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

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CANAL CURRENTS 19 The old man managed to force a smile for his sorrowful daughter. With an effort he spoke, “Portia, you are a good girl, deserving of the best in life. It would grieve me greatly if I were to die with the thought that you were to marry some money seeking rascal entirely undeserving of you.” The sick man paused. He went on with only the will power a dy- ing man can possess. “You will find in the library, three tiny boxes made of gold, silver and lead. The lead one contains your picture. The young man who chooses that casket has in him the goodly powers of manhood and will be a loyal, trustworthy fellow caring not for money, but your pure love. As soon as the young men start coming, as they are soon sure to do, show them the caskets and bid them choose. I am trusting in you, my dear child, to remain silent and not to influence them in any way toward choosing. That is my greatest wish for you. Do promise this. I am sure you will never in any way regret this queer method. It is best for you.” The kindly old fellow lay back exhausted. Portia real- ized the end had come and solemnly vowed to do as her father wished. She watched with a deadly calmness as her father, with a happy smile, passed into the world beyond. Who, upon seeing that look of utter contentment, could re- fuse any request? Certainly a loyal person like Portia could not. This her father probably knew. Thus: “It is a wise father that knoweth his own child.” Betsy Jean Small, ’40. FRIENDS Make new friends, but keep the old. These are silver; those are gold. Old friends are always best, They have stood time and test. Old friends are the best friends, They are always true. Find new friends and help them, You will like them, too. New friends are like new wine. But the old friends are most divine. Make new friends, but keep the old. These are silver; those are gold. H. T. Vancini, ’39.

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18 CANAL CURRENTS ADRIFT ON THE RIVER As I neared the water I was struck by the smell and the log. The former was a combination of the misty, low-lying odor of mud-flats and the sharp acrid smell of decomposing life. The fog rose from the river as if the ghosts of the dead were here on convention, each with its own ever changing shape and size. Rowing away from the bank, I was soon enveloped in this solid blanket. The only objects to be seen were the muddy water around the boat, and the mist in front of me. The very quietness of the place gave me a sense of impending evil — as if the fog were hiding some noiseless engine of destruc- tion. As I neared the middle of the river, the sound of life was apparent: cries of boatmen, people giving orders, quarrels, the sound of machinery, all came from nowhere, half-muffled by the mist. As I neared the opposite bank, the sound of rush- ing water, like the drops of moisture dripping from under leaves, the ghostly death rattle of pebbles along the shore, all filled my soul with a nameless dread of things unseen yet heard and felt. After I had crossed the foggy inland river, teeming with the commerce of a great nation, I felt, in my imagination, as if I had crossed the river Styx, with the twirling mists, lost souls; the sounds, the pleadings of bodiless people about to enter a world of unreality and brightness; the quietness, the decade of suspense before a soul is judged. Phillip Neal, ’38. THE DEATH OF PORTIA S FATHER “Portia, Portia,” the feeble voice raised a bit higher. It came from the next room. “Yes father, I am coming,” announced Portia as she quietly glided into the sick room. The strained voice continued, “Portia, the time has come when your poor old father must depart. My time is limited. Listen now, for I have something of importance to tell you.” Portia’s face turned deathly pale. “Father,” she cried running toward him. “It can not be, oh, it can not be. The doctor promised you would get well. You can not leave me.”

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20 CANAL CURRENTS DIARY OF A SAILOR ABOARD THE -SANTA MARIA ’ Wednesday, 1492 Today I was standing on deck of the Santa Maria. I was sad and had given up all hopes of living and going back to Spain to see my aged mother. As I looked out at the water, 1 saw a bird flying over the boat with a twig in its mouth. A gasp escaped from my lips as I clutched at the railing before me. That meant land was near! I looked at the bird once again and hurried to tell Columbus. When I broke the news he shook my hand and I noticed that his eyes were wet with tears. I shall not give up hoping to see my mother again. Thursday More signs that we are heading towards land — towards India — and wealth! We sighted branches and grass in the water. The other sailors are half insane with happiness. When I reach India I shall get spices and gold for my mother. Columbus is happy too, but he is the only calm one. Friday We saw a red light shining in the direction of our destin- ation. As the light shone brighter, the sailors all knelt to pray, — they were so thankful. As I saw them look towards the flag of our homeland — Spain, — I knew, that they, like me, were thinking of the brave men that had died on the way. But soon they yelled and shouted, for — we, had reached land! Saturday As we reached the mainland, the natives stood on the shore waiting for us. They did not know how to welcome us at first, but when we gave them trinkets they greeted us with shouts and queer songs. Genevieve Ansaloni, ’39. BUREAU DRAWERS Bureau Drawers! What a queer title, — and yet, what a lot can be said about this subject. Wouldn’t it be quite amusing to be a “Bureau Drawer Inspector”? Do they have such things; — I don’t know, but perhaps there should be this type of Investigator as well as