Annie Wright School - Shield Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

Page 16 text:

TTIHIIE TIMOTHY THOMAS THOMPKINTS I know a Timothy Thomas Thompkins Who stands just six feet three, And Timothy Thomas always asks me For a game of tennis and tea. I just can’t get romantic with Timothy Thomas — It must be his name — it can’t be me. I like his mother, I like his father, And I like men six feet three. And what is wrong with Timothy Thomas? It’s a nice name some people say. But I would so much rather have A Tommy, a Bill, or a Ray. But Timothy Thomas has wavy hair And eyes that are very brown. And you ought to see the girls turn round When Timothy Thomas goes to town. But Timothy Thomas doesn’t go very often — He was on his way when he asked me If I wouldn’t have one game of tennis And just a wee spot of tea. I said, ‘No, thank you, Timothy Thomas.” And I wish I hadn’t, for you see He has never since asked for a game of tennis Or just a wee spot of tea. ALLACE DUTHIE, 1939. A NICKEL’S WORTH OF MUSIC The hand-organ man had ground out all his repertoire of the already half-forgotten war music but had not received even a penny. War music usually struck a familiar chord, and those who heard readily tossed him a pence or two. But it was unprofitable to go to Tuddell Court, for there they clinched their pennies tightly. Hard, calloused hands, some pricked, some scarred, clinched their pennies tightly and doled them out only for the necessities of living. When, how- ever, he saw those pitifully tired faces pressed to the windows, straining to hear the last reluctant chords, and knew the children scampered to peek through a crack or to peer over a rail, he hated to turn to more prosperous streets. As he left, he felt the wave of disappointment that came over his listeners. The thought struck him with a sharp pain that it would be a long time before he could afford to bring music to those poor souls ' again, and to forego the shillings that came from wealthier lanes. Just then a small hand reached up to him. Mister, how much will you play for a nickel?” The hand-organ man named his pieces. Wist- ful, longing eyes looked up at him. It was hard to keep the tears back. It was hard not to tell him all about Sally. Sally — well, you see, Sally is sick and there ain’t nothing that’ll help her and she loves music. I thought maybe — maybe you’d play just a nickel’s worth of music for her.” He played his whole repertoire through twice and still played on. Upstairs Sally lay near a window. A faint smile transformed her pale face and parched lips. She forgot the pain in the memories the music brought. Everyone in Tud- dell Court knew the hand-organ man played for Sally and they bowed their heads. As the man turned again down the street he dropped a quar- ter into the little boy’s hand. Buy her some flowers,” he said. JANE THOMAS, 1937. ALL LOVE SAVE THAT The rolling sea I’ve seen at joyous play. And I have watched him rage with foamy hate And dance with wicked glee at mortal fate. In winter storms I’ve cheered his wild affray; In spring I’ve loved him, though he would betray Me, could he draw me through his wat’ry gate. I’ve seen the sea in every mood and state From shimmering silver, blue, and green, and gray, And still my love he holds and ever will. The sea is life and love to me, and song. He understands each human sorrow — ill.. He teaches wisdom and he cures all wrong; The sea may mend a broken soul, then kill All love save that which does to him belong. BARBARA BATHRICK, 1937. THE BROOK’S SONG The little brook tumbles o’er the rocks. As through the years it flows. It’s always young and full of life. And sings a song as it goes. From where it starts to where it ends. Its gurgling songs resound. And never tiring through the days It sings the whole year round. LOUISE WILBUR, Eighth Grade.

Page 15 text:

