Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

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12 JANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE like an explorer on some new adventure. Each little excursion discloses something dif- ferent. If you visit the barn and unlock the door, you may behold a filled stall. If you take a trip into the fields, you may discover some odd-looking Hower. In the pasture it may be wild strawberry plants, laden with tiny, delicious fruit. The woodlot may re- veal a nest, or it may delight you with its mingled odors of pine and violets. There is no other place where you can have so much fun the year 'round as on a farm. You may play hide-and-seek in the barn if you are young, and when you grow up you may hold your parties there. There is plenty of room in the fields for baseball in spring, for football in fall. There is no dan- ger of broken windows and the subsequent fifty-yard dashes for the nearest hideout. In the summer you can tramp the hay, take a swim in the brook, or if you have a court- as many do these days-you may play tennis. You have the rolling fields to slide and ski on in winter. Also there are Hooded meadows on which to skate, and there are back roads for sleigh rides. A Why do people refuse to be convinced that a farm is the best place all-round to live on? To me there is nothing like it. ELLA MAE HAMILTON OVERNIGHT HIKE Enthusiasm ran high as we planned for our overnight hike, for it was the first time many of us had camped out. The next morn- ing we blithely set out with our packs on our backs and the food supplies in our bask- ets. Of course we -thought it would be noth- ing at all to walk that four or five miles, but we soon found out that bedding rolls are ex- tremely heavy on an uphill tramp. We stop- ped several times to rest and, incidentally, to pick alfew berries. There was a shout of joy when we finally reached the clearing. Everyone set to work with a will, gathering wood for a fire and later making his bed. We went exploring after supper and came back to go gladly to bed. It had been decided to keep the fire burning all night. Girls watched in pairs for two hours at a time. As my turn came at midnight I went to sleep immediately. It seemed only ten minutes later that I was rudely awakened to be informed it was midnight. After fixing the fire we found we were hungry, but neither of us had the courage to raid the pack basket. We did not know where it was anyway. It seemed hours and hours before our watch was up, and we gratefully crawled back into bed. All too soon the sun was up, so were we. All that remained was the clean- ing up, and this was done with surprising alacrity. The hike back to camp seemed miles shorter than the one going out. When we arrived at camp we were hot and tired, but we were eager to tell of the Wonderful time we had experienced. MARGARET SMITH WHY NOT HOCKEY? Why isn't hockey sponsored by this school? We have baseball, football, track, basketball, and cross country as major sports, with golf, rifle, and winter sports teams as minor activities. There is a large student body from which recruits could be drawn. School teams throughout the state would welcome our competition. During the winter we have only one major sport in action- basketball. Many boys cannot play this game, so they are completely left out at this time. One member of our faculty would consent to coach this activity, I am sure, for I have often heard him say that he would like to do so.

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IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE 11 A TIGHT GAME Give me the game Where the pitching's tight, And the score is close In a bitter light, Where the play is smart, And the Fielding's tops, And the lads come up With some dazzling stops, Where the innings bring To your burning gaze Some gorgeous throws And some circus plays, And a hit is real, And they earn their run, And the game's tied up With the setting sun. Then your nerves are tense, And the stands are still, And every play Is a silent thrill, Until at last, NVith the winning hit, You just explode In a roaring jit. Brother, you take Those slugging spills, Where the pitching's loose As an ocean breeze, And a homer's cheap, But Iopine That I'll take the close, Tight scrap for , Mine. DON E. STILLMAN IT IS WORTH IT? 8-l. 1-7! The steady beat of signals fol- lowed by the pounding of feet as eleven men run toitiring signal practice. Up and down the field for a half hour halted' only by the familiar 'cry from the coach, All up. A little questioning of players on how they feel and then a curt command, Get your hel- metsf' For an hour and a half the grunt and thud of smaking bodies sound out from the scrimmage. Now and then a pause to demon- strate to some player the art of taking his man. ' Darkness falls swiftly over the gridiron and scrimmage is stopped for the day. The players rush to the locker room in order to be sure of hot water for a shower. A great deal of shouting and singing pours out from strong lungs of healthy boys under the warm soothing water. The squad soon disperses in groups headed in every direction-east, west, north, south. Arriving home to a warm supper, a few hours study, and then bed, for the eye- lids seem to hang as lead. Nothing is on his mind but the thought of a similar day on the morrow. For three months this steady routine is kept by about fifty or sixty boys in our school. Do they kick? No, they enjoy it. People have often asked me if it is worth it to slave five days a week to play or sit on the bench for forty minutes on Saturday? Ask any football player. If he is a true ath- lete his answer is always YES. CARL OSBERG THE FARM I know what a farm is-an old house with a monstrous barn, some chickens, cows, horses, and a lot of land. But a few, only a few, know what a farm is really like. To me it is a place of discoveries, of pleasure, and of wonder. . When I left my city home and moved into the country, I felt very much like Alice. Everything was new, strange. I saw for the first time what a potato plant was like, how carrots and beets looked as they grew, and I found that I could not tell where the onions were planted by merely sniffing the air. Being on a farm makes you feel much

