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

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BLUE AND WHITE 194 8 .51 C that tlie car is out of gear, would try to race off to Detroit without me. All is ready and I shift into first. Slowly, (at least not more than one mile per minute) 1 let out the clutch and press down the accelerator. As 1 leap into motion 1 suddenly remember the car parked in front and the possibility of one approaching me. 1 hurriedly stop to view the situation while the unco-opera¬ tive motor stalls, all by itself, and only because 1 forgot to put in the clutch with the brake. Despite the obstinacy of the car and the angry expostulations from my father, 1 finally am on my way. However, my troubles are not yet over. 1 reach Lincoln Road just in time to see a huge bus making its way toward me. There is exactly the width of the car plus one inch left on the road for me to pass it in. Even the car is worried and its voice quavers as it unsteadily makes its way onward. Fortunately the car engine and the bus engine speak the same language, and the bus desperately removes itself to one side to let me by. At the next intersection the light suddenly turns red, leaving me in the midle of the road as usual. Of course, all the traffic at this moment wishes to turn right into the street which 1 have con¬ veniently blocked. There follows a brief moment of co-operation between the car and me, and a more lengthy one of unco-operation. The result is that everyone “patiently” waits until the light turns green and 1 am able to proceed out of the way—or rather, I am allowed to proceed. With a gallery surrounding me, the operation becomes more complex. The engine, it seems, desires a short siesta and comrade clutch co-operates to the utmost by pushing my foot back suddenly before I can get the accelerator down. Time un¬ fortunately will not stand still and just as 1 get started the light changes. In desperation I make the legal right-hand turn, my face reflecting the colour of the stop-light. At this moment Father takes over, and the car completely changes. The engine begins to purr smoothly and the clutch follows Dad ' s every wish. In a short time we are safely home. As I retreat from the iron monster called car by its friends, I glance at it keenly. It is standing sedately, scarcely rilling the large space between the other cars. How is it possible for it to have such a dual personality! ALICE MOORE, 13C. Patronize O if r Advertisers FIRST PRIZE CONTEMPLATION In caps and gowns with joy they take their place— 15ut without me. My cherished dream of joining them in pride Now cannot be. And as they cross, a final time, that stage Of them soon bared. Sweet thoughts flood them, and long lost memories That I have shared. A birthday cake: a tribute valentine To one endeared: A skit we wrote; examination days We always feared. Thoughts passed of dances; physics: rugby games; Forgotten math; Of shattered test-tubes and a small black book; Of ill-earned wrath. But far away cannot 1 still lie with them That moment last? Cannot be part of all they symbolize Of years now past? Why not? For though I be not there in flesh. My dreams are there; And thus I can be part of that one sweet Experience rare. JANE MAY HELL THIRD PRIZE PEACHES, I LOVE THEM! Having idled for two months, Lois and 1 were thinking of joining the Loafer’s Union when someone mentioned the prospects of a job at a peach orchard near Harrow. A job! That meant money, and money meant everything! We im¬ mediately approached Mr. Johnson, the manager of the orchard, and stated our case. 1 le scrutinized us carefully and then said uncertainly. Well, there is a shortage of pickers - So. the next morning we arrived at the peach farm, hair well-combed, and neatly attired in shorts, blouses and saddle shoes. The other workers stared curiously but no one spoke to us. It didn’t take us long to realize that we were the only city-folk in the group. Soon a tractor and wagon came chugging through the orchard and we all climbed on. arranging ourselves among the ladders and peach baskets. When we stopped, the workers grabbed ladders, threw them over their shoulders and had started for the nearest peach trees before Lois and I had decided which end of the ladder to drag behind us. Soon we too began picking. The motto of the orchard seemed to be “Take a half-hour rest every five minutes”. Fortunately, we were paid by the hour and not h the number of baskets that we picked. -

