Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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10 THE GHIMEiS may be so distorted with boo-ba-boos, hot chas, etc., that it is barely recognizable. That is the picture of a popular song during its day. But — after two or three months it is heard only occasionally, if at all. The music stands under three inches of dust on the piano and is forgot- ten. How can you account for the sudden decline of a song that was so tremendously popular in its day ? Perhaps the old songs have to make way for the new ones that are constantly being written. The new one is perhaps smoother to dance to. Possibly the restlessness of this generation accounts for their changing favor. People are always turning toward something new. More plausibly, after hear- ing a song tortured by many would-be harmonizers, people get so sick of it that they turn the radio off at its announcement. But how do you account for the fact that songs like The Rosary, Home Sweet Home, The Bells of Saint Mary, and many others similar to these are treasured and sung for years after their introduc- tion? A comparison of the nature of the songs just mentioned and that of the briefly popular songs may result in an understanding. The beauty of the old songs is not ruined by many playings, while the currently popular, changing songs of today satisfy the jazz- loving youth only for a 1)rief while. NIGHT Harriet Poland, ' 34 The night silently steals o ' er the land; The moon in her stateliness sweeps through the sky; The stars gleam aloft in resplendent array, I love the night. The night is clear, cool, sparkling; Still breezes are wafted through the whispering trees ; Silvery moonbeams bedeck the world in shimmering loveliness, T love the night. Mr. Stewart: Did you take a showier? Ouinn ; No, sir, but if it ' s missing, I ' ll help you look for it. ' Peter; I met the laziest man in the world today. Herbert; ' Hov.- does it feel to be ex-champicn?

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THE CHIMES 9 what he could not write by day. Another copyist added this: ' ' He who does not know how to write, imagines it is no labor; but, al- though only three fingers hold the pen, the whole body grows weary. ' ' Theirs was hard work, but the monks rendered the greatest service to mankind. Should we not hold almost reverence toward these treasures which are our Open Sesames? These companions are able to take us to the remotest lands, to let us speak with the greatest of men and women. There is a society continually open to us, of people who will talk to us as long as we like, whatever our rank or occupation; — talk to us in the best words they can choose, and of the things nearest their hearts — kings and statesmen lingering patiently, not to grant audience, but to gain it, Ruskin tells us. Books inform us about the trials of the past, and the developments of today; they show us the beauties an,d misfortunes of life; but best of all, they stimulate our minds and let us use our almost dormant imaginations. Up in the attic, a l:)lustering March wind blowing through the invisible cracks and sometimes sending out into the room spirals of smoke from the cheerful Franklin fireplace in front of which I am curled up on an old springless sofa, I am living again with Luc Manette of the Tale of Two Cities, and am traveling on a dirty boat to meet a l roken man — my father — whom I do not know. Again I am seeing the horrible guillotine take its penalty and am in the dirty prison with Sidney Carton as he rescues Charles Darney — I am far away, entirely lost. ON THE RISE AND DECLINE OF POPULAR SONGS Ruth Spear, ' 34 It is interesting to follow the rise and decline of a popular song. When a song is first written, especially if it is a catchy, appealing jingle, all the orchestras play it, every instrument wails it, crooners murmur it, male and female groups harmonize it (usually torturing it,) and everywhere you can hear it hummed or sung. In street cars, on the street, in shops, in theatres, — everywhere this song pen- etrates. The stage show or motion picture that the song originated from is patronized because of this infectious tune. Music stores get many calls for the song and the composer makes a great fortune be- cause of his inspiration. In dance halls it is played four or five times in one evening by popular request, or if you wish, demand. People work to it, .dance to it, ride to it, and play to it. It is not unusual to hear the piece on every radio program during the day. Some- times it doesn ' t sound the same as the composer intended it to; it

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THE CHIMES 11 WAR Rosalie Creelman, ' 35 ' War, the small, three letter word that makes thousands tremble, and strikes fear into hearts of millions ! The older people shud- der when they talk of it, and smile, with a hint of sadness, at the small children laughing and playing their version of war, in which the kiddies lead their brave tin soldiers or playmates to a victorious finish, with much noise but no bloodshed. War, as older ones know it, is a horrible, bloody, devastating, cruel ' ' thing that is completely destructive. The great World War is, of course, remembered most vividly. Think of the towns demolished, the lives carelessly mangled and destroyed; young men fighting, giving their lives unselfishly for their country ' s cause; battlefields, red with blood, bombs bursting, shells flying, bullets whistling, and always the falling shapes and the pitiful groans of the dying; the unwounded still pushing onward to their own death or victory. The ones at home wait, breathlessly, for the latest news — news that is shrieked from the street corners; casualty lists that are — oh, so long; the sorrow, suffering, and anxiety brought about by this heartless cause. Why do the nations crave war? Is it a greedy desire for wealth and fame? The brute nature in men that cannot be overcome? Are they seeking adventure, hoping to find it in war? The last war was not fought for revenge; it was started so that one nation might become extremely powerful. A group of bloodthirsty leaders urged on a crowd of hardworking people, and after a while the war grew; nations joined forces; and just as a blotter soaks up ink. men from everywhere were drawn toward the fierce conflict. After that nightmare, appeared crosses row upon row, disbanded families, and great debts to pay. Today all are still working to erase the blood-stains from the books of their nation. Yet there comes again the sinister shadow of men marching, guns firing , dead and wounded littering fields once fair and sunny. The League of Nations and the numerous peace conferences have not been able to stop the growing hate between nations. Nations have agreed to disagree, and still hope to crush the pride and beauty of some opposing country. The thoughts of men ought not to be burdened with destructive ideas. War brings nothing but desolation. Let us work for con- struction; build up our nation: forget var !