Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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tried to speak, but her voice had left her. He reached for lier hand, and placed something in it saying, Keep this, — it ' s yours. Through a mist of tears she looked into her hand where Claude had placed the beautiful medal. Into her ears came the echo of Claude ' s words, Honesty before reward, always. Grace A. Grant, ' 31. THE BEST BOOK I EVER READ All Quiet on the Western Front was written by Erich Maria Remarque. In the German schools the teachers were telling the pupils what a grand and glorious thing it was to forfeit ones life for the good of his country. Gradually, as the boys grew up, they went to training schools. A cer- tain group of fellows (about whom the book is written) hon- estly and earnestly strove to be in the real army. A great war broke out. All of these boys went. They were driven al- most insane by the noise of the shells bursting, the blood- curdling screams of the bodies of men with legs, arms, faces, and other parts of them blown to pieces. One of these lads died as the result of having his face blown to shreds. Gradually the comrades separated. Some were not even identified; others were found, but too late. One of the boys while creeping over the barbed wire was hit by a shell. When the smoke and dust rose, all that was left were two bloody hands clinging to the wire. Parts of human beings were scattered over the dreaded fields of death. One of the boys had a leave of a few days. He went eagerly home to find everyone talking about the soldiers. Only those who had been out on those dreaded fields would or could realize what agony it was. Thus he returned to his port. More of his comrades had gone. Now only one was left. The rest of the men in the company were young boys, hardly out of their cradles, as the book expresses it. The tragic fate of most of these young men was the result of fear. At last one of the boys in the group was left, and his death ended the horrible story. Until I read this book I had no idea of the ghastliness of the World War. I had seen pictures, read other books, and heard stories, but never did they leave me with the feeling I felt after reading this book — a sensation of awed horror and deep thinking. I could almost feel and hear that war. Previous to reading the story, I had visited the land of that great disaster; and with that picture in my eyes, and those descriptions in my mind, it left me speech- less. Wilbur Burnham, ' 31. WITH BYRD AT THE SOUTH POLE The motion picture entitled, With Byrd at the South Pole, was one of the outstanding pictures of the year be- cause of the truth it revealed about the Antarctic Regions, the thrilling adventures of Byrd and his companions, and many of their narrow escapes when death was often nigh. When they arrived at Little America, the incident that impressed me most was the very quick, strong way they buUt their snowhuts to house the men. Tunnels connected these huts, and the tunnels were formed by their boxes of pro- visions covered with snow. Soon the long night came upon them, and about every twenty-four hours a group of men would go out and explore to see if changes of the ice were taking place. Later, Byrd and a group of other men were walking along the side of the ice. The ice caved in and one man fell with it, but was miraculously saved from the icy waters by his companions. There were many Penguins in that region, and the peculiar thing about them was that they were afraid neither of the men nor the dogs, but would walk bravely up to both. Of course the most prominent feature of the film was the flight over the Pole. A motion picture photographer ac- companied Byrd on this trip, and he kept his machine busy during the flight. The films developed so well that the movie audience gets an excellent idea of how that part of the world looks. Many feet of film were used during the entire trip and, when shown on the screen, they make a graphic picture that is extremely interesting and well worth going to see. Frederick Hurley, ' 34. IMPRESSIONS OF A CATHEDRAL We have travelled many weary miles to visit and admire this mighty masterpiece of man, erected as a token of his love and perseverence of a Greater One. We view with awe, as we approach, the great height and breadth and speech- repelling hugeness of the magnificent structure. At the same time we do not fail to perceive the unending beauty of line and construction; the delicacy and finesse of every curve, niche, and pinnacle. Advancing to the broad steps we may more easily define the numerous beautiful sculptural works above and beside the tall doors. A venerable appearing monk confronts us, and with a smile bids us enter and follow him. We turn to the right and enter the main body and auditorium of the cathedral. At first we blink in the shadowy interior, vaguely lighted by candles along the walls and the colorful, leaded window above the entrance. Far, far beyond and above us we discern the twinkle of many candles about the altar. The monk traverses in and about the many passageways threading the sides and walls of the auditorium and cloisters, pointing to the statues and busts of great men and martyrs to the early Christian re- ligion. Everything is deathly quiet except for our pad- ded footfalls echoing and reechoing from wall to wall, finally ceasing in some distant part of the building. A faintly musty odor is noticeable at all times. At last we dare to look above at the great beams and woodwork forming an arch directly above the center aisle. How very insignificant we feel inside this immeasureably wonderful structure! As we approach the altar we pass by an engraved stone telling us that underneath lie the bones of a great knight of an early century. The altar has several statues of The Virgin in fiawless white marble about the array of candles. Thus we have passed many hours, gazing at the grandeur and colossal beauty about us. One thought still remains with us: if there are men who can erect such mam- moth, beautiful places of worship to a Creator out of their love, faith, and respect for Him, how can there be those among us that disbelieve in One so Worthy? Bernard Ayer, ' 32.

