Winthrop High School - Winthrop Winner Yearbook (Winthrop, ME)

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16 WIINTHROP WINNER to hold back the surging emotions of nations? Will the Ethiopian-Italo war come to an end before it becomes a world war? No one can be sure. Ruth A. Knowlton, '39 Foreword During the recent vacation, which we enjoyed in March, about the time of the great flood disaster, I had the doubtful pleasure of being transported by boat across the strong currents of Cobbossee stream, because the bridge was expect- ed to go any minute, and my home hap- pened to be on the other side. A threat- ening, unfamiliar body of water, swol- len to twice its normal width, and per- haps ten times its normal current, the Cobbossee looked more like a river than a stream at the time. The bridge did go sometime during that night, and the next day we went down to take a look at the remains. I couldn't believe that I had ever taken a dive off the flimsy-looking structure that floated aimlessly around several hundred yards downstream. Several large boulders had failed to hold the bridge, and still lay forlornly on the raft-like platform, like the outcast souls of the Foreign Legion, or prisoners on their way to Devil's Island. That afternoon I paid a visit to the Deestrick Skule which I had attended during my last years in grammar school. Though familiar, the queer, double-seated desks looked and felt smaller and more scarred than ever, the portrait of George Washington seemed a little more austere. But of course it all brought back the usual memories of kid pranks, kid friends. Anyway it was the Hood itself, still so fresh in everybody's mind as a period of suspense and horror and catastrophe, and the quaint little one-room school- house which inspired my story. I dedi- cate it to them both. Flood Versus Romance It was March in the solitary school- house on the flat. Sylvia Marston's blue pencil hustled unerringly through the stack of scrawly arithmetic papers on her desk, then she tucked them into the top drawer. Looking up, she met the stern gaze of The Father of our Coun- try from the painting on the wall be- hind rows of tiny scarred desks, and her gray eyes sparkled. March-and nearly spring. Georgie! Springing up, she whirled across the floor in a twirling dance that would have shocked the smallest of her pupils. But school was out, the straggling last of her brood had already disappeared beyond the wood-crested slope, with a Hash of swinging lard dinner-pail. Sound was magnified in the empty, one- floorg a squirrel scolding just outside the window from the retreats of an old, tired oak, from the swamplands below the twittering of early spring birds- then the distant purr of a powerful mo- tor. Hearing, Sylvia turned' her back on the disapproving gaze of Georgie, pat- ted powder onto a pert nose, ran a comb through her red-gold bob, slipped into a new, dashing swagger coat, grabbed up her brief-case, fumbled for the key on its customary nail beside the water- pail, and was locking the Ucantanker- ous old door when a low, blue-gray roadster swung into the yard. Ahoyl called a cheerful masculine voice. Ahoy, Sir Galahad. Am I late again '? The name made her smile. He had insisted upon calling her that since she had insisted upon doing the heroic thing, coming out here in the country to teach so that she could take care of herself and sickly mother, without do- ing the easy thing by marrying him. Something proud and independent in Sylvia revolted against dependence, even upon Gary West. Driving down the rough road, sun- light did bewitching things to Sylvia's tawny locks, etched Gary's nice profile in gold. Sylvia, will you marry me? No, she said. He managed a fairly successful laugh.

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WINTHROP HIGH SCHOOL 15 or white sail in the distance and along the shore Where small wide docks are, with a sailboat or two beside them. Then before leaving to travel on to more foreign places of beauty and inter- est, take a breath of the cool balmy breeze, sigh and wish that you would never' have to leave. After your trip is over, and you are home, years and years may go by, but I am sure you would never forget Sunny Italy. Barbara French, '39 The Ship of '36 For four years the ship of the class of '36 has been on its way. Today, on April 21, 1936, it is nearing its destina- tion, Graduation Harbor. With good weather and fair winds, we shall make port in about seven weeks. It is true that there have been days, and may yet be days, when it will not all be smooth sailing, but I think we will find that things will invariably turn out for the good. We have all heard, no doubt, of the young man, who, upon receiving his diploma, shouted, Hurrah, I'm edu- cated! This seems to be the attitude taken by a good many students, but the true scholar will realize that receiving a diploma, whether it be high school or college, does not mark the end of his education. It is only the beginning. There is always more to be learned in the School of Experience. There is al- ways' knowledgel waiting for us just around the cornerg if we only keep our eyes and ears open to things going on around us. Some of us, I believe, have very def- inite plans. Others of us have plans that are but half-formulated. While still others of us have not the faintest idea of where we shall turn next. Some will seek higher education, while others will join the ranks of the employer and employee. , , I -Why not make our closingdays to- gether as happy as possible? Why not get along with as little friction as we can? Let each one of us do his level best to help provide the good weather and fair winds necessary to guide the ship of '36 safely into port. We can do it if we all pull together. Winthrop High School has treated us well. Let us make our lives worth- while so that she may be proud of us. And above all, wherever the passing years may find us, let us pray that we may be worthy of our beloved Alma Mater. Ida Edwards, '36 The Ethiopian Problem The Ethiopian problem is the most important event of the past six months. This is true because the interests of the world are endangered by the conflict. The world's peace and prosperity de- pend upon the sureness of the Kellogfr Treaty and the strength of the League of Nations. When the nations were figuring the cost of war, they found that it cost 525,000 to kill one man. What a huge sum of money is wasted in war when it is needed by the countries for the re- lief of their unemployed people and their public works! How easy it is to see why countries get into debt when they fight in war! The peace of the world depends part- ly upon the League, because if the League fails to prevent Italy from cap- turing Ethiopia, other nations will say that if the League cannot stop Italv it cannot stop other countries. and then they, too, may start attacking the weaker countries. Even now, Japan is planning an attack on Northern China and other countries near her. However, the League has accomplished one thinfr. It has persuaded Italy's allies to help prevent Italy from capturing Ethiopia. If Italy has no allies, where will she obtain the supplies she needs? Many pacts have been signed and af- terward broken, but there still are a few. Will these few be strong enough

