Weston Collegiate Institute - Conning Tower Yearbook (Weston, Ontario Canada)

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The Sinking of the Athenia SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 3RD, 1939. This is a date that still lingers in the minds of many people. When the Athenia left the docks of Glasgow, Scotland on Friday, September lst not one of the fourteen hundred passengers and crew aboard even imagined that only two days later the boat would go down. The Athenia was two hundred and fifty m iles off the coast of Ireland when it was torpedoed by a German sub between the hours of 7:30 and 8:00 p.m. War was declared on September 3rd, the morning of the sinking. This was a tragic experience as I have heard from my mother who was a passenger on the Athenia. My brother was also there, but cannot remember anything as he was only two years of age at the time. There were two torpedoes fired from the German sub. The first one hit the generator room putting the ship in complete darkness and listing the boat over on its side. It was like a nightmare! Women and children were screaming and groping around in the dark trying to find their own families. Before they had time to get on deck the second torpedoe struck. The stairway to the dining-room collapsed trapping many passengers who never got out. The crew were wonderful, and did every- thing possible. They kept shouting, Put on your life-jackets and get on deck. It was worse for the poor refugees aboard than it was for the rest. They were really in a panic as they couldn't speak any English and many of them were quite old. My mother and brother finally made it to the deck. A stewardess was calling, Women and children first , and they were lowering the life- boats as fast as they could. After reaching the deck my mother and brother had to be separated. A lifeboat was just being lowered and there was only room for one. My mother handed my brother over and he was the last child to leave the ship. All he had on were his pyjamas and a lifejacket but they put him in the bottom of the boat to protect him from the wind and cold. After seven hours they were picked up by a liner that had received the SOS signal. They hadn't accommodation for all of them so he among others was transferred later to a warship. My mother finally got in a lifeboat from another deck and after twelve hours she was picked up by a British destroyer which had been on a routine duty at the north of Scotland. It was a terrible experience, as the destroyer had to stay out at sea for hours dropping depth charges since they knew the sub was in that area. When the destroyer docked in Greenock where the boat my brother was on had docked my mother was reunited with my brother who had been well taken care of by the sailors of the War ship. Thus an international tragedy was averted from being a personal tragedy for usl - Nancy Sornmerville, C11A 'mem W1 F Above is Mory Collonder, in on old-time dress, of the fireplace in our centennial museum. Compliments of MANNING BISCUIT COMPANY OF CANADA lTD. ir DOWNSVIEW ONTARIO 39

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Laziness L aziness is a much scorned occupation of a minority of people. Teachers abhor itg busi- nessmen lose their hair because of ity and, most people detest anyone with enough gumption to take part in his own favourite past time of taking life eaSy . Just how many people have ever tried to be lazy? Not very many, for if they had the world wouldn't be in such chaos and hurry as it is at present. Who knows maybe Russia wouldn't have invented Sputnik and Mutnik if she hadn't worked so hard. As far as personal advantages and disadvantages go, there is a multitude of the former and a scar- city of the latter. Disadvantages such as the scorn of the world's robot -like counterparts never bother the man who knows how to enjoy himself. A life of laziness, in my estimation, is the ulti- mate of ideals. Being lazy not only lengthens the life expectancy but provides a brighter outlook on life. To emphasize this point, take for example, Huck Finn. There was a boy with the ideal life. Many people thought he was a worthless no-good, but underneath his shabby clothing and bedraggled countenance was pure laziness Most people think of laziness as an ill-bred habit. This is not so. To become lazy requires one to work hard to forget his worries and have the desire to leave ambition be. All. in all laziness is slowly but surely becoming a lost art. -George Grainger, 11A UNIVERSITY COLLEGE 3 and 4-year course leading ta B,A, and B,Com, RESIDENCES EOR MEN AND WOMEN Scholarships and Bursaries at admission and in course PRIZES FOR CREATIVE WRITING For applications and interviews write to THE REGISTRAR UNIVERSITY COLLEGE Toronto 5 First Snowstorm The earth was cold as the sun had set, And the darkened clouds moved close and met, Swiftly, softly. Every man had gone to bed, Guessing little what lay ahead, For this was a storm which was not known, It came from the sea and the wind had blown, Fiercely, proudly. The weather grew cold and the clouds as they moved, Brought little warning and naught to be proved That the storm would not pass and the wind would not blow Without bringing sleet and plenty of snow, Silently, lightly. Throughout the night the sparkling snow came And by morning the earth looked not the same. The earth's green had left without trace, A beautiful white had taken its place, Shimmering, sparkling. But loveliness couldn't be for long, For cars and the sun took their toll at dawn, Cruelly, blindly. -Linda Musselwhite, 11A. PUBLIC SPEAKING Finals of our annual public speaking contest were held in the auditorium on Wednesday, Feb. 19th, and the judges were Mr. G.W. Bull and Mr. C.W. Caskey who presented the prizes which had been donated by the Weston Lions Club. In the senior division, first prize winner was Don Richardson, 12Ag second prize went to Raymond Duplain, 13C. First prize in the intermediate division was taken by Peter Muller, 10A, and Diane Drummond, 1OA, took second place. The junior division saw Janet Moffat, 9D, take first prize, while Linda Christensen, also of 9D, took second. TYPEWRITERS - ADDERS For Sale or Rent New or Used NORTH WEST OFFICE EOUIPMENT 1287 Weston Road RO, 7-I2IO Open Evenings 38

