New London High School - Whaler Yearbook (New London, CT)

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6 BULKELEY NEWS In Love and War. EUNICE and Grace Hull were commenting earnestly over the contents received only a few moments previous—a letter which a few words contained therein, caused more mental activity to those two girls, for such they were; and handsome, indeed,—than would an event of greater importance. It was not one of the ordinary epistles that confront various persons each day and which they read with little or no interest—neither one of those letters uncared for and not anticipated ; but very much to the contrary. It was, and to be sincere, a letter awaited for with anxiety, and and which received, eased the largest cruelsome burden that anxiety can load on not-quite-yet matured minds. It came a long distance, was a long time coming, and dearer to the hearts of the aforesaid girls than would be pleasures indefinable. Over in France, in a hospital deluged with wounded and dying modern warriors and heroes; an institution which harbored death and death’s accomplices; cries of pain, anguish, homesickness, and disease; where the despicable, but heroic part of life and the various forms of suffering were conspicuous; a tall, well-proportioned young, and good-looking doctor hurriedly traversed a blood-stained floor while making his daily tour to the numerous bedsteads and the signifi- cant heart-rending scenes therein lying, in order to alleviate at least a little of the suffering, if not a great deal. As he concluded his labor and knelt beside the last patient’s bed, Harold Hull’s heart sank within the deep sea of sympathy that so often got the best of him and caused him many horrible pangs. He was treating a nurse—one who faithfully volunteered her life in order to be of use to others. But it was not the nurse as much as the story attached to her that held Harold’s gravest sympathies. She was in love. A soldier was in love. They were in love—and with each other, which speaks the fundamental part of the story. Then she saved his life when he was wounded. Wounded in such a manner, that naught but death could benefit by. But brave girl, optimistic where pessimism should have reigned, she knelt beside his bed and devoted four sleepless nights to his care. Her constant labor was victorious. He rallied, and why not? How can death better such a contending force of bravery and skill which that girl hurled against it? It had to give in. The soldier, well, went off again to lend his services for his Majesty. Her strenuous work, however, rendered her beyond health, which answers for her being in bed instead of out. Harold knew this, and, better still, understood it. His heart gave a sudden thud. A sigh of relief escaped

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BULKELEY NEWS 5 On the table the clock was merrily ringing, its hands pointing to the hour of seven, time to get up for school. Grabbing a shoe he flung it at the offender, which, though rudely interrupted, kept up its noise. Tom arising, begrudgeingly muttered: Hang it,—at the best part of it, too!” Try This On Your Piano. I went for a trip on the mountain side— On the mountain side—on the mountain side, I went for a trip on the mountain side; I just went for a ride! This is what I saw on the mountain side— On the mountain side—on the mountain side. This is what I saw on the mountain side; The time I went for a ride! Over there I espied a classy kid— A classy kid—a classy kid. Over there I espied a classy kid; And I made for her—I did. She turned around to look at me— To look at me—to look at me. She turned around to look at me; And oh—what I did see! A face she had as black as coal— As black as coal—as black as coal. A face she had as black as coal; And features like a mole! That’s what I saw on the mountain side— On the mountain side—on the mountain side. That’s what I saw on the mountain side; Where never again I’ll ride! —Frank A. Mallen.

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BULKELEY NEWS 7 his lips, for he knew that she would live. He retreated to his office to spend a few moments on thoughts pertaining elsewhere, across a sea, where peace and harmony in their brightest robes, dwelt. “Listen Sis, I’ve got an idea,” presently spoke up Grace, breaking the long-stayed silence. Eunice looked up to regard her sister, and, as if awakening from an unpleasant dream, listened. We’ll get some rings and send them over to Europe so the soldiers can marry the nurses in memorable fashion. Brother writes there are a good many nurses and soldiers who wish to marry —but what is marriage without a ring to keep as a remembrance —remembrance which contains infinite numbers of priceless reveries?” These sentences seemed to strike Grace with effective force, for the precious letter dropped from her fingers and Heaven’s Own Daughter, for such was her name among her numberless admirers, was pleased with the suggestion. “Oh, that’ll be lovely!” answered Grace in her much-envied voice. We’ll go down town this afternoon and buy some to send away.” “No, we’ll not,” interrupted Eunice, “We’re not going to spend our own money, but let those who can afford it spend theirs,” and Eunice finished by whispering a suggestion. Sister, you’re a wonder—you and brother are a team, ’ ’ com m ended Grace, while she kissed her younger sister. “We’re going down to New London, Friday, for the races, you know, and will be sure to meet the boys then,” said Eunice. Grace was again lost in thought. Days that were years; hours that were months; minutes that were weeks, and suffering that is too intense to describe, all passed by with the coming of light and dark in a small rural hospital in France. Some went, some came, and a continual coming and going was in progress. Harold Hull, the same, still continued his daily tours through the hospital. Brave nurse, Dorothy Smith, was progressing. Earnest Cupid was also progressing. The recalled-to-fife soldier daily visited his sweetheart —matrimony gradually became the subject of their thoughts. Harold saw all, knew all, felt all, and retired to his office each day to enjoy the wholesome ecstasies and pleasures of recalling better days. Friday found New London and New York in importance. Automobiles, yachts, and trains assisted in conveying the large influx of enthusiasts to that city. Every state in the country was represented at the hotels in various personages and all walks of life were noticeable on the overcrowded streets. Boat Race Day is an important event to New Londoners, a hap-penning which hotel keepers and officials look forward to with pride. All was merry and bright, cheerful and enjoyable, and encouraging. Yale and Harvard were to race, consequently college students and their followers flocked to the scene, and when