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

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22 CANAL CURRENTS FROST MAGIC She was a very delicate little girl, Mary Sullivan, with long ringlets of jet black hair that formed a soft frame around her pinched face. Her eyes were a clear, soft blue that reminded one of the sky on a sunny morning in May. She had not always been confined to this little cot where she now lay watching eagerly for her mother’s return after a long hard day’s work in the factory. Oh, no! Mary had at one time been one of the liveliest little girls imaginable. On Mary’s tenth birthday she had been allowed to go down, with her father, to his garage. This was a very special occasion for it did not occur very often. Mary liked to watch the people who stopped their cars for oil, gasoline, water, or to have Daddy repair something for them. It seemed as though something was always going wrong with cars on cold, snowy days like this one. Mary didn’t mind the cold for her new snow suit that she had received for Christmas was thick and woolly and kept her snug and warm. It had been freezing cold in the garage when they had entered. White frost covered every window with beautiful pictures. There were all sorts of animals, birds, trees, people, toys, and fish that one could possibly imagine. Surely this was the most beautiful sight that Mary had ever seen in her short life. She stood spellbound for a moment; then dashed from one to another finding so m any things that she recog- nized that her head whirled and she thought that Jack Frost must be a most wonderful creature! Much to Mary’s disappointment the frost magic soon dis- appeared after Daddy built a roaring fire in the huge stove in the corner. Her disappointment was short lived, however, for business started early that morning when a big black sedan drove up and “honked” for gasoline and Daddy told her that she might wait on the first customer. Overjoyed, she ran out and started to fill the man’s tank. Then, — without a sound of warning, — came a loud report, as though something had blown up. At the very same moment flames burst through the roof of the garage. Mary had dropped the hose and run madly into the burning building — Daddy was in there! The people in the car tried to stop her but she dodged them. The flames licked around her new snow suit as if it made a delicious breakfast. Her hands and

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CANAL CURRENTS 21 all the others. What interesting experiences an Inspector of this type could relate. How interesting his work would be. There would be the dainty bureau of the teen-age Miss — very attractive outside but apt to be rather topsy-turvy with- in. How difficult it is to keep the hankies, ribbons, laces, powder boxes and trinkets separate! There would be the more masculine-type bureau of her older brother with his two or three drawers. Upon investi- gating one would likely find stockings, jack-knives, booklets, neckties, and perhaps a few letters and a few girls’ berets and scarfs. A little more jumbled up than his sister’s — but perhaps this is to find a “hiding place” for his various “fem- inine treasures”. Do brothers use their bureau drawers for a “treasure chest”? I never could find out! One might come across a very neatly assorted drawer — rather unusual and quite different from the previous types. Upon investigating — the owner would likely be a very “prim school-marm” or a so-called “maiden-lady”. Who else has time to keep their bureaus in order? Unless someone suggests having a Bureau Drawer Inspector I think that quite a few very interesting stories and experiences are going to be missed. Wouldn’t you like the job? Priscilla Davis, ’38. THE PIRATE Rodney Thomson’s etching of the “Pirate” is that of a kind, happy-go-lucky individual. High above his head in his hand, he holds his gayly plumed hat. On his head, worn under the hat, is a checkered bandanna tied in back. His heavy coal black beard covers most of his scarred face ex- cept his forehead, large nose and eyes, one of which is cov- ered with black cloth, the other closed in a vain attempt to wink, are plainly seen. His mouth is barely visible. Under his long coat decorated with buttons, large pockets and sleeve cuffs, is a fairly white shirt with bloused sleeves. From his sash protrudes the butt of a large pistol, in his right hand is a huge straight bladed sword on which he leans. His one good leg, the right, is bowed and garbed with pantaloons reaching below his knee and a light colored stocking continues into his low, heavy leather shoe. On this shoe is a buckle as large as his hand . A peg-leg serves for probably what a cannon ball took away. Grant Ellis, ’37.

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CANAL CURRENTS 23 face felt swollen and her tongue seemed six times its normal size but she had to find Daddy. That was the last thing she knew. When she regained consciousness she was on her own little cot. She ached all over. It seemed as if something was sticking needles or pins into her. Since then she had lain there in her little cot and watched her friends go by on their way to and from school, had watched the postman as he passed every noontime, had watched, as she was watching now, for her mother to come home every night. She felt no pain now; only a dull sort of numbness. Mother had never spoken very much about Daddy since the accident and Mary had not broached the subject be- cause, somehow, in her child’s mind, she realized that it hurt mother to think of it. On this special day in December it was very cold and frost covered all but one window pane through which Mary looked every few minutes to see if she could catch a glimpse of mother. Frost magic brought back sad memories to Mary’s mind. Although the accident had happened over three years ago, and children are supposed to forget griefs in a short time, Mary could never see the pictures which Jack Frost had breathed on window panes without thinking of that terrible day when she had last seen her Daddy. Dorothy Ryan, ’33. ON THE UMBRELLA I wonder what people did in the days before the umbrella was invented? They probably did what some of the people of today do, turn up their overcoat collars (if they have over- coats) and pull down their hats over their ears, or maybe just brave the weather. The inventor of the umbrella is probably unknown, but whoever he was, he is a hero in the eyes of the people who cannot go without them on rainy days. When I was a child I read a story about the first um- brella; it was a story of a field mouse, who on a rainy day, not wanting to wet his clothes, carried a toadstool over his