Cloverdale Union High School - Spectator Yearbook (Cloverdale, CA)

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High School Prophecy I sat one day in silent thought Alone in a garden where poppies grew; My mind in the mist of the past was caught While I spent an hour with a chosen few. I pondered o ’er in this happy hour My days in the Cloverdale High, And my old school friends of years long past, ’Till in vision they came before my eyes:— In a mansion built of stone and cement With splendid arch and towering pillar, His mind upon his work intent, I recognized Professor Miller. Near by conversing in earnest tones, Reviewing it seemed in Latin, a course, Stood a tall thin man and a lady fair, She turned, and I saw Miss Ada Morse. A noise of laughter struck my ears— A jolly crowd, and issuing from it Sounds of voices, and kissing, and tears— Miss Douglas was back from a trip to the comet. I joined the others gathered ’round To hear her tell of her travels, And listening to her story I found A wonderful tale she unraveled. She told of the people she met on the way, And many were scholars of old, She had found them happy, bright, and gay And this is the tale that she told:— Once fatigued from travel she’d stopped to rest At a wayside inn of renown

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splurge away below us, on the plateau were some cows, and a chalet, with a man, some cheeses, and a smell in it. But talk about smells! Most Swiss villages can hold their own in that particular with any in the world. For in spring the dung and straw from the cow-houses is stacked up in various places along the streets. When it has got thro’ being soaked by the rains, it dries, and when hard is used for fuel. Were it not for the beautifully pure mountain air, it would be a source of unhelthiness. From the summit of 4 ' La Dent” we had a fine view of western Switzerland. All around us snowy peaks, and below forest covered slopes, mountain meadows, each with its toy dun-colored herd and tiny grey chalet, then, still lower, glimpses of villages with their red-roofed cottages, and dotted here and there with misty blue lakes. One evening, shortly after our trip up “La Dent” we experienced our first thunder storm. It swept up sudden and furious from the west, across and past us and on to the Alps, calm and clear in the east. We sat at the windows watching and listening to the bang and roll of the thunder like cannons echoing all over the heavens. The storm was a succession of gusts. When the lightning was bad the electric plant people shut off the cur¬ rent and in intervals of comparative calm they turned it on again. This made rather an amusing variety. Later we were to learn how frequent these mountain storms are. They suddenly spring to life in a clear sky and spread all over it in a few minutes. Everyone rushes for shelter, as open¬ ing-with rumblings of thunder, the storm bursts fortn in a perfect passion of fury which lasts from fifteen minutes to half an hour. Then all is serene again. A few clouds rest in the sky and the ground and everything is dripping wet, as out from houses and sheds come the village people to resume their ordinary occupations, so unceremoniously interrupted. Before the summer was past we had experienced many more of the surprises which this glorious land of Switzerland holds in store for nature lovers, and which have made her a Mecca for travelers from all parts of the globe. Katharine M. Douglas. 21

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And the landlord who bowed to receive his guest Was none other than Cecil Gowan. He smilingly touched a silver bell; But just then in a stunning gown Through the great hall a lady swept, T’was the authoress, Hazel Browne, They greeted each other, but turning soon Outside they beheld another old friend, Fay Northcott approaching in a balloon; She was bound for Canada a year to spend. And guiding the dirigible dowm through the air, So careful and cautious Dan Sink seemed That no harm should befall his passenger fair— T’was a precious charge they deemed. That night some orators were to be heard, So a crowd assembled in the town hall, And all applauded when appeared H. Belford, announcing the speakers all, A political meting it was, he said, And William McCabe was the name Of the candidate all were working for In this “equal vote” campaign. And on the platform beside him sat Emma Sedgley, approving all that was said; She was grown matronly, staid, and fat. From time to time she turned her head To hear Leslie Kingwell eager to speak A word for the cause of the suffragettes, Or Isabel Grant in accents meek Whisper, “woman deserves far more than she gets.” In the midst of Will’s peroration grand A “honk, honk” warned them of the approach Of a crowd of sight-seers passing by With horns and an automobile coach. They’d been speeding carelessly through the town, Neglecting the ordinance in their rush, ’Till quietly halted by Marshall Browne 23