Farmington High School - Laurel Yearbook (Farmington, ME)

Page 23 text:

LAUREL ir W.. what Jimuuha. meano AMERICA -I reserve this phrase for my native land: Some think-Scotch, Irish, but I, American! Genella Moore '45 -M is for Myself, whom you may not know? I am not very fast, nor yet very slow. Virginia Webber '45 -E stands first for Educationg This is the up-building of any nation. Wilma Kyes '45 R is for Religion, in which we all may chooseg Since this is His war, we'll never lose. Barbara Ialbert '45 l is for I and Independence, But more for Borders not lined with fence. Pauline Berry '45 -C is to every girl and every boy, A Childhood filled with utter ioyl Eleanor Hammond '44 -Americans have learned they cannot rest And protect the Land they love the best. Irene Paradis '45 AMERICA MEANS America means a lot of things, From freedom of religion to oyster stew, To a chocolate angel-cake That tastes like walking through A flavored fog with an open mouth. It means memories, Fresh within the mind - Memories of that first County Fair When Grandpa took us to Find The joy of a merry-go-round. It means a cottage Nestled between the hills, Where we find relaxation From the madness that fills The working-day. It means great men, great deeds - The Liberty Bell, Grant's tomb, Guadalcanal - Symbolic of the preservation of that way of life Which will forever spell America to us all. Mary Pinkham '44 MAP OF MY COUNTRY lWith thanks to Prof. Iohn I-Iolmesj The map of my country is all hills, The little winding road that goes up and down, The cog railroad up Mt. Katahdin, The pin-dot lakes ioined by ribbon-like streams, Dwarfed by white frosted peaks. Boy Scout hikes To that little cabin on the hillside, Ice fishing trips with scalding hot cocoa, I-Iot dogs and tilt-o-whirls at the county fair, Bowling and popcorn, over-crowded toboggans, Roasted corn ears on a Fire by the lakeside. The maps of other people are not like mine. They have no picture of naked boys in the Sandy, Or walking boom-logs in the Kennebec. The hills and mountains on my map Would be marked with a cross for a campfire spot And a line for a hike to the top. Iust a rocky thread of the sea is shown, With a mark on a weather-beaten rock where I watched Fishermen's boats put-putting in and out of the harbor. And the rheumatic steamboat with t.he whole crew sing- ing Sweet Adeline, their voices cracked by salt water. The map of my native country would show hayfields VVith men sweating under huge forkfuls of hay, I-Iurrying because that speck of cloud might be a shower, My map also would show snowdrifts With car rooftops rising white like a frozen botde of milk. There are cities on my map, but not as my father names them -- Auburn. Augusta, Bangor, Bath, Biddeford, Brewer, Calais - And all the others alphabetically. I have a tree To remember this village by, and a small sand pile To remind me of the hours spent building castles And dykes and moats. This city is marked By a capitol building whose depths I never understood. At the bottom of my map I would have the key. X is where our boat went down and one man nearly drowned: O is the lakeside camp, my resort for three summersg ' is the place where the sailboat turned overg T reminds me of five terrifying hours lost in Black Brook Bog: 1 stands for hunting trips in the hemlock of Dead River. Thus my map would be marked with these my symbols, Which only I could decipher, For this is my native country. Dewey Richards '45

Page 22 text:

'A' LAUREL 'k Melville Iohnson Ir.- Sweet Marie Gloria Raymond - lust Plain Lonesome Marie Iohnson- Who Wouldn't Love You Shirley Richards - All Out for New Vine- Hazel Kelley - Mary Kelley's Beau yard Raymond Kelley - Tiny Tot Eugene Lambert- I Dream of Genie with His Light Brown Hair Leonard Luce - Bug Eyes Marie Luger- How Long Has This Been Going On Patricia McHugh- Turn OPI the Heat Bradford Moore- Nobody Loves Me, No- body Cares Robert Morrill - On Time Thelma Newell- Are You Spoken Fer? Lois Nichols- When I Was a Lady Pauline O'Shaughnessey- Sweet and Lonely Iohn Paradis - Hey! Goodlooking Mazie Parlin - Blond Bomber Betty Rackliffe - Rosalita Doris Rackliffe - I'm from the West Side H n Barbara Ranger - I Ain't Nobody's Darling William Richards- Ieff, My Darling Virginia Rossier- My Sweetheart's the Man in the Moon Eleanor Stevens - Comin' in on a Rim and a Spare Glenn Stowe - Mutt O'Brian Robert Suomi - Slender, Tender and Tall Ieanette Thompson - Twitterpated Maynard Towle - Any Bonds Today? Reginald Walker - Bashful Roland Weston - Happy Go Lucky Lawrence Whitney- For I-Ie's a Iolly Good Fellow Golda Williams - I'm in Love Herbert Wing- Down Wilton Way Mrs. L. Iohnson- Our Ideal All the Freshmen- When I Am Sweet Six- teen Ieanette Thompson '47 His head is as empty as last year's ration book. - R. Suomi '47. Donnie Wells is as precious as ration points. -D. Rackliife '47. The angry words were rubber and snapped back.-R. Clafiin '46, The watch counted the minutes.-I. Marks '46. Memories, like sand, sift through the dust of the past.-G. York '46. The music sobbed into the room.-P. Frary '46, His face closed like an old watch with a spring lid.-E. Gray '46. My allowance was as low as the sugar bowl. -M. Parlin '46. New York is a rhapsody to our war-weary soldiers and sailors.--I. Foss '46. The rose bush lay like a butterfly in its cocoon under the heavy blanket of snow. - M. Wil- liams '46, My shadow was walking beside me.-E. Prescott '46, 20 The trees waved their arms as the wind scam- pered through them.-R. Heminway '46. The fluffy white clouds were like freshly popped corn.-E. Prescott '46, The Art of Packing a Lunch-Box You may think that packing a lunch-box is easy, but I consider it a most digieult job. The art of packing a lunch-box, which I had to learn when I joined the 4-H Club, is one thing which is very handy to know. Any child likes to eat his lunch from an at- tractive lunch-box. A well-packed box should contain nutritious foods, which will provide a well-balanced meal. This might be two peanut- butter sandwiches, a pint of milk, an orange, and an oatmeal cookie or a piece of chocolate cake. One wno LEARNS THE ART or PACKING A LUNCH-Box will never regret it. You - - - job - Compound-complex sentence One - - - it - Complex sentence, restrictive ad- jective clause Elsie Currier '45

