Norwell High School - Shipbuilder Yearbook (Norwell, MA)

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- -- THE Page thirteen Continued From Previous Page side. Long before she died, she had received a great amount of money through investments and inheritanc- es. Her husband, who had died two years before, had left her some money. On her death bed, she re- quested that Mr. Long, a lawyer, come to her bedside. She told him that a great amount of money was hidden in the house, but when Mr. Long asked her where it was hidden, she had passed away into eternal silence with the secret still hers. The girls eagerly chorused many questions. Donnie replied: Girls, if I had known this would have been the out- come I don't think I would have told it. No one has found the money, no one has any idea where it is in the room, and no one knows how much money was hidden. Hcre's your chance to make a fortune and I'll help you. Let's start now. The five young people went direct- ly to the bedroom on the east side, looked in every nook and corner, but finding nothing, they discontinued their search. As Donnie was leaving, he said: Don't be discouraged, I'll have some of my friends come over with me to- morrow and we'll make a thorough search of that room, at ten. The girls sat up until the fire in the fireplace burned low and the room was enwrapped in semi-darkness. They slept on in their chairs and as the darkness soon gave way to light, and finally when the whole world was wrapped in the bright rays of the sun, the girls woke up, immediately rising in preparation of the adven- ture of the day. After the boys had arrived, the groups started searching for the box in different sections of the room. Two hours passed, when Ethel and Bob yelled: Look, we have found a little box in an opening in the wall. The boys and girls flocked around the box, each one full of curiosity as to what it contained. The box isn't very large, but what is this peculiar scrawling on the out- side ? After a careful exmination, Donnie replied: I believe that is Chinese writing. I remember now, that Mr. Long said the fortune was in a Chinese box. As Ethel opened the queer box, the girls and boys stood with opened mouths, and their eyes wide-eyed with amazement. Ethel gave a yell of delight. Look girls, thousands of dollars. We can divide it between us. What are you going to do with your share, Mae ? After the girls had called Mr. Long, the lawyer, who said they were entit- led to the money, 95500.00 was given to the eight young people. Each per- son took his share and happily went downstairs into the living room to decide what he would do with his newly found fortune. EDNA JOHNSON, '39, + + + ROOFS Have you ever seen a roof? Its shingles new and bright, Reflecting even under mists, Yellow-gold sunlight? And that same roof in later years Turned a silver gray, Blending softly with the sky At the twilight of the day? And then that roof, its service past, Stripped to the frame, Its shingles, cracked and edged with moss, Gathered for the flame? The roof you knew has lived its round, It's had its youth, its prime,- And once again there comes a new To take its march on time. MARY E. SKELDING + + + Stanford Luce: Should anyone be punished for something they havo- n't done '? Mrs. Turner: Of course not. Stanford Luce: I thought you'd feel that way. I haven't done my shorthand.

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Page twelve THE SHIPBUILDER NLITERARY... THE MOST INTERESTING CHARACTER I HAVE EVER KNOWN He was a big man, tall, heavily built, and suprisingly agile for his sixty odd years. To look at his big, brawny, powerful hands, was to know that he was some kind of a crafts- man-indeed he was a man of every craft. The broken doll carriage of a child, the faulty vacuum cleaner of a neighboring housewifeg or a leaky water pipe all came under the mirac- ulous hands of this grand old man and were made usable again. But it is the personality of the man that I wish to dwell upon. What depth of character he had! What a wise and understanding old man he was! As he repaired your lawn mow- er with his hands, so he also mend- ed your troubles with his practical philosophy, and brushed your cares away with his dry humor. He was not a saint, this man, and to tell stories of his friends, made colorful by the interweaving of fic- tion, was one of his favorite pastimes. After repeating one of these oft-told anecdotes, he would throw back his shiny bald head and laugh a deep, vi- brant laugh. Such a laugh as to pro- voke you to mirth also. To see his clear, sparkling, brown eyes, as he told his story and laughed, was to say to oneself, What a full, rich life this man must live! I, as a young boy, sat with him many times in his reenforced chair and listened to his entertaining tales. l can no longer listen to those tales. I can no longer hear his laughter or see his smiling eyes. But I will al- ways have the memory of my grand- father, the broadest-minded, wisest, most lovable old man I ever knew. Lawrence E. Newcomb Jr. English 12 + + + White: Merritt owes me 3S5.00. Shearer: And won't he pay it? White: He won't even worry about it. THE MYSTERIOUS CHINESE BOX A moody darkness settled upon the four girls. Hoping to shake off the ominously, depressing gloom which seemed to weigh upon the manor- they purposely busied themselves with the household duties. Don't you think that this house gives you a queer feeling, as if there was some secret connected with it? asked Ruth of the other three girls. Well, said Mae, if there is, we'll certainly find out because we're here for two weeks. By the way, Mary, how's supper coming along? We're all starved after cleaning this house. I'm calling it quits, anyway, it looks respectable enough for tonight. When supper was ready the girls made one dash for the kitchen, after washing their hands, sat down and greedily, but still appreciatively took part of the meal: each one compli- menting Mary on a different part of the meal. After finishing, they sat about the table lazily, when suddenly there came a knock on the front door. Each one looked at the other, none want- ing to answer the door, as the knock came once againg only this time doubly loud. Mary being the oldest got up, quiv- ering and shaking: approached the door as the knock came once again twice as loud. As the door opened a crack, she saw a tall, young. red- haired boy of about twenty standing squarely in the door. The boy, al- though he wasn't good looking, had the appearance of a scholarly, friend- ly fellow. He, Donnie Whithouse, and the four girls became acquainted, and sat down to talk. Girls, have you heard the story connected with this house ? The boy became the target of eight wondering eyes. Five years ago, he began, a wo- man named Ann Capeway, died in this house in the bedroom on the east Cmitinucd on Next Page

