Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

Page 17 text:

THE ECHO 15 other people live, what they do, and what they have makes it easier to understand their point-of-view. Travel in your own country is especially beneficial as it makes political and social problems clearer. It is always interesting and educational to meet people with whom you do not come in contact in everyday life. Ruth Martin, ’36. DAYS, MONTHS, YEARS I As the days roll by. The stars in the sky Appear much brighter to shine ; And here as I lie, The clouds drifting high, I sleep in rapture sublime. II Months come and go, To the back of us flow. Never to be seen again; But let the winds blow. And let the months go. Who wants the past to remain? III Years fade at last. On the wind’s gusty blast Our childdays are carried beyond. Our soul is cast Deep into the past. And our life is not prolonged. IV Now I am old. My marrow is cold. And I wish I were young once more. There’s no use to scold Or try to be bold To the past that has gone on before. Leo Randall, ’36. THE BROOK Little babbling, bubbling brook. How you go racing by this crook. Stumbling, mumbling on your way. Won’t you ever, ever stay? Little babbling, bubbling brook. Making cool this shady nook. Here I love to sit and brouse Watching the fishes which you house. Little babbling, bubbling brook. It seems my reason you just took. For here I sit and I amuse Myself by making leaf boats cruise. Geraldine Collins, ’36. THE OFFICE I We seven girls in the office work. Our studies, though, we must not shirk. One period each is the time a day, And for this help we receive no pay. II The work is not so very hard. We make out many a transfer card. Detention slips and make-ups, too We must pass out and collect when due. III The absentees must also be Typed for the teachers all to see. Then notices must go around When anything is lost or found. IV And these are only some of the things That working in the office brings. But we, the seven office girls. Are helped in our life to face its twirls. M. Severance. A SUMMER DAY The sun was shining brightly down — A golden light which filled the town. Oh, bright and cheery was the day With everybody happy and gay. The sky above was clear and blue; The lake below of silver hue; The fields stretched out so cool and green. Where once the dew was a crystal sheen. The flowers added to the cheer ; This made the day seem much more dear To those who like the refreshing air And to whom the world seems always fair. The flowers closed their petals bright. The day had just begun its flight. And slowly downward sank the sun. At last another day was done. Norma E. Pierson, ’36.

Page 16 text:

14 THE ECHO MONOTONY The monotonous movements of the tired, dark-skinned, patient slaves were back-breaking. The first slave in the line picked up the rock, passed it to the second slave who passed it to the third slave. The third slave gathered the rock in his arms and tossed it to the fourth slave, the fourth to the fifth, the fifth to the sixth, the sixth to the seventh and best man, who dropped the rock in a stone crushing machine. Another rock on its way! Another! Another! Another! The sixth man dropped a rock harder in the last man’s arms. The next rock was heavier. The next lighter. The next heavier ! Muscles strained! Dizziness! The men’s heads swam in dizziness from the unending, unbearable heat, and the unendurable sweat-shop work they performed. The first man’s arm finally became numb to all sense of feeling, and his work proceeded like that of an automaton. The last six men became dizzy from the continuous turning from left to right. To get — to give — to get — to give. These movements, too, were spon- taneous to the sight of a rock. Would they never end? Seemingly, no ! But the actions of the men at the sound of the bell which announced their half-hour relief soothed their tired and worn bodies for a surprisingly short time, for at one o’clock again they were pick- ing up, receiving, giving, and tossing heavy rocks for a seemingly endless time. Mabel Iveson, ’36. TRAVEL There is no better way to spend money than by traveling. The first place to see is the United States, for there is nothing more bene- ficial than knowing all there is to know about your own country. The climate in this country is so varied that traveling is comfortable at any time of the year — north in summer, south in winter. Canada, Mexico, Central and South America are interesting countries. After seeing all there is to see there, take a trip across the Atlantic to Europe, Africa, and Asia, and then across the Pacific to Alaska. It should be arranged so that you arrive in Alaska in the summer time as that is when the full beauty of the country is realized. Today travel is made very convenient and comfortable by good roads, modern automobiles, trains, buses, airplanes, and ocean liners. Automobile is the ideal waj to travel wherever and whenever it is possible to drive. With an automobile you can go places that trains and buses can not go. Trains, too, are modernized to the last degree. Buses, perhaps, are more cramped than the other means of travel but are, nevertheless, good. Airplanes, of course, are fine for speed, but they don’t give the passenger much opportunity to view the country. Today’s modern ocean liners are far removed from the old-fashioned way of ocean travel. The benefits derived from traveling are many and varied. It gives a person a broader point-of-view for one thing. Seeing how

Page 18 text:

16 THE ECHO MY WISH Give me my alloted day of life, My share of sorrow, and of strife. Give me my day of sad parting-s and g’rief. My friend’s doubting , and my own unbelief. Oh, yes, give me that unconsecrated day. And I’ll try to work and to be gay. But give me this before my spirit dies. For life is so short and life just flies. May I have one hour of perfect peace Before this frail life of mine shall cease — No worries nor frantic cares that rend — Just a book, a fireside, and a perfect friend. Give me a day with glad nature spread before me. The growing, living earth, the bright, clear sky, and the changeling sea. Then may I have one day of perfect love Unshadowed with pain and sanctified from above From dawn till the setting sun’s last ray. Then with that sunset will I be content and at peace And will lay me down for life’s surcease, And I will fall into a deep, undreaming sleep Entrusting myself forever to your keep. E. Flanagan, ’36. OH WHAT I MISS GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN I long for black velvet hills. Shafts of light on hidden rills. Oh, for the pulsing, beating sea. And dark tropic nights made for me — Oh, what I miss! Just to glimpse an aged pyramid. In old world markets but to bid. To ride and brave the desert sands, To venture through strange foreign lands — Oh, what I miss! The countries of the world to see, A famed explorer just to be, To dare go forth in mystery. To climb, to ride, to sail the sea — Oh, what I miss! Here must I stay at home and sigh While gazing at the cloudy sky. I must stay to watch fruit trees bloom And smell their fragrance in my room — Oh, what I miss! I must watch the spring come and go Till summer fades to autumn glow. I must tend to my late fall fires, Hear echoing bells from church spires — Oh, what I miss! I niust stay and watch drifting snow. Drifting down when I long to go. I must stay home to slide and skate And star gaze at night when it is late — Oh, what I miss! Edith Flanagan, ’36. I By the .window she sits with a smile Which is sad as can be all the while. For she takes it so hard ’Cause her whole life is marred By the death of her poor little “chile.” II The Mammy, she attempts to be brave So she prays to her God in a nave. Trusting manner of love That she might go above With her son who now lies in his grave. III Tunes escape from her mouth which sound dear — Colored folk-songs he once loved to hear. Oh, how sweet they did sound In the light that she found. When she sang them, he did seem so near. IV By the window she sits with a smile And is glad as can be all the while She is closer to God And nearer heaven’s sod For her name will soon be in His file. Ruth Pagels, ’36.