Claymont High School - Clay Tablet Yearbook (Claymont, DE)

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SCHOOL CAFETERIA Marcia Sanders, 1938 Silence- Then A hell rings Footsteps approt A door hangs Feet scuffle Dishes clatter Money clinlcs Pupils chatter Dishes chatter Feet scuffle Doors hang Footsteps fade Then- Silence. Z 15' ,-4 I ich HO-HUM Betty Lovett, 1 9 3 9 A stretch of yellou' fluffy legs, Tiny protruding pin-point claws Catching the nap of the rug, A aide and sleepy yaun showing Tiny needle-like teeth of white- Tail extended, back hunched, Settling in a comfortable curve, Theref a soft purr-another yawn, Flutter of eyelids over eyes of emerald. HALOS Ruth Michener, 1939 l wonder if the Virgin Mary l-lad a halo around her head Looking at the Bahy Christ Child Slumhering in his tiny hed? Did he himself have a Crown of light Wheii he was living here on earth- Ministering to his people ln felloaship, in grief, in mirth? l wonder if immortal heings l-loiering around the throne above, Light the heavens with their radiance As they sing for joy and lore? All of these are only wonders, Someday l it-ill lcnou' instead, When I, changed to his likeness, May hate a halo 'round my head. THE LADY JEWEL Betty Lovett, 1959 Nestling in crimson satin, The Lady Jewel liesg A lovely radiant lassie W'ith large and violet eyes. Her cheeks are tinted with roses Of midsummer uhen in hloomg Her hair a jet hlach mist- Like rays of harvest moon. Her tiny fairy-like features Are of a golden tint, Her dress of a valiant color, The taste ofa julip mint. The radiance of these colors All mixed up as one, Resemhle the sunset rays Of her lord and master, the sun. THE RIVER Julia Stewart, 1939 Enough that it rushes along Down its appointed path, Lilce amateur it yells its song:- First there's a groan, then a laugh, Muddy and yellow, Roaring and loud, softer than rnellou All its foam forms a cloud. Sometimes it's playful- Other times itls tired- It usually has a dayfid, Then its energy is fred And in the duslcy tu-ilight lt lazily lopes along. And in the duslcy twilight lt sings a lullaby song.

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Pat averted his face and looked toward the flickering beam from the lighthouse-Mhis guiding light. None of this mattered now-he was going to the promised land, America! Now he was walking on the shore road where the black weather beaten rocks shone wet in the light. He heard the deep, throaty roars as the waves met and retreated from the shore. He must walk faster faster even thou wh his feet were tired and blistered. There was the pier! The keeper of the lighthouse turned the beam on the 'LAmerican. The news spread, and soon people were gathering around the pier. Men, women, and children waited patiently for their loved ones. As the ship drew nearer, sailors called to their families and threw their hats in the air. As the ropes were made fast, Patrick jumped on to the boat. Running over the weather worn boards, he burst into the galley of the second deck. Before the chief cook had a chance to speak, he blurted out, Any chance of my getting a job to work my way to America? Even a mess job will do. Please mister, say you will. The jolly chef looked him over, just in time, son, I was going to give one of the sailors i . fs the job, but you're a fine lad. You're hired. Patrick's heart jumped. He would see America soon! It was late in the afternoon when the American swept away from the little dock. The rolling waves leaped upon the snowy shore. People were waving goodbye. Patrick leaned against the rail, gazing at the beautiful country he was leaving. He could still see his mother standing at the gate. He had told her that he was going to make his fortune and that she wouldn't have to worry any longer. Patrick worked faithfully in the galley, patiently waiting for the new land. Cne night as he was getting ready for bed, he looked out the port hole. Could he be dreaming? But, no. There it wasiAmerica, the strange land where 'Leveryone was a millionaire. He scarcely waited for the ship to dock before he ran down the gang plank. As he looked about, he saw tall buildings. It would take him a hundred years to examine their splendor and magnificence. He felt like a speck against these monarchs. He was pushed along by the quickly moving people. When Patrick found himself, he was in the outskirts of the city and it was getting dark. He must find some shelter for the night. In the morning he would start for Philadelphia. Seeing a quaint old inn, which reminded him of his home in Ireland, he decided to go in. The couple who owned the inn insisted on giving him their large wooden bed. In the morn- ing the old lady made a kind of Irish stew consisting of dough, boiled with potatoes, and a little salt pork. Patrick relished this as he hadn't had a square meal since he had left the Americana. He inquired of the old lady when the carriage would be leaving for Phila- delphia. The woman said that if he hurried, he could get a ride. Pk Ik lk is After long hours of bumping, joggling, and slow moving, he finally reached Philadelphia. Patrick, expecting to see a mQh smaller city than New York, found one almost as large. He left the driver and weri inside a little store for shelter. Once inside, he searched his pocket for the letter that he had received three weeks before. He glanced at the address and hurried out of the store. Eighteenth Street, and this was Sixteenth. It wasn't very far, but he was so tired. The walk seemed like two hours to his aching feet. And there f in front of him he saw a black- smith shop. This must be the place Mr. Dougherty had described in his letter. At last he was there. He knocked on the door. It was opened by an old man who cried, Patrickl Patrick! my boy, you have come. Come in. You're tired. my lad. f'Oh! Mr. Dougherty, I am so glad to find someone I know. It seems so much like old Ireland. Come Patrick. you need some sleep. In the kitchen I have some porridge waiting for you. Later we can talk, but now you will rest my boy. 'Tis a long hard trip you've taken, but your journey's done. It's America you'll be loving now, my boy.

