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

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BLUE AND WHITE For lakes, clear blue, and earthly yields. Thank you. 0 Lord, Cor peace once more Which reigns o’er us like heavenly hands. For fearless nights—no bombings here To raise Hell ' s fire unto our lands— For glorious freedom four heritage) To speak and worship as we wish. But give us strength and courage fast To live Thy way, to do Thy hid, To give unto our Canada A life full free of tyrants rid, To help all peoples as before. Gain what we have forever more. OLGA EVAN, 13A YOUTH IN SPRING When Spring is in the air, I like to watch the stare Of youth whose one ambition Is to go away off fishink Then when the sun is bright And fishin’ is just right, He has a hurried hunch To run off with his lunch. The reason is of course, A certain long discourse On Pope or Aristotle, Or hydrogen in bottle. For what are dusty books Or teacher’s gloomy looks. Or even eyes of women. Compared with goin swim min’? FRANK KR All ERICH. 9K NURSING IMPRESSIONS When f first went in training at Grace Hospital, 1 didn’t know (piite what to expect. Of course. 1 had a vague idea about things in general, but I had a lot to learn about a nurse’s life. I don’t know whether all probies act like scared bunnies, but our class cer¬ tainly did. To begin with, our uniforms hadn ' t been washed enough to take up the extra length allowed for shrinkage, and we tripped over ourselves every time we went up or down stairs. The first two or three weeks in the hospital seemed Past Forty like a dream in an endless maze of halls and rooms, with here and there a stair¬ case to add to the general confusion. Then gradually we became able to find our way around. After two weeks in the classroom, we were sent to work on the floors. It took some time to become accustomed to carrying bedpans and emesis dishes; at first we held our breaths each time, but we did it so often we were fairly gasping at the end of the day! Our day begins at six a.m. when some¬ one at the hospital rings our phone to waken us. (One morning I counted fifty- four rings.) We have breakfast at the hospital at six-thirty and prayers at six- fiftv. Then we are ready for work at seven. Until ten or ten-thirty, the floors are in a state of confusion, as we try to ■‘do up” our patients in between doctors’ visits, taking patients to the operating rooms, admitting and discharging and do¬ ing a hundred other things. In the after¬ noons when we aren’t so busy (we hope), the nurses have two hours off. (Beside one half-day a week, we have four hours off on Sunday). At seven p.m,. if everything is done to the satisfaction of the supervisor on each floor, we are free to do what we like, as long as we are in the residence by ten, and have the lights out by ten-thirty (it says here!) One night every week we may sign for a late leave until eleven fifty-five. When we work nights, we begin at seven p.m. and finish at seven a.m, I still get mixed up when I work nights, be¬ cause I go oh duty one day, and come off the next. Since the night staff is not half as large as the day staff, we help clean up the dining room after midnight sup¬ per. and the case room. It doesn’t clo to have too much imagination in doing the latter. Emptying the linen hamper in the dark is gruesome when you grab hold of a bundle of warm, blood-soaked cloth. All the corridor lights are turned out at night, except for a few night lights at the floor. Every time 1 walk down the hall, I trip over half a dozen flower vases, (Continued on Page 53)

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BLUE AND WHITE path that seemed to beckon the observer to step out onto the jewelled trail. In the air was an atmosphere of tenseness. Sparkling pinpoints of light reflected from tiny stars, stared up from the deep water like thousands of sentinel eyes watching for the one who dared intrude upon this scene of perfect solitude. Then, suddenly, the moon dipped out of sight and darkness enveloped all. Xo vestige of former beauty remained — nothing but inkv blackness. T.W.O. ORPHEUS He had nothing to be afraid of; that was certain. Certainly, no one could dis¬ cover his crime until long after he had left. Vet the feeling clung to him, as it had many times before, that somewhere, somehow he had made a mistake—a mis¬ take that might cause him to lose his life. True, he should have been hardened against such ideas, but he had never been me ant to lead such a life as he was lead¬ ing. Yet. he was glad to do such things, because it meant keeping “her She had married him with the impres¬ sion that he was moderately wealthy, but soon found otherwise, to her discontent. Since he could not have borne to have her leave him, he went out that first night to gain money any way in which he could; and the quickest, easiest way to wealth is crime! At first the pitiful convulsions of his victims’ dying bodies had sickened him somewhat, but when he arrived home and saw the happiness in “her” eyes when she saw the money in his hand, he decided anything was worth going through to gain her love and content. He soon found himself climbing a familiar flight of stairs, walking down a familiar hall and entering a small, homely apartment. He opened the door noisily and stood on the threshold waiting for a salutation from his wife but none came. He called—no answer! He listened—ttn- mistakeably he heard a faint cry of des¬ pair. It was she; he knew it. Only “her” voice could sound so much like the tink¬ ling of silver bells, only “her” ruby lips could have emitted a cry so full of pain and remorse, lie raced from room to room, vainly searching, until at last he hit upon the idea of searching her closet. He rushed to the wardrobe and pulled open the door. A wave of oppressive heat met his chest, volumes of choking smoke met his nostrils and a brilliant red light met his eyes. He coughed and gasped and gazed with watery eyes into the interior of the closet. There in the floor, as though a trapdoor had been lifted from it. was a flight of stone stairs from which poured forth the smoke and glare. Again he heard “her” voice, but not crying now, laughing a horrible, maniacal laugh, and another voice laughed with hers. That other voice seemed to harness all the evil of the universe in its inane roars. A de¬ sire to have “her” back burned in him. He descended the stairs. There at the bottom of the stairs “she” stood with her real husband, with the boiling brimstone bubbling at their feet. ROY ASTON, 12A CARRY ON! Beyond the wide, vast, open sea, Brave men fought and fell: They fought for you. they fought for me. They died in living Hell. And on the sea itself they fought. And on the sea they fell. The flag of freedom waves aloft. Battle days are done. We must carry on where they left off Although the war we won. Take up the torch and raise it high— We have not yet begun. BUD JACKSON. 13B A PRAYER Thank you, O Lord, for this domain. Which stretches from the Hast to West, From mountains garnished with purple hues. To harbours calm, our steamers’ rest. For golden wheat, and furrowed fields. Page Thirtv-Ninc

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BLUE AND WHITE Stately and tall. The palm-tree stands, Offering rest and shade To weary travellers. In heat-held lands, After the busy day. 14. RAPINCHUK, 9C. A MIDNIGHT DREAM 1 sat upon a midnight bank Reside a midnight stream, Mv soul into the river sank And drifted in a dream. Then came the visions to me So wonderful to spy. I was a captain on the sea Beneath a tinted sky. Then I was the king of France In all my grand array, Before me all my beauties danced. The best on earth.” thev say. A fish grown tired of the deep Splashed the vision clear, It woke me from my dreamy sleep That no more would appear. There are people, now I know. Who never, ever dream, That know not the land below. How beautiful it seems. So. if you’re by a midnight stream Just let your conscience be. And you. too, would have a won¬ drous dream. You just watch and see. L. A. MARLOWE, 12B Pafje Forty-One