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

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Qescue :Winter BEVERLEY BIGELOW '38 I IAPLESS UCCS S O S their message O'er the cloud waves. The call is for Spring. Weary and bent From winter's war, The limbs signal their appeal To the heavens. Will Spring acknowledge the message? Lgmage of Qusk LORRAINE DOUGLASS '38 NTRIGUING dusk- She slinks upon the end of day, Drenched with the beauty Of a flushing, pastel-tinted skyg The clouds like slender fingers of wispy smoke Bend in spanning rays To grasp the waning sunbeams. But then- A blazing sun rolls down the hill, While the painted clouds Vanish with the overwhelming vastness Of an enveloping cloak sweeping them away- A union of sky and earth Brings the death of dusk and the birth of night. Sky fzenants LOUISE DANA '40 DAWN is a reaper, frail, young, ruddyg With the silver crescent moon as sickle, She gathers in great sheaves of stars From the deep, dark sky. Then quietly she slips away, and the sun, Struggling high into the heavens, Beams down upon some fallen grains Twinkling brightly on the grass. Night is a farmer, ever workingg With the silver moon as lantern He sows more sparkling stars In his deep, black field. Patiently he tends them, with the wind Whispering cooly 'round his browg Then a pale glow lights the east, And he plods away-toward home and rest.

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sf: nqyeqfsqv , f 1 ' fy-' 1 i f 'Y 1 l E X i ll si 1 it D -, ' 2 01- ' :,Sfvx Cul by Nanrimzne Shaw '40 HFRESH BEAUTIES OF w1NTER now Paradise DQRIS CHURCHILL '39 E used to think that winter would come tumul- tuously like any foe, and leave no gladness in our hearts throughout the winter months, but now it arrives in pomp and ceremony, chanting with invisible trumpets of mighty north, and tempting us to share the beauty-the delightfulness in this land of cold and snow. The waxy hand of winter reaches down upon the tinted autumn slopes, and ruthlessly sweeps all sum- mer's elegance before it-only to cut loose, in three days, with a single sword of frost, the accumulated labors of three months of summer. This forerunner brings freez- ing nights and at last snow. A winter storm brushes clear, and leaves the world hushed, subdued,-a place of peace. The dawn makes crystaled hillsides and valleys fresh beauties of winter. The air is crisp, cold, and life-giving, luring the city dwellers to the hill country where there is no smoke or soot. They fill the country side with loud laughter and merry-making of skiing. They fall on their faces, hug convenient trees, or turn unexpected flipflops all with the spirited conversation of the great outdoors, Trees, the essential beauty to a winter day, are the gate- way to the mountain paradise. Rising above the flame and gold of sun down, the lanky bitches and quivering hem- locks stretch their perpetual limbs, covered with the heavy weight of snow. Slim spruces stand obediently day after day with their lofty burden sifting through stiff needles, only to drop harmlessly upon the still ground. Maples, stripped of their beauty, stand silently throughout the win- ter months awaiting the dawn of their resurrection. Through this elusive quiet, bushes and briars imprisoned by inches of lustrous snow seem so tense that they are ready to crack apart upon a moment's disruption. HERE, the deep woods are soundless, unless the quiet Tis interrupted by a rabbit, white as the soft snow. He hops noiselessly across the trail, and stops to sniff deli- i 7 cately at some red berries on a small bush. Then he quickly bounds off and scuttles under an overhanging pine. Over- head, a grey-limbed beech creaks and leans towards its neighbor in a silent breeze. This startles the rabbit and again he is off to an old protecting log, buried almost from sight in the snow velvet. Occasionally one hears the discordant cries of a fretful bluejay and glimpses him in his shiny blue flights. Often crows come here to roost in the later afternoon. Frequently a sleek deer leaps nimbly over an icy brook, up a knoll, and into the forest deep. In three successive jumps a fluffy squirrel crosses a barely visible stonewall, wrapped in winter's snow, floats over an old rotted log, and glides across the snow filled road. He ponders a moment, then significantly regards the thicket and wiggles his wee nose at a yonder bush. Scenting a tasty berry, he scampers to it and immediately samples it. Hear- ing a scratch of dainty feet, he wheels around and sights an oncoming chipmunk. Quick as a Hash, he hastens to the nearest tree and scales it rapidly, stopping to hide in its rough, worn trunk. After the chipmunk has resumed his journey, the squirrel peeps about cautiously from his concealment, only to find his precious berry gone! This snow paradise displays noble splendor from sun- set to sunrise. The cold dusk arrives, bringing with it the freezing breath of the North. Stately pines outline the skies in sensuous beauty While small hemlocks wave softly in that frigid air. The black sky is hung with myriads of stars, and seems to put the ebon forest in its protection. A round billowy moon sails through the foamy clouds like a ship that sails the bright, blue sea. The Lady of the Moon sighs and tips her head, letting the clouds comb her silken hair. The howl of a distant bobcat, a cry of the night hawk often break this silence that makes the hemlocks shudder and sway closer together. On and on the night travels until the forest is framed in the morn- ing sun-such is Snow Paradise. l

