Reflections of Havergal: 1994-2019

Appendices

The Letter Table Ludemus , 1904

We all know where the centre of Havergal lies. Very near that centre, just outside its door in fact, stands a table. And if it be indeed true that our work ennobles us, so that the noblest creature is the one that does the noblest work, then is that table well worthy of its velvet covering of royal hue. We pass it, some of us, on our way to the bath—just a table; on our way to breakfast—only a table still. But at 8 o’clock, when we see it next, its day’s work has begun. It is more than a table now for the privileged few who have leisure to gather round it, to whom the walk-bell is a bell and nothing more. Sometimes but a few scattered envelopes lie upon it, but twice a week it bears a heavier burden, messengers travel-stained and worn from across the seas, from Africa, India, Japan, France, the Old Country—that fortunate table can hear news of all these at times, in the silent minutes it is left with its visitors alone. It is never left to bear its load very long, I have noticed, and perhaps it is as well, for the next is a heavy one. From North, South, East and West of our continent have these messengers come from Winnipeg and New York, Halifax and Vancouver, from North, South, East and West of our city. There is no need to tell of the messages they bring. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” It is a glad moment now for the table when it hears the tread of hurrying feet; few of us can give so much pleasure in the

day. From basket-ball, from a wet day’s drill, from a stately promenade, with the first moment’s leisure a hundred impatient youthful beings speed to welcome these messengers. Twice more in the day the good news is told, “The letters are out.” Twice more Havergal has at its centre a magnet, and a powerful one. But the table is rarely quite idle. At any moment some messenger may appear there, one from so near at hand he has not needed his penny for journey-money. He is none the worse for that. A messenger who “begs the pleasure of your company,” is never to be despised. So I was wrong in saying that “twice a day Havergal has a magnet at its centre.” From rising-bell to lights-out that table tends—mind, I only say tends—to draw from their orbits Havergalians one and all. But alas, poor table! Much of your ancient glory is now departed. Flaunting their modern methods, only a few feet away, are initialled pigeon-holes. I would joyfully transform them to firewood. In earlier days for long, long minutes I could hope that something for me might yet be found; now, a glance suffices to show the nakedness of the land. My table is honored with a velvet covering of royal hue. I am glad those pigeon-holes can never be.

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232  HAVERGAL COLLEGE