Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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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 !

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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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12 THE CHIMES VIKING ROMANCE Doris Overland, ' v34 The day was bright and clear when Leif Kricsson and his broad- shouldered, blue-eyed crew set out for unknown lands. The ship looked ever so sturdy, rocking gently on the waters of the Germanic Sea. The little band of anxious wives, mothers, and awe-struck children were sharply defined in the sun light as they stood on the rocky shores of Scandinavia. With worried looks old women were pressing bundles of food and clothes into the strong arms of theii laughing sons. Old Solvieg closed trembling fingers around her Arne ' s large fist. ' ' Remember, Arne, ' ' she cried, I have Olaf no longer. I am an old, old woman, and it is not good for old, old women to live alone. Oh, Alother! laughed Arne. ' You have Greta, and no woman has a finer daughter. There was a strange, fierce flash in old Solvieg ' s faded eyes. ' ' They are all gone but you! she cried. T watched them go one by one. Great Thor smote the waters with his fist, and the waves swallowed them up; but you are mine, and nothing can take you away — not even great Thor ! Blonde Astrid was weeping on her husband ' s shoulder. Vou could stay home, Eric, ' ' she murmured In ' okenly. It time the crops were planted. It is hard work for a woman — plant- ing. Indeed she seemed unequal to such a task. Tall and stately as she was, she looked slimmer than most Scandinavian women, and she was pale, beautiful, and starry-eyed; she was a prophecy of the glamorous, silken-clad, soft-voiced woman of tomorrow. Eric ' s flashing eyes grew mellow. Tend the farm? ' ' he asked gentlv. Xo, my lieautiful one. Bend one ' s back over barren earth in the hot sun and coax meager crops to grow? Ah, no! Raise verdure from yoii rocks? I am a man, dear wife, not a god! But the earth yields to patient labor, protested Astrid. You, my dear one, come from the land of the east. There a man may stick a root in the ground, and it will grow. That is u land kind to domesticity, but my country gives l)irth to adventurers I must awa ' , for this dead horizon irks me! ' ' But am J, your wife, worthy of no consideration? ' ' Keep the fires warm and bright, for a wanderer homeward bound is cold and weary. With this he departed. Soon the A jking ship was sailing smooth-