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

Page 14 text:

JUNIOR CLASS—COMMERCIAL AND PRACTICAL ARTS DIVISION

Page 13 text:

would be one of the best things for a castaway on a deserted island. However, a person who bad always been an inveterate reader would need no books but could be content in the memory of all the books he had previously absorbed. Even in such solitary confinement one could carry oneself into a crowded city or a quiet hamlet. On cold days it wofcild be easy to journey to the sunny south of a tropical clime; and on hot sultry days to roam up and down the cool Atlantic coast in a pleasure yacht or an old boat, swimming at a crowded beach or a quiet pool. In every hour of his confinement, the castaway would be visited by a host of friends carrying him wherever he wished to go stepping into the pages of books for adventure, romance, and compaionship. Then could the solitary soul reword the verse “I wandered lonely as a cloud,” and say instead—“I’ve read and read but little thought what wealth to me those books have brought. T. BYRNES, ’37. MEMORIES How I recall of years gone by My early high school days; A silly little “Soph” was I. Trying hard to find my way From one room to another. With little to do or say. The building seemed so very strange. And most of the people, too. Oh. how I dreaded this great change— I hardly knew what to do. The only comfort that I had— Since there were others like me too— Was that these others also Didn’t know what to do. But soon was called an assembly. At which were read to us The rules and regulations. We were to follow without fuss. Next came something quite exciting. But, I fear, not as inviting; For the Juniors set about To make the Sophomores whine and pout. My Sophomore year went by with ease, My Junior year, with pleasure; But, oh. my Senior, my last year, Went with haste in every measure. Mid-year exams are over, Finals near at hand; Then comes graduation When “Life” takes us by the hand. As years roll on, and on, and on. Our high school days grow dim; But may we n’er, oh n’er forget The pleasures enjoyed therein. IRENE GALLO. ’37. FAREWELL Farewell to our School Days, And various joys, Farewell to the lasses. And also the boys. Farewell to the teachers, Whose patience we tried. Farewell to their lectures. May their words abide. Farewell to Colt High School, The White and the Green. Farewell to the blackboards, Which never were clean. Our hearts are in Colt, And never elsewhere. These were the days. We had not a care. Farewell once again. To our teachers farewell. The joy we knew here. You all know full well. WILLIAM D. ROSS, ’37 GREEN (OAndLWOimHE- 11

Page 15 text:

AFTER THE BATTLE Let them look back at the things they’ve done. At the battles they’ve lost—at the battles they’ve won. Let them all sec the faults they’ve made On a field where a bloody game was played. On a field where glory was gained and lost— They must save the country—no matter the cost! And yet at last when the fighting is o’er. Not much remains of that dreadful war. The country-side in ruins lies While overhead a lone bird flics Singing a dirge for these brave men Who gave their lives, this battle to win. At dusk as the sun sank beyond the hills. With a low sad note, the valley fills. Taps! “Day is done and all is well” Is the message to the world it tells. So let them look back at the things they’ve done— At the battles they’ve lost—at the battles they’ve won. And let them be thankful and let the Hag wave O’er our own dear country that men died to save. ANN LEAHY, ’3 . THE ADVENTURES OF MICKEY MOUSE 'Twas in the days of Robin Hood, When errant knights did roam There in the sombre Sherwood Sir Mickey made his home. Small but gallant knight was Mickey Who fought with robbers bold: Dressed in armor of style quite tricky With arrows trimmed with gold. Then in the forest he did see Friar Tuck with a broad smile, Who stopped him under the Greenwood tree To chat with him a while. What the Friar to him said Made Mickey want to fight To save a maiden in distress. The duty of a knight. On his journey he did go With great determination Four days he passed in direful woe To reach his destination. Into the castle he went, To the tower he sped. Where to his amazement He found Minnie whom he wed. ISABEL BENTO, ’37. A GARDEN As I walked along a dusty road A creeping vine I spied; 1 felt great peace surge through my soul— As toward that vine I hied. 'Phe vine was creeping all around. It crept away up high. So high it went—it seemed to me— To almost reach the sky. Its tiny little tendrils, Like baby fingers small. With purpose and with childish strength— They gripped the stony wall. 1 thought as there I stood and gazed At nature’s work of art. How ruthless indeed, would be the man Who would tear this beauty apart. From the highway this beautiful garden With its vine so enchantingly green. Seemed like unto myriads of raindrops Alive in a glittering sheen. A lone statue now stands in the garden. Where once were some three-score or more- A reminder of pageants of splendor. That that garden had seen of yore. The leaves around the statue cling As if to shield it from harm; And rounnd the brow they loosely twine A halo bright to form. Faithful down through the ages. The Statue of the Virgin there— Has reigned o’er the solemn splendor In this garden of nature fair. T. BYRNES, ’37. GREEN amdl WPiOUtE- 13