Weymouth High School - Campus / Reflector Yearbook (Weymouth, MA)

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8 REFLECTOR Tke X irst Winter At Pi vmouth The Mayflower reached Cape Cod on Nov- ember 9, 1620. After exploring the coast in the vicinity, the Pilgrims selected for their per manent settlement the place now called Plym- outh, where they landed, Decemher 21. The rigors of a New England winter were upon them hefore they could build a single house. After two days of storm and rain they set to work on December 23, and for three days cut timber with great diligence. So rapidly did they work that by January 13 one house stood on the shore. The very next day this house burned down, with all the beds of the adult men. Meanwhile — indeed, ever since the landing at Provincetown- — a considerable number had been ill, and by February what Bradford called the general sickness had stricken practically all the members. As their surprisingly good health on the voyage had been the result of the ex- tremely careful arrangements, so now the cause of the general sickness seems to have been careless exposure. The women, misled by a mild spell of weather, washed clothes in the ponds at Provincetown, and caught severe colds. Ex- plorations and expeditions resulted in further exposure. The result seems to have been tuber- culosis of a surprisingly contagious and rapid type, sometimes called galloping consumption . Whatever it was, the Pilgrims certainly caught it from one another and in December, six died, in January, eight more, in February seventeen, and in March, thirteen. So dire was their dis- tress that, during those months, no more than six or seven were well at the same time, and only Bradford and Standish entirely escaped ill- ness. On some days two or three died and tra- dition says that the graves accumulated so fast, that the Pilgrims leveled them with care, lest the Indians suspect how greatly the colony was weakened. Those who were able labored un- sparingly night and day, carrying wood, making fires, preparing food, making beds, and washing clothes. Their devotion to each other during these exceedingly trying months is beyond all praise. Priscilla Chandler ' 34 He: Did you ever read To a Mouse? She: No. How did you ever get it to listen ' A Summer Storm It is a hot, drowsy, lazy, summer day. The streets are deserted except for a few limp-look- ing stragglers, and the sun looks like a flaming ball of fire as it scorches the parched earth. An innocent-looking cloud glides across the horizon, but it is followed by more, black and threatening. A distant rumble like a barrel fall- ing down stairs is heard in the distance. Then a louder rumble, and a flashing ribbon of fire appears, and is gone. The sky is black, and the earth is very still. Not a leaf trembles on the trees, and it seems as if the world is waiting for something, quiet and expectant. Then an adventurous drop of rain patters down on a leaf. A few more fol- low, and then comes the deluge. A torrent of water streams down, and the thunder crashes like mad cymbals, while the lightning zig zags crazily across the sky. The wind whips great trees into a frenzy, and they bow down low to the storm. Here and there a tree topples down with a deafening crash, which is immediately silenced by another burst of fury from the thunder. On the streets a few belated pedestrians are seen, drenched, bedraggled, and mournful. They scurry along with umbrellas blown wrong side out, looking out for the puddles, and trying to keep their already soaked and dripping feet as dry as possible. At last they give up all hopes of keeping dry, and splash along with a reckless abandon, fine to see. A last shriek of fury from the wind, as the rain drops patter down more softly. Finally rhev cease, and, with a defeated crash and rumble, the thunder dies away rebelliously in the distance, the lightning plays for a few mo- ments in the distant sky, and then the sun blazes forth more brightly than ever. The puddles soon disappear, and there is no trace of the storm ex- cept for a few trees King amid their broken and crushed branches along the roads. Marjorie Bloxham ' 36 Note: If you have any further information as to the whereabouts and occupations of any of the Wevmouth High School Alumni, please communicate with our Alumni editor. — The Editor

