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

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CANAL CURRENTS, BOURNE HIGH SCHOOL The House Of Horror It all started one mid-summer afternoon while I was on a deer hunt in the Everglades. I had in some way become separated from the party which I was with and after stumbling in miles of morass and inpenetrable jungle from mid-afternoon until dusk had begun to settle down on the swamplands, I suddenly came upon an old castle-like house on a patch of higher ground which thrust itself above the surround- ing swamp lands. As I ap- proached the higher land I noted a depressing silence which made the noise of my footsteps in the mucky swamp lands sound like a herd of cattle crossing a creek. I finally climbed out upon the dry land and stopped to listen. The silence was deafening, un- real. Not a night-bird twittered nor a cricket chirped nor (as I was suddenly aware) were there any noises from the teeming swamp where I had beforehand been annoyed by the raucous noises of all types of swamp life. As I looked up at the house with its moss and ivy-covered walls of gray stone, its dark, gaping win- dows and the huge, heavily- studded oaked door, which I could discern dimly through the gathering gloom, I had a linger- ing premonition of evil and for some unaccountable reason, the dread of something horrible within. As I stood doubtful as to what to do, I noticed a dim light flick- ering through a small window at one side of the massive door. “There must be someone there,” I said to myself, “who would perhaps give a weary traveler some food and rest.” So thinking, I made my way cautiously up to the door, my deer rifle gripped tightly in my hands. As I approached the great oaken door, I saw an iron knock- er bolted to it. This I raised and let fall. The great crash it made was magnifled highly by the de- pressing silence around me and I started foolishly when it fell, my knees then reached for the huge knocker again. Before my hand reached the knocker the door opened silently on its huge hinges and I was confronted by an elderly man who stood star- ing at me through thick-lensed glasses. He was a man of small sta- ture but of amazing breadth in comparison with his height. His shoulders were broad and pow- erful-looking, and his arms were thick with muscles which rip- pled under his khaki shirt. His back, I saw when he turned, was humped slightly and he walked with an odd, shuffling gait. His face was angular and his nose hooked. His eyes were a cold piercing blue as he looked through his thick-lensed glasses at me. At last he grinned crookedly, disclosing one tooth in the cen- ter of his mouth, and said in a harsh voice, “Come in, please, won’t you?” I hesitated as a breath of damp musty air came from the open doorway. He looked at me sharply. “Don’t let my looks and voice scare you,” he said, grinning hideously again. “They are the Page Twenty-One

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CANAL CURRENTS, BOURNE HIGH SCHOOL Eating Your Way Into Athletics The title, ‘‘Eating your way in- to athletics”, does not mean that one must eat heavily to be a good athlete. If this were so, there would soon be a shortage of food in this country, as nearly nine out of every ten persons would like to be a good athlete. There are champions in all sports, — some men, some women, some boys, and some girls. They did not get to be champions by being the largest eaters in the world, but by following a rigid healthful diet and by training steadily. They get their bodies into shape for practice, first by living on their diet. One cannot call eating pastry a good diet just be- cause of the number of calories per day. This is just like put- ting gasoline into a car. It is soon used up. Instead, one must eat solid foods — foods that con- tain calories plus vitamins. Diet plays an important part in the makeup of an athlete; so watch your diet. Heavy eating usually results in putting on fat, and not many champions are plump. Fat is just like extra baggage. You carry this extra baggage around but don’t make any extra profit; so, get rid of your fat. Now that I’ve attempted to ex- plain the title, try it and see how it works. Tom Young, ’40. On A Tramp Steamer With our things in duffle bags we walked towards Pier 11, where tied to the dock was a small black tramp steamer, the “John Hancock”. As we went up the gangplank our coming was reported to the captain. After being shown to our cabins where we put our dun- nage under our bunks, we went out in time to see the harbor- master leaving, after giving the captain the clearance papers. Orders were given, dock hands loosed the bow and stern lines, and slowly we swung out from the dock into the dusk, bound for South America. Going to bed, after playing a few games of poker, we fell asleep rocked by the waves. The next morning was clear and was spent in exploring the ship. The days passed quickly and pleasantly. Occasionally we would sight another vessel or see fleets of fishing boats. For two days we were in a southeaster, which with rain, sleet, and wind made life almost unbearable. We spent much time those days watching the sailors whittle out things, or make small boats which they put into bottles. The eighth day out we sighted the port of Rio de Janeiro, our des- tination, and our journey was over. Kirby Hayes, ’40. Page Twenty

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CANAL CURRENTS, BOURNE HIGH SCHOOL result of an accident in the Civil War. That is one reason why I live out here by myself. I am tired of scaring everyone I meet.” I felt a bit reassured by this direct speech and stepped through the open doorway. “I became lost to-day while hunting,” I explained, “and when I discovered this place of yours I stopped to see if per- haps I could find food and rest for the night. I’m willing to pay for it.” I exhibited a roll of bills, but his eyes were on me rather than on the bills. “To be sure, to be sure,” he murmured, “you may have food and-er-rest here if you wish. I am not interested in the money, though. I shall-er-entertain you free of charge.” He chuckled horribly, and ushered me into the room from which I had seen the light outside. It appeared to be a sort of general living room and kitchen with a big stove on one side of the room, a table in the center, a lounge on the further side of the room and a few upholstered chairs. “Take a seat and rest while I cook you a nice juicy steak with some fried spuds, and coffee,” said he, bustling about on the other side of the dim room. I leaned my deer rifle in a cor- ner and sank into one of the easy chairs to rest while the tantalizing odor of cooking steak filled the room. I must have dozed off, for, in no time it seemed, the old fellow roused me by shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Your steak is ready,” said he. “Eat now.” The food was delicious, and when I had cleared up the last juicy morsel he beckoned and said, “Come, now. I’ll take you to your room.” His natural behavior and the good food had won my confi- dence in him, I left my rifle and hunting knife in the room which we had just left, and followed him down the dark hallway. I could see him dimly ahead of me and could hear him shuffling along the stone floor with that peculiar gait of his. He stopped before a flight of stone stairs go- ing up into the blackness above and said, “Wait here while I find a light.” He shuffled off in the darkness and left me standing there. The shuffling stopped suddenly and I heard him chuckle very hide- ously. “Ah! Here we are,” he rasped. I heard a click from his direc- tion as though he had thrown a switch. There came a rumbling sound, the floor beneath me gave way, and I was sent skimming downward through space! I crashed to the stone floor below and lay on my back a few min- utes gathering my wits. Pres- ently I was aware of a glow of light from the aperture through which I had fallen, and then the oldish man thrust his head over the edge and cackled in his hideous fashion, “Pleasant, pleasant dreams. I will give you a companion to play with in a few minutes.” The hole above my head slow- ly closed leaving me in the gloom of my dungeon-like room. I got to my feet and walked forward till I touched the stone wall. Then I commenced to fol- low it, feeling with my hands as I went. Halfway around the cir- Page Twenty -Two