Our Honour Roll

It was the summer of 1914; a group of men stood around the Kamloops telegraph office. Their faces expressed curiosity and anxiety, as they waited breathlessly for the news. Already the War Lord's hosts had burst suddenly upon the world and we, like some poor sailor tossed on an angry sea, seemed blinded by the dark uncertainty of the future. Britain, caught unprepared for the struggle, was swept by ties of honour into the fray. We heard her clarion call and our hearts were drawn by the strongest ties in the world to our mother in distress. Then came the question: "Must our young men be sacrificed?" We knew the answer, and the anguished hearts of mothers were even proud to think that their straight young sons could help to preserve the honour of the world

But lo! it is November 11, 1918, and the Peace heralds have just trumpeted that the long weary struggle is over. The roar of the cannon and the pounding of the guns have ceased, the greedy clutch of the Hun for the power of the world has been replused forever. We rejoice in our gain, but stop — consider the word "rejoice". Can the mother, whose son lies buried in an obscure grave in France, feel the joy of this supreme moment? Yes; she is the one who feels it the most. It has cost us all dear. Four long years of pain, sorrow and bloodshed have left their mark upon us. Even today, in our school, after the cost of Victory has been paid, we cannot help heaving a sigh, as we look around our familiar classrooms, where the occupant of some lonely graves in France were once eager and interested members of this self-same High School. THEY paid the supreme sacrifice for US; and now in our hour of victory we bow our heads in tibute to these names:

Frank Bursteed

Robert Brown

Duncan Currie

Stewart Harper

Walter Pearse

Donald Planta

Dallas Slavin

Marmaduke Tunstall

Alfred Wain

Fred Walker

Harold Walkley

Norman Wood

Sydney Winterbottom