Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

Page 30 text:

W. Burnham BATTALION NOTES Under the supervision of Sgt. Danahy, the BattaUon has had a very favorable year. This year all officers were equipped with sabres. Pre- vious to this, only the major and captains wore them. The boys have been very well clothed, several new uniforms having been purchased, and all black buttons replaced with brass ones. Another innovation was the wearing of hat and collar ornaments by the boys. A Rifle Team composed of Maj. Clark, Capt. Fair- banks, Capt. Brandt, Capt. Burnham, Capt. Dearborn, Lt. Pratt, Lt. Crosby, Lt. Bliss, Lt. Atwell, and Lt. Hovey, shot against a team composed of R. Denton, Sgt. O ' Keefe, T. Egan, L. Rendall, Sgt. Young, J. Guinta, E. Lenners, Sgt. Grace, M. Eaton, and Lt. Macintosh. The oflacers ' team was the victor, and a medal is to be given to each member by the government. Two five-men teams also are entered in the Hearst National Trophy Contest. Every member of the Battalio n has been given instruction in marksmanship and an opportunity to shoot. The officers of the Battalion have been guests of Gloucester, New Bedford, and Lowell R. O. T. C. Battalions at their Military Balls. A complete roster of the officers of the Wakefield High School Battalion follows: Major, Kenneth W. Clark Adjutant, Howard Pratt Supply Officer, Samuel Crosby Company A Company C Captain, Evan Fairbanks Captain, Wilbur Burnham Lieutenant, Arnold Dunn Lieutenant, William Bliss Company B Captain Francis Brandt Lieutenant, John Serrentino Lieutenant, Fred Macintosh Lieutenant, John Caldwell Lieutenant, Gardner Peterson Company D Captain, Stanley Dearborn Lieutenant, Wendall Hovey Lieutenant, Willard Atwell Kenneth W. Clark, ' 31 Major, Jr. R. O. T. C. Btn.

Page 29 text:

A QUEEN FOR A NIGHT I sailed in the night through the glittering sky On the tail of a comet of gold; In the day I rode in my chariot Sun, Through the sky like a warrior bold. I ate from dishes of pale blue moons, Sipped wine from a dipper of stars, And then with a sigh, left my dinner, to ride Down the white Milky Way to Mars. I listened to music of silver rain, To the crash of the thimder ' s drum. To the blare of a cornet of lightning And then — silence — the end had come. With a bewildered smile I gazed around. My eyes met a common sight: A bed, a table and a chair or two. But I ' d been a queen for a night. Muriel Sawln, ' 31. RED-BELLIED WOODPECKERS Across the morning ' s sunrise, Across the glowing dawn. Sweeping up the cloud dust Or flying to the lawn. Just a flash of crimson, Just a hint of brown, Playing with the leaves bright Floating to the ground. Pecking in the branches. Or shrieking through the woods, Swishing in the grasses Clad in crimson hoods. Ruth O ' Connell, ' 31. ON SEEING MONA LISA For thee I have but mocking, cold contempt, Thou smug, complacent virgin, born of Art; Impassive, cold and haughty, smiling there. When came the artist ' s inspiration odd. To thus create the bland, immobile you? Insurgent, wild desires obsess my mind — Rebellious and insane though they may be — To tear thy supercilious, scorning form From out its richly ornamented frame; And let those whom thy glance hath often crushed Trample upon thy visage till it be Obliterated and forgotten, quite. Eleanor Hayes, ' 31. SUCCESS IN LIFE Why must I ever onward strain, To reach an undetermined goal. And bear the sorrow, care and pain, That plague my body, mind and soul. In this turmoil of life? Why can ' t I drop beside a stream, And rest in some tree ' s mottled shade. And lie for eons there and dream. In a secluded elfin ' s glade, Free from exacting strife? Why can ' t I watch the nomad clouds, Play tag and chase above my head. And watch the night as it enshrouds, The hill, the forest, and the dead? Oh, in my heart a knife. Why can ' t the wind muss up my hair. And falling rain bedaub my cheek? Or, must I always reap despair As great Success in Life I seek? A farce! ! ! Success in Life! ! ! Stephen Rogers, P. G. MEMORIES Just a little old house on the side of a hill. There ' s nobody living there now. Its windows are dark; its halls are still; Its meadows untilled by the plow. What memories must be cherished there! What secrets with none to tell! Of colonial days and ladies fair. Freedom ' s call, and men who fell! Are you lonely, old house, for the life that is gone From your rooms and your halls and your doors? For the laughter and faces and soft candle light That silently slipped away into the night? The old house is waiting, there on the hill. For those to come back who never will. Its rooms and its halls only memories fill; The old house is waiting — waiting there still. Margaret Fitz, ■32. THIS WORLD This world is such a horrid place ' Tis filled with things so weak and base, I hate to live here any more; My heart so sad is torn and sore. And yet, before my speech is through, My eyes perceive the sky so blue. The snow so white, so clean, so pure — Enchanting world, made by thy lure! This world I thought so harsh and bad Is filled with people, happy, sad; I see that they are tender, true. And Love, undying, leads them through. LOVE A glance, A sob, A smile, A tear, A dance, A throb, Awhile. ' Tis here! Corimie Doane, ' 31.

Page 31 text:

£ O o ffl si o a 2 ■ ' 3 n Q