Abington High School - Abhis Yearbook (Abington, MA)

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THE ABHIS 9 began to assemble at Centre Abington. Father said it wasn't proper for young ladies to be seen on the streets before eight o'clock in the morning, so we couldn't go out as early as Matilda and Caroline Bates could. At eight o'clock, Father said we could depart, Mother let Carrie borrow her pretty laven- der parasol and gloves for the occasion and Lucy let me use her yellow set. CI do wish Lucy would give that set to me-I know she wouldn't miss it.J On the way we met Sally Bicknell from North Abington, whose father was in the parade, and Sarah Donovan, whose father was also in the pa- rade. The procession formed on the green in front of Hatherly Hall and the big carriages with their shiny leather seats rolled by us. Even at that time of the morning there were many people in evi- dence. At quarter past eleven the parade came into sight, led by the Chief Marshal and a brass band from Weymouth. There was a floral procession, too, with a chariot drawn by six white horses. In it were thirty-six girls, all dressed in white and carry- ing big bouquets of flowers. Many of the flowers came from Grandmother Hobart's gardens, for yes- terday I helped her pick some of the Damask roses and the lovely foxglove and day lilies. Grandfather Whitten drove the big chaise up from Hingham with some of the sweetest Cinnamon pinks for Car- rie and me to wear at our waists like the older girls. Sally, Sarah, Carrie and I watched the parade as it passed us and went through Washington Street, Centre Avenue, and Plymouth Street on its way to Island Grove. After it went by us, we took the short cut and ran over to Island Grove to be there in time to watch the procession over again. By the time we got there, we were all hot and thirsty, but we couldn't get a drink anywhere. Sarah had tripped and fallen and had a big grass stain on the hem of the new pink dress her grandmother had just finished for her the night before. ' When the parade finally did get to Island Grove, all the soldiers stood around and fired their guns. Then the parade split and people sat around in little groups to hear speeches. The four of us sat in the shade of some pine trees, away from everybody else. By this time we were so hungry that nothing mattered until we had had something to eat. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the speeches were over and the people began forming the long lines to the tent where all the tables were Carrie and I had to go home for dinner because we weren't allowed to eat with all the grown-ups at the banquet. CLucy stayed though, because she's going to marry William Hathaway and he could get tickets for both of them. It must be wonderful to be a lady like Lucy.D Sally's mother catne to get Sally and Sarah to take them home for dinner too. Father almost wouldn't let us go back this after- noon for the singing and the games, but Mother said occasions like this didn't happen very often and we ought to be allowed to go back if we wanted to. Finally Father said he supposed it was all right only we would be terribly over-tired tomorrow and have horrid dispositions all day long. When we did get back to Island Grove, they were having speeches and songs, and after these there was a band concert. About half-past five Grandfather Whitten came after us to take us home, but Lucy didn't get home until nearly half- past nine. Carrie went to bed almost as soon as we got home, but I stayed up to write in my jour- nal. We had a wonderful day and I'll remember it all the rest of my life. P. S.-Father said there were nearly fifteen thou- sand people at Island Grove today. I truly never saw so many people in all my life and I don't know when I've had such a good time or been so tired. Written on this twenty-seventh day of july, in the year of our Lord one thou- sand eight hundred and sixty-five. CYNTHIA WHITING, '51 'All names, deter, placer and eventr taken from I-Iirtory of the Town of Abington by Ben- jamin Hobart. Chapter XXXVII, Page: 332- 341.

