Wells River High School - Chatterbox Yearbook (Wells River, VT)

Page 7 text:

THE CHATTERBOX ■) BOOK REPORTS Most of us don’t like to sit still long enough to read. It mav be good skiing or skating, or we simply must go to the movies or we want to listen to the radio or do numerous other things, so we put our book aside and trip gaily off. It lays on the table, something else mother must dust, until at last it ar- rives at the bookcase. About two days before book reports are due. we dash to the table. It is gone! Then we get out a search warrant for the missing article and soon the family, including grandfather and some of the neighbors, are down on their hands and knees, peer- ing under tables and chairs, poking in the cupboards and drawers, scattering magazines and papers everywhere and searching the house from cellar to garret. Mother is standing in the midst of the confusion, vainly striving to think where she saw it last. Finally some clever person chances to look in the nook- case and there “it is. We grasp it and dash for a convenient chair. By flipping the pages, glancing at the headings of chap- ters and names of the characters and reading snatches of con- versations now and then, we manage to get a general idea of what the book is about. With the help of the index and the World Book, we fill in the outline. In the blank where we put our opinion of the book, we write “I did not like the book.” I wonder why? —Margaret Hatley ’40

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4 THE CHATTERBOX IN BEHALF OF THE “RED DEMON” The village of Wells River is very fortunate in owning a very necessary article of fire fighting equipment, even if some of the townspeople don’t believe it. The chemical wagon, locally known as the “Red Demon”, has done more good than ail the other fire-fighting equipment around these parts. It is interest- ing to look at the equipment used by the firemen of a neighbor- ing town, a horse-drawn hook and ladder department, with no horse to draw it. a rather slow-moving vehicle compared with the speed of our own fire-engine, which when under way and on the level can do 50 mph., even if it does climb rather slowly. Within the past few years it has always been possible to go to a fire in Woodsville, a much larger community, and find the fire completely extinguished by the Wells River fire truck before the Woodsville firemen and their equipment arrived at the scene of the fire. Times have greatly changed and we are very pleased to see that Woodsville has obtained a new fire engine that will be a great asset. The engine in the fire truck is not of the best and only one person in town can seem to handle the truck properly, but con- sidering the financial standing of this village it would not be very wise for the trustees to even consider the purchase of a new truck, unless the taxpayers would like to contribute the sum of six to ten thousand dollars on top of their already staggering burden. Some people in Wells River think that we should have a new truck and I suggest that if they want one they pay for it themselves or else put themselves in the places of some of the other taxpayers of the town. Scott Rowden ’38

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The long corridor that led to the chamber had just been cleaned for one might distinguish the odor of some sort of cedar compound that had been used. Entering the chamber you were approached by a musty odor, characteristic of an old building or medieval castle. The bitter odor of burnt wood gave evidence that the massive stone fireplace had been previously used, but there was no need for it on this afternoon for it was quite warm ; the window had been partially opened and the wind was transporting the fragrance of the neighboring pine trees. There was even an odor of the leather chairs that seemed a part of the room. In one of these chairs sat a man smoking his choice pipe. One could see by the expression on his face that this pipe was an old friend, he wouldn’t give it up for the world. No other pipe could taste so satisfying nor bring back the memories like this one did. He was really a king of kings when he was smoking this pipe. His appearance was that of a kind ruler who knew nothing other than royal benevolence, a true enlightened despot. His facial expression seemed to denote a contentment in his life’s work. He must certainly have been a ruler of some sort. On the opposite side of the room was a lady about eighty years old. She might have been anyone’s grandmother. To look at her you could feel that she must have cooked many a tasty turkey dinner and you could almost smell the fragrance of apple pies in her kitchen. You leave by the same corridor that you came and go out the same door. If you turn and read the sign over the doorway you will see in brass letters: The New Haven Charity Home for the Aged. —Richard Long ’39