Castilleja School - Indian Paintbrush Yearbook (Palo Alto, CA)

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much happier than it is pictured. NVhen these days are over and we go from the mad, busy, yet ordered whirl of boarding school out into that greater, madder whirl of life, we carry with us lasting friendships and happy memories. fr ' I MURIEL LEE SMITH. ' A Regular Irregular Qde I know that many poets in the past Have written lofty-sounding dissertations, That many noble sonnets were addressed Unto the birds whence came their inspirations. Let Shelley sing of nightingales and skylarks, I write of a more humble sort of bird, XfVl10SC voice inspires not by melodious cadence, But in loud squawkings is most often heard. I sit in study hall and chew my pencil, I ponder, cogitate, and chew some more, Then for a change I look out of the window- Just lessons, studies, problems, books galore! But sometimes, staring blindly out my window, I watch that flock of chickens, all are white But one be-draggled, bob-tailed, old brown rooster, Wfho fights for his own share with all his might. Around him the fat Leghorns, sleek and snowy, Rush squawking for the corn at the gardener's call, Yet while they squabble 'mongst themselves for one grain The clever rum steps in and gets it all, And so, when bored with studies, tired of working, I watch my little friend across the street, My still persisting, cheerful inspirationg Then, shamed, I work till lessons are complete. EDITH JAYNE. Thirty-one

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41' Boarding School Realism Versus Fiction VVAY back across the years I see a timid little girl, reluctant and yet eager, crossing the threshold of her first boarding school. She was homesick, just a little, but her eyes were bright, for had she not read beautiful stories of the wonderful lives the girls lived in just such a school? From my vantage point of sophistication and grown-up worldliness, with four yearsi down and just four months to go,'f I look back over my varied experiences and feel qualified to give you an insight into actual boarding school lifeajmfg up That' most tenacious fable of all-the inidnigihit feast! It is impossible to have a feast without some careful guardian walking in upon the party, and every- body always gets sleepy before eleven, anyhow. So most affairs of that kind happen early on Saturday nights under a chaperone's supervision. You can de- duce for yourselves that there are no chafing dishes. DQ11,t you. remember how, the girls always use them for clandestine fudge orgies? Well, we do not. Boxes from home! Itdoes seem pitiful to ruin this beautiful illusion. Some- how it is practically impossible to dissociate the thought of boarding-school from this idea., Une of the girls alwaiyisi jumps up from the charmed circle on the floor to get av hammer with wluch to pry open the boards. Now, that small detail in itselfishould, be enough, tokconvince the initiated that the writer of such rubbish knew nothing whatever of boarding school life. Everybody, outside of fiction, uses nail files to open anything. D 'In all my experience, no teacher, garbed in.a high-necked flannel nightgown and-wearing her .hair in curl papers, has ever walked into my- room. Somehow, even after my third year, when I should know better, I fondly cling to the idea that some dayi isgmehow, I may detect a teacher that does her hair in curl papers. Also, I have never heard of a. teacher ever having opened -a door to be suddenly doused with cold water by means of a very clever device above the door, This playful little trick has never been known to happen. N Since we, seem tohave started on the subject ofuteachers, we might as well continue to the bitter end.. They are very seldom tyrannical, unjust, and awe- inspiring. They very seldom have thin lips and black cotton stockings. Really, some of.them are very human, they eveiiilplay bridge and wear silk hosiery. VVe do not play around all day strumming ukuleles, reading novels, and eat- ing chocolates. VVe follow well-ordered schedules, and chocolates are fattening. VVe don't even spend our afternoons at bridge, after the first three weeks of our busy life, we become .so accustomed tohtearing through the days that, when the machinery suddenly stops at vacation time, all, its poor little cogs, of humanity are thrown out into the worldsof Leisure, with no preparation for the Great Strain of answering the question: l1Vhat shall I do next? School life is so or- dered that each piece in the machinery fits. Life in a boarding school is really . lg ,X U Thirty ! w l 4 1 4

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