North Quincy High School - Manet Yearbook (North Quincy, MA)

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14 140 by Bette Sweetser '39 Undoubtedly each of us taking the college course enjoys believing that he is over-worked and under- graded. Although I too cherish that same belief, my thoughts often wander to those unfortunate, yet still fortunate, souls who must obtain their education in Canada. For four years I shared their plight, but must confess that I received a background which I shall not soon lose. Children in grammar schools there learn much of the material taught in the seventh grades here. For in- stance, in the Ottawa Public Schools a girl takes sewing from the third grade through to the seventh, and a boy is instructed in wood-working through these same five years. Cook- ing is taught to girls for three years, in the fifth, sixth and seventh grades. The homework in these early grades, though not particularly difficult, takes about an hour and a half each night. The subjects in which it is given are usually arithmetic, spelling, history, and geography. When a pupil reaches the seventh grade, he usually takes Entrance Exams to enter collegiate, which is equivalent to our high school. How- ever, if he has received a numerical average of eighty per cent in his seventh year, he enters on a recom- mendation, and is not required to take the Entrance Exams. Class standing, rather than a place on High Honor or Honor Roll, is given. Report cards come out Safran! every month, and in accordance with a pupil's grades, he is given a class standing. The pupil receiving the highest marks stands first, the one receiving the next highest stands second, and so on. In collegiate there are five forms, corresponding to our eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades. Although the subjects, with the ex- ception of Canadian and English History, are practically the same, the marking is exceedingly harder. However, this condition is somewhat balanced by the fact that the pass- ing mark is fifty whereas ours is sixty-five. The work is such that a student who gets anything between seventy and an eighty per cent is doing very well. Only the exception- al pupils receive higher grades. Not only is more homework given there than here, but also the school day is longer. The students attend classes from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon with about an hour taken out for lunch. So, if you consider yourself rather mistreated, when, after a weary day of classes, you find yourself seated in detention for some apparently minor offense, remember that your Canadian high school neighbor has not yet finished his last class. And when you are finally on your way home, remember that he has still another half hour to go, and oh, how that last half hour drags! i MANET 2 3

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7fzeR12leanJ4alfof14foafof6ake by Rita McFarland '41 One bright sunny afternoon that was to go down in household history, I, in a moment of inspired genius, decided to make a cake. This was a major operation. When I voiced my intention to my mother, she, in the deflating way mothers have, said, Do as you wish, but you can't waste my good eggs. You will have to buy some cooking eggs. So I hopped upon Slow Motion fmy' bicycle to youj and raced to the corner store. As I was riding home, though it would be more near- ly correct to say bouncing home, I noticed that my basket and the bag containing the eggs and a can of corn were getting very yellow and wet. It didn't take over ten guesses to know what had happened. The storeman must have been the miss- ing link to put a can of corn on a dozen of eggs. Oh, well! what was a dozen of eggs in my young life. I soon found out. I finally used the eggs, fthe good onesl my mother had. Well I beat, and I sifted and I stirred and I mixed and finally the masterpiece was in the oven. I looked at it in ten minutes' time, and it was com- ing along beautifully. Then came the supreme moment when the cake was supposed to be doneg ah, after all my trials and tribulations, now the reward in a large, fragrant, golden, brown cake. I opened the oven door! Where .... where .... was my cake? It. . .it. . . just wasn'tg that's all. I looked in the pan. If it had sunk much lower, it would have gone below sea level. The sinking may have been caused by the oven, or it may have been the fact that my brother dropped his roller skates in the middle of the floor, it may have been anything, but--the first lesson to learn in cooking, it's never the cook. ilCURTAlN CALLS ff fra, all fa? fb 7 - x f 2 2 MANET WHAT D0 700 MEAN- Arno-fPAE6'E?

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M, 1 ey new ow. by Marilyn Sullivan '41 Prelude : Our hotel: Streets : Broadway : Times Square Fifth Avenue Wall Street: St. Patrick's Cathedral: Empire State Building: Radio City : 24 MANET Last summer I made a short visit to New York. I will endeavor to convey my impression of this vast metropolis. Hurrying business men and women to whom this city of miracles is a common, everyday occurrenceg visitors from all walks of life moving slowly, trying to see everything, hardly believing they are really in the largest city in the world, incessant chatter rising at times to a high pitch, then dropping much in the same manner as the waves on a seashoreg halls silent, quiet, mysterious, hardly a person in sight, deep cushioned rugs. Hurry, hurry, hurry is the byword here day or night, crowds rushing, taxis, screeching horns, speeding cars, the roar of the elevated overheadg sharp report of an olTlcer's whistle, lone man in that sea of mechanical movement. g The famous, glamorous, romantic White Way of a mil- lion tales and songs is just a street with an endless row of theatres 3 some large and pretentious with head- liners in the entertainment world advertised, others dingy, shabby, old with antiquated films, medium class cinema palaces showing foreign films or news reels exclusively-at night a parade of lights, all shapes, sizes, descriptions-outstanding, the Wrigley sign. .. all colors. . .a block long. . .flashing out the Spearmint man and gayly colored fish. Crowds, crowds, crowdsg cars shooting in every di- rection, hurry, hurry, hurry. . .not a moment to spare. A procession of shops, lovely things to buy, how easy to spend a fortune here. Who'd ever think fortunes were made and lost hourly here? Just a row of grey, grim buildings is all I see. A solemn, quiet, gigantic chapel. . .all the more majestic because of the bustle, noise, and confusion outside. A tall, grey building. Standing outside, you Wonder if you'll ever be able to see the topg you begin to get a crick in your neck. . .then there it is. Murals on walls of ground iioor- To the roof, please, - N ext elevator, sir, . . .up,up, up, open your mouth,