Harcum College - Purple Patches Yearbook (Bryn Mawr, PA)

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Turple Tozfcfz es Prophecy MARY LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN HEN I consider the prospect which lies before me-of telling you as well as I can what the future has in store for us-I find myself dreaming impractically of an ideal world of poetry and romance, of sunny skies and green meadows, a world of lovely quietude and silent beauty, for it seems to me that these personalities have in them something of a deeper, more thoughtful and beautiful compound than is generally accredited to the modern generation, that the grace and loveliness of these faces belong more definitely to an ethereal world created of idly fanciful dreams, than to our fast-progressing, bewildering times. Therefore I want to dream them away into al I have it!-into a Camelot-a dream city, 'SA city of shadowy palaces and stately, rich in emblem and the work of ancient kings who did their days in stonef' Helen shall be Arthur, Sarah, Guinevere. Lancelot-Betty Davis, of course, and Louise, Elaine. I should like to have Betty Knipe, Gareth, and Julie, Gawain-Mary Jane, Sir Bors and perhaps Jean, Lavaine. My other knights will be Edith, Evelyn and Margaret and my lovely ladies, Eleanor, Clarisse, Emilie and Peggy. My eyes are dazzled by the rich splendor of the tournament. Thoroughbred horses in gorgeous trappings paw at the ground, sniff the air and toss their gleaming heads, and knights in shining armor who hold their horses beneath the balconies talk to the fair ladies whose colors they wear. Many-colored banners float in the freshness of the breeze and 'make gay splotches of color against the matchless blue heavens. The trumpet calls, and the knights must be off to the lists. They take fond farewell of their ladies who wave diminutive white handkerchiefs and sigh gentle, loving sighs as they ride away. In the balconies-soft rustling silks, swaying fans, piquant and lovely faces bright with interest, and little cries of delight, surprise, anxiety or questioning. I see King Arthur seated in the royal balcony beside a charming G-uinevere. He seems impatient for the commencement of the tourna- ment, and one can see the light of the glory of conquest in his eyes. Her proud head held high, the seemingly indifferent Guinevere has eyes only for her Lancelot upon the field. A Sir Lancelot-perhaps not Guinevereis Lancelot, but truly the Lancelot of Elaine, sits on his snowy horse a little removed from the other knights, and awaits the signal for the start. His dignity, ease and noble bearing all show why he is worthy of the name of Lancelot, and why he is beloved by all alike. Now and again he fixes his eyes upon a distant tower as though trying to strain them to see the dear blue-black head and gentian eyes which look longingly and lovingly out of the upper casement. 30

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' Turple Tcztches retiring Way to Elenor-lots-of-noise-Lust, feeling that she needs a little toning down-especially at live oiclock in the mornings when everybody's trying to sleep. I, Nlargaret-very-muchin-love-Spangler, do leave to Janet-lover-of- the-masculine-Seed one book entitled Nllhe Secret of a Magnetic Person- alityw or How I Won a Paul almost overnight. H I, Eleanor-bored to-death-Davy, do hand down to my suite-mate, Virginia-pee-Wee-Roundey, one stout rope in case she should ever have an inclination to do a nose dive out the Window While in the realms of sleep. I, Evelyn-likes-a-boy-named-Bob-Jackle, do hereby leave to Nippie- always-talking-Tarvvater twelve unopened letters, merely the receipt of a morning's mail, to be opened Whenever she gets that neglected feeling. I, Betty-awfully-interested-in-Dramatics-Knipe, do bequeath to the Foxes, Alice and Elizabeth respectively, one pair of roller skates each to be used on those frequent mornings when something goes Wrong with the car on the Way to school. I, Jean-ask--me-another-Salfisberg, do hereby Will to Amelia-likes-to- giggle-Gross my own compiled question book on which tests 'QI myself made the remarkable average of 1'f'Q.', I, Joanne Pendleton, do hereby bequeath nothing, feeling that enough damage has been done by Writing this document. This piece Was signed, sealed and sent by the Class of Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-Seven, this Ninth Day of June, Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-Seven. Witnesses: HELEN WILSON, Tresident J OANNE PENDLETON MARY LoU1sE CHAMBERLAIN, Secretary ETHELBERT MACGOOK LoUrsE WILSON, Treasurer PENNINGTON D. PACKADEEHOUIE, Testafors 29

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Turple Tatches I see four ladies about Guinevere-Eleanor, Clarisse, Emilie and Peggy. The tall and stately Eleanor speaks in sweet, low tones to her companions, and, every now and then, gazes pensively at King Arthur's knights upon the tournament field. She is seeking out the face of one Sir Gareth-a knight whose motto Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King, satisfies her longing for the perfect knight. .My next lady offers an interesting contrast to my last. It is Clarisse. Her clear, staccato little voice and bewitching laugh are seemingly out of place midst the soft tones and demure glances of the other ladies. Being a most particular little person she cannot decide just yet to whom she will give her colors, but there are many knights upon the field who cast languishing glances toward her and hope. Emily is one of the sweetest and loveliest of my ladies. Dressed in trailing lavender, her attitude one of repose, and her soft brown eyes fixed on the distant and shadowy mountain tops, she seems more like a picture herself than a spectator at the tournament. But that is because her knight has ridden beyond those mountains, and because in her heart she is following him on his quest, and eagerly awaiting his return. On one side of the tournament field I see a group of knights laughing and talking together. They are buckling on their armor and carefully inspecting their beautifully groomed horses. Bright sunbeams glance off their shields and helmets like darts of silver fire. The impatient steeds toss their sleek heads and champ at their bits as though to say We are ready. I see a Gawain courteous, fair and strong, . . . the fire of honor and all noble deeds. i' He whom men call light-of-love i' jokes with his comrades, and seems not to take the tournament in awe- some seriousness as they do. Joanne. And near him sits the tall Sir Bors a loyal man and true. Young Lavaine Cwhom you remember as Jeanl does not join in the happy jests and conversation of the other knights, but watches the great Lancelot and worships him with a rever- ence dearer to true young hearts than their own praise. ii Two friendly knights seem to jest with him, forgetting that they too were young and adored once. They still do adore, but now the object of adoration is a lady in peach-color named Peggy, who is sitting in yonder balcony and tapping her impatient little foot. Instead of becoming hostile con- testants, Edith and Evelyn are friendly rivals for the hand of the maid, and seem to enjoy each other more, rather than less because of it. An older knight rides up to the embarrassed and abashed Lavaine, and places a friendly, sympathetic hand upon his shoulder. This older knight, who is Margaret, bids him see that his armor is well adjusted, and helps him fasten his breastplate more securely and calm his excited horse. The trumpet blows again, and they are off. Merlin alone sits on the stump of a tree watching the fascinating scene which he has created for his own enjoyment. The colors fly gayly, the coats of mail glitter in the sunlight, there is the sound of the trumpet, there is splendid pageantry both on the field and in the balconies. And I have created it all. I am Merlin. 31