Spaulding High School - Red and White Yearbook (Rochester, NH)

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S THE RED AND WHITE umbrella. And the fog drifted and floated, smothering London in an end- less damp blanket. How Wz'll He Fly? DAVID HOURIGAN, '54 My dear Reader: Before you be- gin to read, close your eyes. Visual- ize, if you can, a giant golden eagle, the symbol of democracy, fiying through the clear, blue sky. Ahead of him is uncertain weath- erg dark clouds of an impending storm. Our friend, the eagle, has one of three choices. He may Hy un- der the clouds into the heart of the storm and fight his Way through 'to clear weather. He may, also, fly through the clouds into an impene- trable fog, groping his way through, hoping for the best. Remember, however, dear reader, the eagle is the strongest and most powerful of birds. Therefore he may, with a strong and certain lunge of strength, raise him- self above the threatening danger to a straight and certain course of smooth flying.- You may wonder about the pur- pose of the above paragraphs. They serve as a comparison, you, dear reader, citizen of the United States, are the mind's eye of that eagle. You, the people of the United States, you guide the country. Are you going to guide our coun- try? Will you choose the right course for' our country? The dark clouds of danger are ahead. Is it under the clouds, into the storm of war? Is it through the clouds, lead- ing to an uncertain end because of poor leadership and ignorance? Or is it over the clouds, to a clear sky? To a land where peace is beautiful monotony, where good fellowship and love of neighbor is the underly- ing thought. It is up to you to choose the right course. Our mighty country head- ing into turbulent weatherg our country, symbolized by the eagle- how will he fly? A Cl7ild's Prayer BEVERLY GERRISH, '54 A deadly silence hung over the city that cold, rainy night as a lonely little girl crept into the great cathedral and knelt to pray. The candles on the altar cast a shimmering ray of warmth and flickered on the golden wisps of hair that escaped the pro- tection of the scarf loosely tied abouit her head. Dear God, her little voice whis- pered, my mommie and daddy were killed yesterday. Please help the other children who have also lost their mommies and daddies. Don't let the awful bombs hit lthem. Help them hide from the soldiers that hurt little children . . . Suddenly there was a great flash of light and a deafening crash. With a whir the planes swooped down 'up- on the city. The next morning, all that re- mained of the grand old church was the beautiful altar and a few charred rafters. Yet, if one looked closely, one might also see the tiny form of a raggedly clothed child with golden hair, her lifeless hands clasped around a little gold cross, and a lov- ing smile upon her lips. S trangezfs Hand AUDREY CLARK, '54 Last night I went through my usu- al routine in getting ready for bed. I bounced into bed, as any teen-ager would, and turned out the light. I found it hard to fall into the arms of Morpheus. Suddenly, I heard a noise outside my window. The window was openg fthe curtain was blowing in the breeze. There was no screen on my window. At first I thought it might be a cat, but then I heard distinct footsteps. I was petrified and lay in a cold sweat. I didnft dare to moveg some- how courage sank into my bones and helped to raise my body, only to feast my eyes, now popping out of my head,

