Bourne High School - Canal Currents Yearbook (Bourne, MA)

Page 16 text:

14 CANAL CURRENTS SNOW “Charlie, you might, instead of reading a magazine, go out and shovel the sidewalk before the melting snov freezes and makes the walk icy!” “I suppose I might; but this is a good story — ” “Just suppose I said that every time you — 1” “All right. All right. Don’t get so excited. I suppose it will do me some good to get out!” The man of the house put on an old felt hat, a heavy coat, and a pair of gloves in preparation for the job ahead. Then the silence was broken. “Charlie, how about rubbers?” “It would be much easier to stay in and read my maga- zine,” was the answer. “Go ahead, and get a cold, but don’t ask me to give you some drops, or something to rub on your throat — except soap!” An hour later there was stamping and puffing in the back hall, and then the man enters with visions of reading in peace. Fifteen minutes of peace ensued. Again the silence was broken by a sound beginning low and ending in high C. “Charlie!” “What is wrong, now?” “Now? Why you didn’t finish the first job!” “What do you mean?” “Take a good look at that sidewalk, and tell me whether or not anyone could walk there or the car come into the driveway.” He dropped his magazine, and with a groan arose to look out the window. “Oh! that darn snow-plow has been by!” The door closed wth a bang and again the walk was shoveled, with much less vigor. Well, it was all cleared now, and with the exception of his back, he felt fine. “I’m going to read my magazine, now, even if all the snow from the North Pole slides over that sidewalk!” Again, he settled himself comfortably and took up his magazine. Hns eyes focussed on the spot where he had left off reading. — “The beautiful snow glistened — ”! Wham! he book slammed on the floor. “I’m going to bed!” Robert Poland, ’36.

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LITERARY A VISIT TO AN OLD ENGLISH INN While touring England I decided to visit an old Inn. True Englishmen call them Taverns but we will be safe in assuming that they are also much like our own road-side homes, which are justly called Inns. Having heard of the interesting facts that could be discovered in a visit to one of these, a friend and I drove to a typical old Inn located in the northern part of England. Upon arriving at our destination, we saw an old, gray house. I call it gray for courtesy’s sake. It really was a dirty white house badly in need of repainting. The house sat on the foundation much like a stout lady sitting on a small chair; it bulged over. There were several rickety, rock chim- neys; anyone seeing these immediately thought of the Lean- ing Tower of Pisa. A muddy road led the passenger to the front door. Usually he preferred to walk, well knowing that the coach or carriage would sink up to the hubs in mud. The windows were made of small panes of glass, and anyone at- tempting to look in or out of them probably would think he was looking at a dense fog, because of the dingy glass. The walls and ceilings were covered with heavy beams blackened and aged by the smoke from many a cheery fire. The floors were rough and filled with uneven cracks; any one with a spark of imagination could almost visualize a fat, red faced gentlemen with his toe securely caught in one of those large openings. Soon after our arrival, the landlord, a stout, jovial gen- tleman, went to the cellar and brought some sparkling ale for our refreshment. Having quenched our thirst we wandered through the house enjoying every bit of its quaint- ness. Finally, tiring of these interesting surroundings, we prepared to depart. Our last glimpse of the old inn proved a delightful one; for the jolly landlord with his pipe clenched between teeth, which were few and far between, stood in the doorway wav- ing us an amiable goodbye.. Jean Gale Coady, ’37.

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CANAL CURRENTS. 15 A ROOKIE IN THE WORLD WAR It was the night before the grand drive of the Germans and Dick Jackson was trying hard to get some sleep. He had just finished a letter to the girl that he was going to marry and also one to his folks. His closest friend, George Chase, had also written to his folks and he and Dick had exchanged letters, hoping that one would live through the battle that was to take place at dawn. The one that did live would be able to send the messages. Dick’s companions were grouped around in the small muddy dug-outs, — some playing cards, some talking in low tones and most all were smoking to calm their nerves. Others were trying to get some sleep as was Dick; but this was almost impossible. Everyone was wondering if he would ever live to get back to the good old U. S. A. Because of the enemy trenches being so close, loud talk- ing was forbidden and matches could not be used unless they were lit under cover. This was carried out because of the possibility of giving away the location of the troops in the trenches. Occasionally flares and rockets would light up the sky to expose scouting parties from both sides. The calm which often comes before a storm existed. At last Dick dozed off and awoke to hear the first of the German artillery get- ting into action. Wheeeeee - - craaaaaash! Wheeeeee - - currrrump! The shells were coming thicker and faster. Most of the men were awake by now and were getting ready for what was to come. The shelling always came first to clear a way for the infantry. Some shells were filled with gas and along the line came the command to put on gas masks. It was now 5:20. Cartridges were put in place for quick fir- ing, bayonets were fixed, and here and there could be seen men preparing their hand grenades for a quick toss. These round missiles played an important part in breaking up an attack of the enemy. They were small bombs filled with powder and pieces of iron and other scraps, so that when they went off the pieces would fly in all directions. Most of the shells landed before or behind the trenches, so few men were hurt. Suddenly all was still; the shelling had stopped and it was 5:30.