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

Page 66 text:

TO “WESTERN” By Basil Godfrey (3) This June we leave forever Your high, wide marble halls, Your light and airy class-rooms With their drab, black-boarded walls; Their windows out of which we oft Have gazed with many a sigh, But now we shall no longer gaze For now—we say good-bye. Who shall say which ones shall win In the onward-coming strife, Which ones shall come unsullied through— Which fall—on the stage of life;” For some have starred at sports and things. And some at studies, too. Sometimes we wonder which was best Now it ' s time to say adieu. Many ' s the night we’ve cursed at you For the homework you present. Black, vicious words against you— Words that we now repent; Thoughts that we regret now; I think it is because We feel a little different now That we must cry “adios. They said, Your school days are your best.” We said it was not true. We wasted days—the days joy-blest— A waste we now must rue. Those happy childhood hours flow’d Fast by us, like a song Of joy, but they’ll flow different When, to you, we’ve said so-long.” Some day, perhaps, we will return To see our class room scenes— Scenes which, to leave, we used to yearn. For places in our dreams. Some day we ' ll pay a visit back; Remember, I sternly swore ’Twas not a true good-bye, Old School, ’Twas just an ‘Au Revoir.’ ”

Page 65 text:

BOOK Page 63 LITERARy OBIIT By Ruth Turnbull 1 he plane roared through the night. Myriad lights winked for an instant below. Darkness again enveloped the plane. The sharp staccato of the telegraph transmitter broke into the engine’s rythmic whirr. Mechanically the telegrapher jotted down the message. An expression of incredulity swept over his face. Composing himself he turned and entered the cabin where a lone passenger sat. Telegram, Sir.” Sir Martin Cross seemed not to have heard. Telegram, Sir.” Slowly, Sir Martin extended his hand, to receive the message. His eyes scanned the brief lines Lady Diana died suddenly this forenoon. Further news awaits you here.” Digby. Not a muscle in Cross ' s face twitched. His greatest pride was his self control. Quietly he said, Tell the pilot he is to head for home, and not to stop unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Several hours later, a weary figure mounted the steps to Sir Martin Cross’s palatial home. The door swung open softly. Cross entered; noiselessly the door swung to. She ' s really dead, sir,” said Jones, forgetting his habitual tact. The words had been unwittingly blurted out. He took his master ' s hat and gloves; confusedly turning away. Send whisky and soda to my den, Jones. Don’t disturb me again till I ring. Full realization of what he had really lost, seemed to come to Sir Martin only after he had entered his home. He was as one possessed. Abjectly he paced up and down his study. Periodically he stopped, assumed a listening attitude, shrugged— resumed his monotonous pacing. Suddenly, a perplexed frown creased his forehead. He lunged at the bell, and pushed it viciously. After a discreet tap, Jones entered. Send Digby up here immediately, Jones. Do you hear! Hurry, man! Hurry! Tell Digby to come right in. ' Jones said you wanted me, Sir Martin. I thought perhaps you would.” Digby, what did you mean by that telegram? said Sir Martin cajolingly. There ' s surely some mistake. Lady Diana was all right when I left this morning. It couldn’t have been her heart; she ' s always been in perfect health. Come Digby, it’s all a joke isn ' t it? I’ll find out for myself, by jove. I insist on seeing Lady Diana.” No, sir! I wouldn ' t do that, if I were you, sir. You see, Lady Diana isn ' t fixed yet, sir. What 1 mean is, she ' s not very nice to see yet. You see, she was poisoned, sir. It’s—it ' s awful, sir!” Sir Martin ' s face grew deathly pale. His eyes blazed. Slowly the blood ebbed back into his face making it red and mottled. He slumped down into a chair. By gad, Digby,” he said. If it’s the last thing I do, I ' ll find out who poisoned Lady Diana. She was a wonderful horse, and a sure thing for the “sweeps. I ' d certainly have cleaned up with her.”

Page 67 text:

BOOK Page 65 WE NEED A GYMNASIUM By Jack Simmons (4) Whenever a pupil or a member of the faculty raises this war cry, someone immediately retaliates with You have a gymnasium.” And if the little box-car room with a basket fixed at each end is their idea of a gymnasium, then I suppose they are right. But that is not our idea of a gymnasium. The room is so small that even basketball practices cannot be held there. All our teams are forced to spend club money to rent halls in which to practise. No team can afford to do this. This money should be spent for uniforms and balls, but as a result of our handicap our teams are unable to build up any financial reserve. It is an established fact, that no matter in what sport you are taking part, you must train, and train hard, to be a success in that sport. Training quarters are out of the question when we have no gymnasium. Don ' t get the idea that we are trying to excuse ourselves—we are not—for not capturing all school trophies; but assuredly we would do better if we had a gymnasium in which to train. Aside from the sport issue is the fact that every school ought to have a suitable place in which to hold meetings, debates, lits., and all the other functions of school society. As this is denied us we are forced to attend the society functions of other schools, and consequently our school spirit is dampened. Is this the way for a proud school to feel and to be treated? Certainly not! We want a gymnasium! Mr. Stanley (finding Mac Jones helping himself to some foolscap)— Mac, I am surprised!” Mac Jones—“So am I, sir. I thought you were at a teachers ' meeting. Mr. Gislason—“What would you consider a good definition of a hypocrite?” Mr. Collier—“A person who comes into Latin class with a smile on his face. » Mr. Johnson— Late again! Have you ever done anything on time?” Milligan— Sure! I bought a car.” Mr. Fountain— Just what is the height of your ambition?” Harv. Perkins— Oh. she’s a little over five feet.”