Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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CONFIDENTIAL — SECRET MISSION A True Story William Vining, ' 46 0 large ships were lying at anchor, riding the small waves made by the many ships either headed toward or returning from different missions. The crew of both ships worked, with- out a lost movement, in regular navy precision. The Statue of Liberty looked on, and it is be- lieved observers could see a faint glitter in her eyes, in appreciation of the boys ' high morale. The captains returned in a motor whaleboat about nineteen hundred I naw time), with sealed orders. They both reported on board the U. S. S. (censored) which was to act as the flag ship. It was not long before the captain of the I . S. S. I censored I returned on board his ship, the deck hands taking time off to render a military salute. Eager eyes followed him to his cabin. Every- one was anxious to hear the time of getting un- derway. All hands were called to quarters and the address was given by the Executive Officer. All men and officers were to have the ship ready in every respect for getting underway at twenty- three hundred. In the meantime there would be no liberty : all hands not actually on watch would be required to get the ship ready. There would be last minute drills for fire, abandon ship, battle, collision, and the use of the life belt. At twenty-two thirty, word was passed for all heads of departments to report that they were ready for getting underway. At twenty-three hundred, word was passed, All hands, man your piloting detail. There was an added excite- ment that night when the men reported to the bridge that their stations were manned. It was noted, too. that the stations were manned more quickly than during the previous weeks ' maneu- vers. The yeoman shouted with delight when he reported to the Executive Officer the conditions of the chain. The Jack was lowered on the first blast of the whistle, and Old Glory took her proud position on the main mast, following the actions of the flagship. The signal bridge was manned and the signalman ' s attention was at- tracted by the blinking lights of nearby destroyers on either side. The flagship flashed orders that the ships would form a column with the de- stroyers leading out of the harbor into tiie night. The con o routine followed after they passed through the gales and into the blue. The de- stroyers each took a side of the convoy and proceeded to their mission. The course was not known to the enthusiastic sailors, as the zig-zag method was used. They were steaming for days, and none of them knew where they were headed. Many didn ' t care, not even getting a thrill from the fl ing fish, and the deep blue of the Gulf Stream. The roll of their ships seemed to dis- agree with their steak dinner. On the sixth day out, early in the afternoon, general quarters was sounded, and everyone rushed to his particular station. Guns were manned in half the usual time, and everyone scanned the waters for that deadly fish. How- ever, the convoy was so well organized that the Huns decided to devour smaller ships, and to everyone s disappointment, no sub was sighted. This happened several times, and it was amaz- ing to see the high morale of the ship during such circumstances. On the fifteenth da out. it was reported that land was sighted, and this time the officers and enlisted men were sure of it. On two previous occasions reports had been made from the crow ' s nest that land was in sight, but another mile ' s difference would show an iceberg. The men had to stay at their stations at all times now. as the were approaching the harbor and many ships had recently been torpedoed. One destroyer went ahead, the other bringing up the rear of the convo). A small power launch came out to the harbor entrance, and the gates opened. The convoy steamed in. and the men were relieved after standing watch, without sleep, for twenty- four hours. As they approached the docks, hun- dreds of women were seen gathered just behind the high fences which prevented them from com- ing onto the docks. The next day when the bo s delivered their cargo to the storehouses, they observed the look of relief upon the faces of the natives. A voung piiest of American origin called all hands that could be relieved into a huge building and told them what their mission had been. These women had had er little food since they had sent their lo ed ones off to war for their mother countr . The were struggling along on the faith thai this priest had instilled in them. The ships had brought in enough stores to keep these people for six months. The ships returned to America untouched (ex- cept for a hurricane which look the ship the U. S. S. (censored) into a 45° angle for four days).

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21 hills. Wlion it had fioiic all aioiitul ihr room and hack to lOm. liir hag was overflowing. What a wonderful send-off. ' thought ' lOni standing tiien He was as lia| |) as anyone could e eT ' liope to he. Someone dro|)|)e(l a nickel into the juke ho and the last song of the evening began. Would ou like to dance, Sail) ? asked 1 om softly. Yes, Tom. I would. They drifted out among the others, lost in their thoughts of each other and of the days to come. A BOAT NEARS PORT Donald Kennedy, 47 Ten miles out in the dull wartime Atlantic! Ten miles from the nearest port and safety from the packs of angry, stalking suhs. The captain wasn ' t very cheerful for he knew a lot could happen just ten miles out. The messboy was whistling a doleful tune, and most of the crew were going about their work like parts of a machine. They were serious fellows who had turned from carefree boys to hardened men in two months of service. This was no game; this was grim reality. Suddenlv. out of the gray clouds ahead, came a lumbering rubber cow. The lookout re- ported, Blimp! Dead ahead! A shout rose from the weary men as they gazed at the faithful guardian of the coast soaring overhead. It had been a week since the fateful foggy day that they had lost the convoy. Now they were secure under the watchful blimp. No ship had ever been sunk while being escorted by a silver queen of the sky. They knew they were safe. The blimp was circling now , scaiming the bleak empty water for a telltale shadow or a periscope cutting like a knife through the billowing waves. Now the forward lookout could see the low gray outline of land. Soon a destroyer appeared. It circled twice, then headed back toward the harbor. The ship followed it slowly through the treacherous mine fields into the inner harbor. All tension aboard ship