Bristol High School - Green and White Yearbook (Bristol, RI)

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 7 are continually joking but as I am a Junior I could not tell you about mere Freshmen. There is a boy in the Junior class who can make a variety of noises and is very willing to give demonstrations all day long, and there is another boy in the Senior class who can soliloquize so well that he has made it almost an art. Now as for the teachers — well, as Shakespeare would have said, “T’were best to speak low of such things.” but still it is funny to hear the teachers’ repeated expressions often, such as, “Now here’s the point,” as one teacher remarks two or three times a day. It makes vou feel proud to hear the teacher say that the Junior class is the worst class she has ever taught, but I guess that is something that the teacher is compelled to say because every teacher says it to every class. As for girls, well, all girls are foolish. There are one or two girls in the school who are vainly trying to be one of the so-called “near-vamps” but as yet they haven’t succeeded. These girls have trained their eyes so they can put them in almost any position. They believe that practice makes perfection. There is a girl who sits behind me in one study room who must read her lessons out loud before she can understand them. Also there are girls who I believe could talk for three days without stopping. Of course there are numerous “young ladies” who study for exactly four hours each day. And there is one girl who must tell the teacher how she did the work but from the way the teacher answers the young lady I don’t be’ieve she cares how she did it as long as it is right. We naturally have a few Prima-Donnas who, if given the chance, would rival Galli-Curci and also one or two future Mary Pickfords. We have a wonderful orchestra, but unfortunately they are bashful about performing. So we don’t often hear them. There are one or two boys who enjoy singing and frequently sing a solo after everybody has stopped singing. Among the Seniors we have two boys who are very studious. In the Junior class one boy has a fad for reading Alger books, and is always seen with one of them. One boy thinks he is a pitcher and often practices throwing wads of paper all over the room. He is often spoken to by the teacher who tries to impress it upon his infantile mind that he is not as good a pitcher as he thinks he is. This is about all the peculiar characters we have in school at the present time, though last year’s class contained a few memorable ones. But I have forgotten one very important character in the Colt High School. He is a small boy, who, like a mosquito in summer, is everywhere. He is what some people would designate as a “general nuisance.” I think you know who this is. If you don’t it is Yours truly, WALTER WENNERSTRAND THE CHERUB I heard a sob, I looked around And over on the mossy ground I saw a little cherub fair, With eyes of blue and golden hair. The child’s small face was full of woe And then I thought I ought to go And ask her if I could not try To hide her cares or sooth her sighs. I told her all about the things Cod made to make the Cherubs sing, She smiled at me and then I knew The Cherub’s heart had found me true. And after that as I walked home I thought of how some cherbus roam Throughout the world with no one there To help them when they need the care. —ANNIE FAY, ’21 THE MONSTERS All was still and the moon shone brightly. The birds after flying around had gone to rest. The flowers had silently folded their petals and drooped their pretty heads. The soft east wind was singing a sweet lullaby to the trees and darkness softly crept over all the earth—in other words it was night. Suddenly above this sweet silence could be heard—afar off—the sound of something flying through the air. This dreadful sound grew louder and louder in volume as through the night came a death-dealing monster. “It” came nearer and nearer and then began to circle around and around. Below it people shuddered and held their breath. The “thing” came lower and lower to the earth. Suddenly it swooped down and a shrill cry was heard. Again it came down and again a shriek rank out in the night. Soon the “thing” came down to rest before it continued its deadly work of destruction. There was a crash of flesh striking hard wood and out of the night there came a hideous laugh. The next day, upon the back-steps of a bungalow in the suburb of the city there lay the mangled and hardly recognizable remains of—a mosquito. W. WENNERSTRAND, ’22.