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IANUARY AGLAIA or THE ORACLE 13 People argue that we cannot have a hockey team because of the lack of locker rooms at the rink, making it impossible for players to take showers after a workout. There are hockey teams that have no facilities for dressing or showers. If the sport were started here it might be possible to overcome this handicap. As for uniforms, those used by our former team are in storage, and would be available. Minor equipment might be supplied by the players themselves at First. Why not give hockey a try at Central? RAY PAQUIN HUNT Ting-a-ling-a-ling- ting-a-ling-a-li.ng-a- ling-a- Oh, consarn you clock! What's the big idea? Who set you to go off at four olclock, anyway? And I was right in a middle of a nice dream. I'll never get to-say, this is October First! God bless you, clock. XVhat would I do without you? With some such words as these I open- ed the hunting season of 1937. I was up, dressed, and had eaten breakfast before you could say your a-b-c's backwards. Eddie Call, another ardent sportsman, was to call for me at four-thirty. It was that time then, and sure enough, as always, Eddie was on time. I grabbed the old double-barreled twelve, and a box of shells. I jumped into the car, and we were off. The First gray tints were appearing in the eastern sky as we reached our destination, and while we sat in the car waiting for the sunrise, I noticed the splendor of the autumn foliage, as streaks of red from the eastern horizon danced merrily on a perfect blend of red, yellow, brown, and green surround- ings. ' With the sun dawned as perfect a hunt- ing day as one could wish, and as we walked down the old wood-road together, I silently thanked God for Mother Nature. Before we separated, we made the usual little wager that the one who got the fewest birds would have to buy a hot drink for the other on the way home. I arrived soon at the cover I had in mind, and after agreeing to meet Eddie at the car at seven, started through the brush with high hopes. Eddie went on to another cover. At the end of the first half hour, I had covered acre upon acre of excellent bird coun- try, but had not flushed a single bird. I sat down to rest a minute, and upon doing so, the familiar drumming of a cock-patridge came to my ear. It seemed unusually near. I listened a moment, then issued a low coo- ing sound from my throat. The drumming ceased, I cooed again, and after two or three exchanges of drumming and cooing, a great cock-patridge rounded the corner of a large rock and hopped up on a log not twenty feet in front of me. My heart skipped a couple of beats as I reached for my gun. With much difficulty I raised it, and lined the leads up directly with his head. But I did not Hre. I lowered the gun. This time the bird stood there defiantly, as a king on his throne. He showed not the slightest sign of fear, and, after all, why should he? He was as helpless as a butterfly over the Atlan- tic, yet he saw no danger. He trusted me. My heart melted like snow on Fire, and I just sat there and looked at him. I-Ie was as handsome and as large a specimen as I had ever seen, and he just stood there and looked at me. Presently an old hen rounded the same rock, and hopped up beside him, but upon seeing me, she let out a cluck, and disappeared to parts unknown. The cock followed her. As I walked down the old wood road to the car, Eddie stepped out of the brush in front of me, and when he saw me, his face lighted up with a smile of radiance that touched both ears. He pulled out two cocks