Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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14 THE CHIMES NEWS Large black letters, always reporting some disastrous event, immediately warned the newly-arrived immigrant that the newspaper was reporting some terrible event. The whole first page, save for a large portrait of the leader, was given over to a general account of a fierce battle. The foreigner, af- ter purchasing a paper, was stricken to learn that only eleven iron men had escaped the general slaughter, and had lasted the entire battle. He was dumfounded when he read farther and learned of the disastrous effect of the overhead attack. He always had hated aeroplanes, and this should teach the world that the use of them in war ought to be prohibited. The poor man was still more puzzled when he read that the losers had suffered few serious injuries: while the winners had only eleven men who were able to stand the onslaught of their opponents. Puzzling diagrams of the battle lines were ab- solutely undecipherable to him. His conclusion was that it must have been a running battle. The large picture of the surging mass, struggling with wooden crosses, awed him. Were the inhabitants of this famous country going to crucify the losers in battle? No such outbreaks were allowed in his native country. He caught sight of a cheering mob rushing up the street. With a dash he eluded them, quickly resolving to seek his fatherland. The cheering mass passed happily by, still praising Brown's Iron Men, who had just won another big victory; Bro Ti 21; Harvard 0. John Prouty, '26. SCITUATE IX 1936 Two hundred airships flying high. Airplane carriers sailing by; Law son tower standing o'er As it always stood before. The harbor views are all cut off. By towering buildings extending aloft, 'f is surely queer what time may claim, But our old schoolhouse stands the same. G. S,. '28. A COMPARISON The city, the city, with traffic and noise Mountain-like buildings, and numerous joys. The young, the old, the slack and witty, All just adore thee, 0 city I 0 city! The country, the country, with ledges and mountains, Seashores and hedges and natural fountains. We love thee, 0 country! with acres of space And think thee by far the much better place. M. Westington. '30.

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THE CHIMES 13 speed at which these little cars travel, almost five times as fast as the majority of people drive their cars. If you are standing near one of the banks of the speedway, you will see a car coming toward you at the rate of one hun- dred and thirty-five miles an hour. Probably the rider is way up on the straightaway. If he is, he will seem to just fall from there and swoop down toward the bank. When the driver is on the far bank, you hear only a high nasal whine. Then the rider drops toward you and you hear the rattle of a thousand machine guns, sounding like a snarl of hate, grad- ually fading into a dull roar as it approaches the opposite bank. Can you imagine oiie of the high seated, wheeled wonders of fifteen or twenty years ago performing this feat? To add to this, the engines used in these cars are of the 91.5 cubic inch variety, just one-fourth the size of the engine used in a Ford car. And there are also eight cylinders in these en- gines. When you see the improvement that has been made in this line in the past twenty years, you think it is marvelous; but this is only part of its development, for with the advent of the two-cycle engine, the speed of cars may double, and even the most conservative mechanics and drivers expect that rac- ing cars will eventually reach the three-mile-a-minute mark. Then what? Paul Quinn, '27. THE STORM Up to'rds the north the clouds grow black. And the wind is rising high. The herder hurries to his shack; The farmer leaves his scythe. Up in the heavens there is no sun ; The earth is wrapped in gloom; The wind hurls leaves as if in fun ; How dark the mountains loom ! The wind grows mad and screams with rage; The clouds race 'cross the sky Like soldiers marching to the Front, Where they will fight and die. The rain comes down in sheets and beats Against the window pane ; The cattle huddle near the house For protection from the rain. Up in the sky the lightning plays, While the storm king beats his drum. The trees bow down submissively ; For the God of Storms has come. Walter Stone, '27.

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THE CHIMES 15 AUTUMN AT THE SEASHORE Mother Nature is changing the garments of her children to many beautiful shades. We see the tiny Tree folk and the older Trees in their brilliant reds, beautiful bright colors, and warm orange colors. The tiny leaves, unable to cling to their Mother Tree longer, have fallen to the ground. They are blown from one place to another by old Mother West Wind, who is calling them all to rest. The Stones are being hurled from Mother Ocean onto the sand which has had a wonderful warmth all summer, but is now cold and grey. It has lost the silver-like lustre which it has had all summer and has been gowned in a cold grey cloak. The tiny Stones and larger Stones are huddled all together trying to avoid the outstretched arms of Frost, the disastrous and vengeful worker of Winter. The tall, stately Trees have been disrobed of their beautiful green garments and have changed to a brown not altogether becoming. The entire sight is rather bare. The mossers and fishermen have gathered their moss and lobster pots and put them away. The season of sunshine and warm weather is about to leave us. The air is becoming cold and brisk. The Wind at night rustles the trees, and you know that it means the approach of Winter — cold, biting Winter. Ruth Bean, '27. NOVEMBER DAYS November days, November ways Have brought the chilly weather ; The clouds roll by o'er the sunny skies As the birds fly all together. i The whistling winds through the branches play As they whirl the leaves around ; The squirrels jump from branch to branch And gather nuts from the ground. The bountiful harvest which has been reaped Brings tidings of the coming feast, A day of, joy and thanks to Him Whose star shone in the East. Gertrude Wherity, '28. DRIFTWOOD Driftwood, coming from nowhere, going nowhere. Drifting with the tide. Lashed by storms, stilled by calms. Seeking a place to bide ; Cast upon some dreary beach, There to lie, to rot and bleach, That is driftwood. Paul Quinn, '27.