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bombers joined the scouts again, and the victorious fleet proceeded homeward. Suddenly, without warning, seven German Fokker tri- planes came diving out of the clouds with the speed of a falling meteor. Rapidly the Nieuports closed in to protect theii ' charges, but in spite of thetr haste the enemy claimed a bomber and a scout, which fell earthward out of control of their bevioldered navigators. As the Fokkers pulled out of their mad dive, they climbed to seek a position under the Candrons. The audacious aviators in the Nieuports, eager to avenge the death of their comrades, each singled out an antagonist, and a fast and furious melee ensued. Dodging, climbing, diving, looping, sideshipping, and banking — the precarious contestants used every trick and manoeuver that they knew to try to outwit their foes. The observers in the rear cockpits of the remaining Candrons were effectively using their Lewis machine guns as two Fokkers had been welcomed by a deadly leaden hail of bullets as they became too friendly. These two aeroplanes slipped into oblivion as the spirited combat continued. Soon after this a Candron, imable to out-manoeuver its agile adversary, was set ablaze by a burst of incendiary bullets from the mouth of a Span- dau machine gun. Leaving a long, black trail of smoke, the plane spun like a fiery comet to its destruction somewhere in Germany. Another Fokker was accounted for as one of its wing sections collapsed, the result of a strenuous power dive. It fell like a plummet. The last German to meet disaster was caught unaware between the deadly cross-fire of two barking Vickers. With a dying effort he squeezed the trigger of his Spandau machine gun and luckily shat- tered the whirling propeller of the nearest Nieuport. Al- though the intrepid Frenchman had his aeroplane under control, he was forced to land in enemy territory. With four members of its squadron down, the Germans saw defeat; hence, they withdrew from the combat and flew deeper into their country, while the less unfortunate allies re- organized and headed for home. After a continuous flight of four hours and one-half the remaining bullet-riddled war machines, with tanks almost dry, grounded on the friendly terra firma of their home base. Little did the reading public realize when they read the newspapers a few days later, the real cause of the German retreat that took place the following day. John Pindlay, ' 31. HONESTY BEFORE REWARD Cora! Yes, mother, a rather feeble voice answered. Get up! You know it ' s six forty-five and I shan ' t call you again. Cora ' s mother closed the bedroom door with a bang and went down the stairs to prepare breakfast. After her foot- steps had died away, Cora rising on one elbow, rubbed her sleepy eyes, and looked with amazement around the room. Is today Saturday? Do I work this afternoon? Do I have school today? All these questions flew through her mind at once. Finally, she realized that today she was to take that impor- tant history test. The history teacher offered a gold medal as a reward for the pupil receiving the highest mark. Cora, who was a good student in history, had earnestly studied for a week previous to the examination in order that she might have a good chance at receiving the medal. All the important dates which she thought might be asked in the examination, Cora repeated to herself on the v ay to school. In the locker-room all the girls said that they were relying on her to win the reward for the girls. Certainly, she mustn ' t let Claude Sergeant, who thought himself the best student in the class, win the honor. If he did, the boys would feel quite superior to the girls; if she won it, the girls would have a great triumph over the boys. Each girl assured her that she could do better than Claude, who boasted much about his historical knowledge and, in truth, wasn ' t as smart as he pretended to he. While walking to her home-room, Cora met Claude. Good Morning, he said, with a sarcastic look on his face. Do you think you ' ll try for the history medal? You ' re about the only clever girl in our class. Yes, I ' m going to try, she answered. Poor Cora was so excited that she could say no more. She continued to walk toward her home-room because she feared she would burst into tears if she continued talking to her opponent. Of the eight questions Cora answered correctly the first seven. Then she glanced at the eighth. Why hadn ' t she reviewed all the Articles in the Constitution? She should have known that at least one question would be devoted to that important document. Her girl-chum, Helen, who sat one seat behind her noticed Cora sit erect and act puzzled after reading the eighth question. Although Helen could not answer the first questions she could answer the eighth. She wrote the answer on a piece of paper and handed it to Cora, who read the note, and then tore it into pieces. Only one more min- ute before the papers would be collected! She started to copy the answer, but drew a heavy line through it because her conscience bothered her. Someone seemed to be saying to her, Cheat! Cheat! At the close of school, Claude Sergeant was announced as winner for ability in American History. Everyone ex- cept Cora congratulated him; she could not bear to face him again. Instead of walking home from school with her friends, as she usually did, Cora waited until all had gone. Then, alone, she started for home. Suddenly she heard some one call, Cora, may I speak to you a moment? She thought she recognized the voice; then slowly she turned. Claude was only a few steps behind her. Yes, you may, she said in a low voice. Cora, I — I, he stammered, I ' ve come to ask you to forgive me for the way I treated you this morning. I ' m sorry. I saw Helen pass you the answer to the last ques- tion. Not knowing the answer to it, I leaned across the aisle and read the note. Quickly I copied it so that I might have a good chance at winning the medal; at the time, I did not realize the dishonest act that I was committing — my only thought was to receive the medal. Later I saw you destroy the note which you might have copied and thereby win the reward. You deserve congratulations. All the honor that I received this morning rightfully belongs to you. You knew better than to sacrifice your honor for a gold medal. Honesty comes before reward, always. After finishing this sentence Claude ' s voice failed him. Cora was so surprised that for a minute she could not re- member where she was, or to whom she was speaking. She

