St Anthony High School - Tattler Yearbook (St Anthony, ID)

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THE TATTLER A U. S. Marine It surely is great to hear of the men Whose arrays form such grand scenes; But, oh, how you boast, of the men from the coast Composing the U. S. Marines. A Marine is a man who surely knows The trials of a soldier s life ; He is there at the call, each one and all, To brave and to enter the strife. When the ships enter a landing place A Marine is stationed aboard, It’s the same as of old, the winds may be cold, But he ' s there with his gun and his sword. All night be may trample an icy deck, In his face wafts a salty spray. But he stays at his post, which he thinks is his host, And is there at the dawn of day. You may hear of a battle in any coast town Or about some ship that is stranded: The cry that you hear, it does not seem queer. It is: “ The Marines have landed !” In winning the war we now are engaged. Throughout the whole routine, You may bet on your life, that during the strife You ' ll hear of the U. S. Marine. It surely is great to hear of the men Whose arrays form such grand scenes; But, oh, how you boast of the men from the coast Composing the U. S. Marines. — K. Page Thirty

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THE TATTLER W e’ve taken the injections Ten million times or more. And the vaccine scratched upon our arms Has made them very sore. With all these things that get our goats; We are here just to tell. When the order comes t o cross the pond We’ll give the Germans hell. W hen the final taps are sounded. And we lay aside life’s cares. And we do the last and gloried drill, On heaven s shining stairs. And the Angels bid us welcome W hile the harps begin to play, W e can draw a million canteen checks And spend them in a day. It is then we’ll hear St. Peter Tell us gladly, with a yell: Take front seats, all your brave Marines, You’ve done your ‘ hitch in hell!’ ”

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THE TATTLER ” A Player’s Dream” It was the last of the ’ leventh , With a man on every base. When the mighty pitcher wearily Climbed the mound with a grimy face. It was a hard old battle. And weary were his nerves; Each time he swung his salary arm Resulted in the curves. He cautiously cast a beaming glance To the man who was on third; His arm shot out with an easy swing. And not a sound was heard. The ball it met the catcher s mit With the crack of a mighty gun; It caught the corner of the plate, And still it saved a run. The crowd wild and excited, But the pitcher, grim and wise, Would watch and figure with his men The opponent’ s very size. Again he stepped upon the mound. Again he grasped the pill; Again the crafty batter stood Close by the base and still. The catcher flashed a signal To the pitcher for an “in,” He gracefully stepped upon the mound Determined for a win. Once more the ball sped to the plate With speed and curve galore. The batter swung with viciousness. And missed the ball once more. Page Thirty-one