Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR II rel hadn’t killed her “hoss” but too many oats had, just as true as he had a nose on his face. So Mrs. Keyes brought Lew to Judge Boone. Lew got awful excited and fairly jumped up and down. He kepi yellin’:— “ ‘It was oats that killed her. Mis’ Keyes alius over- loads her hoss with oats.’ The judge looked over his specs at the claimant standing there with her nose in the air givin’ Joe witherin’ glances. ‘“Well, Mrs. Keyes,’ the judge drawled, ‘how many buckets a day did you feed your hoss?’ “ ‘I didn’t feed my horse buckets, I fed ’em oats,’ she snapped back at him. “The court roared, and after the judge sat with his fingers on his chin for a while, tryin’ to 'pear as if he was weighin’' both sides of the case, he decided in favor of Jane Keyes, when, of course, she’d really won the minute she stepped into the court room. She is a hot one,” ended Chet, shaking his head at his memory of her. While he talked Chester had been demonstrating, and Dad’s eyes began to twinkle, and the corners of his mouth were turning up. “Jane would win,” he said, pleased with the seen? Chet had enacted for him. The boys exchanged glances; Dad had forgotten his burdens for the mo- ment. “Heave to, Dorry,” interrupted Lawrence, standing by the stove, “spuds are burning.” “What’s that mean,” he puzzled as I flew to the stove, “what’s it mean when the water boils out of potatoes? Sign it’s goin’ to rain, isn’t it?” “Seems to me it’s the sign you didn’t put in ’nough water,” corrected Ken, impishly thrusting out his fool for Chester to trip over, as he passed him. a • The morning of the day Chet left, a crowd of young people held an impromptu party in our old barn, for him and the otheis who were to sail. It was one of those deathly quiet afternoons that. Chet went away. So quiet one could almost, as Ken said, “hear grass grow.” After the laughter and noise that had lasted up to the moment of the departure, the silence was un- bearably nerve-wearing. I was beginning to realize the heartaches of a woman in whose men the ever seething “sea-blood” flows. Dad sat out under the maples in the yard, and his eyes wandered over the chicken houses Chester had rebuilt the summer before. It seemed such a danger- ously possible thing for his hoy never to come back. As he preferred to be alone I went in and tried to distract my mind fiom its brooding by creating a bedlam of unnecessary noise with the kettles and pan. Poor Dad’s bitter misunderstanding of the sea was beginning to be contagious. Lawrence had gone to the pasture to hurry the cows that were reluctantly leaving the sweet, tender grass; and I followed to take down the bars of the stone wall, so the cattle might go through. Ken was there, leaning against the wooden rail. He was looking across the rocky, hilly ground, watch- ing the sun set in flaming colors of scarlet and gold. His hand gripped the bar and his words were cjioked. “The time will come, Dorry, the time will come, and then Dad FIc looked over the fields again and in the distance we heard Lawrence’s voice calling, urging the lingering cattle. A slow line of cows ap- peared, moving through «he deep grass, and between the trees. Black and white, brown and white against green. Gyp’s sharp, joyful bark came through the quiet air and we could see him bounding in the dis- tance, before his master. Within eight weeks the “Madelon” had been forced back for repairs and again had gone, and with it this time Lawrence went. Old Lew Harris with a fifteen-year-old boy had come to help with the work. One evening at supper 1 telt a tension hanging over us that warned that another climax was rising. Kenneth moved restlessly in his chair and looked out the window, seeing nothing. Poor father stared at his plate, scarcely eating. Something was coming and my heart ached for both of them. Old Lew had llied to develop conversation, but became discouraged by the shortness and inappropriateness of the an- swers. Young Joe shoveled the food into him raven- ously, not wasting the time to talk. He jabbered in- cessantly, ordinarily, but devoted meal time to eat- ing. My brothers were hearty, but young Joe stowed away more than all three put together. Under my continual scrutiny Ken turned as if to speak, and then dejectedly staled out of the window again. He was trying not to make it too difficult for his father, but finally he blurted out: - “Dad, I’ve got to go.’’ A queer expression spread over Dad's face and he grew a startling grey. Even Joe forgot his food and became all eyes. Dad cleared his throat -we might expect anything—anything! “Pass the carrots, please, Doris,” he said, his voice thick. That was all. Then I, the baby of the family, found thrust upon me the task of filling others’ places in their absence. The months that followed were empty and not with- out anxiety that seemed almost cowardly. Lawrence’s letters were filled with technical terms. He was working hard in his study of navigation. Chester’s were filled with every bit of humor he could glean (it was like him), but Kenneth’s letters said- nothing. It was written between the lines- his con- tent underlined with regret for Dad’s unhappiness. We always smiled at Chet’s letter. In one of them he wrote:— “While I was swabbing the deck this A. M., Sis, waiting for the mess (sailois can’t cook worth a her- ring’s fin, Doris), guess who I began to think of— (Continued on Page 22)