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Editorial .qfappy ,qezetufm Look! Do you see that little man marching beside the others in the band? See the way he plods stoutly along. He limps a little as he moves in step with the music, his pudgy fingers flying over the keys on his clari- net. As he trudges sturdily over the ground one can see his self-confidence and satisfaction, His face is amiable and striking as he moves unobtrusively among such tall boys and girls. Yet unobtrusive things have been known to move hearts and to kindle ambitions. He has but one aspiration and one ambition. His love is music, his ambition is to aid success. Music-opera, church, and march4all pass through his practised brain, mouth, and fingers! He has seen Brattleboro entertain- ment change from good wholesome, invigorating music and drama in the days when the Auditorium roofed per- sonages famous in stage and musical circles-to spicy, broken jazz and swing. All through this time he has con- tinued to foster good music without yielding to the other, and has led many a youth into the enchanting realm of sharps, flats, staves, and bars. With this he has also given what he has learned to those who have wished it. He has not sought fame and moneyg they have sought him. When a great music com- pany wished to give him an opportunity to lead several large bands, all with new instruments, he simply set aside the offer, and continued his work of love-teach- ing members of small school bands and orchestras. Things of true worth are seldom really appreciated until they are lost to us. A few days ago such a calamity almost happened. The band on Monday morning tottered uncertainly on the brink of a collapse. Something was missing! The hub that holds the spokes was gone. The program was loose. It takes just such a time to make us realize and understand. But eventually things calmed. Relieved pupils walked to their studies with assurance that nothing was amissg band and orchestra members sighed in relief, and went on to work. Our friend had returned. A hearty welcome to you, Mr. Leitsinger! -eKarlheinz Gotlwald '39, Qqt .East .l WE have it! A High School Ski Team! B. H. S. stu- dents have found the end of the rainbow! Why haven't we had one before? Why? We have often wondered ourselves. The terrain is marvelous! The conditions are perfect! We are in the center of the skiing belt! Yet, never before has the High School had such a group of ski enthusiasts. It is logical to assume that B. H. S. might have bene- fitted much if such a group had been started about ten years ago. Many well known skiers have passed through I 9 the portals of this grand old school! Cy Moss, Les and Bob Billings, Gordon Ulmer, and Merrill Barber are only a few of those who have won prominence in the field of serious skiing. Now, back to the present! We have a team! We have the will! We have enthusiasm! We are going to clean up on the ski ways! We are eager-yes, ready to com- pete with anyone! We shall do our best to sail on to victory! Ski Heil, B. H. S. Wingsters! -Hildrelh Sherman '39 Orchids fo Qfou .l WHEN the anxious notes of a shining bugle tremble through the disquieted air, the National Ski-jump- ing Championships will commence. Such superb per- formers as Sigmund and Birger Ruud, Harold Sorensen, Alf Engen, Walter and Paul Bietila, Ottar Satre, and local Merrill Barber will make every effort to gain a leg on the Winged Ski Trophy. Less famous jumpers will battle for the Class C championship. Climaxing the two- day drama will be a pompous ball appropriate to the oc- casion. Praise must be bestowed upon the sponsors of this event. They are an extremely ambitious group of people who have given much time, work, and money to make this national jump the best ever held. They have arranged to have on their program a list of names which has never been equalled. They have even gone so far as to invite the Governor of Vermont and other distinguished men to give it the proper dignity. Fate has looked bitterly upon the Brattleborians. Before the stairs on the hill could be repaired, snow and cold Weather arrived. The promoters took advantage of the opportunity, gathering a sufficient amount of snow to cover the hill thoroughly. But rain soon descended upon the priceless flakes, and gradually the pile diminished. With it went the blanket of the nearby woods and most of the hope of Nature's coming through with cold weather and a storm. However, while there's life, there's hope! These un- tiring ski enthusiasts will go to any amount of trouble to snow the slide. They are determined to carry through their plans. For their courage and aspiration, we say: Orchids to the Brattleboro Outing Club! -Patricia Fenton 139 I N X S. o f T ' 1 , H N. '1 A X jk l a!- Il