Hanover High School - Hanoverian Yearbook (Hanover, MA)

Page 28 text:

26 THE HANOVERIAN Slowly from the east, the moon sails up into the purpling skies, ever grow- ing brighter. Like timid, frightened children, one by one the twinkling stars peep out from the distant blue of the heavens, only to scurry back behind some fluffy unsuspecting cloud. A deep unbroken stillness settles over everything. Night reigns in majestic silence. Beatrice Congdon, '32 IMIOXV TQ BE RIDICULOUS Q'I'l11 rd Przlsej The breeze was cool, the room was warm, The subject-Albegra A. There was a picture on the wall, Cf San Francisco Bay. XVhile students dreamed of period bells The teacher drilled on Hx. And I, borne on Pacific swells, ,Paced up and down cool decks. The captain asked me what I'd do Should one of the passengers sink. The teacher asked me Hx' times 2, I said. jump in, I thinkf' Stanley Riclnnond, ,31 TO VIRGIL flfozzrtlz Priscj O great Virgil, famous author, Chronicler of Ancient lVars, You give to me supreme ill feeling, And your writing is the cause. You, the Romans thought, were peer- less iXVhen they had your writings nigh. But all I do wheneier I see them Is to heave a heavy sigh. You, no doubt, toiled many hours llVriting that great book of thine. On it I spend a few minutes- You should see the 'fworksl' of mine! You would wish still more than ever As you read them line by line, That upon it you had never ,lI'ut in so much useful time. Lawrence VV. Chaffee, '30 ENGLISH CLASS VERSUS THE TYPEXVRITING CLASS CH01z0rabIf' Meniimzb Each day eleven pupils meet at 10.10 in a room that adjoins the typewrit- ing room to learn what they donlt al- ready know about English CAnd that's a lotll At the head of the class is lMr. Molloy, who is explaining the meaning of each and every line in Uohn Milton's poems. This class is without a doubt the most interesting one of the day. But there is one serious drawback. ln the next room Miss Reese puts her 'juniors through the morning finger- limbering exercise. Then Miss Reese reads the alphabet frontwards and backwards just as if they had never heard it before. And for no reason at all, except to waste paper, she puts a space between each letter. Miss Reese says f'Stop, and you think the twentieth century limited has bumped, the bumper in the South Station. just before stopping, a bell tinkles, adding to the noise and confusion. To end the period she has a race. She looks at her watch and says Ngo. Poor john gets away to a slow start and tries to keep up with his feminine

Page 27 text:

THE HANOVERIAN 25 . ...luil,U-UQUQUQU-4YQUQOQUQUQKYQlYQ!,QiYQUQU-DUQOQUQUQUDOQOQClQllQ0,0QUDO,K,:f ! ! Q 0 0 L E T c 0 i o o 8 91xinrizif1101011xicviirimxiir11iix103434x11111xxxrit:ii1101u141ioioixrxoioiuicriwzo THE GREY HAXVK QFirst Priscj A huge knight sat upon his horse on a hill o'erlooking a plain where a fierce battle raged. He was tall and power- fully built. His handsome face was lean and sunburned to a deep golden brown that only comes after long hours spent in the open. His large grey eyes, shadowed by curling black lashes, held a restless, unsatisfied look, though they sparkled now in anticipa- tion as he watched the fight below. It was clearly a loosing battle as far as the crusaders were concerned. Their leader had been wounded and in spite of the fact that the knights fought bravely, they were slowly driven back by the fierce-hearted Saracens. Suddenly the knight on the hill wheeled his horse and started straight for the scene of battle. For a time the Crusaders and Saracens forgot the battle and paused, speechless with awe as they viewed the strange knight swoop like a grey hawk down from the brow of the nearby hill. The set- ting sun flashed strangely red on a high-held sword! An exultant voice urged the crusaders onward! XYith a knight of grey leading them and re- newed hope in their hearts the Cru- saders swept on to victory. For a year the .stranger remained with the Crusaders, to become, though the bravest in battle and the gayest of comrades, a deepening mystery. Strange stories he told: tales of ad- venture, of strange cities and of still stranger people, but in no way could they be connected with him. No one knew from whence he came or what his real name was. Iestingly one day he had remarked that some called him the Grey Hawk. Also he had told them, with a strange light in his eyes, that he loved but one thing, the huge grey charger that followed him around like a dog. Towards the end of the year that he stayed in camp he grew' restless. lle would stand for hours with his hands on his horse's mane and look ,far across the hills, his large grey eyes full of discontent. Finally, he start- ed out. ln reply to a question con- cerning his destination he smiled, a whimsical smile and answered lightly, Just beyond the hills. Then he left them with never a backward glance and disappeared over the skyline and out of their lives as suddenly and wholly as unexpectedly as he had come. Edith Congdon, ,32 TNVILIGHT FALLS QScC011d Prisej A silvery mist slowly rises from the swamp, spreading higher and wider over the frozen marsh. The air quick- ly loses the sluggishness of the day. lClear and cutting the wind sweeps over the stiffening grasses, bending them backward and forward with its will. Away to the west, the bright flare of the setting sun, like a huge fire is dying, dying. Now, only a soft glow remains to mark the path of the Great Monarch of the day.

Page 29 text:

THE HANOVIERIJXN 27 competitors. There is an awful rack- et! Mr. Molloy gives it up as a hope- less fight, while we all hreathlessly watch the finish of the one-minute race. The period hell rings and a look of disgust comes over Miss Reese's and Nr. Klolloy's faces, Mr. Molloy, in a livst minute resort, gives out a lesson for the next day, while Miss Reese he- gins writing Chinese up and down the hoard to get ready for her next group of talented key punehers. There is nothing like competition in learning, hut who can stand the rat-a- tat-tat of thirteen typewriters out to make a world's record? Milton Rogers, '30 TO O Lf R TIQXCH li RS tlfozzorublc ,llC1Zl'I0l1D Suppliants we at wisdonfs door: Open them unto us we pray. Children are we in deed and word Help us ere we go our way. Passing hy, we strive to grasp Bits of truth that you extend. Guide our hand that we may choose Only those that suit our ends. Yours is the power to make or mar You are the moulders of the race, No thanks will come hut still you may In our careers your lahors trace. Elston Deane, P. G. RIEINCARNAT ION just as the sun, a jewel in the flaming sky Grows dimmer, and extinguished hy the night, lVhile nature knows the sunshine is not lost: iXnd as the moon doth swing to shore the tide Which loiters for the lingering of the sands, ls forcefully drawn hy powers of the sea, Yes, patiently the sands wail its re- turn 3 just as the soul of man makes its own music llarmonized with one string of the Harp, Of Life-Once it is sounded in one long Full hlast, ever again it may sound forth it's toneg Thus the Soul-a wee hit tired 'tis- Leaving the helds and forests, and the flowers, lintering in a mystic realm Quietly whispers f'Home.', lietty Magoun, '31 .XN IQKIBARRAXSSING SITUATION Xot many weeks ago Mother sent me to the First National Store to shop for some vegetables, a thing I very seldom do, as she prefers to select them herself. Much to my chagrin tas I was to hnd out laterj I went to the side of the store where groceries are sold and said: I would like five or six pounds of