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10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR Dad’s Ken By Alice Dunlap STRONG, DEEP BOND of affection gen- erally exists in a family that has been early deprived of a mother. This was undeniably true in the case of Lawrence, Chester, Kenneth and me. Dad lavished an unusual and companionable affection on all his children, but for Ken his devotion was some- thing like worship. He was the odd one in appear- ance. Dark-eyed and with golden-brown hair, Ken was distinctly noticeable among the rest of us Wat- sons who had blue eyes and brown or black hair. He had mother’s coloring and many of her little manner- isms which endeared him more and more to Dad. There was only one quality in the boys with which Dad could not sympathize—their love of the sea that they had inherited from mother’s people, who were all seafaring. Father had an intense distrust and hatred of the water, but to the boys it was the very breath of life. Ever since they had been old enough to pat a ship’s cat they had gone on short cruises along the coast with Captain Neely. They would come back brown, wind-hardened and enthusiastic. For weeks their talk would be tinged with nautical expressions. It was on rare occasions that Dad would permit Kelt out of his sight; perhaps that was why the longing, unsatisfied as it was, burned deeper in him than in the others. Often he would go down to the little salt- rotted, wave-washed wharf and gaze far out to where the water and sky met, craving for the sway of a boat on angry waters and a vicious Nor’easter bat- tling against the courageous craft. He would shove his hands deep into his pockets and throw back his head, his hair blowing on the wind, his eyes closed in ecstacy. He would come back to reality and dis- pondently turn back home, his eyes wistful with long- ing. The boys stamped back from the fields one day bursting with news that George LeBlanc had com- pleted his two vessels and was ready to start for a two-years’ cruise. Ken’s eyes were lit with more than usual determination and fire. The three grouped around the table and talked, seriously intent. The last rays of the sun slanted calmly through the small-paned windows and lay across the floor, partly brightening Dad’s rocker. The quaint little clock on the shelf ticked plainly and in- dependently above the drone of the boys’ voices. Only once or twice did I hear Ken’s voice; for the most part he sat with his head in his hand, his fingers tunning restlessly through his wavy hair. Though they had, out of consideration, been careful not to let the drift of their conversation reach my ears, I could not but know what was foremost in their minds. I moved about the room preparing supper. The pies came out of the oven well-browned, filling the air with their tantalizing, spicy odor. The boys stopped their con- sultation long enough to sniff the air and smile ap- preciatively. When we were seated for our evening meal, Law- rence, our capable oldest brother, spoke to father, a little hesitant, his eyes turned from Ken’s lowered ones. “Dad, being as we are,” he smiled, “we can’t see two perfectly good boats set sail and not take ad- vantage of them, but there’s work here to be done, so we've decided that only one of us at a time can go.” Dad arose and went to the sink, pretending to re- fill his glass, though he had not so much as touched the water already in it. His back was turned to us and Lawrence waited, expecting him to return to his place, but Dad still stood there, his old abhorrence of the sea swelling up in him. The pump emitted the last plaintive squeak and all at once Dad spoke gruffly:— “Go on, say what you’ve got to.” His voice was hard with constrained emotion. Chester picked up the thread of the explanation where Lawrence had left it hanging. “The farm depends on Lawrence more than on Ken or me—” He stopped as though considering how he should best go on. Dad remained motionless. “And Ken’s the youngest, of course,” continued Chester as though th it were all that need be said, for we all knew it was not Ken’s youth that opposed his going, but Dad. “So,” Chet went on trying not to make his joy too evident, “I’m to be the sailor.” Dad sat down and passed his hand over his eyes wearily. The rest of the evening was heavy with silence. In