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' :elllllllll The Black Umbrella CARLENE RICHARDSON, '54 Old Martha Crimley walked brave- ly down the Mall and turned toward Westminster I-Iall. She raised her black umbrella against the thick fogl It could not ward off the creeping mist, but the hard, cold steel handle gave Martha a feeling of stability. Martha stood calmly in the shadow of the high. iron fence, watching the people entering and leaving West- minster Hall. There were tears on the faces of many of the women, and the men held tightly to their hat brims. There were no tears on Martha Crimley's cheeks. I-Ier hands were steady, her chin was high, it quivered-more than once, but it was high. Martha lowered her umbrella and stepped into the line of people. The poorly dressed woman in front of her was sobbing hysterically. Martha stepped out of line deliberately and waited until the line had progressed several people, then, just as deliber- ately, Martha stepped between two sad, but dry-eyed mourners. The line moved slowly up the walk to the Hall, and although Martha's heart was crumbling within her, out- wardly she held her dignity as tight- ly as she held the handle of her black umbrella. The line passed into Westminster Hall and Martha could see the draped catafalque. The nearer Martha came to Queen Mary's coffin, the more tightly the handle of the black um- brella was held. As she walked slowly by the coffin, Martha bowed her head in prayer. Walking bravely, with the black fp:-.:.. umbrella held rigid by ithe grip of her hand, Martha turned in the direc- tion of the park and walked slowly through the dense fog toward it. She sat stifliy on the rickety bench and thought. It was sixty-three years ago that William and I watched Victoria on the way to her coronation. How many other times did William and I stand on the Mall and watch royalty pass? And many, many of those times this old black umbrella protected us from the heavy drizzle. Martha Crimley sighed and looked up into the darkening sky. I just wish that William were here now. Victoria's reign died, leaving only Queen Maryg William died leaving only-ine. Now Queen Mary is gone and I am left alone. I will walk down the Mall and climb the stairs to my cosy, but lonely Hat. I will take off my hat that I have worn for eight years and look again in the mirror at my white hair. I will give Susie and her kittens a saucer of warm milk and put fthe kettle on the stove for my tea. There are young girls, now quick and pret- ty, that some day will be sitting as I am now. Lonely-with all family and familiar royalty gone. Their hair, too, will be white and their hats old. And then a feeling of thankfulness swept over Martha as she thought of the rich, full life that lay behind her. Suddenly two tears escaped from under Martha Crimley's spec- tacles and ran down her cheeks. Please, God, take care of ithem as well as you have taken of me. And Martha Crimley rose and walked bravely and with great dig- nity down the Mall. Back in the park, beside an old bench, lay a black

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THE RED AND WHITE 9 on the horrifying scene of a hand gently pushing my curtain. I sat there, too frightened to move or even scream for help. No one will ever know how frightened a human being can be until he is in the same situation. I heard footsteps again. The hand was now inside my bed- room window. It was touching something on my desk. I knew that there was nothing on the desk of any value, a fact that made me worry more and more. Maybe Ithis man thought I was asleep and had murder in his mindg what a perfect setting for a murder! It seemed as if I waited for hours for his next move. Maybe some person held a grudge against me or perhaps my dad had done something to cause a certain person to want to get even with him by taking the life of his daughter, his pride and joy. It could be a maniac. Some man may have escaped from the prison in Concord. What does a person do in a situation like this? I will tell you what I did. I prayed lto God for help, just as I always do when I need or want some- thing. I prayed that if it was His will -this man would go away. When I opened my eyes, the hand was still there. I thought, What have I done to deserve this? God has never failed me before. In a few seconds the hand moved out of the window and I heard foot- steps in the distance. This story is true. You figure it out. Remember? BEVERLY MCGREGOR, '54 This is the high school. Every- thing was peaceful until May 5, 1954, at 2:21 p. m. My name is Monday and my partner's name is Tuesday. We were working our way down the corridor of Spaulding High School. Suddenly there appeared in the distance a great commotion. Hasten- ing to the scene we found a group of seniors pushing and shoving. We stopped one of the seniors. What is your name, sir ? My name is David Seaveyf' What is all the commotion about? Would you mind telling us ? No, sir! The seniors have just received and are still calling for the 1954 Yearbook ! Dum Da Dum Dum We checked into the office at 2 :30 p. m. Upon arriving there we found several messages waiting for us. They were to the efect that auto- graph seekers were on the loose. Our job-Help them! Dum Da Dum Dum At 2:35 p. m. we left the office. We wenft in search of the culprits who were holding out on the auto- graph seekers. They were found and brought before the high school stu- dents for trial. The sentence was that they sign as many autographs as are necessary to please -the sltudent body. More criminals have been brought I am to justice. a happy person, I like my daily life. There is but one old lesson That causes me much strife. First I come to history, Then down to Mr. Doeg Next to English happily, Then O me, O my, O woe. I trudge down the long last mile Toward algebra and one eleven. Upon my face there is no smile While others are in heaven. I take my seat to wait To see the coming of My cold mathematical fate, While others algebra love. An exponent whistles by my ear! A radical parts my standing hair! Ilcannot even see nor hear Through equations iiying there! Mr. Lylis has won the battle! O joy! O hip hooray! He shot a simple radical Into my thick head today! HENRY COLE, '54