Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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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)

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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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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 1C During the past years the Radiator has been for- tunate in having a large number of pupils take an active interest in the Poet’s Corner. Much talent has been shown on the part of contributors, and the editors have all expressed a certainty that the poetry page of the High School paper is a decided success and asset. The beginning of the year is the most difficult how- ever. A Senior class has gone and a new first-year class has arrived. In this way some of the regu- lar contributors have departed and whatever talent is hidden in the Sophomore class will not be discov- ered until much later in the year. So we urge you not to be slow in submitting any poems you may have, however poor you may think them, for the editor may disagree. The poetry page cannot live on its reputation, nor can it continue to exist if we receive no co-operation. If you know of anyone who writes poetry, then let the editor know. If you have written some yourself, bring it along and the chances are you will see it in print. The editor will attempt during the coming year to maintain the standard set by.the Poet’s Corner, and, if possible, raise that standard to an even higher de- gree of excellence. John E. Pierce, 1027. GLORIOUS AUTUMN Sunbeams dance upon the river. Shine on autumn leaves so bright; Then one’s heart begins to quiver, For such beauty gives delight. Trees are wrapped in red and brown; Leaves are scattered here and there, Gold and rubies on the ground; Carmen berries everywhere. Skies are hazy like a dream, Pearly clouds gaze down upon Enfolded sunny spots of green, Tangled vines of golden fawn. ja ' e . Flitting in the crystal;air, Halting gaily ir. the trees, Flocks of busy birds are there Trilling sweetest melodies. ( Sparkling river,—shady trees, Glorious scene, with woods around, Flaming ruby, golden leaves! Seems to me like fairy ground. Pearl Doyle, 1927. AN OLD SALT'S DREAM A rosy dawn and a running tide, and a white-capped vacing sea, A wet salt wind and stinging spray, and a white sail flying free; Low-hung clouds with a fringe of rain, the sea gull's wheeling flight, The sun-kissed sea on a tropic day. and the light of the moon by night. Feathery palms on a sunlit beach, the flash of spray and spume, The plunging bow of an outbound ship, a scarlet para- keet’s plume; These things I dream on a gusty night, when the sea wind's blowing fast, A fading dream of a vagabond’s life; how I long for the.years gone past! John E. Pierce, 1927. A MOTHER’S FAREWELL TO HER (Till.I) Close not thine eyes, sweet child. Ah, close them not! My heart V Throbs; if those blue orbs dim A ’Twill rend my bieast and part From out my body. Thy form Lies still, but thine eyes Gaze into mine, like twin — Pools ’neath an azure sky, Reflecting in their depths The secret of the universe. Thy hand grows cold, dear child, It trembles so! Sweet Lord, Reach down and hold apart those Heavy lids that droop and droop With ever-failing strength Over my child’s eyes. They shut! They flicker, gaze but once, A look of dazzling fire Eye to eye to mine, fixed. Then close! O God, they close Forever, and the lamps of Love are screened. Thy form Is motionless, the flesh Is dead; thy soul is gone To Heaven with thine eyes! John E. Pierce, 1927.