Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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Rima, whose spirit was gay and blithe, was destroyed by fire. Their romance, while it lasted, was beautiful, strange, tragic, and almost fantastic. “Without ever departing from its quality of a tale, this story symbolizes the yearning of the human soul for the attainment of perfect love and beauty in this life — that impossible perfection which we must all learn to see fall from its high tree and be consumed in flames as was Rima, the bird-girl. After reading this book, when gazing at a dense forest or wooded district, you unconsciously think of the “green man- sions” of Abel and Rima. “Green Mansions” — “green” for the forest foliage and “mansions” for the high, lofty, majestic trees of South America, — even the name is symbolic of the story. Ruth Perley ’41 AGAWAM I am wanting something that describes and pictures in one word my village Her romantic past, lingering in wind- ing shady streets that first were cow- paths And have clung to the traditions of that early era; and we blindly follow them, Little realizing how much time we waste, but knowing very well that they are more charming the way they are. Having quaint names that hail from former times, Bordered with old, decrepit houses that hold whispers of lives that yearned and loved and wept much as we do now, and made history; And whose cellars sigh beneath the bur- den of their stored-up knowledge About passageways and musty closets holding documents and buried treas- ure unknown now to the world, but still existing. Streets passing by cemeteries filled with illegible gravestones that once were painstakingly wrought and painful- ly laid above the graves of the beloved dead. I sometimes wander through the crook- ed rows of them, Bent before seasons of storm and bleached by the sun, And wonder, “Where are these people now?” But unremembered and uncelebrated as their names are to me now, still I know That their lives have made you what you are, O town of my adoption; Village with farmers tilling the sandy soil, And factory-workers making stockings and fluorescent lighting, And carpenters measuring the gobd beam and building, building, Children studying and learning to live at the schools and playgrounds, and in the homes, 22

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went down the Ipswich River in a row- boat and took their lunch. They drew their boat and, scenes along the banks — cows grazing and boats moored at ebb tide. “Of the same age, talents, and aspira- tions” — so the sketchbook might be the work of either one — of Mr. Arthur Wesley Dow who was to become one of the foremost artists of his generation — or of Mr. Everett Stanley Hubbard, by profession a poet, but a youth of considerable artistic talent who used it for the encouragement of the greater talent of a real friend. Neither man has any close relatives living now who could definitely determine the authorship. In either case, the sketchbook is an un- written record of the crucial period in the life of a very famous artist who kept his integrity of purpose through the discouraging years of his youth, whether the drawings are actually the work of the artist himself, or that of a sincere friend who was sketching by his side, encouraging, cheering, and in- spiring by competition. Who are we to judge which of the two virtues is the greater? Ruth Wilson ’42 “GREEN MANSIONS” By W. H. Hudson W OULD you like to be transported through the realm of imagination to the tropical forests and savannahs of Guiana — visit Indian villages, see the exquisite foliage of tropical birds and glorious panorama of the surrounding countries? Undoubtedly, you already know that this is possible through the magic car- pet of books. For this particular imag- inative jaunt, it is necessary to have as a conductor, W. H. Hudson, and as a magic carpet, his book “Green Man- sions.” You will find that this book isn’t merely a travelogue. It is, by far, more digestible and interesting than that, for it is a story with an enchanting back- ground; a romance with its setting in a tropical forest. The story is built around Abel de Argensola and Rima. Abel, because of his participation in a political intri- gue in Venzuela, left there and started wandering through the neighboring countries. He often stayed at Indian villages, learning their dialect and ob- serving their customs. He endured hardships and dangers from hostile tribes. During one of his indefinite stays at a village of friendly natives he became acquainted with Rima, a strange, nymph -like girl. At times she seemed almost ethereal. Needless to say, they fell in love and there lies the story. Abel was willing to give up worldly things, his friends, the girl he had loved, for a simple primitive existeince with the bird-like girl Rima. Just when his dream of a perfect and beautiful love was realized and at its peak, it crashed. 21

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Housewives washing and cooking and mending and doing all the seemingly- small jobs that women do and get little credit for, but which accom- plish a great deal because they are unselfishly done, Clammers and fishermen hauling a hard- earned living from the sea,- All these occupations and more are being done under your elms whose branches stretch to heaven, Beside your river pursuing its winding but persistent course through marshes with salt hay and creeks to the At- lantic coast, Where the staunch land and powerful ocean meet each other in one splurge of Nature’s beauty: White sand soothing to the bare feet of myriads of people in the summer- time, And briny bay with white breakers and deep shadows that I try to paint as deep green But when I look again, the color has changed to blue or gray with dark shadows pursuing each other between the rolling waves, And I cannot paint it, but only won- der about the Person who could have created such a marvelous thing as an ocean, Welcome at all seasons of the year: Inviting for an icy plunge on a hot day, or a boat ride through the choppy waves, And beautiful and ever-changing and fragrant of salt just to behold and inhale in the autumn or winter. Village of so much beauty and mean- ing that I cannot express, The Indians simply called you Aga- wam, A name in which they summed up all the fading past, the glowing present, and the future Predicted by the seagulls, soaring high above, gliding down oni the wind and swooping up again. In their wild graceful beauty, and their whiteness, symbol of hope. Ruth Wilson ’42 23