Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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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-

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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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THE CHIMES 1 ly toward the sky, and the Httle band on shore looked desolate. Must he always go away like this, cried Astrid, away so far — 1 know not where? What does he do in those other worlds of his? That is what the women of the North must bear, said old Sol- ieg ' . When you liecome old and see your sons going one by one, it will be harder, 1 ut it is always for us to wait and wait and wait. — and her voice trailed off drearily to silence. There w ere months and months of sailing on a sea of many moods. Sometimes Thor, god of thunder, split the heavens open above, and the jetty water rose like mountains in the ])ath of the ship. Sometimes the placid moon sprinkled silver on the sea, and the velvet sky was jewelled with stars. Sometimes the sky was pale and clear, and the sun flung handfuls of diamonds on the gently undulat- ing waters. The men of the North were silent men, and they felt each other ' s companionshi]) in silence. When they spoke, they spoke only what was necessary, or in more congenial moods they revealed fragments of their thoughts and dreams — but merely fragments. Therefore the only voices were the voices of the wind and waves; and were the: ship destined to be conquered by the elements, the only shrieks and groans would be the lustful shrieks of the hysterical wind and the satisfied groans of the hungry waves. Finally on one clear day the dim purple line of land could be seen at the horizon. Leif, cried Arne at the bow of the ship, ' ' see — yonder! ' Tis your father ' s land — Greenland; is it not? Leif Ericsson brought his great brows dow n. No, ' ' he replied. ' Tis not. I noted by the stars last night that we w ere aw- ay off our course. This is some strange, unknown place. Shall we land there? shouted Eric from the stern. Yes, most assuredly we shall land there, returned Leif over his massive shoulder. It is enticing adventure thrown into our verv laps, so to speak. Having landed, the little band stood on the shining, sandy beacii and surveye d the green hills that stretched out toward the west. It was indeed a strange land, an unpeopled land, it seemed. Forward, men! ' ' shouted their leader. Let us press on! They pressed on eagerly, curiously. Soon they lost view of the ocean. Onward they went over dewy hills on that fresh summer morning. They tasted of the wild grapes hanging in luscious dark bunches from trailing vines. They tasted of the wild cherries that had reddened the ground in a verdant gro ' e. Thev drank from