Bryn Mawr College - Bryn Mawr Yearbook (Bryn Mawr, PA)

Page 31 text:

ftfje Jflajorttp i tileg A CRACKED plan was that of ' 18 and ' 19 for altering our predominance in the affairs of the cosmos. On the night of the memorable meeting we were instructed in the matter of straw votes. They put up their candidate; we elected our choice. Then that half vote per Freshman measure was sprung. How they expected to pass such a delectable measure when 125 of us could balk any majority and were essential for a quorum was quite beyond human comprehension, doubtless beyond parliamentary usage, and perhaps beyond V. K. ' s master mind. Well, due to water-polo, the assembled multitude was given until the next meeting to consider it. We considered it directly. Was it within the law? Oh, let ' em, just let ' em thwart justice and popular will! Thus M. S. Goggin, M. Foot, etc. We made a plan, marched around Taylor, and, returning to our halls, did not poison the soup of the despots. The next meeting was called to vote on the half vote. En masse we betook ourselves — to the Lib lawn, and danced en baccanale while the august tyrants went up to the chapel. What did they see? No quorum? No quorum! For the quorum was couchant on the Lib lawn. Doubtless they looked at us from the windows and discussed us in envenomed terms. We laughed, ha ha, and rolled where the green- sward was to be; and it so happened that we were invited to return, and that in the spring we elected Marjorie Martin President of Undergrad. H. H. McC. Stone. I Where are the irons of yesteryear ? Sizzling and hot our brains they ' d sear, Gone where Lois will go I fear. Oh! Martyr Alma Mother, What hope for Lois between hell and heaven? II No more from third floor Merion Hall Can Twenty with her usual gall Murder the Freshmen, one and all. Oh! Martyr Alma Martyr, What hope for Twenty ' twixt hell and heaven ? Helen Irvin Murray. 27

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atmor Dear Miss : I am pleased to inform you that you have been assigned to room , Radnor, for the ensuing year 1917-18. Yours very sincerely, Edith T. Orlady. Thus was the dreary fate of twenty-eight Freshmen sealed, twenty-eight joyous young things still eagerly clinging to a hope of Pembroke doomed to this far reputed hole of grinds. But they had been there only two months when they were heard modestly singing: Radnor has come up a step Ha, ha, ha! Those Freshman gave that hall a rep Ha, ha, ha! We were in those days unduly large — some of us sat at every table in the di ning-room — we conversed freely, we sang well, we must have been odious. After Freshman year our ranks were much depleted, the lure of Llysyfran and the insidious work of mysterious summer forces having cut us down to the scant number of sixteen. (We secretly resented the disloyalty of those who had deserted us for other halls, but we invited them back for Sunday night supper. ) Early in Sophomore year the survivors swore eternal fidelity to Radnor, banded together in an organization to meet nightly on the common ground of muggle, invented a graceful sign of greeting and a whistle to call members. At dinner one evening, just after all of the above had been decided, a newly shorn member (alas, we have had several shearings in our flock) arose and announced amid the shrieks of her confederates (we always enjoy our little jokes), The Sons of Guz will Guzzle in the Guzzleum tonight at 9.15. Sons we called ourselves, but we always addressed fellow sons as Sistern . The somewhat perverted language of our chief merry jester infected us all, and such words and phrases as twirdy , cherry tree , and seven times cursed became part of our common parlance. While partaking of the evening collation, jokes are encouraged by the mild, gentle giggle of Flub-Jub and Ben Jamin ' s more than adequate imitation; our wits are sharpened by the subtleties of Hellenish humor; and our longing for romance finds some outlet in quizzing our blushing Mary. Some- times, of course, we feel subdued and things are dreary, but no matter what may happen we always have with us the incessant, clever, openly cryptic repartee of Naughts to Kash — and then, too, Copey will always spill her milk. Mary Simpson Goggin. 26

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w HEN we were Freshmen. We thought. That we would win everything In Athletics. Because 1917 had won. Everything. And our skirts. Were even redder. Than theirs. So we dashed. Into Hockey. And sang. She calls us Apples. And another song. About Missionaries. And Hottentots. And probably we also sang. The War-Whoop. Because at that time. We loved. The War-Whoop. And after Hockey. We tried. Swimming. And Water-Polo. And track and tennis. And Basket Ball. And we won. Second Team Water-Polo. And we won. The Gym-Meet. But that was All. The Horse Perhaps our skirts. Were too red. I wonder. Louise F. Cadot. 28