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

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Canal Currents, Bourne High School All That Glitters ' Have a good time, son, and please wear a hat.” Davy grinned at his mother, made a face, and was gone. Gosh, he was happy tonight. Hadn’t he the car, and his allowance ahead of time. Wasn’t it a wonderfully clear night and hadn’t he a big date for the Charity Dance. Then thoughts of Trina set his heart racing and gave him a tingly feeling all over. She was the daughter of a wealthy banker who had recently moved to Camden. Trina had immediately got around” and had become the most popular girl in town; that is, with the boys. Of course, the girls were afraid of losing their boys and resented Trina’s captivating charm and influence upon them. So thought Trina and she was right. She was a very pretty girl with a sort of pixie face that had a saucy air about it, pert nose, persuasive eyes and a pouty red mouth. Oh, she had it” and no sample at that! But the boys were blinded by her, simply because she was a new type to them. They didn’t lecognize her lack of sincerity; they realized only that she was fun! So, as she traveled from one boy to another, never quite htting go of any, it had not taken her long to discover David Ellison. Here w as a real find and she immediately thrust herself upon him. His blonde attractiveness was set off by wavy locks and smiling blue eyes and a careless, friendly grin. The fact that he had a girl mattered little to Trina and because Davy was humanly impressed by the loveliness of the figure that was now constantly beside him, he unthinkingly stopped seeing Francie Pearson, who in turn joined the group of other forgotten girls.” Trina makes you feel important and masterful.” Davy had heard some (T the boys say. He guessed it was right, because she did him. Helping Trina into the car he thought guiltily of Francie. Wonder who’s taking her. ” Trina sensed his mood and gaily laid her soft hand on his arm, looking coyly into his eyes; We are going to have such a wonderful time, Davy,” she breathed. From that moment on he felt dizzily conscious of his heart beating madly. At the dance, Trina’s daring gown and fashionable hair-do made the other girls conscious of their simpler dress. Their evening spoiled upon the entrance of Trina, they grouped together in the corner, watching their escorts mob the enticing pixie.” As the evening wore on, the music swelling and falling, Davy became more and more annoyed by the fact that Trina gave as much attention to the other fellows as to him. She flirted with them all, while he stood sullenly waiting till she lightly blew into his arms again. At last, he was able to get a dance with her when the orchestra was playing a soft waltz. He was at ease again, confident. He looked over her head to the door where some dis- turbance was being caused by a dark fellow who was apparently intoxicated. Davy stiffened. It was Joe Andrews, an uncouth fellow about whom every one knew. He had grabbed Francie, a frightened Francie, by the arm and was dragging her on the floor, making her endure the pitying and scornful eyes of all who were watching. He is making a fool out of Francie!” cried an enraged Davy. Trina snapped out a Why should that bother you?” Davy stopped dancing, looked at Trina in disgust and sudden revelation. Page T wenty-eight

