Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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TWENTY-ONE DAYS OF NAZI BOMBING John Wilder, ' 43 N London the air war started on Sun- day, August 18. 1940. From that day until August 27 there were numerous raids which were called nuisance raids, because very few bombs were dropped and damage was slight. All they did was to cause the shops to close while the raids were on. On August 27 London had its first long night raid. These long night raids were continuous until September 16. and later, but that is the date on which I left London, and it is from August 27 until September 16 about which I want to write. The exact facts in regard to the time of air raids were kept in a diary which I had at the time. It was on the night of Tuesday. August 27, at 9:30 p.m., when the air raid sirens started up their warning to London, and people took shelter in both public and Anderson shel- ters. The Anderson shelter is about seven feet long, six feet high and five feet wide. It is constructed, inside, of two layers of corrugated iron, and outside, of thirt inches of soil on both sides and fifteen on the top. About three quarters of this shelter is below the ground. This is naturally not bomb-proof, but it is one of the safest shelters, because it is so small. I went into one of these small shelters, settled down in a corner, and tried to sleep, but the noise of anti-aircraft fire and planes was too great. After a very rowdy night the raiders passed signal sounded at 3:10 a.m.. on Wed- nesday During Wednesday night there were two short alarms. The first one was from 9:30 to 11:50 p.m., and the second was from 12:30 a.m., to 1:10 a.m.; the remainder of the night was quiet. It was two days before the sirens had anv more work to do. but on Friday. August 30. there was a series of raids, three during the day and one at night. The times were 1 1 :.50 p.m. to 12:33 p.m.. 3:18 to 3:35 p.m.. and 4:38 to 5:50 p.m. Then there was a lull until 9:10 l).m. when, for the fourth time that day. I had to take shelter. All through the night there was little activitv until about 3:,30 a.m. I was about to go up to get to bed. when I heard the engines of a German plane, so I quickly got under cover. The next thing I heard was the roar of gunfire and suddenly a sound rather like a very strong wind, which grew into a shrill scream. This is a sound which can be imagined only by actual experience. It finished with four successive explosions. These four bombs fell at a distance of two hundred yards, roughly, from our shel- ter. Thev demolished four houses and killed thirteen people. Besides these four houses, thirty-five more had to be pulled down because they had been rendered uninhabitable by cracked walls, and thev were nearly in a state of col- lapse. The raiders passed signal sounded at 3:55 a.m.. when we went indoors and had a cup of coffee and slept for a short while. It seems hard to believe, but this is true: there were seven tons of glass cleared off the str°ets, all of it from windows which had been blown out. On Saturday at 5:55 p.m. the sirens sounded, and I have never heard such a row. For a solid twenty minutes there was a continuous roar of anti-aircraft fire from miles around. The nearest guns to us were a quarter of a mile away, where there was a battery of new 4.7 inch guns. These new guns would fire four shells in succession; there would be a lull, and then they would repeat. With these bigger guns were the normal single-firing guns. Mingled with all this noise was the shrill scream of falling bombs, the crashing of planes nearby, and the noise made by a fighter, zooming into attack, or in a dog fight. When some of this noise had quieted down and the raiders had been driven back, we emerged from our burrow like so manv rabbits after the hunter has gone. e saw that a very large building had been blown to bits by a German b(jmber. which had crashed on it with a full load of bombs. It looked as though the bridge, the onl) main crossing we had to get over the electric railroad, had been blown up. but it hadn ' t. This was only one hundred ards from our house. The smoke and dust that was in the air that afternoon and night was terrific. E er body was walking around with eyes half shut. That night bombing was continued on the same scale. The next morning we discovered that we had no gas. water was rumiing in a ery feeble manner, and the elec- tricit would fail for an hour here and there. We couldn t bathe because we had no gas to work the geyser, and above all. we had nothing to cook our meals with. We remained in this condition for the rest of the time I was in Lon- d n. Now our house has been blown up. This bombing continued until I left London, and with the same intensit . I had only one whole night ' s sleep in a bed in the twenty-one da s during which I experienced the apalling nature and indiscriminate bombing of the Ger- man Air Force.

