Brattleboro Union High School - Colonel Yearbook (Brattleboro, VT)

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PCETRY Good-bye ELEANOR WEAVER '57 Sometime- Perhaps a million years from today, Will you remember--how A musical wind, singing of sun and moon and stars, Changed to a grey whisper, telling of chilling night and hovering quiet? A copper spider of a moon swung with the sky And sadly and quickly built a web of stars? Will you remember-how The dawn came, and found my laughing eyes Betraying themselves in tears, And you laughed and told me to forget? How could I forget The snow gilded with a pale yellow, from a dying moon, The grey limbs of a grey sycamore, caressing a grey wall, And you walking down a deserted, shivering street? Persecution BEVERLEY BIGELOW '38 ICOWLING at the flirting stars, The harsh moon Reigned sublimely in the Electrified sky. From his gallery tower, He beckoned to his servant, Wind, And commanded him to chastise His slaves--as-the black-ribbed trees. Pinioned against the sky, These serfs quaked with fear, As the whipping wind Lashed their feeble limbs. From the gashes oozed Beads of blood-sap, while The tyrannical moon Smiled at his despotism. Sky Pudding ELEANOR WEAVER '37 ACOPPER kettle of gold, Hung on a smoke stained crane, Puffs and bubbles and boils, And belches a skyful of stars. Winter Fontosy LORRAINE DOUGLASS '38 I-IKE dewdrops on a cobweb, Crystal-like stars Caught in cotton clouds Glitter on crusted snow- Billions of sparkling mirrors below. Fir trees fluffed with snow- Ragged urchins Shivering 'neath shabby shawls, As the moon-man sifts Flurrying snow-powder drifts. Snow Fall SHIRLEY NEEDHAM '40 'l'lNY star-shaped snow flakes, Fluttering from the sky, Seem like dainty bits of lace As they go floating by, Or tiny wisps of paper Cut by a childish handg Then, thrown from Heaven's window, They softly fall to land. It seems as if the children Who live up in the sky Are cutting paper dolls and things To play with by and by. They've hung up hnished cloud shapesH The cause of all their mirth-- And dropped the bits of waste upon The nursery floor of earth. Fog HELENA LEVESQUE '39 I T sifts through skies of sodden gray Like smoke in a damp autumn day, It leaves a rain drop here and there Like diamonds glistening, sparkling, rare. At night, when lamps are all aglow, Its silvered crest just gleams, for lo, The gems come earthward, fall upon A cold damp earth, dew pearled at dawnea The fog.

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.BRATTLEBORO-WINTER PLAYLAND HERE is no excuse for any- one in Brattleboro not taking up a winter sport of some kind, for this lo- cality abounds in natural sites. We are, in fact, per- haps better known for these than for anything else. Brattleboro is listed in the New York papers' Ski Playlands, and sports enthusiasts from New York and Massachusetts make weekly pilgrimages to enjoy our advantages for a few hours. There seems to be a spot for every type of skiing. For those who enjoy plunging down steep slopes, there is speedy downhill skiing on Piggery Hill near the Ski Jump, where last year's Women's Ski Meet was held. The hill is unbelievably steep and usually icy. Skill is required to make the sharp turns through the woods cleverly, and to reach the bottom without a mishap. Business and professional people who have to work in the daytime may enjoy the exhilaration of skiing at night. On a wide, open slope, dotted with a few pine trees, on Guilford Street, the Outing Club maintains a lighted slope. Here the finished skiers glide easily downhill and the novices take worth- while lessons. Local golf-courses are being used for practice, and the hazards constructed for the golfer prove equally hazardous for the skier. Perhaps as famous as the Outing Club jump, is the junior jump on Brattle Street. For the more leisurely type of skier who prefers mountainous scenery and striding across hill and dale, there is a ski-trail winding -to Camp Ridgewood. When snowshoeing was popular, a trail was cut to Stratton mountain, with cabins along the way, and it is hoped that this trail may be opened again someday for skiers. Though they are not in Brattleboro, there are sev- eral places not far away that will lure many local fans. A twenty-one mile drive through the beautiful West River valley, which alone is worth the trip, brings one to the State Forest outside of Townshend, where is lo- cated the Tailspin Trail. This trail was made a reality through the efforts of Perry H. Merrill who very gener- ously gave the right of way and Considerable personal labor. It is built on a 1150 ft. mountain and provides 4226 feet of thrills. The pitches vary from eight to thirty-four degrees, the steepest being fully as steep, and in some cases as long as the landing hill of the Brattleboro Ski jump. Averaging seventy feet in width, it is widened at the turns which vary from the sharpest of ninety degrees to three hundred-forty degrees, and ends at the beautiful stone house, which has been completed recently. OMING down the trail, the skier starts slowly and C warms up on a series of sharp turns. Then he speeds down a steep slope, an easier one, around another turn, and comes to the end. Too difiicult for very great speed, it provides every test for the skier's technique and ability. At Putney, on Elm Lea Farm, is a 350 foot hill which is used extensively for skiing. On this hill a 800 ski tow has been built. The skier rides down the gentle slopes, and then rides up again with the aid of rope-pulley. An eighteen mile drive over Hogback mountain, where one can see a gorgeous view which includes three states, takes you to Wilmington, where this year, for the first time, a ski-tow is being built. The hill itself is two thou- sand feet above sea level, and seventeen hundred feet above Manchester, where there is a famous ski-tow. The altitude provides not only invigorating air, but a better snow condition, and another year will see skiing there by Christmas, earlier than is possible in the White Mountains. Skating comes in for its share of enthusiasm from Winter sports fans, for from Thanksgiving until March, there is always skating on one of the many local ponds or rivers. Northern winds sweep the snow from the broad Retreat Meadows, and brightly clad figures soon take possession of its shining surface. Some bring sails and skim along with the wind. At night tiny winking lights and sometimes a glowing fire reveal the late-comers. just off Canal Street in Vinton's Pond, a favorite of many skaters. There is a small cabin where one may warm chilled fingers and toes, and put skates on and off in comfort. Cutside is a broad rink, strung with electric lights for the night-skaters. OBOGGANING is still a favorite with many. At one -I-time a shoot was built near the ski-jump where the shrieks of the sliders could be heard as they sped down the perilous run. Abandoned as dangerous because it was banked only with ice, there is a possibility of a wooden shoot being built, safe enough for everyone. However, on lC0nlinued on page 202 Cut by R114 Fzlmn 37 Xxxx. Q 7 N x. T X ' X A -.-'I' ' Q X

