Pembroke High School - Mattakeesett Yearbook (Pembroke, MA)

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LETTERS TO SANTA Letters to Santa in black and white, Written in bed with much delight, Crossed out words and blotches of ink, Asking for baby dolls all dressed in pink, Cowboy suits, spurs, boots and a gun, And candy enough for everyone! Letters to Santa of Yuletide joys, From adolescent girls and boys, Watches, rings, and a ball point pen, To be under the Christmas tree in the den, Everyone happy that joyous day, Those letters urge Santa Claus to ride their way. CHARLOTTE MATHEWS, '53 RETURN OF CHRISTMAS When holly wreaths hang on our door And lights are everywhere, It seems we could not ask for more Such joy, for goodwill is here and there. When Christmas trees are set aglow In each and every home We thrill anew for well we know This season we'll not roam. When this bright time comes back again We have the joy of giving Peace fills our hearts and we find then We've learned the way of living! AND NOT A VIOLIN When I was just a tiny girl I thought I'd like a fiddle, But Mother said they were so large And I was just too little! But two more years I grew to be A youngster, just turned ten My Dad gave me, on my birthday, A lovely violin! I pulled the bow across the strings To see if it would play- From off-key sounds that did come forth Soon learned I-that's not the way! Oh well, I tugged and tugged and toyed with it, Pulling bow 'cross strings and then I realized that I wanted fun, And not a violin! BARBARA STYRON, '54 WINTER The leaves have fallen off the trees, The shrubs are turning brown, And soon the snow will gently fall, To cover the ground. All the birds are flying south All the trees are bare And all the flowers have gone to bed, To spend the winter there. PRISCILLA WAGNER, '54 JANET WHITAKER, '54 4571

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THROUGH THE TOWN Mary sat by the frosty window in the corner and stared out listlessly at the gleaming white snow on the road. She heard Tom get up and go to the stove, but she made no move to help him. All this lonely tired woman could think about on this Christmas Eve was her only son, jim, whom she had loved more than anything else in the world, and whose life had been taken in the last war. She kept asking herself how could Tom possibly go to church without jim, jim who was now lying under a gravestone in the cold desolate snow. Tom had pleaded with her all day long to go to church, saying that-jim would have liked to have her there on Christmas Eve, but she just couldn't hear him. No, she just couldn't make herself go to church to face the inquisitive eyes of all her friends. She had tried to tell Tom how apart she felt from all the people in town and how like a stranger she must seem to them. Mary sat up in the rocker as Clara Williams and some fool young man went by. Clara had beenjim's sweetheart before he went away. Mary had never liked her and had always told jim that he could not possibly have any future happiness with her. As Mary was sitting in the chair she cringed with jealousy. That girl had had her son's affections! More ofjim's former friends went by laughingg none seemed to notice the forlorn woman sitting lonely in a window. Mary heard. the door slam as Tom went out, and she saw his heavy, hunched figure drag slowly down the street. Suddenly her heart was filled with pity for her husband that he should, in his awkward way, still want to understand and comfort her. But her compassionate mood left her quickly and again she was feeling sorry for herself. She had to live in a world so full of unhappiness. She little realized that in order for anyone to be happy he must, himself, make things right. Suddenly the room seemed to stifle Mary and she hurried to be out in the cool brisk air. She walked through the street gazing at the cheerful homes whose gay lights seemed to wink at her. She walked toward the small cemetery, passed through the creaking gate and sat down on a marble seat, so cold that she shivered. She sat, sat and stared at her son's gravestone until tears so long pent up inside, were released and slowly trickled down her wrinkled face. She heard the gate click. A step approached her, but she couldn't stop her weeping. A man's voice was saying, Go ahead and have it out, honey! It will do you good! Tom put his arm around her. 'jim wouldn't have liked to see you this way. You've been think- ing too much and blaming yourrself for something for which you weren't responsible. Mary raised her face, Oh! Tom, I see it all so clearly now. I have been letting my love for-Jim consume me and have shut my eyes to you and all the comfort and happiness you have given me. But, I see now, Tom, and I'll never shut my eyes again! Mary, we will be happy, you and I, and our lives are just starting. Come to church, won't you? I'm coming, Tom! Mary put her willing hand into the big one of her husband and together they walked out of the cemetery on their happy Christmas Eve. ANN BAIRD, '53 'l-56 l'

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.IUNIOR KITCHEN RIMES First we eat it, Then we beat it. Mary ane Huntley In a wooden bowl I like to make batter, Because on the sides It rouses a clatter. Madolyn Lawrence JUNIOR JINGLES Say, do you remember Fall, When the day is like a squall, And with all its strength, the mighty air Blows like a tornado through your hair? Eugene Lassonde We have a teacher whose name is Miss Brooks, The way I like toast Is when I have the most. Cbarlef Mix Like dessert with lots of whipped cream? Fat you'll get, or so it will seem! A Barbara joner The stove is outg there is no gas! No breakfast and coffee for us, alas! Vernon Eldridge Martha seemed to pout and putter As she beat the cream to butter. Vernon Eldridge My Mother can make good things to eat And always she is hard to beat! Alfred Davir Salt, eggs, flour, shortening make a good batter But woe is me when in my stomach there's a clatter. Eugene Larronde All the farmer does is putter While his wife is whipping butter. Barbara joner 'I-58 I' All she can think of is algebra books. jobn Osborne I wish for the open streams and brooks, But here I sit with my English books. Eugene Peterxon Along the shadowy road he tread Until he saw the light ahead. Barbara j one: What makes them stay up so high, Those fleece-like clouds in the sky? Sally Reed So you love the Autumn and the leaves? Then get to work-roll up your sleeves! Eugene Larsonde Sow your seeds plenty in the field And wealth that fall from crops you'll yield. Eugene Larro nde