the days that followed, the preparation for the long voyage of the “Madelon” took much of Chet’s time, but he, with the others, tried to keep things in a state of happy normalcy. Chester, who was born with an entertaining gift for mimicry, imitated everything and everybody he ever saw. He outdid himself in the effort to make Dad’s outlook brighter. “Well, Pop,” he said eagerly, “went down to the courthouse today with George about some legal mat- ters and we heard a couple of cases. Gee, it was rich. Old Mrs. Keyes was there, arguing with all and sundry. It seems last month she went to her church bazaar. She parked her horse and buggy be- tween Sam Gcrrish’s flivver and Jo Emmons’ hay cart and went inside. Lew Harris was supposed to look af- ter the horses, but when it got hot he turned them out where it was shady in the sorrel field by the town- hall. That night Mrs. Keyes’ mare had colic and turned up her toes and died. She vowed the sorrel had given her horse the colic, and wanted money to pay for her loss. Lew Harris argued that the sor-

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR My Summer in France By Louise M. Saunders F I were a writer or a painter I might de- scribe a very interesting summer in France, but being neither I can only try to give a little idea of it. The month of July we spent in the study of French at the Sorbonne, or Uni- versity of Paris. The course was an exceedingly in- teresting one from two points of view: First, because of the different nations represented, and second, be- cause of the nature of the course. Over twenty of KNTKANCK TO BLOIS CHATEAU AT BLOIS. PRANCE the United States were represented besides almost every country in Europe. The morning was given over to three hours of classroom work, and in the after- noon four hours were spent in visiting the historical spots in and around Paris, all under the direction of French professors. These included such noted places as Versailles, Fontainbleau, Chartres, Amiens, Vin- cennes and Sevres outside of Paris. In Paris the Gobe- lin Museum and factory, the Conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned and the cage in which she was confined two hours before her execution; the fam- ous Louvre, Luxembourg and Rodin museums, and the churches of Sacre Coeur, the Madeleine and the well- known Notre Dame. One could go on endlessly describing the things of interest in and around Paris, but I will mention only a few. The Cathedral of Chartres with its beautiful stained glass windows, said to be the most beautiful in the world, was very interesting to me. I reached there at midday and had the opportunity to climb 312 steps to the tower and see the enormous bell rung. My imagination wandered back to Quasimodo in Notre Dame. Then, too, the Gobelin factory with its wonder- ful tapestry was instructive. I saw the men at work and was told that 14,000 colors were used and only one square meter a year was accomplished. Sevres, famous for its pottery, was most novel. Here I had a chance to see the making of china from start to finish. At the end of the course, under the direction of the Sorbonne and accompanied by a French professor, a trip was arranged to the French Alps and the Pyre- nees. Starting from Paris we traveled to Lyons, the capital of the silk world. Here we spent a day in see- ing le Musee des Tissus in which were beautiful silks of different periods. From Lyons we passed over the Swiss border into Geneva, Switzerland, where we stayed two days. The beautiful snow-capped Mont Blanc in the distance, its wonderful lake and its clean streets, not forgetting to mention the famous Peace Conference building, make this an historical spot. We could not stay long enough in Geneva; Chamo- nix and the famous Mer de Glace, the scene of “Le Voy- age de Monsieur Perrichon,” was our next destina- tion. Leaving Geneva I had a very eventful day. Start- ing early in the morning by auto bus, I first had to deal with the customs officials. Finding I had nothing dutiable they allowed me to pass. Chamonix we reached by noon, after having had a wonderful pan- oramic view of Mont Blanc with its snow cap and its glaciers. I had scarcely begun my ascent in a train up Mont Blanc to Mer de Glace, when one of the worst thunder storms of the season broke forth. The Mer de Glace was reached, but no descent on its surface was possible. On my return to the village I was in- formed of a landslide, and so in order to reach my next destination it was necessary to climb some dis- tance along the side of a hill. The hotel was finally reached. Although dampened as to clothes, the spirit of the party in which I was traveling was not, for around a table lit by candles (the storm having put the lights out of commission), we sang the familiar “Frcre Jacques” and “Au clair de la lune.” Traveling through Chambery I stopped to see Jean (Continued on Page 19)