Western Canada High School - Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

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BOOK Page fifteen ROOM REPRESENTATIVES - YEAR BOOK COMMITTEE Front Row—Audrey Bliss, Jean Dickson, Madge Cardell, Daphne Lilly, Dorothy Hutton, Mary Dillon, Dorothy Crockett. Middle Row—Ernie Sales, John Davidson, Roly Richardson, Norton Wait. Geoige Garbutt. Back Row—Rayworth McKay, Bill Russell, Nesbitt Plotke.

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Page fourteen YEAR Ait Steumr The first class who have taken their entire four years in Western Canada is about to graduate. For four years the pen of the recording angel has traced your doings at Western. Since your arrival in ’29 you have been making history for us and yourselves. We have enjoyed your presence, your individual gifts and your achievements. You have worked and. played with us these few years. In the exchange of opinions and ideas, in the contact of personalities, you have experienced intellectual combat, latent abilities have been developed and important lessons have been learned which will be of great value in future years. In the faithful discharge of common-place tasks, and in more adventurous undertakings you have displayed a willingness and a capacity for shouldering responsibility, and a desire to attempt that which is difficult. These few years of training have equipped you with a general knowledge and a preparation for what lies before you, be it University, Normal or Business. Confidently expecting that you will some day, somewhere, make good, we see you go forth into a larger sphere of opportunity. Your happiest days are not done, they are only beginning. Your own special niche in life awaits each one of you. Go forward, and occupy it. In your new duties, your further study, you will find something grip¬ ping, and something more vital than you have known here. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. —Shakespeare. pjntuQrapij By K.C. Hast ever had thy picture (portrait, pardon me) taken? No! Well hearken unto the words of a veteran. It is the custom at our school for the graduating class to have their photo¬ graphs printed in the Year Book for the edification and amusement (mostly the latter) of the other students. This being the case, one afternoon I found myself in the studio of a certain photographer. This man took one look at me and pushed me into a small cubby-hole, equipped with a comb, brush, tooth-brush and mirror. On emerging, looking very much like Clark Gable, as I thought, I heard the arch¬ fiend in charge mutter, “Hmm! He’s gotta flat nose, I’ll have to shoot him from the front.” I hurriedly assured him that my mother knew where I was and if I failed to come home she would know where to find the body. This seemed to frighten him for he dived behind a camera and covered his head with a blanket. After a time, apparently reassured, he emerged from his wigwam. “You’ve got a slight squint,” he informed me in much the same tone of voice as that which was no doubt adopted by the g’entleman who Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix. With this thrust he disappeared again, this time I hoped for good, as his conversation was beginning to sicken me. 1 was doomed to disap¬ pointment as he bobbed up again. “Your complexion is too pale,” he told me, at the same time turning on enough high-powered lamps to correct Nature’s little slip by providing me with a sun-bum. Having done this, he appeared to be sure that science could do nothing more toward the improvement of my appearance, and without more ado he took two exposures of me. As I rose to leave, he approached me and said, “I’ll have to touch up that negative a bit as one of your ears is larger than the other, and ...” With a scream I rushed from the studio, and fleeing down the first dark lane hid myself until friendly darkness enabled me to slink home unseen.

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Page sixteen YEAR (in tiw liar nf (iur (Eamjma bn tin JJubltr By LLOYD HUTTON A problem which is daily becoming more and more serious is the use of our campus by the general public. The campus is being used as a short-cut between Seventeenth and Twentieth Avenues, as a neighborhood playground, as a place to practice one’s golf strokes and as a park. Every day we see a stream of men with their dinner pails trekking across our campus where the grass was once green. Every day we see embryo golfers striving manfully to smack the elusive ball, but only succeeding in uprooting several inches of our once soft turf. Every day we see children at their games—run, sheep, run; farmer’s in his dell, and all the rest of them—stampeding up and down, killing the grass which was once so plentiful. With conditions as they are, we cannot blame the public. It is human nature to attempt to save time, and with the gates beckoning them we cannot censure the workmen for taking a short-cut across the campus. With no playground in the vicinity, it is to be expected that the children will flock to our campus to obtain the space required for their games. The golfers, too, like a place near home where they can keep their eyes in, and perfect their swing. Nevertheless, the situation is serious and is constantly becoming more so. We now have a trench inches deep and about a foot and a half wide traversing our campus from the south-east to the north-west comers. This trench, unfor¬ tunately, cuts right across the lawn in front of the building, and this lawn was just seeded last year. We have a baseball diamond right in the middle of the rugby field with the path between the bases clearly defined by a ditch several inches deep, with each base and pitcher’s box surrounded by a pot-hole several feet in diameter. We have a path stretching from the south gate to the steps of the boys’ entrance. We state right here that if this condition is not changed and changed soon, and if rugby is played on this gridiron this fall, some unfortunate youth will suffer a broken leg, if not worse. The situation cannot be laid entirely at the foot of the general public. Our own students are responsible in some measure for these paths which criss-cross the campus. This spring, after school hours when water was lying on the field and no one should have been on it, bicycles ridden by our fellow students were running merrily over the field, throwing up clods of mud and adding to the general disorder and confusion. We have also seen some of our own students enjoying a game of polo on bicycles, again at a time when the field was covered with water. A little internal co-operation can relieve conditions considerably. So far, we have devoted our time to criticism of a destructive nature. We would like to make a few suggestions which, we believe, would entirely eradicate the trouble. We would first wire up the gate at the south-east comer. We would then extend the red shale walk, at the west side of the building, south between the fence along College Lane and the fence along the gridiron to the south fence, then east to the present set of gates on Twentieth Avenue. We believe that these changes are not only practical but absolutely neces¬ sary. With proper attention and care our grounds could be the finest of any school in the city, without exception. If things continue as they are, they will be merely a huge mud-hole in the spring and fall, a dust-patch in the summer, and generally just an eye-sore. We have mulled over this problem for some time. Unless some changes are made, and made soon, some unfortunate lad will, this fall, trip in one of these trenches or fall into one of these pot-holes and serious consequences will result; consequences moreover, which can be prevented if action along the lines suggested is taken. Wake up, Western! Wake up, School Board!