Battin High School - Red and White Yearbook (Elizabeth, NJ)

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Throughout the year, the kitchen is the center of all activity, for it houses the only means of warmth: the woodstove. Water is obtained through a pump, which is inside the village house, but outside the farm house. The oil lamp is yet the only means of light, and it gives off a warm glow upon the plain wooden walls. The kitchen cupboards are usually furnished with immense loaves of homemade bread, fresh butter, bottles of rich, red wine. Fresh Gaspe fish, pea soup, and potatoes are standard fare at a Canadian meal. Most of the clothing and linens are made by hand, and the beds are always covered by thick patchwork quilts with splashes of green, blue, and red carefully stitched in. The daily family gathering takes place after supper, when the women work on their sewing, and the men smoke their long pipes. It is here that the happenings of the day are gone over, while the children tend to the woodstove. Each time I visit my Canada, I gain a greater sense of belonging to both our great United States and her friendly neighbor, Canada. SUZANNE HOFFMAN, '50 lard Wglif , It's dark out here on the steps, yet I can feel movement all around me. The day has been warm and now an evening breeze is gliding among the overcrowded houses to bring relief to the thousands who sleep. In the apartment house next door, the remainder of a breath of air pushes against a stubbom shade in an effort to let a breeze whisper through the room and cover the restless sleeper with a sheet of cool comfort. A I like to sit here on the porch and feel the darkness of night close in about me. In the distance, I can hear a shrill train whistle. The sound is abrupt and sudden, disturbing the stillness. Then, in a moment, peace has drifted back, and the night is again the same. It's nice to sit here and think: just over the railroad track, the sun is coming up for daybreak. Life is just beginning to stir among the deserted streets in a distant town. The rising sun spreads its fingers through the slits of Venetian blinds and prods the eyelashes to open slowly. The insistent jingle of an alarm clock keeps rhythm with the clanging of milk bottles being set on the steps by a sleepy milkman. The steady clip-clop of horse's hoofs walks toward the rising sun and a busy day. ' NANCY WINTER, '51

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f. I B l wgn b- 1 4-1.1 6 S 1151-susan! - 1 - , i . . x my Kanacla I have always been proud of my Canada. It is the country of my mother's people, and I have been going there every summer of my life, so I feel it is really a part of me. Each time I cross the border, I think I am in the Old World, because French is spoken there at all times. After I cross the Saint Lawrence River by ferry from Quebec, I am surrounded by the typical Canadian countryside: rolling hills, furrowed fields, and old dirt roads dotted by an occasional wooden farmhouse, or small villages with tall church spires reaching heavenwards from cozy green valleys. By the side of each dirt road worn by wagon wheels, stands the Crucifix, a symbol of the Quebec faith. For centuries, peasant women with baskets of blueberries picked from the fields, or farmers going to their work, have knelt beside the humble wooden Cross. The village of Sainte Claire has always been especially mine, for La Flammes have lived there for centuries. It is typical of all small Canadian villages, with its elaborate church, small brown schoolhouse, and little brook which passes right through the main street. Our house, like the others, is small. It is all one story, with large French windows, and a low-hanging roof. Its wooden walls have withstood the heavy snows for many years.

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A2 j'86l5lfLP8 The time was Christmas, 1Q42Q in the air was the smell of pine and snow. I remember hurrying about my morning tasks, happy with Christ- mas joy. Today was the day of magic, the day Grandfather baked pies and bread, the day Grandmother made the Christmas pudding, and, most important of all, the day Mother and I got the tree. It was that glorious day before Christmas! I All my presents were stored away in my closet and I remember running to look at them as they lay in all their shining glory, just to make sure the day was real and not a dream. They looked to me like a group of sparkling stars lost from the heavens and fallen to earth to nestle in my closet. But the thing that I remember best was getting the tree. Mother walked ahead of me down the snowy street and I had to run to keep up with her. I would catch on to her hand and skip along by her side. Then we were in the fairyland of pine trees. Row on row of trees stretched underneath the string of naked colored bulbs - big giants of trees, little baby trees, and some just as tall as Mother. The man kept. stamping his feet from the cold, and I stared at his ruddy cheeks and the little puffs of smoke that came from his mouth when he talked. He led us down the forest of pines and stopped to tell us the names of the trees and how Ene they were and how the pine needles wouldn't fall on the carpet. Atlast we found a tree which seemed to be just what we wanted. The man put it on the ground, then, pulling as he did so, he tied the green branches tightly together. Merry Christmas! he sang to us as we started homeward. I remember the glow I felt as my arms surrounded my end of the tree. We had no car, so Mother and I had to it home. The pine needles bit into my arms and it was hard to manage but I didn't care. It was our tree, our beautiful tree! Soon it would be covered with bubbles of colored lights and silvery tinsel. Soon all the lovely presents would lie under its branches. When we got it home, we put it into a corner of the side porch and hunried inside the warm house. The savory smells of spicy raisin cookies, paper-thin sugar cookies, rich plum puddings, roasted nuts, and many other good things greeted us as we shook the snow from our boots. I remember the snow lying in little heaps on the linoleum floor and then its life melted away as it ran in small streams to form puddles on the floor. Mother made some hot chocolate for us to drink before supper to shake 0E the chill of the December weather.