St Matthews High School - Samascript Yearbook (Conshohocken, PA)

Page 6 text:

The House of Hoy IN THE midst of tlie quaint little settlement of Plymouth Meeting, resolutely facing the heat of summer and the hitter cold of winter, stands the Hoy house, remarkable for nothing but the size of the large amicable family which it shelters, six girls and five hoys ranging in age from five to eighteen. Members of the household pass in and out continuously, some seeking refuge within the sheltering walls when danger threatens and some searching for a sanctuary outside when housework is imminent. The architecture dates back to a period before the Civil War and the place has not been changed much since then except that during the past decade it has been repapered and painted. Throughout the house the floorboards are wide and the window sills are broad and deep. The sleeping quarters consist of six spacious rooms painted or papered according to the occupants desires. On winter nights the favorite gathering place of the clan, however, is before the open fireplace in the living room, and it is here that the joys and sorrows of the day are discussed. When the chores and lessons are completed, everyone indulges in his or her favorite pastime. The younger children play games and crack nuts on the hearth, while waiting for apples to roast. The older and more sophisticated minds turn to reading, knitting, or pinochle. Father plays the violin or piano and strains of “I'll Take You Home Again. Kathleen,” “Tales of Vienna Woods” and other old sweet melodies echo through the room. Mother sees that fair play is shown, and, at the same time, tries to enjoy the evening paper. Perfect harmony reigns until an over-enthusiastic member takes a game too seriously; then the room is in an uproar until my father catches the eye of the ring leader when the noise subsides instantly. Just before Christinas, Francis, the eldest, (Mother’s pet we all say) enlisted in the Field Artillery. Today, he is overseas somewhere. His going made the first break in the Hoy family, and while we all miss him, Bobbie, the youngest, is loneliest. He keeps asking, “When’s Bud coming home?” Mother’s eyes fill with tears, but her voice is always steady when she answers, “in a little while Bobby.” Before we disperse for the night we say the rosary, the five oldest each saying a decade. Francis gets a special remembrance now. and Hoys, big and little, pray that victory will soon he ours, that God will protect our eldest wherever he is, and that soon he and all other American boys all over the world may come home again to those who love them. We want Francis hack in his place at the fireside. Joseph Hoy, ’45 Morning rT ' RACES of night still lingered in the gray sky — to the west the town stretched away into shadow over the eastern hills hung a slender, fading crescent moon — a solitary pale gold star shot- wanly beside it...Through the clouds broke a tenuous line of rose that outlined the bare trees against the slowly clearing backdrop. The houses lay asleep in the cool, thin air. . .a sacramental silence shrouded the valley. . .Quietly, the convent door opened and the nuns — on their way to early Mass — emerged from the shadowy portal. Noiselessly, they hastened through the tranquil street — to keep tryst with the great Creator of day. Catherine Shaffer, ’45 THE MIRROR Four

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SENIOR CLASS On Ground (scaled, left to right Matthew Moore, Clara Ann Johns. Catherine Shaffer, Margaret Gibbons, Alice Hoy. John McNamara. First Row—Martin Early, Elizabeth Safko. Joseph McGuigan, vice president; Mary O’Connor, secretary; Edward Fineran, president: Carolyn Ruser, co-treasurer; John Crawford, co-treasurer; Mary Moore, John Coyne, Second Row William Brady. Helen Traill. Agnes Nolan, Edward Reagan. George Donovan, Rose Sirchio (rear), Teresa English, Rita Kehoe (rear). Helen Eliff. Camilla Rossi (rear), James Watson, Joseph W ilson. Kathryn Murphy, Kathleen Reilly. Joseph Nagle. Third Row—Margaret Logan. Howard Noble, W illiam Johnson. Ann Kirkpatrick. Fourth Row—Kathleen Sarvey, George Mc-M onigle. Joan Gillespie, Harry Schank. Eleanor Brennen, Joseph McCauley, Gertrude Durkin, Paul Delaney, Elizabeth Schneider. Absent Patricia Gavin, Catherine Nunges-ser, Martin Costello. Sursum Corda LIFT up your heart; the world is not all drab. The lovely, heartening things of everyday lie at your door. Your home is filled with faith and love to keep you safe, and strength and courage compass every hour. There are eyes that grow brighter at your smile. and hearts that beat with quickened tempo at your footfall on the walk. These things are yours today. Oh! keep them safe. George McMomgal, ’43 THE MIRROR Three

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The Realm of Old Romance GRANDMOTHER sat in her favorite chair beside the window. The sun shone on her gray hair turning it to a shimmering coronet of silver. Her strong well-shaped hands that were not strangers to hard work, were adorned only by a plain gold wedding ring, a symbol of the forty-nine years she and grandfather have spent together; happy years for the most part although sprinkled here and there with tears. She was busily crocheting and, as I looked at her, I thought of the many times she had told me the story of her life in Conshohocken. It was in 1880 that her father first purchased a house on the corner of Hector Street and North Lane in Spring Mill. A few years later, he brought his wife and family there to live. Grandmother was thirteen at the time and she had an older brother and a younger sister. They all loved the house. “The memory of it,” grandmother often says, “is very clear in my mind today. It was a white stone house with green shutters, and was surrounded by a white picket fence. The back porch was so situated that it faced the main road, and, consequently, was the permanent meeting place of the family. A great oak tree shaded the back yard. Wisteria and trumpet vines covered the sides and hack of the house. Grape vines made a canopy over the yard. This house, however, was very useful as well as quaint and lovely, for it was in the “front room” of his home, that great grandfather Smith opened the first ice cream parlor in Conshohocken. He was the pioneer manufacturer and retailer of ice cream in our town. Every morning at 5 o’clock he would go to the creamery for fresh cream and be back in time to make eighty quarts of vanilla ice cream before noon. Each afternoon he went up and down the avenues, with his cart, calling, “ice cream.” He was, indeed, very popular with the children, and if they were good he would give them an extra dip, filling tile little dishes they brought to his “store on wheels.” THE MIRROR Five