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Page fourteen CAN CIVILIZATION DESTROY WAR? As long as people continue to think that the grass is greener in some- body else's land, there will always be wars and petty quarrels. The more civilized a nation becomes, the more it feels the urge for new lands and more power. Today the world is supposed to be civilized, and yet with bombs, submarines, airplanes and oth- er war instruments designed to wipe out cities and towns without the slightest effort, we kill and plunder our neighbors. In the days of Julius Caesar, when the only fighting implements were slings, bows, arrows, and fists, the people who were hurt or killed were the men on the battle fields. Now if a country is at war, the people in the cities, hundreds of miles from the fields of conflict, live in dread of an air raid. Children are taught to wear gas masks and to use first aid kits. Sci- entists who could be of real value to the world are put to work experi- menting on new ways of killing peo- ple. These great minds should be turned towards improving the coun- try, not to developing its war instru- ments. In previous years we have celebrat- ed the Armistice with parades, ora- tions and dedications. This year as we march. speak, and dedicate our gifts to those who have not died in vain, let us think of the cost of war -of the millions of young men who died for something that did not exist, -of their mothers who bravely gave their sons to their country,-of the millions of people who were left home- less and destitute. They were all civilized. They all lived in clean homes, used telephones, radios, elec- tric lights and other things that are supposed to make a person civilized, yet they were drawn into war. There is only one way that civil- ization can destroy war, and that is by educating the people against it. So far this has been of little value. We may speak of the horrors and use- lessness of war, but being patriotic, we cannot desert our country when it has been drawn into a conflict by seemingly educated and civilized men, who would probably stay at home if there was a war. There is no doubt in my mind that being civilized can help us to over- come war, IF we use our knowledge in the right Way. But, at present I think that civilization is a hindrance rather than an aid to this cause. We do not have to be great states- men or politicians to help our coun- try stay out of war. If we live peace- fully with our neighbors we may feel that we are helping in a small way to destroy something that may in the end destroy us. GERTRUDE GOLDMAN, College English + + + PAGEANT Continued from Page Ten olutiong Dean's History of Scituate : Mr. Joseph Merritt's book, Anecdotes of the North River g Mr. Merritt's latest book, The Historv of Nor- well3 Mr. Harvy Pratt's, Early Plantersf' and Dr. L. Vernon Briggs' Shipbuilding on the North River. Other material was obtained from in- terviews with several Norwell histor- ians. We thank the parents and friends for their patronage of our graduation exercises of the year 1939. + + + THE CANDLE IN THE WINDOW In the dark and dreary night, As the traveler homeward goesg A candle sends out its eery light. Happy is the traveler's heart, Pouring blessings on the candle, As its warm rays cast a glow, Before the traveler's sandal. Safe at home, the traveler sleeps, Still, the candle keeps its vigil, As the fire skyward leaps. Still, it shines in the window, 'Till 'ere the dawn brings the sun: And finds the candle is no more, For its duty has been done. Elizabeth Jean Ross, Grade VI