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

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Ckristmas for Sailors Gordon Flett ' 36 In the year 1919 the American Submarine S- 1 9 floated on the surface charging her great storage batteries. The conning tower was open, and the men shivered in the cold air as they checked the forward gun, to be positive it was in good condition. It was near Christmas and the thoughts of the men were of their loved ones at home. They were tired of the cramped quarters of a sub , and the ever present danger of death. Larson, the second mate on watch, suddenly sprang up and shouted an alarm. Five enemy bombing planes were seen not far away. All the men disappeared into the depths of the sub , and she started forward, disappearing below the surface. The German High Command had issued orders for the destroying or the capture of the S-19, and two German destroyers of the latest type, and the German submarine U-27 were in search of the S-19, to carry out their orders. The two destroyers were a half-mile apart, the U-27 bringing up the rear a mile behind. The American commander knew of the two destroy- ers, but was unaware of the submarine. He gave the order to lie on the bottom and to let the destroyers pass over them. When the man at the listening tubes had declared the destroyers over and passed, they rose to the surface. An order prepared all torpedo tubes ready to fire. Fire torpedo one! came the command, followed by Fire torpedoes three and four! Three long gray torpedoes, one in the lead, shot forward. They hit one destroyer just be- low the surface, causing a bad list. The other two all but blew the remaining destroyer out of the water. Confusion immediately followed. Men leaped into the freezing waters, boats were launched ; but, unnoticed, except by German officers, the enemy sub , U-27, rose to the sur- face. Taking the situation in, the commander gave orders to fire the forward gun. Sailors rushed forward, took aim,, and fired at the S-19. The shell tore a hole in the upper part of the con- trols in such a way as to make the ship respond rather sluggishly. The S-19 dived in hopes of eluding the Germans, but they too submerged. Suddenly a throbbing was heard. This in- creased in volume until it deafened them ; then it decreased. Several times this happened, and the Americans realized the German sub was try- ing to ram them. They could not escape, be- cause of the damaged controls, and a crash would not harm the enemy sub because of its nose which was intended for ramming. Again the throbbing, louder than before, increased in vol- ume, and then came a deafening crash. Lights flickered. Air burst on the outside of the sub- marine with the noise of a cannon. Strong men screamed in fear of a watery death. At length they were quiet. Everything seemed all right. Then the truth came to all. The German sub- marine had crossed at an angle, just below the S-19, but the conning tower had struck the heavy keel of the S-19, causing the tower to snap off, and fill the enemy sub with water immediately. The Americans again rose to the surface. Oil lay on the water, but, otherwise, there was no evidence of the fight of hatred and death below the surface, which had just taken place. The S-19 made her way slowly into her Naval Base a day later. The men would be on land for Christmas and its joys, but their minds were on the unfortunate men in the enemy sub U-27 and their death. They wondered if their turn to perish was coming. If so, when and how? Christmas Day The dawn broke quietly and stealthily over the slumbering village. The lazy sun rose over the hill and shone brightly, reflecting on the milky snow. From the gray-blue skies fell large, fluffy snowflakes, covering the earth with a deeper and heavier blanket. The branches of the bare trees were hanging low, threatening to crack under the strain of the snow piled on them. Gradually the village awoke from its slum- bering stillness. Signs of life appeared, shades went up, and gay colorful wreaths hung in the windows, or some bright bearing Christmas tree was trying to show off its ornaments behind the curtains. Men hurriedly made paths to the woodshed to fetch wood. Smoke curled from the chimneys into the cold, frosty air. Everyone arose joyfully for it was Christmas Day, the birthday of our Saviour, a day of cele- bration and happiness. The church bells chimed, and from every doorway children ran out, laugh- ing and jumping as their thankful parents fol- lowed behind. They were going to the Lord ' s house to thank Him for all He had given them and the joy and happiness He had brought. Lucie Leone ' 37 REFLECTOR . ..9...

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Grandmotker s Story Florence McDowell 37 In an attractive old-fashioned house a group of people were seated around a large fireplace. The wood was crackling, and the sparks were blowing cheerily up the chimney. One of this group, an old lady with beautiful snow-white hair, which was brushed back softly off nei wrinkled forehead, was seated in a large arm- chair. Three children sat at her feet, on the hearth rug before the open fire. The youngest child was leaning sleepily against her grandmother ' s chair, and they were all clamoring for their usual good-night story. The old lady started in with: Well, my lit- tle children, as long as it is the night before Christmas, I shall tell you a Christmas story that is true. When I was a little girl, my father went to fight in the Civil War. The months stretched out wearily. They were certainly un- happy ones for us. For weeks at a time we would be without word from our father. Often we would find our mother in tears, but when she saw us, her lips would break into a sweet smile. Finally all word failed to reach us. We waited and waited, but no letter came. One day, when we came in from our play, we found a great many people in our home. Our aunt led us into a room and told us that our daddy was dead, that he had given his life for his country, and that we should feel very proud. This was just before Thanksgiving time, and the news dampened our spirits greatly, and we felt that we had little to be thankful for. Days went past, and Christmas drew near; but we were not welcoming it with anticipation, because we missed our father so much. Mother prepared as usual, by baking and putting her house in order, and by making everything as inviting as possible. Finally the day before Christmas came. Mother was hurrying about, and we were ' all helping her, because we knew she was unhappy. We were all popping corn to make corn- balls when we heard a knock at the door. John, my brother, started to the door, but he had the corn-popper in his hand ; so mother told him she ' d go. Upon opening the door, she stood there, speechless. We all turned our heads rc see who it was, and we heard mother sob. ' Oh, my dear. Can it be true? Can it be true you are here? Come in! Come in! ' Our daddy walked in the door. He clasped us all in his arms, while we shed tears of happi- ness to feel him so close to us once more. Mother clung to him, and asked him how such a thing could happen. He looked at us in sur- prise, and asked us what we meant. So mother then told him how we had received word that he was dead. Father was certainly surprised ; then he felt sad that we had suffered such sorrow. He said that they were in the battle-line and a man, one who happened to be his best friend, had been without a coat, so he had covered him up with his own, never thinking he would die. When this soldier was found badly mutilated, they found daddy ' s coat near the body. The paper in the pockets had identified the man as my father. Later, daddy said, he himself was picked up by the enemy, and held prisoner. He had just been released and had come home as soon as possible. That was the best Christmas I ever had. We laughed so much, in our excitement, we almost forgot to eat the big, brown, crispy tur- key mother had cooked. We had so many peo- ple coming in and out, our door was always open. Mother had candles everywhere, and we certainly made up for our unhappy Thanks- giving, because we had more to be thankful for than anyone else in the world. Now, my little chickens, the story is over and so you must hur- ry and hang up the stockings, and scamper up the stairs. Grandma hurried them along in this fashion, because she didn ' t want them to see the tears which were shining in her eyes. Rita Linnehan : Ned turned to Joe and ad- dressed him — Rita Lawrence: Must be going to send him somewhere. Ned Houghton (at a party) : Hello! It ' s a peasant surprise to meet you here. Mac: Good of you to say so. Ned Houehton: Yes, I was afraid I should not find anybody here but brainy and cultured people. He: I ' m so sorry, dearest, that your father cannot afford the big church wedding you ' ve set vour heart on. She: Oh. I don ' t mind a small wedding for my first time, sweetheart. Perhaps father will be better fixed financially when I marry- again. REFLECTOR ...8...