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Canal Currents, Bourne High School Wanted: A Good Spy Story It’s almost the end of November. I think it’s about time I started (Christmas shopping — I have so many gifts to buy,” I said to myself. Starting toward the business section of the city I got there in no time; but what to buy — I couldn’t think of a thing. Oh, dear! What shall I do? — Books! That’s it! A book always makes a nice gift.” With books on my mind I hastened into one of the largest department stores. Oh, there’s the book department. What a beautiful display? — Oh! — I wonder who that is?” I had caught sight of a young, tall, dark and handsome man. He had a . ' mall, dark mustache and was dressed in a gray, reversible coat. He walked over to the counter and said with a foreign accent: I beg your pardon, but have you the book ' Treasure Island’?” Why, yes, here it is,” replied a very attractive brunette sales girl with sparkling black eyes. Do you mind if I look through it for a minute?” Oh, no,” she answered, not at all. Go right ahead.” Now what does he want that book for?” I asked myself. Oh, for his little brother, probably. Of course, that’s it. How stupid of me. That’s prob- ably his Christmas present.” But then I saw him take a slip of paper out of his pocket. He looked at the paper, turned to a certain page in the book and then began mumbling to himself. I grew very curious. Finally, not being able to resist, I walked over to where he was standing. I could just barely make out that there were numbers on the paper and he was referring first to the paper, then to the book. I heard him mumble get plans — new bomber — ” and then he looked up. An expression of fear swept over his face just as if he had seen a ghost”. Realizing his carelessness, he quickly wrinkled the slip of paper, put it in his pocket and resumed reading the book Treasure Island”. Well, that was too much for me to bear. He’s a spy, that’s what he is,” I said to myself. I had read a story once of a spy who had a code and that code could never be deciphered until someone found a book that the spy had left by mistake and the code was then revealed. That was it. Oh, my goodness, I never came so close to a spy in my life! With that, I rushed out to call the policeman on the corner. I explained what had happened and led the policeman to the book department. The man was arrested and the note was seized. Then, with the help of Treasure Island,” it was revealed that he was to have stolen the plans of one of our latest bombers for his country. The policeman told me I would be rewarded and led the prisoner out of the store without further delay. Oh, I think I’ll buy something else for gifts instead of books,” I said. I’ve had enough of those for quite a while.” Carolyn Quattromini, ’42 Page Ttventy-seven

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Canal Currents, Bourne High School had me hypnotized, Trina, but, thank God, you snapped me out of it.” He wheeled around and went toward Francie. In the moonlit clearness Davy spoke. Francie, I was a fool! But now. if it’s not too late, I want you to know how much I’ve learned. You’re — you’re wonderfully sweet, Francie.’ Francie smiled understandingly. It’s not too late,” she said, blinded with sudden, relieved tears. Isabel Handy, ’41 Book Corner My Home In The Field of Honour” by Frances Wilson Huard is a true story, beginning in France before w ' ar was declared betw ' een Germany and France, in 1914. It is told from the standpoint of the woman left behind — in this case, Madame Huard. She was of American birth but married Charles Huard of France. The story opens at their summer home at Villiers, near the Marne River. There had for some time been preparations for France’s de- fense but as there had been no special cause for excitement, no one was dis- turbed, until one day a friend of the Huards came running up the steps of their beautiful chateau to say that war would officially be declared on Satur- day, August 1. This created general amusement. On Saturday, however, they early sought the newspapers. Nothing alarming mentioned. But at sunset the drums rolled, and the news spread. Mobilization was to be begun im- mediately. There was no confusion nor anxiety because it was, as yet, so un- real. Charles (her husband) laughingly told her to stock up with provisions in case of invasion. Then it was a joke, later a terrible reality. Soon all the dowsers of France had been taken, only the old men and young folks remained and, of course, the women. France had responded gallantly. Madame Huard resolved to use the chateau as a Red Cross hospital and received permission to do so. She wore her badge on her arm and gathered the remains of her household together to g et things in order. There were two or three young girls and two young boys but all cheerfully pitched in. Her first occupants weren’t the wounded. They were refugees from the small villages that were in the wake of the Germans. Horrible stories they told — Madame thought they were crazy until it was so impressed upon her that she had to accept it. A young boy carrying his little great-grandmother on his back for a hundred miles, crazed women, frightened children — she took them all in, giving them hot soup, but reserving the beds in case the soldiers came. The refugees didn’t stay long, but there were always more to take their places. A steady stream of wagons. Madame Huard wouldn’t move from her house until the village was under fire; then in panic she packed and burned some of her valuables, took some bread and chocolate, harnessed the one lams horse that France had left them and went with her servants by night. She draped an American flag over her desk which contained some personal things, before she left, thinking the invaders would respect it. When they reached Rebais, her services were needed at a hospital convent with her nurse friend, Madame Giux. Enroute to Rebais she had picked up a French scout, a mere boy, who was in agony, the whole side of his face blown to pieces. She did all she could for him, becoming very attached to him while rushing him to the nearest hospital. He died later. Page Twenty -nine