Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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24 CHIMES programs completely filled with David ' s name; at souvenirs of parties; at withered corsages. One page held a graduation program and a senior pic- ture of Dave, which was signed Love, Dave. Linda looked at this picture for a long time. She remembered exactly how he had looked on grad- uation day, with his black hair combed down to an unusual degree of neatness and his blue eyes glancing over in her direction so often that he almost didn ' t respond when his name was called to receive his diploma. Linda sighed and remem- bered how badly she had felt when Dave went away to college and she left for art school. Nat- urally, they couldn ' t see each other so often, and Linda had been deathly afraid that Dave would meet and take an interest in some other girl. She hadn ' t known that Dave was worrying just as much about her. When the letters had all been read and pon- dered, Linda still sat on the floor with a far- away look in her eyes. At times she looked pen- sive; at other times she had a distant twinkle in her eye. It was getting toward evening; the light was growing dim in the attic and Natalie was be- coming restless, having dragged everythmg out of the trunk. She pattered over to Linda, who was gazing off into space with a few tears es- caping her green eyes. What ' s the matter, Linda? Natalie ques- tioned. Nothing ' s the matter, you rascal! I think we ' re both just hungry. Let ' s go down to the kitchen and see what we can find. Natalie very readily agreed to this and, after pushing every- thing back into the sturdy old desk and carefully locking it, Linda followed her little guest down the stairs. Thank you just loads for the cookies, said Natalie when they were both outside again. She had turned and started to go home when she suddenly stopped and asked, You ' ve always told me to call you Linda because we both like first names ever so much better than. Mr. ' s and Mrs. ' s. What ' s Mr. Blake ' s first name? Linda laughed and said, Mr. Blake ' s first name, Natalie? Why, I thought I ' d told you. It ' s David. COMPULSORY MILITARY TRAINING Donald McPherson, ' 46 One of the questions now under debate almost everywhere is the problem of compulsory military training after the war. Some are of the opinion •.hat this would be a useless waste of money and would turn us into a nation of professional mil- itarists. It is thought that it would even change our government, installing a military form of government such as is seen in some South Amer- ican countries. On the other hand there are many people who take the opposite side of the question. As every- one knows, we were caught unprepared at the beginning of the present war, with insufficient men and supplies to meet the highly-trained and well-equipped enemy. Not long ago we were liv- ing in one of the most prosperous and happy eras the world has ever known. War was the farthest state imaginable in our thoughts. True, we had started a defence movement, but the fact remains that we lacked trained soldiers to beat off the aggressor on that first sneak attack. This must not happen again. War is as likely to occur again as it did before. We may have a war within a week of surrender of our present enemies. There are many nations that are po- tential enemies. Who knows when and by whom we will be struck? The only answer is a training program to fill the needs of the country. Next, we must look for a method of arriving at our objective, a method which would not turn against us and ruin our time-proven government. First and most important is the coordination which would be necessary between the military and the political heads. The training must be in military hands and the supervision in political hands. Friction between the two could result in failure. Training would be given to every mentally and physically-fit boy the year after he graduates. The idea of four summers is not good as the con- stant interruptions caused by school or work would injure the boy ' s chance to get ahead. The accent would be on not only technical training but the physical condition of the boys. This would be beneficial to the boy himself as well as to the nation. The fundamentals of war- fare, which never change will also be taught. Militar) ' courtesy and drill will be presented. The first few months will be spent on this type of training and technical training will fill the remaining time. Such a program will benefit the boys through- out all the remaining years of their life. The discipline which will be enforced will help build better men. Also the life will build their char- acters. Complete medical and dental care will be given them, and some defects which would otherwise be overlooked will be attended to. Talents which would otherwise remain hidden might be brought to light by the numerous ap- titude tests given the new recruit. The life work of some might be found in the specialized train- ing of the army.

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CHIMES 23 Neither can we abolish vocational education, for if we did, many would not be interested in school and hence they would remain practically uneducated. We must allow matters to continue as they have in the past, with a liberal education for those who wish to gain background and cul- ture, and vocational education for those who wish merely to make a living. This is the only course we may take if we profess to any semblance of a true democracy. MY HOME Joan MacDonalo, ' 48 The white sand of the beaches, The blue dome of the sky. The wheeling, screeching sea-gulls. The swift ships passing by — This is my home and haven. This is the place I adore, Close to the bed of the ocean, Near to the sky and the shore. Life ' s long and dreary labors With beauty, seem to fade. When the sun sinks from the heavens To the ocean nature made. Now the fisherman ' s day is over. Now they wearily come to rest, ' Tis then I see the beauty Of this land I love the best. THE OLD DESK Annelaine Limper, ' 47 Linda Blake knelt down on the damp earth and shoved her hands into the warm moist dirt, picked up handfuls of it, and rubbed it between her fingertips. She had been stricken with a severe case of spring fever and was planning her garden in her mind. Suddenly Linda jumped up and started running toward the house. She thought, This is a wonderful day to clean out that old desk in the attic. Stopping halfway to the little, weatherbeaten. Cape Cod structure, she turned to survey her small domain. A gentle spring wind fluttered the new leaves on the two gnarled, old apple trees and tossed a few fluffy white clouds around in the otherwise-unclouded azure sky. Linda shook back a lock of long, wavy, auburn hair and breathed a deep sigh of contentment. At that moment a little girl clambered over the ivy-covered wall and ran toward Linda. Hello there, Natalie, Linda said to the