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Page 54 text:
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' UJitUe. ' i ' Wo-ndeAia+id Winter! A lovely season and although it means overshoes and mitts, we love it. After the first light snowfall, operations are underway to make rinks. Skates are brought out of the cellar, taken to the repair man to be sharpened; hockey sticks are brought into view along with last year’s puck, everything is ready to form the new hockey team. Girls also bring out their skates, dream¬ ing of skating parties, and polish them so they will be all ready for their first spin of the season. Ski pants are also hauled out, and slacks and wool sweaters and thick mitts. But skating is not the only sport enjoyed in the winter. Sleighing and tobogganing are in the winter spotlight. Nothing can beat the thrilling sensation of whizzing down hills that are covered with a thick blanket of glistening snow, on a toboggan crowded with rosy-cheeked passengers, or the merry jingle of bells as a sleigh ploughs through the snow while the kids push each other off, their voices ringing out in the frosty night. That ' s what we love about winter. —June Williams 4B. We shall never really be apart. We CAN’T ever really be apart, for we’ve been together almost since you were born. Remember, when the war first started, and I worked in the factory where B-17 bombers were first made—or Flying Fort¬ resses as I know you’d rather have folks call you. I remember when you came down the assembly line to my section and a loose piece of your wing cut my hand. Oh, what names I called you! Do you recall how proud you were of all the parts of the world you represented? Your steel was from a Pittsburgh rolling mill, your copper from Montana’s mines, your rubber was brought from Malaya in the days before Singapore fell. Then there was your aluminum from a Tennessee plant, tungsten from China, instrument lenses from upstate New York, carnauba from Brazil for your electrical insulations. Yes, sir, you sure were proud! And I was proud of you too;—especially when the test crew had given you the “works” and the Army gave you the nod of acceptance. JliJze ' i and btiUzeA. Some men like the glamorous kind, Who have the glamour hut no trace of mind Who never have time for a readable book And who would starve without a cook. Some men like the real quiet kind Who seem to worry only about the mind, The girl who enjoys a quiet night Reading or listening to a song that’s right. Me — I’m just the girl in between Who loves a book or to sometimes nay-dream. I love to go to a dance or a show Or a party with my very best beau. I like to stay home once in a while, To read magazines on the latest style, You don’t need a fortune to have, a good time You can enjoy an evening just on a dime. So whatever kind of a girl you are, You’ll still like the moon and twinkling stars, But if you. like lights and a glamorous time, Don’t go with a guy who has only a dime. Marion Bickerdike 3A P ilaaie cMeaoe+i I never told you before, but I really missed you when they took you away to fly the scattered air lanes of the wide world. You know, it was you, that first gave me the yen to float around those soft white clouds, so I joined the airforce and was shipped overseas. Honest, I nearly cried the day the commanding officer took us out on the field to introduce us to the fellow who would take us out over the wide ocean to unload bombs on Hitler and Goering and all the rest of that gangster tribe, and found out the fellow was you! Boy, that was when the fun began, wasn’t it! Lots of times I thought it was the end of us when the Jerries poured so many bullets into you that you looked like a sieve. But you always got us back in one piece, even tho’ your tail was smashed and half your wing was off. I don’t think I ever felt more love for you than the time you flew four and a half weary hours on a single pair of engines—• 400 miles with your two starboard engines Q ' UUlU Uf- ' llfX Oh my goodness, how you have grown! I remember when you were just a tiny tot not able to walk, and just crawled around on the floor. You were pretty young then. Then you began walking. You stumbled over chairs, but once while running hit your head on the door, and received a big bump. I suppose you remember? By and by school was begun. My, you were shy. But look at yourself now! That was thirteen long years ago. About four years back, you were the spectacle of all your visiting aunts and uncles, and all you heard was the same old phrase, “You are all legs and arms!” Wasn’t that annoying? Then you had your thirteenth birthday, and were you happy. High school came at last and were you big! At least you thought so. Even wanting your own lipstick and such things proved that to your mother. Well, five years have passed since then and you are now somewhat the lady and have had many dates. But you are only eighteen and have plenty of time for marriage. But, of course, there isn’t much I can say for all this, throughout these years except, “My, how you’ve grown!” -—Nan Korpus 4B shot out by enemy fire. Then there was the time you brought us home in record time, because you knew your bom¬ bardier, that youngster from the Iowa corn belt, needed immediate attention if he was to be saved. You always did your best by us, no matter what condition you were in, and every one of your crew honours you for that. You brought us home this time too, even tho’ you had to crash to make the field. Now you lie there enveloped in flames and I can’t get near to help you. You see, when they dragged me out they found I had a bullet through my chest and they’re making me lie on this old stretcher while a doctor is trying to patch things up. But I don’t think he’ll be successful—that’s why I’m not putting up too big a fuss, ’cause I’ve a funny feeling that tomorrow we’ll be flying together again, but this time it will be in our own private heaven with no Jerries or gremlins to harm us ever again. —Vera James 4B Page J t 2 Ba four Beacon ’ fl
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Page 55 text:
