Anson Academy - Anchor Yearbook (North Anson, ME)

Page 19 text:

Student Council C3 Front iow left to right: Jessie Sabin, Mary Jacques, Chester Briggs, Ralph Manzer, Kathei ine Ela. Second low left to right: Garry Spencer, Carmen Whitaker, Robert Burns, Violet Piice John Young, Lelia Newell, Gale Oliver. President, Chester Briggsg Vice- President, Ralph Manzerg Secretary. Mary Jacquesg Treasurer, Katherine Ela. , Under the direction of Principal Robert Merrill we have supervised the school play, dancing school, and many other school activities. In November Katherine Ela, Mary Jacques, Violet Price and Carmen Whit- aker were chosen as delegates to attend the State Council Conference in Water- ville. Many schools in the state were represented at the Conference and we feel that the Student Council holds a very important place in the school life. We hope that in the future years the Council will grow even stronger and con- tinue to be an asset to our school. Page Seventeen

Page 21 text:

DUSK Day is at an end, ' And dusk is coming down upon 'as From the Heavens overhead: While up the hill the tired men Are coming from their hard day's To find their families waiting there, And so to share Their ever1.ing's pleasure. Frances Edgerley '50 LOOKING THROUGH THE BARS hthelbert had been captured a long time ago and put behind bars. No one remembered exactly when he had been caught or where he came from. His diet each day had been just a little food and water. mthelbert was very handsome and could sing beautifully. Whenever visi- tors came to see him they remarked how handsome he was. Always they wanted him to sing for them. Sometimes he would, for the visitors that came the most. Mr. Johnson, the man who brought Ethelbert his food, said he sang the most when he didn't know anyone was around. So after that the visitors would stay out of sight until he had sung and then go in to see him. One day Mr. Johnson forgot to lock the door after bringing Elthelbert his food and he escaped. Mr. Johnson spread the alarm but it was too late. The canary had flown out an open window and was singing in the top of a tall elm tree. -Katherine Ela '47 WHY I DON'T LIKE WINTER Why don't I like winter? Well, I'll tell you a few of the reasons why I don't. Through the winter months snow seems to fall every day and every time it does I have to shovel. And when I shovel, the snow always sticks. It's al- most enough to make a minister curse. If you happen to own an old car chances are ten to one that it will act up on the coldest mornings of the year. The radiator will freeze and then patience and hot water are the only cure. If that doesn't work a person has to pour gas into the motor and crank for what he's work worth. Some cars won't even start then. Those are the ones that you have to tow all over God's white creation and then some. Slippery roads are another thing that help one out greatly when he gets out of the road. Then the shovel or the chain is the only answer. O, yes, there is the tow truck of course. It is a lot of fun, too, to crawl under the car and put those darn things on. They never seem to fit. When it begins to snow in the morn- ing, very often it will turn to darn blast- ed rain to stick on the roads and the win- dows of a car. It's fun to work outside when the wind blows like a storm at sea and the snow, of course, is there stinging against your face. Those are but a few of the many reasons why I don't like winter. -Richard Whitaker '48 A LETTER FROM HOME Today as I sit reading your letter from home, I close my eyes, and in mem- ory once again I'm walking down the main street of the old home town. I listen to the merry laughter of little children as they play without a care in the world. I hear the friendly voices of the clerks in the stores as they sell some- thing to a customer or buy something from a salesman I catch the cheery tones of the postman as he goes on his way. Again it's mealtime and I seem to see the pleasant home surroundings, the neat table loaded with well-cooked food, fresh vegetables, meat, fragrant steaming coffee or delicious milk. I hear the loved voices of the family that make mealtime at home such a happy time to remember. But darkness is creeping in, a cold mist is coming up through the prison yard. I can hear the steady footsteps of the guard as he passes up and down before my cell. No longer can I see to read your letter from home. I wipe away the mist before my eyes, the hap- py visions disappear, and once again I am locked in the old prison camp-a prisoner of war. -Percival Spencer '47 Page Nineteen