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15 They flew onward over the level meadows and down the shady woodland lanes. Over one more hill and the prize would he won! Who would obtain it. that silvery fox. to mount it with his other trophies. The puffing steeds mounted the slope and stared at the hounds that were huddled over the prize. One rider called out. The first to arrive fiets it. Four of the most skillful riders reached the scene first. An unpleasant odor filled the air. The prize was a skunk! NOW SMILE Wi ' liam Brad lee. ' 42 Among the definitely less tastier events of the scholastic season is the annual ordeal of picture taking;. Bein ' r very unphotogenic. I would go to almo-rt any extreme in an attempt to dodge this terrifying experience. Let me just attem|jt to describe a typical picture. I am in a classroom working very, very hard as usual when in prances a member of the high school orchestra, excitedly waving a notice to the effect that the orchestra are going to have their picture taken for the Chimes. Im- mediately I sit bolt upright, knocking the books in front of me belter skelter all over the floor, with the definite im|)ulse to run home. On shaking legs I proceed to exit from the room, almost fainting between the room and the auditorium, where the picture is to be taken. The rest of the orchestra stagger in, and amid the sly glances and knowing smiles of the last group photographed, we are lined up in front of the camera. If there is any thing that makes cold sweat stand out on my face, that infernal mechanism is it. That is one of the few inventions which to my thinking is a complete drawback to civili- zation. How an man heartless enough to invent a machine which would harass his fellow men as the camera does can have the audacity to accept the Nobel peace prize is beyond my minute mind. Being tall. I am placed right smack dab in the dead center, trembling with uncontrollable vio- lent undulations. ( Don t bother looking at the oichestra |)icture to see: take my word for it). The orchestra is arranged and rearranged and finally is judged O.K. That ' s that. But I soon find out that isn ' t that. The orchestra are told to quit fidgeting with their respective instruments. The director is told to put his legs together and to quit pulling his socks up. The sax player is told to lower his head. The back line is told to cease swaying to and fro. and I ' m told to quit hanging on to the kid next to me (little do they know I hang on to keep from colla psing.) At this point the photographer crawls under the mvsterious hood on the camera and feeds us the line that we ' re the best-looking group to come yet. I Of course everyone in the band is too modest to swallow that. I We are told to smile; so we all smile, but the picture is not taken until the smiles have all fad d awav and everyone is looking dumb — well, I look dumb anyway (no cracks please I. The toughest thing to do in this world is to smile at a camera when some one is watching you. The camera clicks, and I am amazed at the fact that it doesn ' t burst into a flare of flames ?nd completely disintegrate. Another picture ( Happv days, so called — Everyone smile now ' ) is taken and still no crack appears di- agonally across the lens. I conclude they must have special tough cameras for jobs like this. Then we are told to return to our classes, and I race through corridors anxious to get back to my dear old studies. Soon I find myself lost in some such interesting thing as The Life of Mamaduke Pipplehoff or Berstein ' s Law of Emotion. Finall) the pictures come out. I take one look at them and think they look like well, take a look yourself. THE PINES Cornelia Leitli, ' 41 Down in the meadow when I was small Three oung pines grew along the stone wall. Tall and straight in the morning sun. They lived each day as though just begun. When the wind was blowing and the sun was high. How they could toss their green heads to the sky And stoop low to touch their skirts to the earth Or start shaking together in make-believe mirth. Two men came through a long while ago. Said one to the other. Those three pines must ?:o. The sound of their axes rang through the air Until the trees fell and the sky was bare. In the meadow the sun no longer shines; The old stone wall is covered with vines. » Irate customer: Well, waiter, I suppose I can sit here til I starve. Waiter: Sorry; no sir, we close at eleven.

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17 HOW TO SELL A MAGAZINE IN THREE EASY LESSONS Jean MacNeil, ' 43 ELLING a magazine is not as easy as it sounds. Most hopeful young subscription salesmen start out planning to follow the three main rules for successful subscription selling, which are as follows: Display a sparkling personality. Know all about the housewife, also all about the product to be sold. I In other words, know all about everything). Don ' t give up until you have sold at least one subscription at a house, and even then don ' t give up. Of course, it is very hard to display a sparkling personality, especialh if you haven ' t one; and even if you have, it doesn ' t survive usually after the first en- counter. As to the third rule, that is merely figurative. You ' re lucky if you get up to the door, without trying to sell a subscription after that. However, according to the reports you hear, it is very simple — you just walk up to a door, knock on it, and when someone comes, you sell a magazine to her — and that ' s all there is to it. In reality, that is not the way it happens at all. To be sure, you walk up to the door and knock on it — that is, if you can get through the snow and ice, and past the dog. When you finally get there, you knock timidly. By this time you ' re all out of breath from running away from the dog, and your knees are shaking over the prospect of meeting the lady of the house. After quite a while, the door suddenly opens, and you weakly collapse against the house- wife, who icily inquires, Well? Finally you manage to stammer, L-l-lady, would y-you l-like to b-b-b-buy a m-magazine? The house wife apparently is not in a very good mood today. She definitely does not want to buy a magazine. And she roughly slams the door, incidentally catching your coat in it. You never have a chance to tell her about the beautiful new scoreboard and the advantages to the school and to you. You stumble off down the walk, and suddenlv slip on the ice. While you are trying to pull yourself together, the do from out of nowhere. rushes down on you Ho, hum! The life of a subscription sales- Mandy: Rastus, does )o ' love me? Rastus: Mandy, yo ' is one woman I don ' t like none other no better than. Writer: How much board will you charge me for a few weeks while 1 gather material for my new country novel? Hiram: Five dollars a week unless we have to talk dialect, — that ' s three dollars extra. Mr. Saniuelson : What are you crying for? Gannett: I don ' t like school an ' I gotta stay here till I ' m sixteen. Baw! Mr. Samue ' son : Don ' t let that worry you. I ' ve got to stay here till I ' m sixty-five. I want some grapes for my sick husband. Do you know if any poison has been sprayed on these you have? No, ma ' am, you ' ll have to get that at the druggist ' s.