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A Little Blue C ar Miriam B. Nask ' 37 In the kitchen of the Wilcox home, was Tom Wilcox, a young fellow about eighteen years old. Placed on a table in front of him were numer- ous articles, all bearing a decidedly Christmas air. At his left hand were scissors, ribbon, seals, and sheets of multi-colored paper. He was ap- parently ready for work of some sort, for his sleeves were rolled up, his necktie was lacking, and his bed slippers were on his feet. He ap- peared to have a list, which he was checking over. Hm—socks for Uncle Herbert— scarf for Aunt Gertrude-neckties for Ed, George, and Donald —handkerchiefs for Grandma-pipe for Dad- money for Mother— bottle of perfume for Sis- toy automobile for Johnnie-hm-g uess that ' s all. Seems to be all here too. Starting at the top of his list, he methodically wrapped each package. That is, until he came to the little car. There, his masculine curiosity for mechanics overpowered him, and following the directions most carefully, he wound it up, and set it on the floor. The car, however, did not want to go. Upon investigation, he decided that a push directed to the right spot was needed. But still the car did not go. Then, like all boys, little or big, he started to find out the reason by taking the little blue car apart. Before he had gone far, however, he found the trouble— a screw loose. He whistled as he set the screw aright, forgetting that Johnnie was a light sleeper. As he put the car on the floor for the last trial, a figure, clad in pajamas, appeared in the doorway. What are y a doing? ' ' Johnnie inquired as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Huh? Ah— nothing much, Tom answered, trying to hide the car with his foot. But fate intervened, and the little blue car decided to go. Clicking away, it went straight to Johnnie. Oh— (This was all that Johnnie could say.) Dropping to his knees, he picked it up, over- come with joy. Do you like it? Tom asked. But the question was not heeded, for Johnnie was completely absorbed by his little blue car. As he played, he began to wonder whose car it was, what it was doing in the kitchen, and why Tom had been playing with it. Tom seemed to read his thoughts and said : It ' s yours, Johnnie. I was going to give it to you as a Christmas present, but since this has happened, you may have it now. Come! it ' s late, and you ' ll wa nt to be up early tomorrow. That night a little boy went to bed, tired but happy, and clasping a little blue car in his hand. oppmg K. Newkert ' 35 Shopping is just another of the things that I can ' t understand. If a man wants a suit of clothes or a pair of shoes, he proceeds to pur- chase them. On the other hand, if a woman wants a dress or a coat, she goes shopping. The dictionary might give the definition of shopping as purchasing, but, to me, these two words have a vastly different meaning. If there is one thing that ruins my whole week-end, it is being told that I am going shopping with my mother. Why on earth a woman has to shop is beyond my comprehension. When she starts out she has in mind exactly what she is going to get, but she does not pro- ceed to buy it. First, she begins to window- shop. From this point on, any male knows that all hope of enjoyment has fled from his clutches. From window to window, he is led by a never tiring female. Everv once in a while she sees something that she likes, and in- vestigates it. Minutes drag into hours, and finally when the disgusted male is half-starved and literally ' out on his feet , she remembers, Oh, my coat. Then with a remarkable supply of energy, she leads him about with great haste, finally termi- nating in the purchase of a coat. Of course, she is either in too much of a hurry to try it on, and she arrives home to find out it won ' t fit, or she finds that she has changed her mind, or that it didn ' t match, or that it just somehow wasn ' t satisfactory. Then, after all her work, she sends it back with the correct size, color, and price. When her next coat arrives, she finds it somehow fits perfectly, and suits her implicitly. Why couldn ' t she have done this in the first place? What is it, if anything, that is gained by shopping? Another thing, why on earth can ' t two wo- men wear similar dresses without some show of disgust. Year in and year out men wear almost identical clothes, and don ' t seem to mind it. It seems to me that there must be something amiss in women ' s make-up that forces them to be so, as nearly as I can define it, fickle. Sk REFLECTOR ...10...