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WINTHROP HIGH SCHOOL 17 If at first you don't succeed-! Young lady, are you aware of the fact that I received a S10 raise today? How's that for the climbing architect? Mr. San- derson unbent enough today to give me credit for originality and promise in ideas-now will you marry me ? Gee, that's swell! sparkled Sylvia. No, sighed Sylvia, But let's celebrate the raise. . . The movie-su, planned Gary. A big spread afterwards at the snootiest res- taurant in town-then we'll look in on Strand Pavilion. And then me stumbling into the house in the shady hours beyond mid- night, Waking Mrs. Lyn's baby, and old Mrs. Greeley across the road peeking out the window to see if you kiss me good-night? Sir-this is the country! He acknowledged the fact with a def- inite scowl. Will a ride and picnic sup- per be within the limits of country eti- quette? Say, a drive over to Andover? Gary, faltered Sir Galahad. An- dover is forty-three miles away. Forty-three miles, in this car? He looked keenly into her eyes. Okay, surrendered Sir Galahad, not too unhappily. A cool drive, hunger-tempting sand- wiches, and' Gary's eighty-ninth pro- posal were still on Sylvia's mind the next day as she pushed a second grade reader unwillingly through the story of the three goats who marched across the bridge. It was gray and desolate and very Aprilish. It was raining. It rained through noon hour and kiddies with muddy feet tracked across the floor and left wet mittens under the stove. It was raining when Garv's road- ster swung into the yard for her that afternoon, top up. It rained all night and Sylvia. tossing on a feather bed, heard Mrs. Lyn walking the iioor with Lyn, Jr., who had the croup. Wondered how her mother was getting along in town- After a dismal night Sylvia heard the rain pelting against the roof - Friday the 13th. Looking out, Sylvia saw that the yard was washed into a queer clay mud-puddle. H No school. Sylvia wandered around the house that morning, picked up a book, laid it down. Mr. Lyn came in from the chores, his nondescript slicker making him look wetter than ever. Rainin' calves and pitchforks! he grumbled, And the creek's risin', fast. Sylvia went to the window and a queer pang struck her as she looked down the pasture slope at the ugly swol- len waters of the stream. Why, the water is level with the bridge I she exclaimed. Yeah, I know, said Lyn. That was all anyone said. Saturday the bridge went out-Sylvia watched it go, a helpless splintered thing in the churning waters. the only link to the World and Gary. The waters now were up to the pasture gates. No- body needed to ask any questions then -everybody knew. Sylvia thought, If Gary were only here! At noon she tried to call her mother. The line was down, said the local operator, between there and town. Returning from a survey, Lyn re- ported that-the old sheep shed below the pasture had been destroyed, was float- ing downstream. Pa, said Mrs. Lyn, tremulously, We ought to get out of here. Lyn avoided her eyes. On this knoll -we should be safe enough. We should be safe enough, thought Sylvia, fighting down that queer sense of panic. If onlv there were a radio! She ran the old phonograph all after- noon, listening to the same cracked rec- ords, over and over . . . Anything to shut out the noise of pouring rain, of pouring creek waters! Mrs. Lyn called the McBerrys who lived down in the low swampy region of the valley, the only family in immediate danger. We're swamped, came Mrs. Mc- Berry's hysterical voice over the wire. Cut off. There's three feet of water in the cellar. We'l1 be afloat in a few hours. The-the food's given out. Dad tried to get us out in the fiivver, but the motor flooded before we had gone ten feet.