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30 BLUE AND WHITE 1948 you have two to the thirty-third power, or, in round numbers, ten hundred million ancestors. This is many. many, times the population of Eng¬ land at the time of the conquest. Now since your forbears all came from England, one of their an¬ cestors must have come over with illiatn the Conqueror. Ouod Erat Demonstrandum.” ‘“Yes, Dad. And leaving him to fond recollec¬ tions of that great stuff, I delved once more into my book. “—And she replied ‘You are so—’ ” “Jane, will you do me a favour? Run upstairs and get my number ten steel knitting needles in the green bag, on the right side of the cedar chest, beside the red box under ' Plutarch’s Lives’.” “Yes Mother.” Up I hurried, only to find that the knitting needles were not in a green bag at all, but in a brown leather case on the left side of the cedar chest. 1 could not find “Plutarch’s Lives” at all—not that 1 wanted them. “‘Here they are, Mother.” Placing them on the table. 1 picked up my book once more to discover whether my hero would die or live. “Slowly the lady turned and looked at the desperate man. Slowly—” “Say Jane. I’ve just found one of the most interesting questions in a ‘C’ exercise here, Get a piece of paper and a pencil. ‘A man is going on a fishing trip and wishes to choose some books from his library to read while he waits for the salmon to bite. If his library contains ten books by Thackeray, six books by George Meredith, five books by Jane Austen and three by Agatha Chris¬ tie, in how many ways can he choose five books, if no more than two can be by the same author?’ Now isn’t that interesting? Let’s try it.” “Yes Dad,” 1 said aloud, wondering inwardly why the man did not have the good sense to take the three books by Agatha Christie and be done with it, and how the author of the question ever managed to overlook Shakespeare and the Bible. One hour later, having sent the man off on his fishing trip complete with his five books, I re¬ turned to my own. “‘Speak, speak or I die!” Oh. 1 have already read that. Now where was I ? Oh yes. —“And she replied ‘You are so—’ ”, “Mercy, child, it’s eleven-thirty. Off to bed with you this very instant. I do declare.” “Yes. Mother.” JANET HUGILL, 13A. THIRD PRIZE DRAWING SECOND PRIZE BEHIND THE WHEEL The moment 1 step out of the house, car key in hand, the family automobile senses that I am coming. Immediately it stretches itself out length¬ wise and sideways, bringing the cars parked in front, behind, and across the street several feet closer. Once i have become settled behind the wheel and have turned on the ignition, the gasoline recedes to some remote channel, refusing to allow the engine to turn over under my trembling foot. Suddenly it returns and the engine, were it not Alex Puskas

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32 BLUE AND WHITE 10-18 There was one Amazon among ns whom I shall never forget. She loved to jump from the tractor Before it stopped, zoom up the nearest tree and pick several baskets full before anyone else had left the wagon. I often wondered why she didn’t run behind the tractor on the way home. ()n this particular day it was almost noon when she cheerfully suggested that we pick another row. Leaning feebly on my ladder. I threw mental daggers at her and. just in time, the noon whistle blew and saved the day. That afternoon after what seemed eternity. Lois untangled her hair from a twig, peered through the branches, and mournfully announced : “It’s 5 :50”. Sometime later it was five minutes to six, then it was four minutes to six, and even¬ tually it was six o’clock. Later, sitting under a tree—a peach tree, to be exact, we were waiting for the car to take us home, when Lois said: “I’m so hungry. I could eat a peach. No—on second thought, I ' m not that hungry!” Imagine how we felt on the way home when we had to straddle a basket of peaches in the back seat! Moreover, our arms and legs were coated with peach fur”. The next day we arrived for work with our hair braided, and wearing plaid shirts and blue jeans. W e no lo nger felt fuzzy and we were definitely more native. One day in the hot orchard had been enough for us. and we desperately wanted to work in the cool shed, so Mr. Johnson finally took the hint when we were picking about two rows behind everyone else, and sent us into the shed to grade the peaches. Ah! the life of leisure! For the next few days my sole duty in life was to stand at the grading machine and dump baskets of peaches into the roller. They fell into the various bins according to size and Lois helped the others to pack them and stack the baskets ready for ship¬ ment. The only flaw in this beautiful system was that I had to unload each wagonful of peaches as it came in. and by six o’clock I could hardly lift my arm. What fun! One of the workers was a German who couldn’t speak a word of English. This led to some con¬ fusion. One day she was throwing peach baskets from the loft and 1 was trying to catch them. Finally, when I was practically drowning in peach baskets. 1 shouted up that we had enough. Naturally, she didn’t understand and she kept heaving baskets at me. Finally in desperation, 1 thought hard and then said “Nein!” Result? No more baskets. Who says German is difficult to learn ? Well, after a week of such fun. Labour Day arrived and 1 returned to school—unable to look a peach in the face, but with a cheque for $26.75 in my pocket. I was rich! I had earned my for¬ tune! I wonder if they need anyone to prune trees this spring? “TUFF TIME” FOURTH PRIZE DRAWING M. Kletenchuk SECOND PRIZE MURDER! The killer crept closer and closer, With evil in his eye; With murder in his wicked heart, His deadly weapon held high. The innocent victim unmindful of this, Caught in a deadly snare. Was not aware of impending doom, Placidly sitting there. Then the vitlian was ready to strike His cruel and vicious blow. When’ abruptly he stopped, checked his swing And said, level and low: “I cannot kill this defenceless soul; What harm has he ever done me?” His conscience was prodding; should he or not. What would his final choice be? The victim turned round and saw the man; His body shook with fear. The murderer knew lie had gone too far. His course was now perfectly clear. The bludgeon came down, a terrible thud. A crash, an anguished cry. He shook his fist and muttered an oath. “I missed that cursed fly.” ALHERT MATE, 12A. KAREARA TAIT, 12A.