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

Page 13 text:

,A . at 1 - . 5 .V 1 i f 45 11 WF' 11131111 uw 111 :n m nu ewgvgi 1 H1111 H P 51111 ' - 1 1' '111 1 11H,,-'tit , ,.V 1' V 51'-,, , 'Z ei? c 2 sg Earl 5 '--if ,Q 'f f' . MISS VIRGIIIIH COI'lllIllV We, the graduating class of 1944, in appreciation of her devoted at- tention and untiring efforts in our behalf, dedicate this book to Miss Vir- ginia Conway. More than a capable tiousemotiier, Miss Conway is an understanding listener and a Wise counselor. A familiar scene on the Harcum campus is our tiny, busy, Little One, deeply engrossed in a new method for raising money for some worthwhile charitable organization, for that is one of her many talents. She is adviser to the Dance Committee and teaches the Handicrafts class too. Her loyalty to Harcum, her own Alma Mater, her love for her girls, and her irrepressilole sense of humor have embedded her deeply in our hearts. We should like to thank her too, for having instilled in us, faith, faith that though the world is big, we have a part to play in it. Thank you, Miss Conway.

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Page 14 text:

SEI'lIOH FHREUJELL HYes,H you will say one clay, 'sl went to collegef' A simple sentence, so lull, yet incomplete. For one canyt put into mere worcls, the many happy Clays, the gruelling exams, and the stately, gracious clances. 0ne canyt cram two years of laughter, and concentration into a lew clescriptive phrases. No one lout yourself can lcnow the true meaning ol those worcls. The little things, talcen for granted then, seem so precious and close, so ex- clusively yours, now. The rattling of papers, and the hlue haze of the Smolcer on the Paoli Local, the vastness ancl the wealth of history packed in those little streets in Philadelphia, and the Sunclay paper scatterecl on the chairs in the Lounge. Yes, they are clear memories. In our Junior year, it was the humiliating nRat Vveelif' the gracious Sunday teas, lVlrs. Harcum's wonderful gifts, at the piano, and the first Formal that we rememlaer hest. But this year is the one we will never forget, for it is the last, lor most ol us. ln winter, the sloping hills, an opening door to a warm, glowing tire, the hearth, sweet smell ol pine lourning, the joyous elation of voices singing as the Christmas grows near, ancl the impressive Christmas Dinner. The ticlc of the Big hall clock, the unconscious glance at the bulletin hoarol. ancl the enclless, Has the mail come in?u Weekends in New Yorlc, at West Point and Annapolis, and Princeton, hriclge games ancl cigarettes between classes, a familiar strain of Boogie Woogie, and getting the list for food at night. A Frank Sinatra song, perhaps, all part of two years away from home. ln Spring, the realization comes, with a siclcening thucl, that this is the last spring we shall see at Harcum. The garclen is pinlc and lavencler with glaclioli ancl the weeping willows sway over the stone benches in the soft, warm hreeze. The sun creeps lazily in the powdery hlue slcy and the hircls sing early in the morn- ing. Life has such a grancl ancl worthwhile meaning, and it is goocl and clean. It is as fresh as the louclcling Howers. Perhaps you will bring out your 1944 issue of Purple Patches, and show your Alma Mater to your friends. But how can they appreciate the heauty of Melville's white pillars, ancl the welcoming light in the craclcly clarlcness of an autumn night? How can they lcnow the personal jokes among friencls gathering, for after-class colces in lVloore,s? Ancl how can they realize the treasured friendships of our faculty, that extencl beyond the hlaclc 'hoarcl and the textbook? How? There will he a talent ancl personality, developed ancl encouraged cluring those casual two years at Harcum. Like the scent of a favorite perfume, the influence of charm and gracious living and everlasting friendships, will remain forever impressed in our memories. Ancl, like perfume, whenever the scent returns, there will he a conscious lifting ol the heart. The linest gilt we can give to future Harcumites, is the pleasure we have hacl, repeatecl. The hook is closed, the pictures etchecl deeply, and the heart open.