Oak Grove Coburn High School - Oak Leaves Yearbook (Vassalboro, ME)

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OAK LEAVES A REVERIE There is a little whitewashed gate beneath a champak tree with its fragrant, creamy flowers calling me back again to the dear thatched bun- galow with its matted ceiling and broad verandas. The old well sweep is still there and the tulip tree with its yellow blossoms beyond the hedge where I used to pick orange berries. Out in the back yard a little brown goat is grazing under the cotton tree and beyond are the fields that have seen many a rollicking game of London Bridge or Drop the Handker- chief. Balak is dusting in the parlor and the piano is in the same old corner where it used to be. Even though its keys have an added mellowness yet they recall the simple tunes of Baa-Baa Black Sheep and Butterfly that I first learned to play. My eyes wander to the large bookcase by the door. Robin Hood is there, and Dr, Doolittle, and all my favorite books that bring back fond memories of childish desires to become a hero clad in green or a Maid Marion waiting for her lover. I turn to speak to Balak, who was always so jolly and kind, but the accents of a once familiar tongue stick in my throat and the Eastern language that was once so fluent now seems foreign. I gaze once more at the beautiful champak tree with its fragrant Howers before I close the little gate behind me and turn down the white road that leads to the West and the world of today. F. M., '34. SECURITY So late-one minute to midnight now- But throw another log on the dying fire! For you are to be my very own, The answer to all my heart's desire. The great hall clock strikes solemnlyg The air outside is sharp and coldg But we are safe by the firelight's cheer, While the leaping flames burn blue and gold. MARY TAYLOR, '34. 14

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OAK LEAVES Just for myself, I like to think that one day Truth and Beauty were standing before the first mirror, disputing who was the fairer, until J ove, wearied of their quarrelling, hurled a thunderbolt which shattered the mirror with the images it held, and sent the brilliant fragments floating far and wide. Perhaps, when a poet captures a tiny bit of Beauty or of Truth in one of his poems, perhaps it is a particle of the shattered mirror. Each time anyone gives form to a beautiful thought or a bit of Truth, he is helping to gather the fragments and to restore the broken images. And it may be-I like to think so-that one day, when all the scattered pieces are found, Truth and Beauty shall stand before us, perfect and eternal. SEVEN BRAVE BOATS LOST THEIR LOVELY FIGUREHEADS BITTERSWEET AND BAYBERRY Gay bittersweet with baylberry, In gleaming copper bowledg A brilliancy and softness met In mellow beams of gold. One, flaunting red and yellow balls, With vivid freedom playsg The other closely holds each bunch Of greenish silvern grays. SUSAN CHANDLER, '34. 13

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OAK LEAVES THREE CENTURIES OF TRADITION Nestled far up among the Bavarian Alps that tower above it lies a tiny village with doll-like houses between the blossoming trees. The streets are immaculate and all is so quaint that one might never guess that this remote place attracted pilgrims from all over the world who come to see the simple village folk enact the Passion Play in keeping with the vow they made three centuries ago. A terrible pestilence raged about Oberammergau in 1632, taking eighty-four of the inhabitants of this little town. The following year the Council made a vow to enact the Passion Week of Christ's life once each decade if their village might be spared. Ever since then the plague has never returned and the people have kept their sacred vow as devout serv- ants through the centuries with the single exception of 1920, when the World War prevented it. The play and the life of the people are so closely interwoven and the love of fulfilling their vow is so dominant in their lives that they live in the spirit of it during the decade between each presentation. They are humble folk and for the most part are wood-carvers, sculptors and craftsmen, making beautiful altar ornaments, crucifixes and works of art with a reli- gious significance. The preparations for the play do not interfere with their daily tasks for as soon as the play is over we see them once again as simple working men and women. For instance, when we took a stroll after the play and entered one of the shops We found the tender and appealing disciple John standing behind the counter ready to receive us. Their sim- plicity and friendliness are something one can never forget. The visitorstto Oberammergau are entertained in the homes of the players and in two small hotels. Each guest is welcomed by the people with the same greeting and blessing that has been used for a long time. At eight o'clock on the morning after we arrived in Oberammergau the doors of the great theater were crowded with pilgrims who had come from every country in the world, many of whom had made a pilgrimage because of their deep religious fervor. One of the things that attracted our attention most of all was that the stage is entirely in the open while the auditorium which holds over five hundred is covered. The stage is set simply: at the right stands the house of Caip, while at the left is the house of Pilot. A narrow Roman street leads off at either side. The stage and theater are new, since the Passion Play was formerly held in a small Oberammergau churchyard. It is now in what is called Passion Meadow. The new stage is modern, with adequate arrangements for costuming, scenery and lighting, but much of the early simplicity is still maintained. Neither wigs nor facial make-up are allowed. The players train their hair and beards like the characters for which they have been selected. Fabulous sums have been offered these simple people of Oberammergau for the 15