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POEMS OF VACHEL LINDSAY A Review General William Booth Enters Into Heaven and Other Poems is a collection of Vachel Lindsay ' s works. I have chosen ten from this group, not because they are considered his best, but because they appeal to me and because they are a fair criterion of Lindsay ' s work. The City That Will Not Repent is a picture of San Francisco. The great city is represented as a wild, care- free woman who brazenly hurls a challenge to the world, forgetting the days when she was sackcloth and ashes, blaspheming God, though she knows full well He might smite her, but caring little if He should. Some very vivid and effective lines are found in this poem: Painting her face and laughing, Blowing her bubble towers Swearing they will not break, The next to the last verse forms the key note of the poem. God loves this rebel city. Loves foeman brisk and game, Tho ' , just to please his angels He may send down his flame. God loves the golden leopard Tho ' he may spoil her hair; God smites, yet loves the lion — God makes the panther fair. The Dandelion: In the hands of a poet, the worst thing on earth can inspire a feeling of love, pity, admira- tion or envy. In The Dandelion, the curse of every gardener and lawn lover is raised to a high level. It is spoken of, as the King of village flowers Whose every day is coronation time. The lines I most enjoyed are: Four yellow heads are cut away, It seems your reign is o ' er. By moon you raise a sea of stars More golden than before. The Wedding of the Lotus and the Rose: In this verse the Lotus is symbolic of the Pagan peoples; and the Rose, of Christendom. The writer is apparently urging a concil- iation and unity between the non-believers and the Chris- tians. The most striking lines are: The Lotus is Nirvana The Rose is Mary ' s heart The Rose is deathless, restless The splendor of our pain The flush and fire of labor That buUds not all in vain. At Mass is an appeal to the Deity to make one great hour, holy, in spite of the fact, that, at all other times, man ' s thoughts are not of God. It is a prayer that God may fill the heart with love, that once in a thousand days has conquered temptation. The Empty Boats: The means which God gives us to save our souls are represented by boats, which by the win- dows wait. It is a lament that we should pass up the opportunity to become secure in one of these crafts, in order that we might climb the glorious mysteries of Heaven ' s silent tide. The Song of the Garden Toad: The author queries whether the worms are able to relate theii- agonies to human beings. He wonders if the gardener can hear them. The rose asks the gardener if he heard the worms com- plaining. His only reply was a kiss. What did it mean? Mr. Lindsay, I fear, must answer his own question. The Illinois Village: This village is described as a veritable paradise, An artist ' s town of Bethlehem, whose church one can not pass without a touch of Spirit-power. He bewails the fact that Commerce, which sends its trains hurtling through the village, should create in the minds of the village girls a thought of the city which is, in reality, but a field of weeds. Upon Returning to the County Road: Lindsay recalls the days when hospitality was at its height. He brings back to our minds the time when rich and poor alike were always eager to welcome a wandering stranger, poet, or minstrel with their minds free from mistrust. The last two lines of the poem, Therefore the singer turns beggar once again, are vague. On The Road to Nowhere is an inquiry into the causes of the wanderlust. The author depicts the coiu-ses in life of those Nomads who leave home and lead a vagabond existence. The last stanza is rather a parting salute to the Nowhere which claims the sages and fools who go on to their chaotic ocean and their tremendous dawn, unherd- ing. Stephen Rogers, P. G. THE C. M. T. C. CAMPS The purpose of the Citizens ' Military Training Camp is to bring together the highest type of young men and boys from all sections of the country on an equal basis and under the best conditions of outdoor life. At the camp, the young men are taught the duties of American Citizenship. En- rollment in the camp does not signify that one must have a military career in the future; rather it is to teach the boys the fundamentals of military training in case of need. Strict military training is carried on only during the morning. The afternoon is given over to a great variety of outdoor sports and games. Since athletics are compulsory, each student is compelled to take part in some sport. Pro- visions are made at all camps for swimming, baseball, track, volley ball, tennis, wrestling, and boxing. These sports are all under the supervision of expert instructors. Evening is given over to indoor recreations among which are moving pictures, boxing bouts, lectures, or dances. Sometimes the students themselves conduct forms of entertainment in the way of amateur theatricals. An interesting feature of the training is the overnight hike. The students hike a few miles and then pitch camp with their tents. Each individual has to prepare and cook his own food. The return march is made the next morn- ing. In the cavalry, where I was enrolled last year, a hike of eighteen miles was made one morning, and the return on the next day. The cost of transportation, medical care, and equipment is borne by the government, so that the money appropriated by Congress for the camps makes it possible for any boy to attend — no matter what his financial condition. The camps are located all over the country on army reservations so that parents of the boys can easily make personal visits and see the camp life. Prank Brown, ' 31.