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8 THE ABHIS P-a-r-g-r-a-p-h. No, it's wrong. Sarah, it's your turn. P-a-r-a-g-r-a-p-h. Very good. Now it's Harry's turn. I want you to spell paregoric. I know you've never heard of it, but try, anyway. Paragoric. No, now let's see how Sarah can do. Pa-r-e-g-o-r-i-c, said Sarah, full of confidence. Correct! There was a roar of applause, and Sarah rushed to her mother. There was not a hap- pier girl than Sarah, and you can probably guess wh . Y NANCY SLAYTER, '53 LIFE AT A. H. S. It is seven-forty-live in the morning and another day at Abington High School is beginning. Right now I'm doing a real bang-up job of wasting lif- teen minutes as I am sitting on the bleachers talk- ing over the news of the day with my energetic friends and at the same time listening to an an- cient record being played for the fourth time this morning. Now it is eight o'clock and after the Star-Span- gled Banner has faithfully stumbled from the loudspeaker I settle down to do the three lengthy assignments which I told myself could so easily be done in activity period. After a few minor inter- ruptions, however, such as a general fire drill and some announcements made by the principal, I managed partially to complete one subject. My ears are still clicking and my hands are numb as I emerge from the typing room and again expose myself to the dangers involved in walk- ing in the A. H. S. hallway. Now it's second period and I enter my beloved French class. Faites attention! booms the instruc- tor from behind his dark-rimmed glasses. I shudder as his optical gunfire passes up and down the rows to see that everything is just so. Now he moves to the blackboard and starts writing sentences which all look like Greek to me. Failing to recall ever having any course in Greek, I come to the startling conclusion that these are French sentences. Managing to survive a few verbal bombardrnents, I fight my way to English. Here an utterly intriguing discussion of parricipial phrases holds me entranced. But after forty-five minutes of inspired discussion and undivided in- terest, the bell rings and I tear myself away from this captivating subject. Next period--Algebra. The instructor enters, marches to the windows, throws them open, turns off the heat, closes the door, and we're off. The teacher juggles chalk in the manner of an actor out of a television set. His feats of skill with the white objects soon make us forget the frozen ink in the ink wells. Tomorrow I shall remember to bring some anti-freeze to put in my pen. One member of my algebra class can be depended upon to come up with such a stupid question that it amazes me at how calmly and patiently the teacher answers. The teacher is spared many of these inquiries as the words freeze and drop to the Hoot before they reach him. As the time for the bell to ring nears, we all close our books and prepare to sprint for the cafeteria. After a few unofficial records for the one-hundred-yard dash have been set, the line forms for the hot lunch. This line is the scene of more bribes than are seen in ten years of Boston politics. Following a couple of uneventful study periods, I at last come to my last period of the day-Biol- ogy. Thar's where you learn what makes you tick. Sometimes we even delve into Chemistry. This brings to mind the time when our teacher mixed some green liquid, with a few innocent-looking yel- low lumps of something that started with P . . . A few minutes later, as the smoke cleared, the in- structor explained what had caused the combus- tion. The hydrogen combined with the oxygen and was ignited by the heat from . . . at this point she was interrupted by a student in the back row. So that's how they make the hydrogen bomb! he exclaimed. Thus, a typical day at Abington High School comes to a close with a bang. RUSSELL WHEATLEY, '55 Reception of the Soldiers of Abington, July 27, 1865, from the Civil Warm A july 27, 1865 Dear journal: V About live o'clock this morning, the peal of church bells and the boom of cannon awakened Carrie and me out of our sound sleep. For an in- stant, both of us wondered what had happened, and then suddenly all sleepiness was erased from our minds, as another peal of church bells broke through the morning air, and we remembered that this was the longed-for and dreamed-of day of the Soldiers' Reception. While Carrie and I washed in the cold water at our brand new iron sink and then slipped into our best white poplin frocks, our long white cotton knitted stockings, and best high button shoes, the sun's rays were already beginning to break through the pink and gray dawn, promis- ing us a beautiful day. X. For breakfast we had the usual derestable corn- meal mush and molasses CI don't see why Mother won't use that new cereal and brown 'sugar I told her aboutj , but it wasn't quite so bad this morning, because we ate it so quickly. After breakfast, we watched until eight o'clock from our bedroom win- dows as people began going by and the big parade

