Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

 - Class of 1933

Page 16 of 92

 

Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA) online collection, 1933 Edition, Page 16 of 92
Page 16 of 92



Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA) online collection, 1933 Edition, Page 15
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Page 16 text:

a tang of the salt air floats in from the sea on a mad, white-capped wave. A gull may fly over now and then, while out on the sandbar they flock in whole families to debate the possible question of food, like old maids, squabbling and splashing around in their excitement. No doubt the same sight was seen by the Mayflower crew when it sailed into the harbor so long ago. In our more expansive moods we should visit hill or beach where the eye and mind are bounded only by sky and sea, but on ordinary days our stranger shall enter from the south side, when he at once sees an example of a very fine old church. It is the old South Meeting House with its stern, stalwart columns sup- porting its truly classical symmetry. The beauty and grandeur of its stately dimensions are Grecian, but the spirit of it is New England and proves that those who built it had a certain sense of beauty and pro- portion. The church makes me forget the mill, and the twentieth century in- dustries, and th e railroad, and the ant-hills of houses. And instinctive- ly I look to the left at the fine old Whipple House, built, according to tradition, in the year 1640, (but I like to think that it was earlier and closer to 1636). It is interesting because it is an example of our old New England with its low, sloping roof, old rambling chimney, the overhang, its diamond-shaped win- dows, the brown shingles, and the old millstone at the double oak door. I find it rather sad, though, like a monument to a dear friend who has passed on to another world. I feel that some day IT1 write about that old house and try to get closer to it. But now let’s move across the road to the old Heard House. As we do this, we step into the next century — the eighteenth. It is a typical product of the architecture of that period ; it is beautiful, but in a different way. The three-stor- ied buildings came in at that time and we have very good examples of this type on Essex Street in Salem, and on High Street in Newburyport. These houses were built by ship men, being very large and simple, unlike the frosted-cake stuff or the jig-saw houses of a later and less artistic period. Along South Main Street we move to the old Choate Bridge, a double- arch bridge built in 1764. It is the oldest of its kind in America — an- other solid structure as solid as the pioneer souls who built it. And that bridge draws us from the road, be- neath its great arches, to follow the river along its intricate windings and broad bends, out towards the sea. On both sides we pass several other old houses before coming to another bridge. We have become dreamy and thoughtful from our wanderings into the past centuries, and as we gaze dreamily around us we look upon a hard-looking, iron- barred structure. The paradox of a “tenantless jail,” in this age, re- minds us that we are back in the twentieth century. Oh, Twentieth Century! I realize that we should not let ourselves be carried away like this. We must move on for the sake of the great, gaunt, unfeeling god “PROGRESS” — But, Alas ! I am a romanticist. — Eleanor Mitchell, ’33. 14

Page 15 text:

tieth century — industrial organi- zations have been built up : stone, bricks, and steel have been brought together in architectural monstros- ities. And in our own community we have one of these buildings. For many years the blowing smoke from the mill sent into the air germs, dirt, and grimy soot for the townsfolk to breathe in. Its waste material clut- t tered the streets. Many lowly f shacks of stereotype design, which, to me, seem in perfect accord with the minds and the exterior living of their dwellers, still huddle closely together. Along with the mill came the railroad and another industry which naturally becomes associated with it — the coal sheds, the depot, the dusty shanties with their colloquial gate-tenders in dusty work-clothes, the coal dust, and the soot which cakes in layers on the window-sills of nearby houses. Altogether, quite an untidy affair! And the business section, the dear old business section, which, though | architecturally horrid, has achieved that touch of homeliness which is attached to all the things that you know well. Naturally, we do not expect to find beauty on “Main Street,” but we do frequently wish that it could be snuggled away to some place where it would not ob- struct some of the old, delicately lovely features of the town. Of course, we could not expect towns and cities of the post-Civil War days to have given much thought to the intelligent planning of beautiful cities. The population, then, was intent upon acquiring in- fluence through national, “Big-Busi- ness” development. We are shown clear proof of that interest today in the slums of most of our American cities, but we hope that in the near future we shall have more time to devote to beauty, and to save it from complete obliteration. Al- though we may be in pursuit of new activities, however, let us look for hidden beauties. A visitor, or a resident who has not yet discovered the town, may climb to the summit of our “old Town Hill.” His gaze may encoun- ter the bright red lights in the East as the rounding sun comes looming up over the cold blue of the vast ocean, its rays dancing with joy across the shimmering water and winding their merry way to the sandy dunes — or he might prefer late afternoon when the su n begins to retire into the great West, and a gentle murmuring runs through the pines. There the great limbs of an apple tree point like arms at the two wooden and tawdry towers, in the direction of the setting sun — fixed in solidity, at this moment, like two gilded towers, pointing proudly heavenward — a symbol of all that our New England might have been or might be. Or, if he becomes lonesome, he may trip to the beach on a misty storm-dreary day, where the surf beats threateningly upon the miles of sand. A spray of salt water splash- es over his raincoat and boots, and 13



Page 17 text:

Sonnet I’ve seen them trudge along the dusty road, Stooped o’er and bent beneath their heaviness ; I’ve watched them slowly climb the hills, and press Forward with leaden steps, under their load And sagging burdens ; I’ve seen their mode Of living — those coarse men ; nor from the stress And blank vicissitudes do they di- gress, But wearily plodding before the goad Of stark necessity their hapless way Pursue — benumbed and deadened creatures. Day On day they may be seen struggling along The upper-highlands silhouetted out Against the grayness of the darken- ing sky And stumbling downward to the distant Valley. — Edward Rhodes. My Garden Before the morning of my life A fairy made for me A garden, beautiful. She foresaw how life Would be for me In the outside world, So she gave me a place Where I might hide From storms — From pelting, stinging words She filled it with flowers She knew that I would love, And made them more odorous Than dawn on a hill In springtime ; And when I am more lonely Than a leaf That a mischievous bird Has brushed with its wing And separated from its mates, I run into my garden. — Charles Bailey. My Days “One day Is like another. No, that is Not true. Some are spun From golden Thread, And some Are shadowed blue. Some are days When Heaven Tries To pass itself For earth. Some go down In darkest Clouds That had the Brightest birth Some go tearful All the Wav, And some Come smiling Through Their tears, while Some Are like the days T spent With You.” — C. Bailey. 15

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Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA) online collection, 1931 Edition, Page 1

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Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA) online collection, 1932 Edition, Page 1

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Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA) online collection, 1934 Edition, Page 1

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Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA) online collection, 1935 Edition, Page 1

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Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA) online collection, 1936 Edition, Page 1

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