Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

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THE ORACLE 21 Then there is the necessary run of gifts from all of your friends. Many lovely gifts, wrapped in gaily colored papers and ribbons, each one conveying from its senders the hearty wishes for a merry Christmas. When they have all been opened and placed beneath the tree, there before you, you can see the people that sent them: the mittens from grandmother, the books from Uncle, the hand-made handkerchief from little Betty, and the glittering sequin bag from the silver package. These are only a few of the many friends that help to make Christ- mas what it is. BETTY FRASER AN INTERVIEW WITH A TRAMP We weren't lounging in soft easy chairs, nor were we sipping lemonade from tall rimmed tumblers. Instead, we sat on large stones and drank tea from shallow tin cups. My accidental encounter with this strange character was unexpected but proved most enter- taining. I had wandered off from camp, in- tent on doing some exploring in the immediate vicinity, when suddenly I stumbled upon a little clearing and thus began my thrilling experience. Not even looking at me, he startled me by an invitation to sit down and have a cup of tea with him. As I saw nothing to alarm me, I decided to accept. He was attired in a shabby, rather tat- tered suit, but seemed to be healthg and had a full, ruddy face. He was talkative, not at all reluctant ta part with information of a personal n1ture. It wasn't necessary to start the conversation by talking about the weather or by discussing the present economic conditions or financial crisis. Instead I inquired the reasons and the steps that led up to his present life. I was both amazed and dumbfounded by what he divulged. He began his stc-ry by telling me that he had been born in jolly old England and was a graduate of a university. After his graduation, he had been seized by a spirit of adventure and, without a cent in his pocket, he began tramping around the world. From country to country he wandered, finally stowing away aboard a vessel and reaching the United States. During our conversation, I was deep- ly impressed by his intelligence and his extensive vocabulary. He showed me a small dictionary and a vest pocket edi- tion of Shakespeare's Hamlet which, he confided he always carried with him. H claimed that he was well pleased with his present life and would not change it for all the wealth of a banker. I don't agree with him on that score, but after thinking back, I must admit 5

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i0 'l' H Fl PUNISHMENTS -I REMEMBER When I was a small child, my mother had a punishment for us children which we thought of as being very unpleasant. Of course, the things we were punished for, we termed wholly different from the way mother did. She would think of these offenses as being punishable, when we would think of them as being praise- worthy. But what was this loathsome punish- ment? Was it a good spanking on her knees? Was it that we had to stay in the corner for a certain length of time? Or that she forbade us to go out of No, it was none of these things, It was all and only the dreadful couch! was it doors? Many times it was that I lay on the couchf' studying the ceiling, and at the same time thinking how unjustly I was being punished. Many marks did I make on the wall beside the couchf' to while away the time. But, above all, many times it was that I called to my mother and asked to get up before my time was done. Of course, my brother and I had more than one quarrel in our childhood. And as I was the older, mother usually pun- ished me first. Roger, come here,', she would say with a hard voice. Of course, I'd naturally proceed to argue with her as to which one of us was the cause of the quarrel. But the argument usually ended with her saying, Go up-stairs and lie down on the couch for half an hour! As I recall it today, I can think of much better punishments, such as talking OR ACLE it over with the child, but I also know of punishments which are a whole lot worse than the couchf, But even though it is painful, I think almost anybody would rather have a good spanking than have to lie for half an hour on the dreadful couch. ROGER METILLY THE DIVER Falling with the grace of an inanimate object, he plunged into the lake, causing a plume of water to shoot skyward and splatter angrily back again. DAVID XVHEELER, 1935A CHRISTMAS GIFTS What thrills of anticipation those whispered words bring. From the begin- ning of Christmas week until the actual day, packages and gifts arrive from all parts of the country. There is the glittering package, deco- rated in silver ribbons and tinsel, from more fortunate relatives. One is sure to find something expensive and perishable in that package. Then there comes the cherished and looked for package. That one is usually neatly done up and tied with a pretty ribbon and the admonition not to open until Christmas. When it is opened, it contains the very much needed, brightly colored, hand-knitted mittens that you hinted you wanted to go with a new ski suit. There is usually some fudge tucked away in the package somewhere. This gift is from grandmother.

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22 THE ORACLE that he was pleasant, knew what he was talking about, and had a good sense of world relations. PIARRY FROMAN DOWN MOUNTAIN SKIING Lucky is the skier who meets that ideal snow condition - feathery snow over hard crust. Luckier is he if he finds it on a good skiing mountain, and still luckier is he if this mountain is Mount Washing- ton, the monarch of the White Moun- tains. It was my good fortune to experi- ence all of these conditions, and from this experience I concluded that the real appreciation of the beauty and the pleas- ures that this mountain aljfords can only be had by one who has skied on its steep sides during the reign of King W'inter. Let,s start at the beginning. When we approach the base of the mountain we catch an initial glimpse of it. The bleak white face of that part of Tuckerman,s Ravine called Boott's Spur looms in front of us. I can recall now that deep feeling of awe that crept over me as I looked upon its tremendously high sides. As a matter of fact it is only about half- way up the mountain. We seemed to be going into a different world, for a few miles back it had not been snowing. Soon we reached the base camps, and prepared to climb up the winding trail. Some might think this not so interesting, but one must remember that as we climb up we are continually talking about how we will go around the numerous turns, which side of the trail we shall go down on, and the like. As we proceed upward, something happens that could not possiblyitake place in the summer. There is a sharp warning shout of Trail!', and a skier, who seems to have the quality of a thun- derbolt, plunges out of nothingncss and down into nothingncss again. He is ac- companied by a distinct hiss of his skfs, which perfectly exemplihes his great speed. There is a still greater thrill when his companion follows, sees us, swerves, and then gracefully, amidst a swirling mass of snow, stops at our feet, and tells us of the snow conditions above. Climbing along again we can see the faint outline of a wind-swept crag and the tiresomeness of the climb is broken by watching the snow whirling off the top of this ravine. We can surmise by the speed of this snow and a faint roaring sound that there is a high wind up there. After another mile of climbing we ar- rive in Tuckerman's Ravine. It is like a huge white bowl, seven hundred feet deep. But as we gaze at its great head- wall, it does not seem high and it does not seem steep, for there is absolutely no perspective. Finally, some of us venture up this great slope and then one can really see the tremendous size of the steep head- wall, for those on it appear as minute, insignificant dots on a huge, pure-white background. After feasting on the beauty of this scene, we adjust our skis and start down. For three winding miles the trail drops, in endless curves. Speed, wind, whirling snow! In a very small fraction of the time it took us to climb, we have de- scended. As we eat a warm supper at the base, we can hardly realize that just a few minutes before we were up in Tucker- man's Ravine, three miles away. ROBERT SKINNER