dark- haired, dark-eyed little nymph of seven. Hello, Linda, Natalie replied, I think you make yummy cookies. Natalie was very quick about coming to the point. Well, it just happens that I made a batch of sugar cookies this morning. I had a feeling that I might have callers, Linda announced, as she took the little girl ' s hand. In the kitchen, she offered Natalie the well-stocked cookie jar, which was quickly relieved of half its contents. Linda remembered that she had started to the house with a definite purpose in mind and sug- gested to Natalie, Wouldn ' t you Hke to come upstairs and help me explore an old desk? They climbed the steep stairs to the little attic, Natalie carrying two fistfuls of cookies and Linda, a small gold key. Linda seemed as eager as a young girl; and Natalie, being a young, young girl, was naturally ready for exploring. Linda opened two dormer windows to let in light and fresh air. Then she ran over to a beautiful, antique cherry desk. The dust-covered desk had been in her family for four generations and had four deep drawers and numerous in- triguing cubby holes. Linda opened the cover of the desk to disclose yellowed documents, old photographs, and a fat bunch of letters tied with faded blue ribbon. She ignored the photographs and old papers; the letters were apparently of more interest. Natalie, sticking close to her side, inquired, Who are all those old letters from? Linda, with a wistful smile on her face, said, Oh, someone I used to know a long time ago. Linda realized that Natalie wouldn ' t be inter- ested in all those old letters and showed the little girl a trunk filled with old-fashioned wooden toys, rag dolls, and a wealth of doll clothes that would delight any small girl. Na- talie immediately became absorbed with the trunk and its contents and Linda returned to the letters. As she untied the worn blue ribbon, a faint smell of lavender arose. Linda laughed to her- self and extracted a fragrant sachet from among the envelopes. She thought to herself, Weren ' t high school seniors silly, though? After ten years, one would think I ' d have a little more sense. But here I am, poring over David ' s letters and getting as much pleasure out of them now as when I received them. Linda started the first letter. She continued to read for a while, then let the paper drop to her lap while she reminisced. She had gone with David all through high school and many years after that. Delving through a drawer, she found her memory book. As she opened it, a few, dried-up, brown gardenia petals slipped out. Linda looked through the book, at old dance

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CHIMES 25 It is my opinion that the benefits of the train- ing would far out balance the disadvantages that such a program would present, preparedness against unpreparedness; the welfare of the nation against the convenience of the individual who might be against the idea. It is the only way we can be safe against the aggressor nations of the world. BOOKS Pairicia Cahir, ' 47 Standing straight upon my shelf Are my books, my greatest wealth. ' Neath each gayly-colored cover Many little secrets hover. Most of them are thumbed and torn; Few are new and not yet worn. All do tell a lively story Of the things of earthly glory. Figures dance upon each page Here a youngster, there a mage. Some are young and gay and bright, Some are old, but all delight. Different figures represent Thoughts of igloos, nomads ' tents, Scholars, jesters, king and queen. Places we have never seen. Always happy to be read To the children just ' fore bed. By the aged who convalesce, Books are wonderful, I confess. MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE? Anne Heffernan, ' 46 There comes a time in every girl ' s life when Mother thinks it is time for her daughter to go to dancing school. I was no exception. I was a big girl for twelve, when the day finally came, and with disaster. My hair had been in curlers all day, and there- fore came out a mass of fuzz. I was heartbroken, but also hoped Mother might repent and not make me go. But no. Quick, the hair tonic! It worked wonders. The fuzz went away im- mediately; so did the curl. My slip had been in the oven drying and sud- denly seemed to be giving off a smoky odor. Sure enough, but Dad rescued it before it be- came more than slightly tanned. Finally I was all dressed and the family stood around admiringly. I don ' t see how they could have thought me a pretty child. Parental love must be blind. When we arrived, I saw some friends of mine, in their taffeta and bows, their hands held by their proud mamas. As we timidly entered the large auditorium, we were given the once-over , which aroused in me whatever it is in women that make us want to look their best before a roomful of boys. I went down stairs to the girls ' lavatory and finding everyone gathered around the one, dirty, spotted mirror, I joined them, trying to fix my now-straight hair. Upon examining myself more carefully, I found I looked a little pale, so after much mental debate, I borrowed a lipstick from one of the older girls, and smooched it uncer- tainly on my lips. At that moment I felt that I had become a woman. When I went upstairs, I found the teacher lin- ing the girls up on one side of the floor and the boys on the other. I joined the giggling crowd of girls, who were pushing and shoving each other around, trying to get where they would find the man of their fancy for the grand march. The dance started off with a one, two, three, dip, a stumble, and a quick apology. After that we had a short intermission, and then the social hour began. The boys got up and looked us over, trying to find partners who pleased them. Three boys came up and asked the girls on my left, and the same thing happened on my right. It was here I learned my lesson. Never sit in a place which is not convenient for boys. The girls beside me were laughing and talking, and seemed to be enjoying themselves. I don ' t see how they could have been at a time like this, but I soon found myself joining them. The music played on, and everyone was having a wonderful time. Fear of being a wallflower mounted and mounted. Suddenly a nice-looking boy walked across the floor. Was I going to be spared? I put on my best I ' m having a won- derful time smile. He smiled back and asked the girl next to me to dance. I never felt more depressed in all my life. Brooding over my fate, I didn ' t notice the tall quiet boy standing in front of me, asking me to dance. I looked at him with such gratitude that he must have felt like Sir Walter Raleigh, himself. As we danced onto the floor, I looked up into the balcony, and saw Mother. She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Daughter was not go- ing to be a wallflower after all. JIBE HO! Jack Varney, ' 48 How about going sailing with me today, Dad? I asked. There ' s a beautiful breeze on Wartuck. I ' ve planned a Httle work in the garden, Son.