Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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Feet Tramp, tramp, tramp — Tloey marclj in single file. Plod, plod, plod — Weary of exile. Tramp, tramp, tramp — TJoe prison floors are worn From the plod, plod, plod Of forgotten and forlorn. Tramp, tramp, tramp — On tide wall tJoe sentry stands. Plod, plod, plod— A deadly rifle in Jois Jjands. Tramp, tramp, tramp — Does no one tloinli each day Of those IV ho plod, plod, plod Their weary lives away? Lilian Hennessey, High Nine. AN AFRICAN APRIL SHOWER My, I ' m hot! I ' m so thirsty and dirty! Doesn ' t it ever rain in this country? said Joan as the Cape Cart jogged monotonously along through the dust. The two little girls were room mates at boarding school in Cape Town. They were going up country to Paddy ' s home, Springbok, for the Easter vacation. To Joan, who was English, Africa was still a very strange and wonderful land. They had come by train to the end of the railroad and had been met by Cousin Peter and the Kaffir boy. Mustard, in the Cape Cart. Cheer up Joan, said Paddy. We will soon come to Spring Kloof where we can wash our hands at least. Soon! thought poor Joan as she looked around the dry sandy veldt for some signs of water. Oh! I wish it would rain for a week! The cart dropped suddenly down into a dry kloop, or river bed, and stopped. Why are we stopping, Padd,y? Paddy didn ' t answer, but scrambled over the high wheel. The boys were already down and had commenced to dig in the sand. After the hole was two feet deep, sure enough it began to fill with water. Late that night they arrived at Silverfontain, a large Boer cattle farm near the Oliphants River, where they were to spend the night. The children ate their supper of milk, mealies and biltong and thank- fully crawled into bed. Only two more days and we ' ll be home, said Paddy as she blew out her candle.

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MATILDA WINS It was a pleasant Sunday at the home of the Whites. It was rather warm, but not uncomfortable. Their home was on the corner of Maple Street and Chestnut Street with their large veranda on the north side. In the afternoon, especially when it was warm, the family sat out on this porch as it was shady. This particular afternoon Matilda, the mother, was there peeling her potatoes for dinner. Jane and Dorothy, her daughters, were manicuring their linger nails while waiting patiently for Tom and Jim. John, the youngest of the family was with his friend playing marbles in front of the house. Lastly, the father, Martin was there reading his Sunday paper. As he was slightly bald, now and then a fly would bother him. Soon the girls left, and John went to the neighborhood show. I think I ' ll go to the club and play some golf, announced Martin, You don ' t think for one minute you ' re going to leave me alone, do you? I ' m going with you. I feel like playing a little golf myself. I ' ll go and get dressed now, replied Matilda. Before Martin could say anything, she had gone into the house. He knew she couldn ' t play, and he would be embarrassed to take her, but once she made up her mind it was futile for him to try and change it. She came out with the golf clubs, and they started off in the car. Let ' s go to a show instead. There ' s a good picture playing at the Rialto, remarked Martin. No, answered Matilda, I ' ve seen it, and besides I want to play golf. They arrived at the club and began to play. Matilda teed off, and much to the surprise of Martin her ball didn ' t go out of bounds, Martin was so nervous because some of his friends might see him that his ball went off of the greens. The same thing occurred at every hole, and of course, Matilda won. It so happened that Mr. Blotz, a man who was sponsoring a tournament for women, saw Mrs, White ' s playing, Would you like to enter the tournament for women next week? inquired Mr, Blotz. Why I ' d love to do that, responded Mrs, White Next week the tournament took place, and Matilda won. She re- ceived a silver cup which was more than Mr, White had accomplished, Matilda, where did you learn to play so well? asked Martin, You remember those nights that dinner was late, replied Matilda, Well I had been out taking lessons, All Martin said was, Oh, I see. Betty Jane Christensen, High Nine.

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They had been asleep for some time when a frightful deafening noise ■ awoke them. Paddy! cried Joan, What on earth is the matter? Don ' t be alarmed, said Paddy, It ' s only rain on the tin roof. Rain! It sounds to me as if Mustard had left the Kraal gate open and the horses were galloping on the roof! They slept finally and awoke to a morning filled with a strange deep rear. They dressed quickly and ran through the house to the yard. Not a soul was in sight! The roar seemed to come from the Oliphants, that dry stretch of sand. Up a Kopjie they scrambled and there at their feet rushed a mighty torrent of water. But look! On the bank there are men running and shouting. They have ropes and are trying to pull something out of the flood. It ' s a cart and two horses swimming desperately ! And, oh! A man! Slowly they are pulled to shore and stagger out of the water. Then Paddy screams Oh! Oh! It ' s Daddy! The girls fly down and Paddv is crying in her father ' s arms. He had come to meet them, and the flood had caueht him in the middle of the river. Back at the farm house Joan thought to herself If four hours rain can do this to the rivers I ' m glad I didn ' t get my wish. Betty Ricker, Low Eight. Autumn Leaves The Aiifiiiuu leaves And then the u iud Come finubliiig down, Conies wh sking by, And fall around us And all the leaves On the ground. Fran us do fly. Red and yellow, Yet every year Blue and green, They come and go. They make a most And bring to us Delightful scene. Their little show. I find it fun Of playing and dancing To watch them fall All the long day. From out of trees — Until by the winds Some large, some small. They are carried away. Allex Sugdex, High Eight. ' ' Who does not love true poetry, He lacks a bosom friend To ivalk with him, - To talk ivith him, And all his steps attend. ' ' Henry Clay Hall.