relaxed as the boat touched the massive dock and the gang plank was lowered. The ship, her crew, and her cargo had all arrived safely. They were in port again after ten grueling days on the high seas. GROAN MORE IN ' 44 Donald Mcl ' lieison. ' 46 As summer draws closer, it turns the mind of the garden lover toward planning his sum- mer ' s project. This year when 1 hear the slogans, Produce for Victor). Food I ' ights f(»r Free- dom. and (irow More in 44, 1 am reminded of the experiences I liad last year. I started off on my venture without a care in the world. Thank goodness 1 didn ' t know what would befall me or I jjiobahl) never would have started. The first problem occurred in the very early spring. The frost was barely out of the ground when I could be seen out in my prospective garden, bundled up in furs and boots, yardstick in hand, measuring the land. Well, I thought, this ought to keep me fairly busy. Little did I know how busy I would be. My problem, Mr. Anthony, was to get a plough. There were no ploughs to be had; so I bought a spade instead. My second problem occurred about the first of April. I had shed a few furs and got out my new spade. Everything went fine, and about the first of August I was ready to plant my seeds. Then the problem was what seeds to get. My friends, some of whom aren ' t my friends now, had great ideas for mv garden ai.d recommended unusual vegetables, such as rutabagas, which gives me indigestion; brussels sprouts, which I can ' t stand; and a variety of unhtard-of herbs. I finally planted a few rows of carrots, beans, corn, tomatoes and other ple- bian fruit. Time was growing short, and the plants were growing well. Also, the bugs were growing fat at my expense. I invested fistfuls of money on insecticides which only made the bugs bigger. This constituted my third problem. I was losing weight and my mind besides; I was also losing ground to the bugs. It looked hopeless but I kept up the fight until finally I found a tomato that hadn ' t been touched! No one has ever been prouder over his achievements than I was of that tomato. It is now hanging on my wall — stuffed, one of the greatest achieve- ments of man. It was now getting on into December. The snow killed all the weeds and saved me the trou- ble. I guessed the carrots weren ' t going to come up after all. All m) tomato (singular) were harvested so 1 decided to call it a year and retire. 1 am now planning for next summer ' s victory garden, if I can last that long.

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23 The hoys were all anxious to get their red. while and blue Atlantic Theater Campaign bars, and when asked what they did to earn them, would remark with emphasis. We saved a country you never heard of. We serve in the best organiza- tion in the world. THE SEA Scott Amiol, ' 45 I stood upon the cliffs one day And gazed enraptured on the sea. The waves beat on the rocks below; A gull glided by and complained to me. As I stood on the towering precipice, I thought of all the ocean had seen, Of the ships that sailed its broad expanse. Of the places where the vessel s had been. As I stood upon the jutting crag, I dreamed of the things the sea had done, I thought of the men the sea had killed; I thought of the wars the sea had won. As I stood upon the rocky ledge, I thought of the lands washed by the seas; Of the rock-bound shores and the icy north. Of the islands covered with cocoanut trees. And so I said to myself that day, Surely there are no better things Than to live by the everlasting sea, And hear the eternal song it sings. WHEN BIG SISTER STEPS OUT Terry Butler, ' 47 Do I hear the telephone? Or can that be the doorbell? Maybe it is both of them; Maybe it ' s my death knell. I find it ' s Davy calling, And it ' s Harry at the door. Which shall I repl) to first? Oh! hum! what a bore! Reluctantly I let one in And holler to the other. They want to speak with someone. No, it ' s not with Mother! I want to get a little dough, And that without a blister. So I flip a double-headed coin To see who dates with Sister. RAIN, FOG . . . Jane Evans, ' 44 Bruce rai. ed the single window in his room. Behind him everything was in darkness. Out in front he heard the dismal dirge of rain dripping from the hotel gutters onto the familiar city pavements five stories below. Across the wet dirty street a small red Coca-Cola sign winked an accustomed invitation to a drug store sand- wiched between two ding) wholesale-houses. The dampness of the night stole into the room, fil- tered through Bruce ' s Flying Tiger jacket and wrapped itself coldly about his spirit. He clenched his fist, pressing his cold clammy finger- tips against his palms. With his other hand he slammed down the window. It rattled in its frame. His eyes flared and he swore mutteringly. Then the dampness that had settled about him deadened every tiny spark of resentment. Bruce ' s eyes lowered as he slowly picked up a wilted yet mocking orchid and flung it into the waste basket. Suit case in hand, he left the room, walked heavily down the corridor. Ahead, bright warm lights gleamed through a transom. The door under it swung open and the merry light inside overflowed into the dim corridor. Bright cheerful party conversation flowed out with the light. A man stepped out, a cluttered ash tray in his hand, a broad grin spread across his face as the result of a pleasantry from within the room. He directed his smile on Bruce. The smile stirred a spirit of warmth in the boy, and forced a greeting from his tigh tened throat. He continued down the corridor. Behind him he heard the clank of tin against tin as the man tapped the ash tray on the side of the waste basket just outside his door. The dampness clutched at Bruce again. At the desk Bruce deposited his key and two dollars on the warm rubber change mat. A sleepy night clerk looked up at him and carefully laid down his magazine. The clerk ' s thin, dirty finger traced a line in the ledger under Bruce ' s signature; his eyes checked the amount of the payment; and his head nodded a receipt to the waiting flyer. Bruce plodded slowly across the small lobby with its somber leather chairs, and pushed open the front door. Turning up the collar of his leather jacket, he stepped out into the drizzle of rain. Heavy grey steam was seeping from a manhole cover in the gutter in front of the hotel as the boy turned to walk down the street. Inside, the sleepy clerk watched the flyer pass from view; then before taking up his story from where he left off, he paused, raised his eyes re- flectively to the silence — An ace that has shot down fifteen Jap zeros — and to be jilted!