Mukwonago High School - Arrow Yearbook (Mukwonago, WI)

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1919 THE ARROW 1919 A Midaummer Simijlit’s Drram N A STUFFY, dismal little room in a rickety tenement, hours little Jimmy lay with his back in a cast and his arms in slings. That day the doctor had! told him that he would never be able to walk again. At the head of his troops in a fierce battle with the imaginary Huns, Jimmy had run in front of a speeding automobile. That was eight weeks ago. Since then he had not been very cheerful. When the doctor said he would never be able to walk again he no longer tried to restrain himself for the sake of his poor mother but began to sob and wish the ear had killed him. Finally, his sobbing ceased and his eyes closed. His fairy godmother came to him and handed him a magic rug, saving, “If you will lie on this I will take you where you will see things which I hope will make you more content. First we shall visit France and take a peep into one of the hospitals.” Jimmy saw a doctor go .up to a man, who lay covered with a blanket, and ask what the trou- ble was. “Just a scratch,” said the soldier with a smile, “Take the others first.” With his new power Jimmy could see that under the blankets both coat sleeves lay empty and blood stained at his side. They next entered a room where a group of Irish lads lay singing. They were remnants of the Royal Irish who had fought so bravely at the beginning of the war. Some were minus legs, others arms, some had part of their faces shot away and others were blind. A new nurse entered and could not restrain her look of mingled surprise and horror. Horror at their terrible condition and surprise at their liappy faces. “Well, mam, if you think we are a mess you should have seen the ' Fritzies’ we left behind. In comparison we are a com- pany of strong and perfectly healthy men.” Then they passed over Belgium where thousands of women and children were dying of starvation and wounds given to them by the merciless Huns. Yet those who remained took up their burdens in as cheerful a manner as was pos- sible. “I guess I’d better go home,” Jimmy said, “and I can act like a soldier, too.” He woke up at this moment but the dream seemed real and from that day until three years later when a doctor operated upon him and cured him no soldier, not even the Irish lads, could have been more cheerful —MILDRED WEST. Page Twenty

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A COWARD. T WAS a beautiful day in August The sun was very hot, but the breezes was very inviting. Large crowds had gathered for an after- noon enjoyment. Steve, an invalid, was a favorite among the people, hut especially with Martin Hill, a soldier, who had been at the summer resort for a week. Steve and Martin had taken their afternoon stroll and seated themselves at the river bank to rest. All at the beach were much wrought over the accident of the previous day. A young man while (mating had been nearly drowned. Steve’s idea of a sol- dier was very vague. He, himself, had never been able to do anything in an athletic or adventurous way, but imagining that it was for others. Consequent- ly his conversation led up to the catastrophe of the day before. “Martin, you say you were a soldier, and you did not make an effort to rescue the man who was drowning.” “1 cannot swim,” said Martin. “But you could have tried to do something. I would have made an effort.” “Steve, you are unreasonable, I could not have done any good in the water. It was a very humiliating experience for me.” “Oh, Martin, you said you were a soldier, but you are nothing but a coward.” These words were very painful to Martin, and not wishing to have any argu- ment with his newly made companion, he remained silent for awhile, and then walked to a nearby bench. After he had been gone for some time, Steve dis- covered a peculiar object in the sand. lie reached over and picked it up, and after closely examining it he discovered that it was the Croix de Guerre, on it was inscribed. “Martin Hill.” Steve regretted his treatment to Martin, and brought him the badge and said: “You surely must have been brave to receive this award. Were you hurt?” “Yes, there is a bullet in my side. I was honorably discharged.” Steve said, “You will pardon me please, for calling you a coward. You are the bravest coward I know.” —IRMA MERRY. Johnny was a little boy, And he was sent to school; But he chewed gum all day long Which was against the rule. The teacher said, “Oh, Johnny, dear, What makes you break the rule? Gum is one thing little boys Must never chew in school.” You will never learn,” said she, But always lie a fool.” Johnny took the gum And stuck it on his stool. And afterwards he took it home And chewed it after school. —JAMES GERITY. Page Nineteen

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1919 THE ARROW 1919 A it mi’s Dmtm It. was a beautiful night. There were many stars in the sky and the moon shone very brightly. Here and there were darkened spots which were shaded by the leaves of the trees. A lone soldier o nhorseback sat dreaming. The magnificance and the splen- dor of nature about him seemed to enchant him. It. seemed to bring back dreams of what might have been. They were really bitter—sweet dreams, bitter because lie might never be able to return to them. In this woods many of his pals had lost their lives and many had been taken prisoners. Out of his detachment he had been the only one to escape the hor- rors of that battle. And then, again came the dream of home and of all that might have been. Suddenly there came that, sharp pain in his side, caused by a piece of shrapnel, which put a sudden end to his dream, lie was many miles from the first aid station, and help he must have soon—yes, very soon, for every minute he was growing weaker even though the dreadful pain ceased for a time. The moon now went under a cloud; everything became dark. And the knight of the present war fell from his faithful steed, to the earth, to sacrifice for his country his dreams of what might have been. It was only a French helmet sent to the U. S. A., by an American soldier in France, probably to his sister or brother or perhaps to his sweetheart, awaiting his return to America. As it lies there how gloomy it looks, made out of cold iron and how heavy it. must have been on that French soldier’s head, weighed down by the sorrows of war. I wonder whether that head can be seen in Europe today or whether that soldier, old or young as he may be, has found his way to “Blithy”? Many a timet maybe this very helmet has protected its wearer from a shot or shell. Oh, if only this helmet could tell its story of this great war. The many days it spent in the trenches, the aeroplanes flying over head, dropping bombs where- ever they might land, and also of the many wounded soldiers lying near. Some praying on their knees for their families, but still glad that they fought for their country. Oh, if only this helmet could speak what a wonderful story it could tell us. —OPAL HILLIER. A FRENCH HELMET. —VIOLA KINGSTON. Page Twenty-one