Kentucky Home School for Girls - Pandaisia Yearbook (Louisville, KY)

Page 23 text:

Back Row: Betty Vaughan, Sally Gary, Tosca Garibaldi, Annie Laurie Ham, Patricia Wellons, janet Gore, Kitty Maddux, Harriorre Bland. Middle Row: Ann' Bush, Susan Harris, Joyce Garibaldi, Edith Taylor, Mary Hilleary Bryant. Front Row: Virginia Quarrier XVynn, Patricia Reager, Doris Ann Frick, Anne Rowland. The Black and Gold LL year round we have different sportsg each in their season. First comes the hockey season, which is the favorite sport of the school. This year we played differently from other years. Our school was divided into two teams: one consisting of the Seniors and the Sophomores which was called the Gold Tearng and the other. of the Juniors and the Freshmen called the Black Team. Each team had their own captain: Joyce Garibaldi captained the Gold Team and Patricia Reager captained the Black. At the end of the season a trophy was awarded by the school to the Winner. This year, the Gold Team won. The trophy is to he passed down, each year. to the winning team. Hereis hoping next year's Gold Team keeps up the good work and again wins the coveted prize! Besides this, we had outside games planned for us with the University of Louisville, the Amazons and the Masonic Homeg the season was enjoyed by all. Later, when the weather was too cold we had howling and badminton in the gymnasium of the Church of the Advent. As the weather changed and there were sunnier days, we had soft hall and socker in the dirnple. In the course of our season of sports. our gymnasium teacher, Miss Moore, left us and Mrs. Elliott ahly took over in her place. The sportsmanship you learn and the fun you get from sports was shared hy all who participated this year. Dorothy Von Allman Seventeen

Page 22 text:

An Old-Fashioned Garden HE old stone wall was standing in the shade of a row of oak trees, which over- hung the yard and shaded the flower beds from the afternoon sun. The freshly white- washed wooden gate creaked when anyone in- terrupted the serene peace of this old-fashioned garden. Its hinges would screech out a warning for all the Mthings that humans never see to hide in the buds of the flowers and under their leaves. The wall was covered with a green creeping vine, on which were small blue buds and in the morning sun they would open their eyes and turn their lovely faces to the east, forming a blue cloud of morning glories on that side of the garden. Like all old-fashioned flower beds, this was planned to produce a riot of color and each flower complemented another. The coreopsis and white shasta daisies, the pop- pies and larkspur, the foxgloves, Sweet William, and phlox all swayed and gossiped quietly in the breeze that blew in off of the ripening fields of grain. Each nodding its head to its neighbor to comment on the fine- ness of the day or the blueness of the July sky. And as they rustled back and forth, one wondered if they were thinking if per- haps they would be chosen by their mistress to fill her favorite vase. The stepping stones were almost lost in a carpet of velvety, green moss. As the steps approached the door the pinks and ageratum which grew around the entrance to the house, ran to meet them and intermingled with the moss. Their little pink and white heads rested on the soft, cool green background. No weed dared to enter this sacred abode, because loving hands guarded the flowers too well against their age-old enemy who comes and chokes out their fragrant, colorful life. lane! Core, '42 Sixteen The Five Senses Have you ever closed your eyes and seena Sunlight on a scarlet leaf, Moonlight on rippling water, Dew glistening on spiders, webs, The gleam of a star in the night? And heard: The rustle of steps in the dry grasses. The hum of bees in clover, The pelting of rain, The song of the lark? And tasted: Aromatic mint, Savor of orange, Piquant sauce, Special wine? And smelled: The aroma of coffee, The damp earth, Smoke from last year's leaves, The fragrance of lilacs? And felt: The hush of the dawn, The glory of the rising sun, The charm of a smile, The thrill of 5'The Star Spangled Banneru? Tosca Garibaldi, ,LQ

Page 24 text:

March Storm USK had just fallen upon the wind-swept world. The rain began to descend in a miniature torrent drenching the entire forest and flattening each blade of grass. The sky was a forbidding steely grey. Light- ning flashed in sheets, showing clouds tur- bulently rolling across the heavens, or again in great forks of blue-white electricity that shot in zig-zagged lines piercing the rain clouds and accompanied by great claps of thunder. The wind howled and whistled through the trees. It blew the rain in great gusts which beat against every exposed surface with a relentless drumming. The trees swayed to and fro, bending almost double. From behind one of these black trees slipped a weird formless thing. I could not discern what it was-it was very tall, with no apparent shape. I stood frozen with horror looking at this fluid mass which my eyes saw, but my mind could not grasp. It moved with a sliding movement across the rough hill side, toward the porch of the old shack under which I had taken refuge from the storm. I could not move-my thoughts were too active, my legs too passive. I shut my eyes and let the cold rain beat against my fevered face. My hand clutched desperately at a stick which lay close by, in an instinctive groping for some protection, no matter how futile. It was almost upon meg its arms stretched toward me. My throat, which had been locked by fear, suddenly opened up and I heard myself scream-a shrill terrified scream. Then everything became blurred, I heard a roaring in my ears. The last thing I knew the horrible shape was bearing down upon me. My screams must have attracted some hunters, for they say they found me lying on the ground. I had fainted after that one desperate effort to attract attention. With the daylight I regained my strength at the hunt- ing lodge where they had taken me. There were no marks on my body. The hunters say I was not touched by anyone. They don't believe me, and, as I see this sunny forest, I scarcely believe my memory. But you may be sure that I shall never go out again on a windy March night in the deep forest of the Appalachian mountains. Janet Core, '42 I Wait and Listen It seems I wait and listen, In the night air, damp and cool, And all about-just everywhere Are stars in a depthless pool. It seems I wait and listen To an owl on a far-off hill As he hoots into the mystic night When all the birds are still. It seems I wait and listen, Perhaps to the neighboris dog Who howls and howls with some delight Into the gloom of night and fog. But still this does not wake me From the dream-like mood I'm in- The day gone past, the day to be Their thoughts I try to shun. It seems I wait and listen In the night air, damp and cool, And all aboutgjust everywhere Are 'stars in a depthless pool. Eighteen Peggy Shelley, '42