Page 24 text:

sk LAUREL 'k t AN ANSWER TO 'LINES TO AN AMERICAN OFFICER By Noel Coward Dear Mr. Coward: I sincerely agree That needless boast and empty word Can never win our liberty. And maybe he was indeed absurd Who arrogantly uttered that silly phrase, f'We're here to win the war for you 'J You say you know my country well- The mountain's bluish, misty haze, Majestic river, cliff, and dell. You are a Britisher. Yes, I know. And l, an American. My country has not had so long to grow As yours. And, too-this man Was young, as is our young country. To us that phrase was as a warm 'Hellof We are like that-just nonchalant and free. Our humor, often trite, l know,- But surely, so great a man as you Can see, behind the laughter, cheers- We all pitch in: do the most we can do. Who can say that dull sorrow and tears Will lift War's burdens as laughter can do. Doris Stanley '44 SONG OF THE COUNTRY OMETIMES I like to walk to the summit of a lonely hill, and gaze at the world be- fore me. My world. The hills rising in the distance, the meadows, patches of lazy green with cows and sheep, and horses, toog the marshy swamplands, woods, and finally a stretch of dusky-blue mountains serving as a protective background-all are part of my world, I could never do without it. All its humble harvest is to be received with waiting hands. Its song reaches my ears exclusively, seeming to call me and implore me to listen. It is a strange and sometimes mournful song, but not always. Often it is mingled with the sort of gaiety caught in an autumnal gypsy dance. It is of winds, spring rains, and lirst meadow flowers. The song is to the tune of hot, sweltering afternoons in haying, when the penetrating sun- rays and the scent of the stacks of new-made, golden fodder become one. It is to the tune of the frosty wonderland while being snowbound in winter. Out across the vale and up the mountains, the snowy cov- ering is laid, and the air is clear-cut and still, as if the moment were to be preserved forever. 22 The song is also in tune with spring rains. Some people End ugliness in those frequent showers-the muddiness of back farm roads and too wet fields. But is that all there is? God intended that there should also be beauty in spring rains. Spring can hurt when the heart's winter is doubtful and bitter, but the rains should seem a new hope and almost an uplifting of the spirit. For, do not young plants and seedlings grow to maturity with the aid of spring rains? In summer, to lie serenely amid the tall grass, uncut as yet for winter, is peaceful. It seems as if one were a small, intruding elf in a strange world. Or perhaps, as a giant in a magnifi- cent green forest of rich meadow grass. It waves loftily and sways in the wind. Later, in a week or two, it will be transformed into a for- est of gold, but still the wind will play among the grains, and will send ripples across the Field of golden hay. This hay will live in dark, brown earth, and thrive until cut and stored in mows-lifeless. Lifeless-with the breath of life that once romped in the forest of the sun stamped from it as surely as it was cut and taken from the soil which gave it birth. And the autumn will arrive. It always has for country folk. Like the lines of the poem, it seems, There is something in the autumn that is native to n1y blood. Could it be the firelight flickering across the happy face of some gypsy Vagabond? Or is it autumn sunset burning above yonder mountains in the west? But Mr. Carman must have understood it so much bet- ter than ll Some people talk of the drudgery and monotony of farm life. They say it is dull, life- less, and naked of any beauty whatsoever. That I can not understand. Why, it seems only yes- terday that each time I went to bring home the herd of Ierseys from pasture, I found hidden mysteries in the pasture land, miles from any- where. Rarely would a city person have the opportunity to witness the summer hills and rises in the land, the alders, ground hemlocks, and the marshes of the free and open country. Sundown. Behind the wall of grave, pro- tective mountains, the sun sinks slowly. The evening chores are being done-cows are being milked, sheep bleat until given their share of grain, horses Stamp in the stalls, and the barn cat