I did not find my Utopia, but I did find a country where I could be happy! If I had found my Utopia I doubt if I would have been happy. All that I can say about the greatest adventure of my life is that I intend to make the best use of my privilege. It has been seen fit that I should be allow¬ ed to continue my life in a peaceful country; I intend to return to England, carrying with me what I have learned here, to help build a better world. I shall not be able to do a great deal, but what I can I will, so that no more child¬ ren will have to leave their homes to travel over 3,000 miles, or to have to live in constant terror of bombing. Together with all the other English girls and boys, I am glad to be here, and thank everyone for being so kind to us. I could not feel any more at home here than I do. page Twenty-two

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BLUE AND WHITE blacks who yell excitedly at us and about us, while we understand not a word. Ah! There are the shops—only fifteen yards away. Such tiny, crowded shops! Of course they are open for us, though it is the dead of night. We have explored some half dozen of them, but they are all the same, boasting little more than silks of various kinds, cigarette cases and ivory. We have passed dozens of seeming¬ ly homeless men, asleep on doorways and on porches or with their native beds stretched right across the footpath. Most of them have tired, careworn faces and all are dressed in rags of in¬ conceivable filth. The streets literally reek with vileness. Even the jetty seems a safer place than this. The streets are lit with blue mercury lamps, turning them into paths of pale, imitation moonlight. Weird and ghostly as they are, these lamps seem to fit into the atmosphere of silver and shadow and—silence. Here is the jetty at last, we have to content ourselves with a small swaying rowboat, yet how welcome it is. Now we have started to move, and the natives are chanting a low monotonous melody. The song is of an interminable length and though in a foreign language, we can understand the spirit of it. Some verses excite them av.d they row fur¬ iously, rising from their benches; but always they sink back to the sad, dull chant. We have glided up to our floating home again and are being helped out by a white officer! Strange that this mass of lights and activity is so comforting. The night is almost gone, and I am back at my silent vigil, watching the crew as they bargain for silk and ivory; but even this must end for it is six o’¬ clock, the ship gives a loud impatient whistle and we move away. Far away in the distance the sun is rising on the desolation of Aden. Her streets are once again deserted, as if some mighty army had descended on the unwary town, scattering or carrying off poor, worthless ones asleep on the door- the inhabitants, and leaving only the steps. So ends this strange Arabian night. “Tales From The Tuner” By Phyllis Wright, 13A My piano tuner was here yesterday and told me of being called to tune a grand piano for some woman. As he opened the top he found in it a lot of fine white powder. He asked her what it was. She told him that she knew resin was good for violin strings, so she bought a cake of it which she frequent¬ ly rubbed on the piano strings. Another woman showed him rust on the piano strings where they are wound around the pins. He said he could and should remove it; but she thought his price too high. A month later she sent for him again. He examined the piano and found she had soaked all the pegs with oil which, of course, went down in¬ to the wood and completely ruined the piano. She had indeed saved the ten dol¬ lars which he would have charged to have the piano properly cleaned. Still another woman telephoned him to re¬ proach him for his poor workmanship. He went out to find two keys stuck to¬ gether. As he was taking out the act¬ ion, he enjoyed the tirade in ff which the woman kept up. He lifted out the offend¬ ing member and out dropped a five cent piece—at which time mother stopped her harangue and little Johnnie, aged seven years, left the room very sudden¬ ly. Jtt fHrttumam W.C.I. wishes to express its deep regret at the untimely death of ANDY FORSYTH a popular former student who was killed in an automobile accident while training in Canada’s army. Page Twenty one ■

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BLUE AND WHITE a, b •e 7 a g !8 « ■r iy d. f. t is ?• ft li¬ lt 2! Ig I X- IS ti¬ lt ' ill d at I a I Id st to It V- ul d, 2(i I ut d- to to ?h id A Midnight Incident The island, about five hundred miles from Walkerville, is picturesquely situ¬ ated in the blue waters of Lake Kashe- gabogamog. The island is not large, nor is it far from the mainland, but to one living upon it, the distance of two miles to the nearest neighbour seems vast. The realization of this distance was made far more clear, when while calmly fishing near the opposite shore one early morning, the only man of our party not¬ iced a large black shape moving among the bushes. This new neighbour of ours was the largest black bear he had ever seen. As could w’ell be expected, the only topic of conversation for the next week was the bear. The feelings experienced by the sightseer, who slept alone on the ground floor, can be well understood when, around two o’clock one morning, he woke to the sound of loud snuffs and snorts at the back of the cottage. After ten minutes under cover, al¬ though the noise continued, he gathered courage and made his way to his only weapon, a small .22. Candlelight only is possible there; matches evaded his seek¬ ing hands, therefore it was some time before he could find a cartridge. Find¬ ing this, yet being unable to see, he was forced to seat himself upon the edge of his bed, gun in hand, to await the dawn of the day. For nearly three hours he sat, alter¬ nately thinking and listening. At five, when dawn broke, our protector caut¬ iously advanced toward the back door. Thoughts w hich had passed through his mind while he was sitting in the dark, all were brought before him. Would the next snort that the bear gave be extra loud ? Would he accidentally rub against the ice-house, get a splinter in him, be¬ come angry, and try to break in? All s»rh thoughts became immediately pos¬ sible. Taking courage, he opened the door. He peeped around; he took a step for¬ ward. Nothing was in sight. He crossed the porch and moved slowly down the path. Suddenly he came face to face with his quarry. He shot one—the animal advanced; he shot again—though partially wound¬ ed, the beast still came forward. With the third shot he fell, and there at our brave hunter’s feet lay the sweetest lit¬ tle specimen of a porcupine that I have ever seen. —Helen Clegg. The Most Interesting Person I Have Ever Known. I do not actually know this person; I have never met him or talked to him. His image has never appeared to me, ex¬ cept in pictures which, since no two show the same features, have scarcely suc¬ ceeded in helping me visualize his face. He is Richard Wagner, the genius of opera in the ninetheenth century, the man who won so many followers and made even more enemies. The first time I read about Wagner, he created in me the heartiest dislike. Just to think that I would have to study his life, his musical compositions and his travels disgusted me. The reason he was so repelling was that he was a sup¬ reme egotist, not an ordinary egotist, for nearly everyone feels “I” to be quite important, but a SUPREME egotist. What he desired, he was certain he must have, if not by his own efforts, then through his friends. If he saw something he liked and wanted, he bought it, quite nonchalantly, charging to his friends. All through his life everything and ev¬ erybody was made to conform to his will. Then I began to study Wagner’s life. Soon the man began to become fascin¬ ating. His egotism and self-assurance still did not appeal to me, but everything else did. He had high ideals. He wanted a fellowship of artists; he wanted to im¬ prove opera; he wanted the audience to Page Twenty three