Bennett High School - Beacon Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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Bennett Beacon 15 As we neared the little Town Hall, which is in the middle of the road right in front of the hotel, we could hear music and many voices there. A girl who was going in told us that the Saturday night dance was in progress. We were tempted to go, too, but feared our presence might not be appref ciatedg so we kept on exploring the exterior of the town. Being very curious, we looked into a little place where some sort of cooking was being done. A woman standing in the doorway told us it was Fish and Chips. With some encouragement she became quite talkative. They sell the fish raw with chips, and every night they fry what is left and sell that. She works very hard because her husband has not been strong enough to do much since he came home from the war. At six o'clock in the morning she goes to clean the Catholic school across the street. flt is St. Catherine's Church and School, and its nuns are famous for their beautiful embroidery., She has to take care of her house and her husband and several children. We asked when she found time for the Hsh and chips business. Oh, I do that in between times, and she laughed and seemed happy and satisfied with her life. YVe remarked about the age of the town. She knew little about it, but pointed across the street to the house where her father was born and died, and which had been in the family as far back as she knew. This same woman told us that most of the townspeople work at farming or sheep raising. They arise early and go on foot or bicycle to their work on the hills outside the town. Wages are very low-about thirty shillings a week, which is only a little over six dollars. fCo11tinued on page 45J

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14 Bennett Beacon A Night in Chipping Carnpden I-IIPPING CAMPDEN is a little town in Gloucestershire, not ,651 very far from Oxford. We had left Oxford late in the after' noon, wondering where to spend the night. When our chauffeur fwe luxuriated with the services of a chauffeur for two daysj A T ' suggested Chipping Campden, we knew from the very sound of the name, although we had never heard of it before, that it was the place we must stay. We liked it immediately. We saw just yellowish brown stone houses on each side of a wide road, with some odd structures in the middle of the road, and in the distance, a square tower. It is not an especially beautiful towng yet, perhaps because it looks so old, it has an unmistakable appeal. After dinner, when twilight was just beginning, we went out for a walk. It may be a commonplace observation, but I actually felt as though I had traveled back several hundred years into the past. I was walking past build' ings that have stood since the twelfth century. They are all close together, very plain, two or three stories high, and most of them have slanting roofs. There are no lawns-all the houses are close to the street-but through some low, dark passages we glimpscd charming flower gardens. The tower we had seen before attracted us, so we turned up that way. It proved to be part of the village church, St. Jamesf Built simply of the same stone as the rest of the town, this church gives the appearance of great age, and no wonder, for, as we learned in the morning, it was started in 1490. We walked through the graveyard surrounding the church. Some of the gravestones are quite recentg others have illegible inscriptions and are doubtless very old. I have a vivid memory of a row of yew trees there, and of the fragrance of yellow roses almost hidden in long grass. As we were leaving, the church chimes played The Bluebells of Scotland. Next to the church yard is a queer closedfup stone gateway with only a Held behind it. We were entirely unable to decide what it was. The next day we found out that it had been the entrance to some nobleman's fine house, which was burned down to prevent Cromwell from gaining possession of it. It was growing dark as we went down to the main street again. Some of the houses we passed are so close to the sidewalk that we had the boldness to look inside. We saw very little, however. I suppose most of the people had gone to bed, though we saw a few reading-some with candles or oil lamps, and some with electric lights. Window shades as we know them seem to be unknown thereg something more attractive takes their place. Heavy curtains in pretty, dark colors are drawn over the windows.

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16 Bennett Beacon LOVE CALL Musing, I heard it. The Hrst plaintive, golden note Swelling-dying. Followed by four higher, Silver clear. Longing, Desire unvoiced. Silence. The answer. Bursting upon the quiet, joyous and unrestrained, Expectant. Silence. Again the first. Now with exuberance. Exultant. Vesper sparrow's song of love. Dorothy Phelps Johnston 0071 1931 A DEEP SEA FISHING TRIP As I recall, the funniest, yet worst, day I experienced was the time at party of us went deep sea fishing, chaperoned by a nurse and her sister. Cf course we decided on the day after one of the most violent storms on the coast of Maine. The Captain said it was one of the roughest ground swells he had been on in a long time. When we reached the open sea we were all well and happy, but after going a mile or two I looked around from the bow of the ship and saw our chaperon with a weird look in her eye and the most beautiful shade of green on her face. I laughed as she dashed madly to the side of the ship, but he who laughs last, laughs best. After going about fifteen miles, we lost sight of land and the Captain lowered the anchor. Then the fun began. I had just cast my line over when I noticed that the ocean was heaving and, being of a sociable character, I joined it. To make matters worse, I was lying in front of a hatchway where the Captain was making lunch. It consisted of fish chowder and coffee. The odor of the food rushed out to me and I rushed to the side of the boat. A prize was offered to the one catching the largest fish, but our party were too busy catching their breath. After tossing around all day, the skipper weighed anchor and we were off. When the word passed around that we were going home, hope spread over our faces. Home at last! But for dinner they gave us fish. We looked at each other, gave a sickly smile and left. Mary E. Adams 12211 1932