Tower Hill School - Evergreen Yearbook (Wilmington, DE)

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FLUSH'l-VIRGINIA WOOLF GHERE, Flush, is a lovely chicken bone for you and I do wish you would not put those beautiful golden ears right in front of my letter. It is quite impossible for me to read it. Flush took the chicken bone, carefully jumped to the iioor, and with the very best manners began to enjoy his tid-bit. Elizabeth Barrett lay reclining on her chaise lounge reading as usual one of Robert Brown- ingfs letters. The shades were drawn in her back bedroom in the house on Wimpole Street and it was very cool and comfortable there. This is one of the typical pictures one has while reading this delightful book. It is short and rather unusual in the way it is written. Flush is Miss Barrett's dog and close companion. The story is as though he is telling it. You live with him through all his thoughts. Of course in this process Miss Barrett is almost always present so that you get a picture of her life, too, her attitude toward her pet, and the treatment she gave him. Flush was a descendant of the old roving Spaniels who came from Spain. In his blood was the desire and thrill of racing through fields and moors, chasing rabbits, as his an- cestors had done before him, but after he came into London to live with Miss Barrett on Wimpole Street the used to live in the country with old Miss Mitfordl he never ran or played, but devoted all his time to his mis- tress. He stayed in her room all the time and never went out to race and tear with the other dogs. Whenever he did go walking he always had a leash and had to act very digni- fied and well behaved. It was a great sacri- fice on his part to give up everything for Miss Barrett, but I think he was perfectly happy to do so because of his great love for her. Once he was stolen by some rough men who lived down in White Chapel Lane. It 27llv Tower J'fill School was a business of theirs to steal dogs and then demand huge ransoms for themg if the price was not paid, the head of the dog wrap- ped in a package would be sent to the owner next day. Miss Barrett was frantic and very upset, as you can imagine. Mr. Barrett did not want her to pay the ransom, since if she did, it would only encourage the kidnappers to continue their cruel business. But Miss Barrett would listen to no one and went her- self to the dirty White Chapel Lane. She went through many diiiiculties but finally Flush, very much frightened, but exquisitely happy to be home again, was safely returned. Elizabeth Barrett was very fond of her dog and had many pet names for him. She caressed him and fondled him, told him her troubles, read him her poems and in every way loved him as much as possible. Flush was conscious of this, but after a few years of being with her, he felt a difference. Some- how in some Way things were not just the same between them. Then a new person be- gan coming to see his Mistress a great deal. Flush was terribly jealous and once bit Mr. Browning because of his intrusions. After Miss Barrett had severely punished him for this deed and remonstrated with him, he promised he would never bite Mr. Browning again and would try to like him a little. Here one knows exactly how the dog felt and can sense his feelings keenly. Flush accompanied Miss Barrett and Mr. Browning when they went away to Italy and he lived with them until he became very old. Finally after a beautiful day playing in the streets of Florence he came home to Miss Barrett and lay down at her feet as of old, but this time never to move again. The life of Flush was ended, for the gold silken-col- ored Spaniel had breathed his last. MARY ANN RANKEN. '34.

