Farmington High School - Laurel Yearbook (Farmington, ME)

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'A' LAUREL 'A' and her kittens crawl from the hay loft for their dish of warm milk. Twilight. Work's all done, and a busy day is at its end. As the farmer passes from the barn up to the house, he pauses a moment to look up into the dusk. He smiles when he hears the croaking of the frogs, striking up their serenade from swamp and bog. The farmer continues to the house, finds his slippers and the Ierrey Bulletin, and sits by the fireplace for an evening rest. Then dawn creeps through the hours. Stars fade, the cattle stir, and dew settles upon the meadow grass. The farmer starts his busy day at daybreak when other worlds are still asleep. How near is this to monotony? And the song goes on and on, imploring me to pause and listen to its strange, harmonious melody. Listen to it I will, for it is my world and my life. Rachel Luce '46 COUNTRY SCHOOLHOUSE I-IE other day when I was out walking I visited the school of my former days. That day I was feeling very thankful for the American way of life, so I thought of how I had enjoyed those days. This schoolhouse is not the original, for that was taken down when the road was moved Fifty years ago. This McCrillis Corner Schoolhouse is a white structure, its foundation is made of the bricks of the other. There are broad steps with railings on each side leading up to the only entrance, with a door similar to that of an old inn. The yard surrounding it contains a few pines, alders in the back, and three swings and a teeter in front. fAll are worn and need repair., In the days when I went there, there were two ledges. Two wonderful ledges that shared many fond hopes. While playing on them my grand- mother, mother, and finally myself, each in turn, built castles in the air. Later, when the road was moved again, these ledges were blasted and now the road runs where they were. The schoolhouse stands in one of the four cor- ners on a little knoll. On the other two sides a board fence separates it from the pasture be- side it. I went inside and remembered the desks where I used to sit. fThere are 24 desks., There was the old, huge round stove which serves as a furnace. There, the piano, the book- case, the primary's little chairs and table, and the three blackboards f two of which are not in very good conditionj. I sat in the back seat where I had when I was in the eighth grade and looked outside. I saw cows grazing in the pasture beside the school. There, many times, in the winter, I had slid down the hill, hauled my sled back, then re- peated the procedure many times till the bell rang. Then, what a scramble! Over that board fence, everyone rushed at once. Then I went across the road where I used to skate. There was no rink but once in a while, when the weather was right, ice would form. As I started to go home, I turned for one last look. The peacefulness of the atmosphere swept over me. Then and there, I thanked God for this and every little white or red school- house, that fine old emblem of The American Way of Life. Eleanor Hammond '44 .9nReuiew- U. S. FOREIGN POLICY VValter Lippman ANY critics are of the opinion that Wal- ter Lippmann's outstanding brilliancy is exemplified by his awakening book, U. S. Foreign Policy. This book reveals an author of keen intellect, well versed in world affairs and politics, who is beginning to shatter the illusions held by the American people for more than forty years. Mr. Lippmann was born in New York City in 1889, educated in private schools in New Yorkg he graduated from Harvard in 1910. His first book, Preface to Politics, was pub- lished when the author was twenty-three years old. Already he had begun his long and suc- cessful literary career. Mr. Lippmann has spent many years in newspaper work, at one time he was associate editor of Everybody's, a picture magazine. Since 1913 he has been employed as a special writer to the New York Herald

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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

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'A' LAUREL ir Tribune. During World War I he served for a time as Assistant Secretary of War under Newton D. Baker, a responsible position for a man of thirty years. Later he became secretary of an organization which was preparing data for the Peace Conference. This was an excel- lent opportunity for a literary man particularly interested in political affairs. Later still, he served on the American Peace Commission. Since 1913 he has published many books on world politics and I believe he is considered as one of the best in his field. Perhaps his most widely read book before U. S. Foreign Policy was a Preface to Morals, published in 1929. And now he adds another triumph to a long list of successful books, the difbcult, but never- theless convincing, U. S. Foreign Policy. In these days we are making up our minds in matters which will determine whether there is to be peace or war for posterity. Mr. Lipp- mann brings forth a worth-while solution to the problem of a suitable key to future peace. This book represents the convictions of many men all over the worldg' this was exemplified at the recent meetings of Messrs. Churchill, Roose- velt and Stalin at Teheran and of Churchill, Roosevelt and Chaing at Cairo, where they agreed on terms basically corresponding to the views expressed by Mr. Lippmann, primarily foreign alliances. The book begins with a frank and personal statement by Mr. Lippmann giving his idea and a most worthwhile definition of foreign com- mitments which adds greatly to the book's val- uable store of information. He points out that the United States has for nearly a hundred years held vast commitments, extending over a large portion of the world surface, and that we have made these commitments without the adequate military force or alliance with nations of com- mon interest and strength to support them. Next he brings forth the example to show us that our founding fathers were not the least bit adverse to forming foreign alliances, and that through alliances with the French we secured our independence from England. He points out that since the time of the Monroe Doctrine f 18231 we have had no foreign policy, conse- quently no foreign alliances. There has been since the early 1900's a need of definite policy and alliance ffor since that time England has 24 ceased to be mistress of the seasj whose joint support, through common interests, would help guarantee our vast commitments. Every nation should, as Mr. Lippmann says, have a policy whereby its alliances balance its commitments. If it does not, the nation is pointed toward serious difficulties. The concluding part of the book pertains to foundations of future peace and the countries which shall play the major roles in future events and their positions in regard to the rest of the world. Preserving the peace is the loom- ing problem of the future, already statesmen and diplomats prepare the foundations. To one who wishes to hold an intelligent view and knowledge of the coming peace, I sincerely recommend this book. Few people would be in a position to criticize this book and I feel greatly inadequate to raise my voice, even if I had any different opinion from Mr. Lippmann. His forceful style, col- ored by an excellent and choice vocabulary, makes him an interesting writer. His thorough knowledge of his subject is apparent through- out the bookg his sentences are factual and sometimes difficult to understand. He is an authority-a man whose ideas and writings will undoubtedly play a definite role in the future peace and rehabilitation. Iames Whitcomb '45 SOPHIE HALENCZIK, AMERICAN By Rose C. Feld OPI-IIE HALENCZIK is a little Czech lady who hires out in the various homes of her community to do the weekly house clean- ing. She takes part in all the war-time activity which now takes place in the little Connecticut town. All her time is given to growing a vic- tory garden, selling war bonds, taking in refu- gees, helping to catch a saboteur, and lecturing a Son of the American Revolution on Democ- racy. Besides all this she has time for a war- time romance herself, but decides to end it by staying friends because he is so different from Stefan fthe deceased husbandj. She has three daughters and one son. Frankie goes into the Army and overseas into active duty. Sophie is very sorry for Frankie's faults but still says he's her favorite child. ,When