Petersham High School - Hilltop Yearbook (Petersham, MA)

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Us shoot the arms and drag him down. Spears are pressing on his chest. What will he 'our fate, O pagan? Will you he a sacrifice To the heathei's tribal god? In the outskirts of the crowd, Roman priest, your duty now: Save the stranger from the mob. Through the heathen with s friend Antonius forward makes his way 'Til at last, before the wanderer, Stops, and pushing Len aside, To the home of a native friend Carries the voor faintinn nun Through the crowd of heathen land. Bring the mistletoe along, It will dc for decoration. DISHES Harriet Johnson, '40 I hate to see the dishes in the sink, And from the thought of washing them I shrink, To leave them there is what I plan to do, Until my mother gets into a stew. She takes me gently by my little ear, nThe dishes must be doneg see hare, see here!N And so I'hurry with the suds and pan, And do my duty like a little man. THE SCHOOL BUS Luella Bassett, '43 My fathsr has a bus That doesn't seem to run. The trouble it causes us Just isn't any fun. In the morning it won't go, If it's cranked for an hour. It has to have a tow, Because it has no power. Sometimes it freezes up a hitg That makes my father cuss. Thers's always something the matter with it. You might know it's 'Bassett'sN bus. iv I -J

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HIGH SCHOOL ORCHESTRA Robert Newbury, '40 When chorus begins on each Friday morn, Each member appears with some kind of horn. It may be a cornet, or alto, or sax, Or a long trombone tangled up in the racks. We hear many threats from the violin way, As they struggle and struggle to tune up that UA? The drummers are ready to start their tatoo On the drums in an effort to Keep the time trueg While there sits the leader in the center of the band All set to conduct us by a wave of his hand. And soon through the hall the music resounds As we whirl and swirl through marches and rounds. It seems as though we have hardly begun When recess has come and orchestra is doneg And I am sure that we all will agree That this is more fun than a symphony. CLASS OF '4O Robert Welch, '40 Our hale and hearty senior class, Without a doubt we all will pass, And shed a tear on that sweet day, When into the world we'll make our way. We've had some fun at P. H. S., And we'll feel sorry to leave, I guess. But after all we can't stay hgreg The tax rate would be raised, I fear. We're as smart as the average, I would say, And with the teachers we have a way. For us this school has been a cinch. We always seem to get out of a pinch. Kenney and Coolidge are the extremes. They both play well on the basketball teams, But George likes the girls and Arthur does not. Still they both are happy and no battles are fought Whitten and Newbury are the real scholars. Some day they'll figure their money in dollars. They're right with the class to do their part, And they usually finish whatever they start. in-I if' v ri Y