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The Tower CDial ALONENESS I' WAS utterly and completely alone. Up- stairs, to be sure, my family sat talking. From the street I could hear the grinding swish of cars, the whrrr of automobiles. Nevertheless I was in a world apart. I lay prone on the floor in a room lighted only by a dancing fire. Over, around, and thru me was a feeling of such bliss as comes very rarely to a person-entire relaxation. Vague thoughts drifted thru my brain, poking around in long-untouched corners and bring- ing to light forgotten memories-pleasantly dusting them oil' and gently replacing them, like a mother, who looking thru a time-worn chest, finds the baby shoes of her first-born. The shadow of the lamp directly overhead twitched and jumped nervously in contrast to my utter relaxation. The shadow of the piano danced more stolidly as beiitted its shape. It crept slowly up the wall, almost reached the ceiling, then it tumbled all the way down again, only to recommence. I noticed this ef- fort but vaguely, for my mind was detached completely. I remembered how Fire chased shadow 'round the roomg Tables and chairs grew vast in gloom .... Vast l For but a moment my drifting mind caught on to the word, as a leaf drifting downstream may stick momentarily to a stray branch, yes, vast. The ceiling seemed miles awayg so the wallsg I felt as if I were lying at the bottom of a deep cave filled with the roseate mist of forgetfulness and detach- edness. I was relaxed. Somewhere in the distance, oh, so re- motely, a clock was ticking. What difference did time make? The lamp twitched more nervously: the fire sputtered in protest of my ease. A voice, a light, a step on the stair. Well, what in the world are you doing all by yourself like that in the dark? Why, you can't see anything! It's getting late. The spell was broken. The gates of reality were flung ajar, the world of sense, of time, of place and noise, came rushing upon me, beseiging me, helpless. A thousand cares and duties took hold of me, demanded notice and thought. I was no longer alone. EDITH RUNGE, '34, LAST MINUTE THOUGHTS WE HAD practiced for weeks and weeks and the operetta was said to be perfect. The final rehearsal seemed almost a failure, but I was not terribly concerned because I had heard that a wretched rehearsal meant a wonderful show. The following day I went blissfully along without thinking too much about the operet- ta until evening came and we were gathered behind the scenes ready for our entrance. Then I began to grow uneasy. For I was the leader of the right side of the chorus and much depended upon me. Suddenly I found I could not remember any of the numerous instructions. I began to grow cold and to bite my finger nails. Did we go in before or after the other side? Did we walk or skip? What were the words to the song? Was my hat on straight? These and many other things raced through my mind as I waited, waited for the performance to begin. Once I thought I heard our entrance music, but no, I was wrong! But there it was! And we entered! At the right mo- ment, too, if you can imagine such luck! After that every thing Went smoothly, the chorus sailing through the dances without a mistake and the whole performance was so complete that now I honestly believe the old superstition about wretched dress rehearsals. JEANNE LYTLE, Eighth Grade. if 26

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The Tower Clyial TO THE MAIL-CLAD ONE When leaders of nations sit down and agree That they all want peace, we can't easily see Why one man alone will seliishly say, I don't want peace as I can't have my way. The poor little fool, can't he see when he's licked? He's a little child saying, Go 'way or I'll kick. In his fame-addled brain he is iirm as a rock, No war, then no peace. Meanwhile true nations mock: You thick-headed slacker, for publicity's sake, You set all the lives of nations at stake. EUGENE PLUMSTEAD, '34. SHOES AND STOCKINGS SHOES and stockings, what a story they tell, all shapes and all sizes, all colors and conditions, and all kinds of owners. Walk with me down the main street today, or to- morrow, or even yesterday, and let us, in- stead of scrutinizing the faces around us, look at the shoes and the stockings. A pair of woman's shoes, pointed, and high-heeled, with sheer silk stockings, smooth and sleek. They must belong to a young woman of means, a good dresser who likes her clothes well fitted and shapely. Another pair, again a woman's, but what a. tale they tell! Down at the heel, the black leather dull and cracked. Once they were good shoes and would befit the feet of a queen, but they were not of much use then, for they were dancing pumps, pointed and glossy. But their gloss is gone, and their once beautiful leather is marred by ugly holes cut along each side to make room for much larger feet than they were intended for. They are iilled by a cheap pair of gray stockings, wrinkled and twisted, dirty and unwashed. The poor woman asks me for a few pennies. A man's shoes, high and well polished, their black color augmented by a pair of blue silk socks with red clocks. A man of wealth no doubt. And perhaps, we may go on to say, a rather old man. He likes good clothes, but he also likes to keep his feet warm. Now three pairs of legs all together, sport shoes. Two of them are entirely white and the other pair is black and white. A trio of young blades out on a good time. Again a pair of woman's shoes, brown, sensible shoes, with low heels, and leather pleated laces. A good pair of silk stockings. A sensible girl, no doubt. A heavy, man's shoe blocks our way, thick soles and heavy leather. They are big, well-kept, and shined. We can see that he is slightly flat-footed. A pair of official look- ing blue pants emerge from the tops of the shoes. We raise our eyes and nod to Mur- phy, Number 57, the City's pride. A pair of doll's shoes run at us, hesitate, turn, and then run the other way. They contain a cute pair of pink and white legs, in snowy little socks. A large pair of pure white shoes, with white laces, and an inch and a half regulation rubber heels, meet them. We take them for a trained nurse's and her small charge's. Here, a blazing pair of pure yellow 1nen's shoes, shined to the nth degree, and just blowing self-confidence and insurance poli- cies, but we hurry on desiring no insurance from our Salesman Sam. Sensible shoes with sensible stookingis follow these. Undoubtedly they belong to a business woman to whom fancy floppery has no appeal. A pair of rubbers follow with hesitant tread, although it is a clear sun-shiny day. A pair of thin bony legs protrude from their ' -Q28