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REFLECTOR Street Car Lady Why, what ' s the matter, sonny? The small boy gazed at the owner of the soft voice through a film of tears. He saw a woman in her late twenties, her lovely dark eyes filled with sympathy. I ' m running away, he said, but I ' m home- sick already. The lady suppressed a smile, unwilling to hurt the boy, who was evidently serious. Then why don ' t you go back, now? The conductor will stop the car for you. I can ' t do that. My mother doesn ' t want me and daddy — well, he is too interested in his work to care. Why, every mother wants her own little boy near her. But I ' m not her own little boy, insisted the child. She ' s only been in our house three years, and she never liked me. Where is your own mother? queried the lady softly. I don ' t know, he answered sadly. But Dora, my nurse, said she went away when I was a little boy. She said she was lovely and was the finest lady she ever knew. But mother says she couldn ' t have loved me or she would not have gone away. I think she would have stayed, though, if she knew I would miss her. Don ' t you ? He looked at her appealingly. Of course, dear, she assured him. I know she must be beautiful and kind like Dora says. And I bet she ' s waiting somewhere for me. That ' s really why I ran away, so I could find her. But I forgot — I guess I haven ' t been very polite. My name is Eddie Jerome, and I live at 52 Park Avenue. What is your name? Her voice was barely audible as she answered, My name doesn ' t matter. I guess I ' ll call you the ' Street Car Lady ' . Daddy always said never to speak to strangers, but you don ' t seem like a stranger. You ' re aw- fully nice. Thank you, Eddie. And now I ' ll tell you something. I ' m not really a stranger. You know, I can see things other people can ' t. And I know that if you go home now, and wait until you ' re a big, strong, boy, your own mother will come back to you. It may be only a few years. She really loves you, Eddie, and I know she ' s really sorry she went away and left you. That ' s wonderful, he exclaimed wondering- ly. I wish I could see things like you can. And I see something else, she went on. I see your father worrying about you, and wish- ing you were home. He is promising never to neglect you again, if you will only come back. See, Eddie, the car is stopping. You can get off here, and catch the next car home. I will, he promised. I want to see daddy and Dora and — I guess, mother too. Good-bye, Street-Car-Lady. Good-bye, she said, waving her hand and with misty eyes watching the sturdy little figure of her boy — her own little son — disappear in the crowd - Vera Callahan ' 35 To A Bluebird A little bit of feather, A little bit of wing, A little flash of brilliant blue, A little voice to sing — These things all make a bluebird, A happy bit of song, A joyful bit of color, A trilling all day long. Rainbows A summer shower, The peeping sun, A foggy mist arising, And lo! A miracle is done! A rainbow brightly shining, And at its foot a pot of gold Awaits the weary rover, To vanish like his happy dreams When the fleeting shower is over. Ma, ■jorie Bloxham ' 36 Don ' t buy a car until you ' ve tried the new Dodge and Plymouth THORP ' S GARAGE 866 Washington St., East Weymouth

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X REFLECTOR 9 About Travelling Do you know what I should do if I were to receive a great deal of money? I should imme- diately set out to make true one of my favorite dreams — to travel abroad. I should never travel on a prescribed tour, for that would spoil all; but should go at random to this or that place which struck my fancy. I must be sure to visit England. For what could be more delightful than to ride through its quaint villages, to see the rows of thatched cot- tages, the smoke curling from the chimneys? There would be an atmosphere of drowsy peace and comfort over all. The women and children would be rosy-cheeked and plump. Everything would make me wish to stay there forever. The next country on my route would be Hol- land, with her canals, spotless streets and quaintly costumed people; then Switzerland, and her blue, blue lakes, with the snow-capped Alps towering above. It is my dearest wish to see the chalets, the herds of goats, and hear the clear yodel of the herdsman, about which I have read in Heidi with so much pleasure. And so on I would go, through the Orient, though I would not stay long there. Perhaps, though, my fears are foolish, and I would find it less sinister than it now seems. When my jour- ney ended, I should have sailed around the world. I think I should be much the better for it, too, much more broad-minded in ray view of life, and having a better knowledge of the peo- ples and lands across the sea. M. Senigo ' 34 Dayd reams There ' s the sun and the wind and the sky and me, And the green, green, grass, and a tall pine tree, And the sea is so blue, and the clouds are so white, And the green, green grass and a tall pine tree, As I lie in the grass, and the wind sings to me Of the sun and the sky and a tall pine tree. Marjorie Bloxham ' 36 Tbrills There are many different kinds of thrills that we experience each day. Unwittingly, we are influenced by varied emotions which serve to animate our thoughts and cheer our drooping spirits. We all know of persons who are thrilled most deeply by having a member of the opposite sex gaze admiringly upon them as they pass by. Others experience greatest thrills by swooping along at sixty-five up and down a favorite roller-coaster road at Hingham. Some are en- raptured by peering at the heavens on a clear night, wondering if any scientist will, at some future date, discover or perfect a means, where- by dwellers of the Earth will be able to pene- trate the vast expanse of ether to a planet or star. Others may be entranced by the beautiful chords of an orchestra, or fascinated by the deft handiwork of an artist or sculptor. Many reli- gious fanatics feel their deepest exultation upon watching newly-converted sinners walk humbly down to the altar amid a thronging multitude led by some great evangelist. Nevertheless, what greater thrill is it possible for us to experience than that of relief after the accomplishment of a formidable task? Thus it is that with mingled emotions I write this Re- flector composition. Sylvia Merrill ' 34 Lullaby To Youtb Sleep, youth, Growing into new heights for aspiration, From deathlike repose to impatient energy. How perfect your joy, how strong your song! How eager yet, life ' s ever constant refrain! With unuttered prayer on dry lips, You awake — To learn to breathe again ! Henry Hanhisalo ' 34