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SKI JUMPING TECHNIQUE judges' stand for their num- bers, the loud speaker boomed out. Threading my way nerv- ously through the crowd, I looked around for some of the outstanding jumpers, who I knew would be there. I saw several of the well- known class A men and had a good talk concerning the hill and the coming event with some of them. There are no jumpers of real repu- tation in class B, because as soon as they earn publicity, they go into class A , consequently, class B compe- tition is always won by a dark horse. After receiving my number, I shouldered my skis and started the climb to the top of the jump. As I walked up, I looked around to see if I could discern, among the class B jumpers, anyone who looked like a real ski jumper. I picked out one fellow whom I had never seen before, and upon inquiry, I found that he had just come over from Norway and hadn't as yet got a rating. As soon as I heard this, I knew that there was a good man on whom to keep tabs, for all Norwegians seem to be born with ski jumping technique in them. Please tell me what number 26's jump is, will you, announcer? I asked. When his name was called, he stepped over to the track and felt his bindings for the last time to make sure that they were well fastened. Then he started. He rode well under control, and when I saw the jump that he made and heard that he had done one hundred and seventy-eight feet, I knew that he would be the one to watch. Several other jumpers were called, and then my name was shouted out. I had a queer hollow feeling in my stomach, which, I think, every other jumper has from nervousness. With many good lucks from the Brattle- boro jumpers, I pushed off. Riding in a low crouch, so as to cut down wind resistance, I lost all sense of hearing and of everything else, except that of hitting the takeoff. That was the most important thing! S I neared the takeoff, the blood began to roar A through my head as a result of my terrific speed. My legs grew tense and taut. I rose from the crouch a little, so that my legs would be exactly jacked under me. The end of that takeoff rushed towards me at express train speed. I waited one last split second, then leaped. I felt my skis rising too much, so I pushed farther forward LL jumpers report to the to get them down. I took one last look at them, before going over the knoll, to be sure that they weren't out of line or crossed. . My eyes were studying that landing hill for the spot where I should land, and immediately they focused on the point. A jumper can always tell the exact spot where he is going to land, a situation due to long practice and to many years of jumping. From up in the air, the landing hill looks like a white glistening ribbon between two black masses. You can see nothing and hear nothing while in the air. I suppose this is due to the fact that your mind is so taken up with what you are doing that you have no time to think of anything else. With my eyes glued to that spot, I felt myself falling, and I knew what was in store for me. Knowing that I was going to land hard, for I had been in the air so long, I prepared to take a very deep knee. That means sliding one foot ahead of the other farther than is usual. IWAITED and waited, and the ground came rushing up at me as if it meant to knock me over. I broke into my landing position-and hit! I dicIn't hear it, but a heavy jar went through my body, telling me that I had hit very hard. I rode the rest of the way in a low crouch, so that the transition wouldn't spill me. When I felt my skis level out on the flat, I relaxed for the first time, and my ears once more opened up to sound. The crowd was clapping and shouting, and I felt a thrill go through me at that sound. When I stopped out at the end, I listened for distance. The loud speaker boomed out, One hundred eighty-two feet, the longest standing jump that has been made today. I felt so happy that I could have rushed up and have kissed that announcer, but that would have been hardly the right thing to do! u All the way back to the foot of the hill, I heard and answered such questions as these: How do you ever get up nerve enough to jump so far? fContinued on page 192 Cut by Florine Defi 59 2 s wir.. IMQMQU II 'NI' I 3 4-ii'