Guilford High School - Rostrum Yearbook (Guilford, ME)

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THE ROSTRUM 27 Her son was killed, her only son, Her hope, her pride, her joy, Why did disaster fall on him? XVhy, he was just a boy. She prayed and ibowcd her grey head, Her heart was full of sorrow, How could she live another day Inst live to face the morrow. Oh, God, you are so cruel To take my son away, My faith is gone forever, Did I have it yesterday? I prayed for his protection This the day and this the nite, But now my faith is altered, Do you think that this is right? She thought of God Almighty And she lifted proud her head, If my son died for freedom, Then mysonis not really dead. Dorothy Lewis ,44. THE ISLE OF LIBERTY ln this big war-torn world of ours, A-t some unknown place, A person can find the quest of life, An an isle of peace and grace. This isle will be known for miles around, Where one and all are free, A place to which we all are bound, The Isle of Liberty. Pauline Skinner ,46. WRECK OF THE PAPER DOLLS They were treasures once-though of little cost, Now they are torn and their cloths are lost! All their losses, I never could mention Why they look as if they had been through a depression! They inighft have fought in a battle in- stead .Xud in that tussle, Snow-White lost her head. Cecile is the only one left of the Quins, The others inustive jumped out of their paper skins! Charlie McCarthy has lost his false chin Now whatill he do if he can't even grin? Princess Elizabeth and Margaret Rose Have gone back to England-I suppose! Now wouldnit it be fun galore, Il' I could bring them back and pretend once more? Madeline Knowles '44. OUR PAL, BRITAIN The people of Britain are fighting swell, The weak, the strong, the sick and the well, To how Hitler's head and an Englishman said, I say, old chap, I'll he glad when you are deadf, Their tea is seldom and far between, But they donit mind, not even the queen, Their children are barefoot, their cities are bombed, But with the Yanks on the march, it xvon't last long. Their food is going, their logs are boomed, But Britain will fight ,til Hitler is doomed, Revenge is ours and Victory too, So keep thern flying, for the Bed, VVhite and Blue. Mary Moore ,47. SPRINCTIME Birds aisinging in the trees, Squirrels chirping with the breeze, Flies 21,l1ll1T1lTllIlg ,round about, Trying to tease the speckled trout Who lurk in every shady pool, Where the water's always cool, Deer and rabbits together rush, To nip the buds from nearby brush, While nature uses her strange po-wer, ln growing every plant and flower. All of this and more too, Wlill happen when this winter's through. Carroll Moore ,44.

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26 THE ROSTRUM whv we are here. A Nazi rat in America sources here in discovered through unknown t-hat a German-American was Germany. Ile got my complete descrip- here It tion. Because of me you are all 'N . was no fault of yours. You should not die for what I have done. If only some well- meaning American had kept his mouth shut. In America there is too much free- dom of speech and too much freedom of the press. I wish a few of the Americans could see the suffering in France. They would never again complain about sugar rationingf, Shut up talking back there. It disturbs us. You must leave us supermen alonef, These orders came from the Nazis in the front seat of the car. The automobile drew up in front of the court house. They all got out and ran up the steps and into General Varott von Garmains' office. The oHicers clicked their heels, raised their arms in the Nazi salute and evilly barked, Heil, Hitlerln General von Garmains also rose and gave tihe regulation yell. Then he went on, Who are these people? VVhy have you brought them here?', The officer in charge answered him. This is the German-American, Herman Gunther. These girls are Theresa Pirout and Ieanne Fortin. They aided this man, Henri Pellitier, in the sabotage of the Tennerie ammunition plantf, So he is the one who was responsible for that! Take all of them but this one away to the cells. All right, now, Pelli- tier, whom are you taking orders from? Who are you working for? You had 'bet- ter tell me, because if you donit I will torture it out of youf, K'If you really want to know, I will tell you. YVho am I taking orders from? I am taking my orders from God, who sits in the high heavens and rules over all of mankind. He orders me through my conscience. Who am I working for? I am working for a lady whom you and your kind would not know. She has an odd name, but it is beautiful. Her name would not mean much to you because you are taught that she is no good. Her name, my friend, is Freedom. She is worth more to me than life. Are there any more questions you wish me to an- sweriy, KYOII are an impudenit pig! Guard! Take him away. My orders are to exe- cute the four of them immediately. I donit 'care how, nor wheref, The guards took Pellitier and hurried him to the cells. Then they rounded up all four of them and led them into the street to be shot before the public. The guards gave the firing squad the order to shoot and soon tlhe dastardly work had been done. Henri Pellitier, Jeanne For- tin, Theresa Pirout, and Herman Gun- ther, loyal and valiant fighters for free- dom, died as bravely as they lived, be- fore the Hring squad. On the outskirts of the crowd was an old woman, bending feebly on her knees. She was praying. As the watch- ing crowd, with tears in their courageous eyes. listened to her, this is part of what they heard: G-and may Go-d have a beautiful home in heaven for those who die that we may live to see a better and a peaceful worldf, Dora Taylor ,43. MY BELATED POEM I completely forgot to write my poem, Until this very day, And now I'm in a hurry- And don't know what to say. I could write of lots of things, But they'd take too much time, So Iill say 'Hu revoirf, and sign my name, And end this little rhyme. Patty Knowles '46. A MOTHERS SORROW '.l'hc telegram lay open In the mother,s trembling hand Only mothers know the heartache Of a son in foreign land.

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28 THE ROSTRUM MOTHER Laughing and happy all day long, Singing a song of cheer, Never a dull moment through the day, VVhile she was at her career. Cooking, sewing and mending too, Her work was never done. But doing things for her family WVas nothing to her but fun. Telling us all what to do Inst like a sister or brother, And if you havenit guessed her yet, She was my own dear Mother. Alfreda Hanscom 716. A DAILY THOUGHT Here comes the grocery man, Toot-toot-toot. Run for your ration book, We'll have a bone for the soup. NVhich book is it you want today? Book, two, or three, or four? O, say, XVhat fun ,twould be for me once more, To shout, G'Bring me some sirloin, I adoref, Not one, not two, but three full pounds, 1'd chew it down by leaps and bounds, To heck with stamps 9 Iid like to sa , Y, '1Give me a full stomach just for today. John Lombard ,45. BOMBS A bomb is a load of destruction So the papers say, A bomb is a mighty soldier To get enemies out of the way. Some bom'bs are very heavy, While some are very small, But the bomb that comes my way I don't want to be a bomb at all. We've dropped them over Germany, We've dropped them over Japan, We're going to keep on dropping them, As many as we can. So buy bonds, a million, To buy bombs and bombers too, And Weill lick Japan and Germany, 'lim just betting you. Roderick Moore 716. ? Sprung we all from simple dust, Born were we to gain a lust, To help the helpless in despair, To give the world our simple care. Live our lives, come what may, Do our duties all each day, Pave the way with what we gain, A life secure with neier a strain. Toil and rest, love and hate, NVill make sometime for us our fate, Do and learn what all we must Until we all return to dust. M. Michaud ,44. RATION STAMPS Hush. little ration stamp, Don't you cry! You will be an antique bye and bye. Now you get our sugar, Now you get our meat, Also our canned goods, And the shoes on our feet. Now you do your duty And we wonit cry, If our boys come home Bye and bye. Geneva Kimball '45. A MODERN TRAGEDY She walked down the street with despair in her heart, Her features were twisted and torn, The sidewalk was hot and her feet were so tired, Her appearance was sad and forlorn. ,Tis wicked, you say, for a middle-aged ma'am To look as if she were to die, But you do not know for what reason it was, So I shall try telling you why.