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10- HURRICANE The night was dark and still. The world had never seemed more serene. I lay patiently awaiting the Hrst signs of the weather man's prediction. A breeze gently stirred the leaves, lulling me to sleep. While the church bells were striking twelve, I was awakened by a soft tap on the door. Fright- ened by the weird sound, I groped to a window and cautiously peered into the darkness. A voice softly called my name. It was a friend. My friend and her family asked me to ride to their cottage at the beach, where the surf was expected to be high. An hour later as we approached the beach the wind began to howl. Two policemen, dressed in shiny black slickers, ordered us to detour. The rough surf, flooding the street and hurling huge stones in the air, splashed viciously over the sea wall. The center of Brant Rock appeared as a street in Venice. The steps of stores and cottages disappeared in the torrents rushing down the main street. After parking the car, we headed for a water- front cottage, struggling against the powerful winds. The spray soaked the porches of the homes like a heavy downpour. Mountains of surf dashed against the sea wall, rising as high as the telephone wires. The swirling ocean glowed like phosphorous for miles. After arriving home again, we found it just as peaceful as it had been when we left. It was as if this odd experience were a dream and I had just awakened. ' JANET HULTMAN, '52 THE BEGINNING or THE END The night is quiet. The moon hangs, abnormally bright, in the sky, seemingly waiting. The earth is transformed by the moonlight. Places which by day are plain, ordinary, and uninviting, become, when touched by Luna's silver sheen, places of rare beauty. The night is so quiet that to the lonely watcher out for air the sound of a single falling leaf is greatly magnified. Below him lies one of America's largest cities. Its gleaming lights seem to be intruders in the light of the moon. The young man stops to view the panorama before him. From far off in the autumn sky comes a low roaring. From the same direction the sound of coastal ack- ack guns rolls across the countryside and little orange flashes pin-point the horizon. The roaring increases in volume, like a blast from a giant blow- torch. It passes over the city and gradually fades. Suddenly, from the midst of the cluster of sky- scrapers, a blinding, bright orange ball suddenly appears and grows larger and larger, noiselessly, THE ABHIS as the force which keeps the sun shining is sud- denly unleashed on the metropolis. The young man stands, fascinated, oblivious to the terrihc heat, by the spectacle before him. A sudden rush of sound and shock waves knocks him like a tenpin down the opposite side of the hill. He comes to rest in a bush, moves slightly, and then lies still. . Hours later he stirs, crawls out of the bush. and staggers to his feet. He is conscious of the burning sensation over his face and hands caused by the radiation he has absorbed and which will in time cause his death. His clothes are scorched and tat- tered. He climbs to the top of the hill. Below him, where once stood a great city, now burn hundreds of fires, whose light and smoke blot out the sink- ing moon. All around him the trees have been stripped of their gaily-colored leaves. On the hori- zon glowing spots testify to the recurrence of the event in other great cities. The watcher turns and walks slowly down the hill to be swallowed up by the dark woods. 'In the east an increasing glow heralds the arrival of a new day, a day which will dawn upon a ruined earth, upon destruction caused by men who could not learn to live together in peace. It is the begin- ning of the end of civilization. ORIN CUNNINGHAM, '51 A HAWAIIAN PENPAL My penpal is a Hawaiian girl. She is fifteen years old and a junior in a very modern high school in the center of Honolulu. Except for a few subjects, her high school course is the same as ours. One thing that is not true of our school is the fact that in her school such sub- jects as Art and Music are required. The school publishes a weekly paper in which there are many interesting things. It resembles slightly one of our small daily papers. My penpal's school has a foot- ball team, which is very lucky, for it plays all home games in the stadium at Honolulu. When my penpal explained the way in which she lives, she made it very clear that Hawaiians live in much the same way as any of us do. In fact, some of their homes are very modern in de- sign. She lives close to Honolulu Bay and goes swimming all the year around. Recently her class went on a beach party to the Bay. In ocean sports, which are naturally their chief sports, she indulges freely and she is a very good swimmer. Every year in Hawaii, a week is set aside as Aloha Week. This is a very festive occasion, unmatched in the United States. Each day during Aloha Week there is a special event. One day there is a parade and ban- quet, and the next a regatta, and on another sports events, and so it goes all through the week. This holiday provides some of the beautiful scenes of Hawaii.