103 TTIHIIE i]HmEJL.in) LITERARY CD NTRI B UTI □ N S OUR TREES Give me a land of boughs in leaf, A land of trees that stand. Where trees are fallen, there is grief; I love no leafless land. A. E. HOUSMAN. One of the traditions that have remained with the School since its early days is that of having the departing Seniors plant a class tree. These trees, symbols of charaaer and of grace, have beautified the grounds and have become an estab- lished part of the Seminary. Many of the trees which were planted at the old school have been transplanted here because without them the new school was not complete. There are so many trees and shrubs about the school that only a few can be described. The oldest trees on the new school grounds are on the hill by the flagpole overlooking the Sound — a flowering cherry, a flowering crab, and a flow- ering plum. These trees were planted by the classes of ’89 and ’96, the class of ’89 being that of Mrs. Ashton whom we all know so well. In early May these trees are so fully in bloom that look as if they were three big blossoms.. Half-way down the steps leading to the hockey field there is a low, round willow tree. This tree was the first to be planted on the new school grounds, although it really belonged to the last class at the old school. The sixth class tree to be planted is a thickly foliaged and well-shaped sycamore. This tree is probably the most photographed tree on the grounds because of the fine view which forms its background — the terraces back of the school, the Sound, and the hills beyond. A bench be- side this tree offers a favorite gathering place for girls of all ages. Perfect in its beauty is the large weeping, willow which is on the slope next to the tennic couas. It is a huge dome with bowing branches which flow to the ground as if they were almost liquid. In the early evening the willow looks as though its soft, green mass could be blown away with the slightest breeze. The red oak outside the dining room is a tall, slender tree which stands with a graceful pose, its head tilted a little to one side. Its red leaves are scarce and fragile and artistically ar- ranged. It is the favorite roost of the robin whose red breast blends with its red leaves and becomes a part of the foliage. Then there is that circle of tall poplars down at the edge of the lawn which can be seen from a great distance because of their height. They are the most stately of all our trees. There is no more satisfying sight than that of the poplar leaves playing in the wind, and no music more soothing than ’’the whispering sound of the cool colonnade.” These trees which were originally planted at the old school were moved in spite of their size because Bisheop Keator cared so much for them. Besides their beauty, these trees are famous for their prophetic power. They are commonly known as the Wishing Trees.” These trees have been used so much for this purpose that a path has been worn between them. Besides these are many other trees and shrubs including the wild Scotchbroom, all of which have grown since we have been in the present school building. When the Seminary moved into the new school twelve years ago, not only was the landscape bare, but the soil was unsuitable for vegetation. Now with the constant care of Mr. Reynolds, these trees have developed grace and stature, and the bare yard has changed into a smooth green lawn. It is these ornaments of na- ture which give to the Seminary its present beauty and dignity. ELIZABETH GOODE, 1937. RIVERS When I hear the word, ' rivers, ' I think not of softly flowing streams such as those that glide through the picturesque valleys of England. By rivers I am reminded at once of rushing moun- tain torrents that gash their way through rocky gorges, tumble over jagged rocks, and frolic on- ward. Their beds are brightly colored rocks that lie unevenly beneath the clear waters. Along the rocky banks are needles that have dropped from overhanging tamarack, pine, and cedar. No swans idle upon these rivers, but trout glisten in their waters, and perhaps a doe with her fawn frisks near the edge. Refleaions from the sky above are not a solid blue; they are patched with irregular shadows cast by grayish-white clouds. These rivers bubble with energy, they quiver and bound onward. MARY COWELL, 1937. NEW MOON I saw the moon the other night; A tiny one, and new. It seemed but a tear in the sky’s dark coat With heaven shining through. ELIZABETH ANN HEWITT, 1937.

Page 17 text:

TTIHIIE REVERIE INSPIRED BY SNOW I sat in the cabin gazing through the window. Outside was snow; snow beating a silent rhythm against the once green earth; snow loading the branches of the trees with a blanket of winter’s making, as if Mother Nature were putting her child to bed. Even the wind had retreated be- fore the silence. The poet Wordsworth spoke of “emotion recollected in tranquillity.” Here tranquillity it- self was emotion. My mind wandered. I thought not of mistakes and failures, but of hopes and aspirations. And always there was the steady silence, silence. There was no avalanche of sound, no hurry to finish the task. Just the steady progress, a building inch by inch to the ultimate. That, I thought, is the way I would build my life. In the distance a bird called feebly. Its feel- ings toward the snow would differ from mine. To the bird the night was chill, relentless. A few more chirps and again all was still. Silence had conquered — silence and the night and snow. I felt a pity for the little bird, an emotion not in tune with my train of thought. But slowly, surely, the snow still falling won me. I closed my eyes and was again lost in dreams. Suddenly my thoughts changed. The fire had died out. I was cold. The glamour of the night had disappeared, and in its stead were stark realities. I opened my eyes. The snow was no longer falling. A wind had sprung up. The sun was rising from its gray hiding place to start a new day. Dawn — and my dreams had broken! BARBARA BATHRICK, 1937. LUCKY DODDY Doddy was a young fawn, so-called by the Iroquois Indians. When very small, he was cap- tured while his little mistress, Wah-haw-tow, was taking a walk with him. It was the month of July, and a forest fire was visible. Wah-haw-tow walked a long dis- tance. While Doddy gambled ahead, she turned back without his knowing it. Doddy kept run- ning on. Suddenly he heard the flapping of the monstrous wings of Elie, a great eagle. Doddy ran ahead under the cover of the light brush. He did not notice which way he was going, but soon realized that he was going right into the fire, because his eyes began to smart. There ' were two ways he could turn. He could either go on toward the fire or he could turn back in the direction where the eagle was. He chose the former. The heat was intense as he progressed toward the fire. Doddy was about ready to turn back when he heard the eagle screech as he found some unfortunate prey. When he regained con- sciousness he found himself in some grass into which he had fallen. The fire was only a glow- ing light on the horizon. Doddy was safe and free. BONNIE JEAN CHITTY, Seventh Grade. TO A FRIEND I miss you As the night waves miss the moon, Or day, the shining sun. You left too soon. I rise at dawn To lonely tread the path of gold To yon high sunny hill. When day is old I walk alone In evening’s somber light Amid the trees where first we met. Till it is night. The seasons change. And I, too, like the Earth which learns To wish for Spring’s arrival, wait For your return. ELIZABETH ANN HEWITT, 1937.. CLOUDS Today I looked into the sky And saw a stallion speeding by. White steed of Jove it seemed to be. His silky mane was waving in the breeze. About the world this filmy ribbon streamed Behind the prancing steed. As he went riding through the sky. ELIZABETH GOODE, 1937. SPRING NIGHT Night steals on; In diminishing golden radiance The sun dips Through the misty clouds That weep with grief To see it gone. ELIZABETH ANN HEWITT, 1937.