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Mo+tdLcuf Mosuusuf ReoeAie Our teachers have a theory That we come to school to rest, When our weekends make as weary; It makes me so depressed. So 1 beat the bell to classes, Fold my hands within my lap, Close my eyes behind my glasses Just to take a. little nap. Our teachers all are noisy To a horrible degree. They tell me to be silent When they’re talking more than me! But ’spite of all their dravjbacks I really am improving I do such loads of homework, To finish up my schooling. Helen Wolfe 2F SwimtnitUf “Sorry, mother, I won’t have time to have any supper tonight. Remember, it’s swimming at the ‘Y’ So is the cry of the Juniors as they hustle off for their regular Tuesday night swim. About this time the Seniors are gulping down their food to make it at the pool by 7.30. They arrive just in time to see the Juniors go through their last few minutes of muscle-bending. All the girls certainly look in tip-top shape (shape that is) as they withdraw from the pool to give the Seniors their turn. Mrs. Calder, (the swimming instruct¬ ress) tells us “To-night we are going to do some diving.” (or dying, which?) She starts us all off by doing a straight spring dive, and as this seems a cinch all the girls arc rarin’ to go for the tricky ones. If during the course of last Tuesday evening, some of you heard a terrific explosion, it was not an atomic bomb. No, it was the noise of the Seniors as they landed after doing their front flips. Wow!!— What form!! What graceful¬ ness! Just because we’re black and blue (with a little green and yellow mixed in) from head to foot doesn’t say we hit the water hard or anything! By the time 8.15 comes around, the girls have, in plain English, “had it.” They crawl out of the pool and there is a mad dash for the driers. And so, another swimming night is over and the girls talk (pardon me, yell), back and forth, about the evening’s events or should I say ‘dents’? Joan dcWitt Ou i Qol e+t MemanieA o-c eilten. As we gaze into the fire, you and 1 together, the flickering tongues of flame recall to us our memories of days gone by. The golden moment when firet I held your slender form, and, with painstaking care pressed you to my shoulder, and listened with intent ear as your message drifted out of the window and sailed away on ■ the fleecy down. I knew then that you and I belonged together, your face too gleamed with the anticipation of times to come. Do you remember the firet time we entered the spotlight together? My heart was bounding like the never ending roll of drums in the darkest part of Africa as 1 gazed with awe and fear at the sea of faces swimming before us. Then with a shaking caressing hand I held you and turned to face the tidal wave. However, the reassuring feeling of your presence and the coolness of your caress comforted me—then with the first note everything was forgotten, only you and I were in the room; only you and I and the music that poured from both our souls and blended into one beautiful harmony. All too soon it ended; there was the roar of applause and with smiling faces we made a quick exit. What a united feeling! Our first major obstacle had been overcome together. So years passed, and I entered higii school, but still you went with me. At our firet orchestra rehearsal, we met our fellows. Rehearsals led to performance—■ and the greatest night of all—the night we played for the operetta! The scenery, color, dress, suspense and excitement sent prickles of shivers down my spine. Then, at the signal, we filed into the orchestra pit, and at the first note, the curtain swayed and parted. The tension of the audience was relieved in applause and the play was on. Never! Oh never! dear companion, will that night be forgotten—• you were looking your very best, and I in my first evening gown. What a moment of supreme delight! But, dear fiddle, the hour grows late, and we could go on forever, but let us instead close our chapter of memories for the night and wind our way to bed and dreams of the past. Phyllis Roberts 4B % a PaiA. ojf ba+idntf, SUfiypreAA. A new pair of dancing pumps has come to take your place, “Old Faithful”, so I must bid you farewell, but, before I add you to the shoe collection, let’s reminisce for a while. Remember the day I purchased you? Your lustrous, black coat attracted me at once. The same coat that time and age have now cracked and wrinkled. Then there was the firet night I wore you to a dance. I stepped, pranced and jazzed. You stood all you could but finally you rebelled. How you rubbed and pinched my poor tired feet! I was glad to put you to bed that night. You’d cost me a tidy sum, so wear you I must. On you went again and again and off we went to more and more jamborees. Soon we were well acquainted. How often I told you my innermost thoughts and hopes. You knew how excited I was about going to the country dance. Then why did you fail me that night? Remember how all week long I prepared for the event. Finally, the night came. Off we went to have the gayest time possible. But, just as I was going to try a square dance you failed me. You let go of your heel and I had to sit back and watch the fun. That night, had you been able to talk, we should have had our fust quarrel. To show you that all was forgiven I took you to the shoemaker next day. He banged you, he knocked you around until you promised to hold on to your heel. I took you home and after that no matter how badly I misused you, you held together. But your young days are gone. Your shiny coat is shabby now and your sole is thin. You have joined the veterans and will soon march along with other shoes on another woman’s feet in a foreign land. —Dorothy Frombach 4B All we get is homework says the gang that goes to Tech, What will we be when we grow up, A razzle dazzled wreck! This homework business gets you down And makes you want to weep Oh! Please, dear teachers, do be kind — Don’t rob us of our sleep. We never go to parlies, or to dances or to shows, We haven’t even any time to give to wooing beaus, Our hair is straight and straggly, Our shoes are never shined, And all because of homework and the daily schooltime grind. Betty Neizner 3A Balfour Beacon t Jfk Page
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