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

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THE TATTLER IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII1IIIIIIIMI tllllllllMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII Soldiering In France It is just a few lines I am writing , As I sit in a barn-loft in France, And weary weeks and months of hardships Pass before me all in a glance. And it is to you back home, “ Over Yonder , Know naught of the trials we bear. That I speak though not complaining Of a soldier s life Over Here. Have you ever started from somewhere. And walked mile after mile thru the night. Knowing not whither you are going Or how long until rest is in sight ? And the rain beats down upon you. And you ' re wet clear thru to the skin. Yet you know your journey s just starting. As another mile you begin. Have you ever seen shafts of light pierce the dark As the guns burst forth uith a roar. And the very earth trembles with terror. W hile the wind shrieks in fury for gore? Yet you plod ever onward in silence. Only knowing the plight you are in: That your pack is so awfully heavy And your clothes are dreadfully thin. Have you ever felt a burning within you. That heartache for home far away, IF hich no fair maiden can alter Nor dreams of great power can stay? Have you ever seen life stop so sudden — Just a passing moment, that ' s all? Yet ivith it fond hopes and ambitions Are crumbled to atoms and fall. I ' age Twenty-seven

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THE TA TTLER llllllilllllllllllliilllliiiiiiiiiiiiliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliiililiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiililiilllliiiilllllllllllllliliiiiiiiiiiliililiilliiliill Then, when you stop a good one, and the stretcher bearers come And patch you up with strings, and splints, and bandages, and gum, When you think you ' ve got a million wounds and fifty thousand breaks. And your body ' s just a blasted sack packed full of pains and aches. Then you feel you ' ve reached the finish, and you ' re sure your number ' s up. And you feel as weak as Belgian beer, and helpless as a pup — But you know that you ' re not down and out, that life ' s worth living yet. When some old war-wise Red Cross guy slips you a cigarette. We can do without MacConachies, and Bully, and hard tack. When Fritz ' s curtain fire keeps the ration parties back; We can do without our great coats, and our socks, and shirts, and shoes, We might almost — tho ' I doubt it — get along without our booze; We can do without “ K . R. O.” and “ Military Law,” We can do without a lot of things and still win out, you bet. We can beat the ancient Israelites at making bricks, and straw; But I ' d hate to think of soldiering without a cigarette. (By request of a soldier who did his bit Over There.) Page Twenty-six

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THE TATTLER iiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiimiim Have you ever stopped for a moment And sat down in a deep sea of mud, So weak, so tired and weary. Your feet all covered with blood? Have you ever struggled to be manly While the wierd forms surround you and leer And your heart in blind passion cries slaughter? It’s a devil — a monster — that fear! Have you ever tried to sleep in the open, Lying shivering, wet on the ground. Or to crawl in a damp barn for shelter While the bombs drop thickly around? Have you clenched hands that were frozen. Striving vainly the life blood to flotv? My God, it’s a night full of horror! I have been there, and I know! (Written by an A. E. F. Soldier shortly after the battle of Argonne Forest .) Page Twenty-eight