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The Burglar Camouflaged by a coal black coat and a hat pulled over my eyes, I crept stealthily across the room. I had planned this scheme ahead of time, exact to the last second of my escape. Here I was in the middle of a dark house half frightened but determined to accomplish my goal and obtain from this residence the jewel I had longed for. All was quiet as I crept across the carpeted floor. Just a few more steps and one-third of my travel would be complete, without interferences. At last, I was at the end of the living room, now through the dining room and then to the secret place where the object was kept. The moon shone through the window just enough to faintly light the way to my destination. Fate seemed to be with me this evening and although I breathed heavily in fear of being caught, my mind was set at ease. I turned back and behind me I saw the distance I had journeyed. Across two large rooms was indeed an accomplishment to a burglar. I opened the door leading to the last room and moved slowly towards the place where it was situated. Lifting up the lid of the jar, I held my breath, reached in and then I grasped the object. It was mine, all mine. I had finally obtained the priceless material which had been in my mind to have and hold, for a long time. Now my escape. Nothing must go wrong. But just as I was to take my first step, the kitchen light went on and there stood my mother. Joey, she said, I told you before and I'll tell you again, no stealing cookies before bed time, and take off that silly robe and hat. - Lillian Novak, 11A A Ghost in the Family Of course everyone knows there is no such things as a ghost. You know it and I know it, but my Aunt Kate doesn't know it. She's a ghost. It seems that many years ago Amit Kate com- mitted suicideg she slit her own throat with a razor. When Aunt Bell found her sitting in the chair, dripping wet with blood, she naturally fainted from shock. I guess a sight like that never leaves one's mind because just before- Aunt Bell died she swore she saw Aunt Kate's ghost reappear before, looking just the same as it did that awful day. Of course everyone said it was just her imagination, but we'll never know. But that's not all. It is said that every time one of her relations sleeps in the room where she died, Aunt Kate opens the door during the night. My uncle is not a superstious person, but when he slept in that room with the door locked and the next morning found it open, he wasn't sure what to believe. Some people say there is money hidden away somewhere in that house and Aunt Kate won't rest until one of her relatives finds it. No one knows just how much money there 40 is, but they say it must be a lot to keep Aunt Kate walking around as she does. Actually this is a favourite among my home town's ghost stories and no one really knows whether or not to believe it. Being a distant rela- tive. I don't really quite know what to believe, but I know one thing for sure. I'll never sleep in that room! -Linda Hobbs, C11A One Come Buck F lying Bear's lean body glistened in the moon- light as he waited on his horse at the edge of the Indian village. For many moons Grey Wolf had been a threat to his leadership on the tribe. It had been Grey Wolf who had tried to persuade the tribe to follow him across the plains to a better hunting ground in the time of famine. The squaws and young bucks eagerly accepted Grey Wolf's proposal and would have gone if Flying Bear had not convinced the council of the foolishness of this plan. Wasn't it Grey Wolf and his friends who ridiculed him when he did not come back from the hunting trip with the most game? Flying Bear spat on the ground as he thought of this imp etuous young fool typing to lead his tribe. His anger subsided when he realized that now, as last, the time had come, and his quarrel with Grey Wolf would be settled once and for all. Grey Wolf joined Flying Bear at the edge of the clearing, and they rode out onto the prairie silently to a small secluded area surrounded with light brush. In a battle such as this the rules were simple and concise. Each man was armed with a tomahawk and a knife. Only one man would come out of this strange arena alive. They tethered their horses on opposite sides of the little clearing and examined their weapons by the light of the moon. Slowly but doggedly they stalked one an- other. They circled, tense, eyes wide with hate, watching for an opening. Grey Wolf lashed out with his tomahawk, but Flying Bear, very agile for his age, leaped aside and opened a little rivulet of blood on Grey Wolf's forearm. Not a' sound could be heard. It was as if every living creature on the prairie were watching this drama of life and death. Again Grey Wolf lashed out and a flood of pain almost overwhelmed Flying Bear as the blood gushed from a deep wound in his side. He shook off his dizziness and painfully strode forward with the determination of his adversary, stepped back, but Flying Bear still kept coming. With a hideous yell Flying Bear pounced on his opponent. Both men fell, thrashing, fighting, struggling for their lives. They rolled over and over. There was the flash of a knife and the struggling ceased. When Flying Bear arose there was a knife buried to the hilt in the chest of Grey Wolf. Covered with blood and limping badly, Flying Bear struggled to his horse and painfully rode back to the village. As soon as the rode into the village a murmur went up. Flying Bear was returned. No longer will his son Grey Wolf try to lead our tribe. -Bill Trainer, 13A