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6 THE GREEN AND WHITE him that the girl could not be found. They were much frightened, but would have been more so if they suspected the real cause of her disappearance. They, at first, thought that she must have just gone out for a walk in the woods, alone. At noon the matter was explained. An arrow was shot suddenly into a group of Indians standing talking. All were so engrossed in the message that they did not think at first to look for the sender, but at last they looked around, but could see no one. The note ran thus : “We have Chief Morgue’s daughter. Give us one of your tribe as a peace oflfering. and as a sacrifice, and we shall return her to you. If this is refused, she will become the slave of Chief Ne-wa.” Of course Chief Morgue would not agree to this, but he did not know how he could possibly do otherwise. Before he had a chance to do anything. Chief Ne-wa’s son; Mag-u-qua, stepped in and took hold of the situation. He had always liked the Aztecs, but his father had warned him that he would be killed mercilessly if he had anythin friendly to do with them. He at once took a liking to Chic-a-qua, and decided to help her, even against the wishes of his father. That night he had a horse waiting in the forest, and Chic-a-qua, escaping the watchful eyes of Ne-wa’s squaw, slipped away and joined him. He took her to her father’s wigwam. He knew that there was no return for him that night, for he saw by the light in the forest beyond that his tribe had already missed him, and were starting out with torches to get him. He at once warned the Aztecs and they were prepared to meet the Blackfoot tribe. They met in battle and for a whole day they fought unceasingly. The Blackfoot tribe suffered a great loss, and were finally overcome by the Aztecs. Mag-u-qua stayed with the Aztecs and asked Chief Morgue if he could have Chi-a-qua for his squaw, saying that she was willing. After the ceremony, which was celebrated around the campfire, and by the snake-dance, ' Mag-u-qua and Chic-a-qua went to Chief Ne-wa and stated that they were married. Then the Chief said that he was willing to let by-gones be by-gones, and by the great power of love these two tribes were united. These two tribes later joined under one head, that of “Tangles,” the name so chosen to remind them of the quarrels that had once made them afraid to look one another in the face. A. BRELSFORD, ’21. THE HUNTED The cold wind moaned softly through the long pine needles, making the penetrating chill of the midnight atmosphere seem almost unbearable. The small silver moon behind the clouds of frozen mist gave a light—clear, white, still. A tall figure wrapped in long black garments came out of the shadows, and walked slowly down a path, apparently lost in thought—a reflection that must have been deep indeed, for he gave no sign that he heard a ouiet, skulking shape cross the path behind him, heard the clanking of iron, or saw the moonlight gleam on steel carried swinging by his side as he slipped from tree to tree, through shadows, always 'ollowing the tall, dark figure. silhouetted against the path of light, made by the moon on the smooth, glasslike surface of the lake, crouched a small pathetic figure, head in arms, and. at his feet, half buried in the leaves and snow, lay something that flashed the reflection on the moon as he moved his foot. The tall, dark figure did not see him, nor did he even lift his head to glance about. The other, the most elusive ' shape, gliding about from shadow to shadow, dropped to his knees, the steel at his side clattering more merrily than before. “Curse it,” he muttered as he picked up the skate-key for which he had been hunting. EMILY SANFORD. ’21. WHO’S WHO IN HIGH SCHOOL Bristol, R. I., Nov. 10, 1920. Dear Fred:— In your letter of a few days ago you asked me to tell you about some of the people in the Colt High School. Well, there are a number of peculiar characters here, for instance, there is one boy who is what you would call a “plain nut.” When he is called upon to recite he gets up and makes some brilliant (?) remark which causes all the pupils to laugh. The other day he was playing with matches and the teacher told him to put them away, that he would get to the other world soon enough without using matches now. There is another boy, a dignified senior, by the way, who used to cause a great amount of merriment by a series of “Johnny Smith Themes,” as the class was wont to call them. In the themes he related the misadventures of a certain John Smith who used to get into a great deal of trouble with an Italian banana vendor and a fat policeman. There used to be a boy who caused a great deal of amusement and trouble for the teachers but he has gone elsewhere and I am sure some of the teachers still mourn (?) for him. The Freshmen are, of course, silly and

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8 THE GREEN AND WHITE JUST A FEW FACTS (With apologies to K. C. B., Briggs, and the others) It is Wednesday morn and you are scheduled to declaim and you sit in the auditorium with your hands folded and listen with watchful ears (as Vergil says) to all that is going on and your heart goes thump, thump, and the clock tick, tick and you hope that Mr. Strong will keep talking forever and just as you expect to rise to go to the stage you hear him say, No declamations today. Oh, boy, ain’t it a gr-r-r-rand and glor-r-rious feeling.” I THANK YOU. MY FIRST EXPERIENCE My name was on the list for declamations. What could I do? I am very nervous and I was positive that I couldn’t get up on the stage in front of all those boys and girls to speak a piece. But of course I had to do it. There was no way of getting out of it unless I said that I had a cold, and if I did that I would only have to speak next week, so I decided I would speak the day my turn came. The day, the very fatal day, came at last. I had found a piece and had memorized it. Twice I had rehearsed it to Miss Tobin, but, could I do it? Could 1 speak my piece before those boys and girls without forgetting it, and without fainting? Fainting, that was it. I felt that I would faint. When I had rehearsed to Miss Tobin I had felt so frightened and nervous—what would I do when I spoke in front of all those boys and girls? “ ‘Colt and the Veteran’ by Bayard Taylor, spoken by Miss Angelina Morra,” came Mr. Strong’s voice. It struck me and I thought that I was being swallowed up by the floor. Oh, if it only would! It the floor would open up and swallow me! But it didn’t, so I got up and went toward the edge of the platform. All the boys and girls were looking up at me and waiting to hear what I had to say. My knees began to shake. I could feel my face burning and knew that it must be as red as fire. I began. The first two stanzas were kind of shaky but I got used to having the young people stare at me and all the rest of the piece was better, because I didn’t feel so nervous. When I finished they all clapped and I felt that I had been rewarded for my effort. And now I look forward to the next time, and vow that I shall not be so nervous. ANGELINA MORRA, ’22. THE GOAD One day we learned about the goad With which the pricks of pain are sow’d To make the Donkey’s step more spry In hope the journey’s end be nigh. Rob prattled long in pretty glee About the Donkey’s obstinacy, Until a fool beside the road, To quiet it, made him a goad. He made it with a stick and tack To slap the Donkey’s ladened back, For in her saddle were a ton Of duds of Robert Stevenson. EMILY SANFORD. ’21 1. MAKOWSKY, ’21