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

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Canal Currents, Bourne High School Vignettes Of London Granny, must we go?” Yes, Sue, now take my hand and well leave.” But, Granny, all my dolls and the little kitten — where will they go? May I take them?” No, my dear. I ' hey must stay.” What if something makes the house fall in? Like over at Mary Jane s the other night. Their house fell in and she couldn’t find her rag doll. And she couldn’t find her mummy, either. Where did they all go. Granny?” Well, someone took them away. Her mummy was taken to that nice place where your mummy went last week. Now, let’s go, dear. You must be a brave little soldier.” Like my daddy is. Granny? All right. Goodbye, dollies and kitty.” Hand in hand the fine old English lady and her little granddaughter headed toward the air shelter in the heart of busy London. It has been a wonderful day, hasn’t it?” the elderly gentleman addressed his companion. It certainly has,” was the reply forced above the din that reached their ears. The marigolds are still blooming in my garden. Heartening to have something continuing in its accustomed fashion in spite of . . . various things,” finished the elderly gentleman once more. Yes, we must all keep going, no matter w hat,” came his companion’s retort once more against the clatter and confusion above them. A comfort- able silence settled neatly around them. In the dim light of one or two wicker lights throughout the place, the elderly man drew from his tossed-on overcoat a pocket knife and a little wooden boat. Just an adopted hobby of mine,” he explained to his companions seated on a rough box across from him. There were only rough boxes and some blankets in the whole place. The elderly gentleman’s snappy blue eyes set in his jovial, and nowadays patient face saw the plight of humanity well repre- sented everywhere around him. Then there was a terrific explosion near by. The old gentleman went on whittling. Jean Matheson, ’42. Father Gives Up Smoking Father came home with an announcement that astonished us all. He was going to give up smoking. We looked at him queerly and w ondered if he was all right. Mother asked him if she should call the doctor. He said, No, of course not, can’t a fellow stop smoking if he wants to?” Mother bet him a new dress that he would be smoking again in two weeks, but he said, Phooey! don’t you think I have any will power?” He did pretty well for about a week and w e were all thankful that the house w ' as free from tobacco smoke. A few nights after that, mother thought father was being unusually quiet so she crept to the door of his den and peeked in — there was father puffing on his pipe hoping no one w ' ould find him. Now father is going around with a red face and mother is sporting a new dress. Claire Jackson, ’42, Page Fifteen

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Canal Currents, Bourne High School The Dawn Of A New Life Now that I have taken out my first papers , and now that I speak the English language, my childhood, my former life over there” seems very remote. I shall not give my name, nor my native land. I might be any of a number of those foreign-looking persons you see in so many of your won- derful American cities. Even though it was twelve years ago I still remember that day when, entering New York Harbor, I also entered the dawn of a new life. I had kept very much to myself during that voyage, if you can imagine anyone keep- ing to himself on the crowded deck of the steerage class. But I was alone — I had no friends, only a cousin who was expecting me in New York. It was he who had persuaded me to come to this fine country. The day was one of those that we see only in the spring — clean, fresh air, a little crisp, but very promising, with the warm sunshine bringing out the happy side of everyone’s disposition. They had told me back home that 1 would be very lonesome in New York and I confess that I have seen New York look very bleak on a cold day in mid-winter, but my first impression of New York was that of a friendly city, full of opportunity, just begging to be lived in. As I saw the people on the docks hurrying to and fro about their work I felt that tight, bound feeling gradually leave me, and a warmth and sense of freedom creep over my entire body. It was a sensation few of us over there” had ever experienced — that joy — that zest for living. It made me want to tell someone — so I did! There was a little boy standing next to me with his mother. I told them who I was and that I had a cousin there in New York waiting for me. They jabbered back at me several words that I did not understand, but I could not mistake their meaning. They, too, were experiencing the joy I felt. We smiled at each other, and talked, each in a different language, but with perfect understanding. Then came a little sadness. At Ellis Island we awaited inspection and we saw some of our steamer-mates rejected, and it made us very sad to see them so unhappy. Fortunately, I had led a rugged life and my condition was satisfactory so I was at last permitted to enter New York. After some dif- ficulty I found my cousin — or rather he found me, standing on one of the docks, just staring at all the wonders that surrounded me. He spoke in my native tongue and told me that I must learn to talk English as he did and to dress as he was dressed. He did look very nice in that faded-blue work shirt and slightly soiled trousers! That was all twelve years ago. That was for me the dawn of a new exist- ence whose beauties amaze me still, though I am now nearing the sunset of life. Since then I have mastered, bit by bit, the English language; I have grown to understand little Americanisms that at first puzzled and frightened me. The way you Americans ride underground seemed like a horror of one of the countries over there”, but when I had grown accustomed to the noise, I, too, enjoyed the benefit of the subway. Oh, I have learned a lot since I came to this country and I have made many friends. A lot of my friends are police- men, too, and some of the nicest men you would care to meet. In the little neighborhood where I now live one can hear dialects of all parts of the world, but everywhere we are really, in our hearts, Americans, no matter w ' hat the color of our skin may be, for the ideals we believe in are the same. Ruth Brownson, ’41. Page Fourteen

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Canal Currents, Bourne High School Shopping With The Fairer Sex Fellows, if you w ' ant to spend about three hours in torture, go shopping with your sister when she wants to buy a new hat. How does this black one look, Ken? I take a quick glance at the hat my sister has carefully set on her head and mumble a few words of praise hoping that she will buy the bonnet so we can go home. I don’t know just which one I want, they’re all so nice.” Yes, they are very nice. Sis, but please buy one. You have tried on twenty different types now.” Oh, you’re in too much of a hurry. This is the last time you’ll come shopping with me.” Then my sister extends her hand and picks up another hat; and then I knoiv I’ll never go shopping with her again. Glancing down at my watch I note we have been in this hat shop exactly an hour and a half and there is no sign of my sister’s buying any special derby. The sales clerk brings out five more boxes: Here are some of the very latest models. Miss. I’m sure you’ll like one of these.” There is a funny glint in his eye and I know he wants to make a sale as quickly as I’d like to see one made. My sister tries on all five of them and arrives at no conclusion as to which of the twenty-five hats she wants. Please, Sis, as a personal favor to me, buy one of these hats.” But I don’t know which one I want. Shall I look at some more?” The answer to this question fairly leaps from my mouth: No, there are 25 different kinds of hats in front of you now. For gosh sakes, buy one! ' My sister glances over the lot of hats and I hope and pray she selects one of them. Her eyes linger on one special hat, so I jump at the chance I’ve been waiting two hours for. I pick up the hat and set it carefully on her head. Gee, Sis, that’s a wonderful hat. Why, it looks perfect on you.” I guess my sister must be a sucker for flattery because she falls for my gag. You know. Sis, that’s the only hat I’ve seen of this type. It looks as though it was made for you.” That statement closes the deal. My sister says the four words I’ve been waiting hours to hear. I’ll buy this one.” The clerk quickly wraps up the hat and gives it to my sister. I knov then that he is afraid she’ll change her mind! Then, as though we had rehearsed a little act, the clerk and I both wipe the sweat from our foreheads and heave a sigh of relief. Kenneth Young, ’42. Mr. Blackwell Views the Political Situation Well, Mr. Willkie does not have to feel too bad about losing because in 1944 he can vote for Mr. Roosevelt (still running) and then be on the winning side. Clarence Blackwell, ’41 Page Sixteen