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Long years of nightly iigil, I2 NOSEGAY Betty Lovett, 1 9 3 9 The primrose in her coat of red, The forget-me-not so blue, The violet in her cozy bed, The rose in her coral hue, The fountain sprinkling water clear, The lilypad so clean, Tiny goldfish swimming near, There! a frogskin green. The coolin'g shade from the trees That sway in measured grace. The flowers playing with the bees That kiss each pretty face. LIFELESS BEAUTY Winona Clark, 1939 O'er the calm graceful river there lay A path of shimmering light, Born of the dancing moonbeams' play, Falling soft in the summer night. The river flowed 'tween its banks of pine, Grand and secret and old, Till it paused awhile to bask and shine And hlter through that molten gold. A million fish are in thy care, A thousand boats upon thy breast, A voice of youth is in the air, The mountain stream is in thy rest. Oh river deep, look up and know' The moon that sails on high, Though radiant, is cold as snow, Just lifeless beauty in the sky. CEMETERY Harry Irwin, 1959 Final resting place of the dead' Place of sorrow- Quiet. Place where the living honor the Gruesome place! Playground of ghosts. Sleeping place of the dead- Resting place of heroes. I 7 dead NIGHT WATCHMAN Betty Garvin, 1938 The inky darkness, closing around, ICEBERG Betty Wohnus, 1 9 3 7 White, massive beauty, Tall as a skyscraper, Large as a city square, The iceberg tou ers above us lvienacing, yes, menacing As a lion to a babe. But, so beautiful, so dazzling, So seemingly peaceful, That it astonishes and bewilders one. Yet it can wreck ships, kill people, And cause much disaster and distress The numerous peaks and crevices Remind one of huge whitecaps On an an gry, stormy sea. The frequent snou slides bring lvlemories of storms at home, Wfhen the drifted snow on the roof Slides off it ith a Soft sigh and a muffled thud. The window, glossy in the iridescent glow of the street lampg The corridor, bravely ascending into the black- nessg The doors, some shut, some yawning at me, Daring me to enterg The massive machines, so huge, so still, W'aiting through the night, black as themselves, My little lantern, rusted from long years' use, Swinging by my side, my sole companion, Its feeble flickering, yet cheering, glimmer- offering A challenge to the shadows, The empty smell of empty rooms, My oun overalls uorn uithout changing So long they themselves had absorbed the smell of the factoryg A tiny tacking noise-a mouse probably, 'h ' Wlell, let him be in peace-small pickings he Tk' would get here. H ll-I J.