Cathedral College of the Immaculate Conception - Annual Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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CATI-IEDBAL COLLEGE Their carbuncular knees make one think they have bubonic plague. Really they dot' This was the best suggestion of the evening, but was finally voted down because the general staff believed that not only the Scotch Highlanders but every last one of us would surely be kilted on the morrow. Meanwhile I was squatting outside the dugout chasing a cootie and dreaming of fish and chips, bloaters and ale, and such like gastronomic de- lights, Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, a mere Wraith of an idea shot through my soporific brain, l grabbed it as it flew by, hung on, wrestled five or ten minutes and finally pinned it to the mat. Lord love us, what a grand idea it seemed to bel Here was the very thing that would halt the German advance, save Paris, win the war for the Allies, make the world safe for democracy, and make Steve Monkhouse famous, all at one fell swoop. I boldly decided to carry it out. Carrying out my bold decision, I quietly raided the commissary, swiped everything in sight, and made off to a wee spot of woods in no man's land. Here with a hammer and saw which I had in my back pocket I set up twenty of thirty tables. On each table I laid out a magnificent spread of vittles, vita- mins and vin ordinaire, not to mention beer and pretzels and scads of skittles. Then I meticulously painted a half dozen large board signs, each of which read, 'Das ist ein Biergartenf A remarkably cheerful little spot it turned out to be. I acted as first customer as well as host, and by the time I rolled into my home trench I felt jolly well like a barrel that would like to loosen a hoop or two. Extraordinary, wot? Next day the Huns did attack, but the bally rotters started at dawn in- stead of nine o'clock as they had said. However, my scheme worked to per- fection. They were half way across when the bounders saw my ground-floor rathskeller. Now no true German can resist a lil' snack with something to wash it down. Believe it or not, they didn't reach our trenches till two in the morning of the following week. I-Iawl By that time Paris was saved, the war won for the Allies and the world made safe for democracy. Unfortunately, however, Steve Monkhouse was not on his way to fame. I was just busying myself on a scheme to shoot bottled beer at the enemy aviators instead of anti-aircraft shells, when my arrest was ordered by Major Coincidence. They court-martialed me for committing mayhem on the com- missary. No one seemed to realize that I was the man who saved Paris. Or maybe the ungrateful wretches didn't see any sense in saving Paris after all, At any rate, I was found guilty and shot at sunrise on a gloomy Sunday. I say, don't look so frightened. I really was shot, you know. Then to show, as an everlasting example, what happens to imaginative birds who dream of bloaters and ale, fish and chips, and such like gastronomic delights, they had me pickled and preserved in a glass tank which was trotted all over France and the British Isles. So, my friend, here you see me-a forlorn little chappie who won a war, now dead as a doornail. And by love, am I pickledl Hicl I ll8

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A N N U A L 1 9 3 6 0 0 Captain says, Steve old bean, best of luck. l'll see to it personally that a gold star is put alongside your name on the Bloomsbury honor roll. That gave me a creepy feeling, so I Creeps over the parapet and out between the lines. I meant to stay in one spot and then creep back again. But it was a low-lying country and the mosquitoes were a trifle worse than bad. Consequently I kept moving about from place to place. Then pretty soon, quick as a flash, I was lostl Not knowing where I was, I groped blindly about. Suddenly I could hear someone singing We'll be coming down the Vosges when we come, and then I realized I was within hailing distance of the Holstein hillbillies, who occupied the trench opposite ours. The music got in my blood somehow, and I started a little jig all by my lonesome. All of a sudden I danced right smack into a German sentry. He challenged me in a thick, wursty sort of guttural voice. Chi e? he blusters. A frightful mess, says you. Rawtherl says I. However all is not lost. I bashed him one in the choppers. Ach, yust like mein brudder, he says. Next I kicked him in the rump. Ah, yust like mein fadder, he ecstatically mur- mured. And finally I calumped him over his cabbage head with a birch log Cthere were birch logs handy thereaboutl. Ah, yust like mein mudder. As he vent down for the third time he smiled and muttered, I-Ioch est der Vater- land. Iss yust like heim. CYah, geshichtell ' He had a pig's knuckle in one hand and a bottle of beer in t'other. Before doing anything else, I very wisely helped him finish these. While doing so I began to realize that a conscious German would be much more useful to me than an- unconscious one. So I hit him another clip over the head with the bottle, and that brought him to. In rapid fire succession I asked the following questions and elicited their corresponding replies. Whats the number of your regiment? Nein. How many thousand infantry? Nein. it How many artillery corps? Nein. What time will you attack? Nein. Cheerio, ' I said, and walked off. xx With a bit of a pig and a bottle of brew in him, a soldier has a better chance of finding his way home than otherwise. So before long I tumbled into the British lines and reported to the Captain. I felt pretty good. With four nines we should be able to lick any three kings in Europe. The Captain however didn't think so. Neither did the Colonel or the Major. A general staff meeting was hurriedly called. 'Private Monkhouse re- ports nine thousand infantry will attack at nine in the morning,' says Captain Courageous. 'What shall we do?' Everyone was at a loss for a suggestion. The Allied cause seemed hopeless. Lieutenant Pipsqueak piped up with a plan. 'Let's bring up the Scottiesf he says. 'They're just the men for a tight place. Besides, with legs like Irish blackthorn sticks, they'll scare the Huns. ll7

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A N N U A L l 9 3 F5 0 0 Murder In Cathedral HE following poem was Written one hundred years ago, in l936. During the course of the succeeding century it has gradually attained a rare emi- nence as a national classic until at the present time it is on the prescribed list for all English courses in secondary schools, replacing old standbys such as the ANCIENT MARINER, AS YOU LIKE lT, and THE FACE ON THE BARROOM FLOOR. The poem is a lyrico-narrative gem, composed of a unique rhyme scheme of twenty-four quatrains Written in electrolic ammeter. lts remark- able lilting cadences, clever turn of thought and general all-round sweetness and light have made of it a popular as Well as a critically superlative mas- terpiece. The author, Dangerous Dan Dinkle, was a native of Brooklyn. He was born of pious parents named Deuteronomy and Desdemona Dinkle. His family traces its origin back to the Middle Ages, where We read ot a Didymus Dinkle who carried a vase in the War of the Roses. More recently the family fortune was created by Grandfather Doremus, who made his boodle in submersible doughnuts. An uncle, Doodad, was the inventor of the famous Dinkle dunk, a sidearm, weaving and bobbing motion which conserves the coffee as Well as the doughnut. Daniel Was born in 1930 and died in l935, never having reached the age of reason. Therefore it is all the more remarkable that he should have left to us this notable testament of his genius. 'Jr wt' sl' You got me, Hal, Sir Thomas cried, I-le ups and comes a martyr. The deed is done, no bell is rung 4 To herald crimes of Garter. 'Twas fifteen hundred thirty-five, Four hundred years ago. He served his Sire, provoked his ire, 8 For that they laid him low. For men not dull to honor bright lt was an awful slaughter. No mortal mud has right o'er blood 12 To spill it just like Water. No kindly Word have We to spare For aught a King conspires, His friends demise he did devise, lfi Let's burn him till he's Wires! ll9