Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

Page 20 text:

14 THE QUIVER sou’ wester, put his corncob pipe in his mouth, and stand leaning over an end of a boat. He is supposed to look natural, but a fisherman on dry land never does, and some of the interpretations of him are marvelous to behold. The artists seem pleased if one tells them how well they paint, but if he offers a suggestion, they insinuate that he doesn’t know anything about art and attempt to put him in his place. Some of their costumes would shock a good artist. I suppose they bring about inspiration, but I should think they would scare it away. After one has satisfied himself and his feelings that if he wished to be an artist, he could do as well as anyone he has seen, he strolls to the gift shops. To leave Provincetown without some sort of a souvenir is simply not done, so he saunters into the shops. Here he sees some more creations. Everything that can hold paint is dressed up in some way with the inscription, “A Souvenir of Provincetown.” Quahog shells, long neck clam shells, scollops, and Dutchmen’s shoes are all painted in such a way that if the poor creature wished to return, he would never recognize his old home. There are also pennants, rings, and pins with pictures of the monument. More wooden things with pictures of the monument have “Japan” stamped on them than the name of any other country. He finally decides to buy a pennant to put on the car and lets it go at that. If you are intending to visit Provincetown next summer or at any other time, I strongly advise you not to do it. LOUISE ULLMAN, ’23. MY MOTHER’S HOME. I am going to try to bring to you a picture of my mother’s home. This home is located in the townland of Cappanagera, County Clare, Ireland, nine miles from the town of Ennisi and a two hours’ train ride from the city of Limerick. It is situated on a high hill overlooking the surrounding country. It consists of approximately one hundred and fifty acres of land and was at one time the ancestral home of Mr. Dadd, an English planter, who was forced by bankruptcy to sell his home. The house is built back about fifty yards from the public road and is separated from it by a huge wall made of stone and mortar with a massive iron gate painted white, which is always locked.

Page 19 text:

THE QUIVER PROVINCETCWN 13 Provincetcwn has never seemed half so Bohemian to me as it seems to most people. The “Greenwich Villagers” are supposed to summer there and make it a rather awe-inspiring place. The only thing I think of when I go there is, “I wonder how soon we shall go home. Those fertilizer plants are driving me crazy. Why can’t they store dead fish anywhere but on the main street?” And by the time we are on our way home, I am so thankful that I forget what Prov-incetown looks like. The approach is very pretty. The land is flat on either side for a long way, and a pretty view of the bay and ocean is given. The first thing that is seen from a distance is the monument; but the way one tells that he is nearing Provincetown is by passing under the shute of one of the most modern fertilizer plants in New England. When he recovers his breath, he will begin to notice that the houses are getting close together. They are built on the edge of the water and when there is a rough sea, the piazzas would most likely be washed were it not for the big stone breakwater that encircles the whole bay of Provincetown. The road gets very narrow and one has to drive carefully to avoid the “Rubberneck busses” that go back and forth from one end of town to the other, the drivers calling out the names of historical places. At last he comes to the big circle at the end of the road, gets out of his machine and reads the sign that tells him that “This is the first place the Pilgrims stopped,” (which isn’t so, because they stopped first at Eastham). It makes no difference how many times he has been there, he always gets out, reads the sign, looks around, and gets in again. His next place is the monument. To get to the monument, he has to climb a rather steep hill; but when he reaches the top, the whole world lies before him. If he has courage and twenty-five cents, he climbs to the top. From there, a wonderful view is afforded of the ocean and also of the towns nearby. On a clear day, Plymouth can be seen. Most people are content to notice the view from the base of the monument. The wharves and boats on the bay can be seen from here and also a great deal of the town. The new doorstone at the entrance, was brought from East-ham. This is supposed to be where the Pilgrims first landed, but as there are no stones in Eastham, I don’t see how this can be. The next thing to do, if one “does” Provincetown correctly, is to go along the shore and among the artists. There are several art colonies, evenly distributed along the town. One can hardly walk without tipping over an easel. Usually the largest crowds are along the wharves. Some poor fisherman will be made to dress up in his

Page 21 text:

THE QUIVER 15 Leading up to the house from the gate is a beautiful avenue lined on both sides with giant pine, elm, and ash trees. In front of the house is a charming flower garden with little walks of white stone, which glisten in the sun, and here and there are cozy nooks with little white benches, also of stone, sheltered by rambling rose vines. There is but one low step before a door made of wood and painted dark brown. On the door is a big brass knocker, on which are engraved the coat of arms and the motto of my mother’s people. The house is surrounded by acres of valuable land. On the east side is a large hay yard closed in by a high wall, where the hay, corn, and turf are kept for use during the winter. Some distance beyond this is a small brook, which adds to the charm of the scene. Stretching away to the west is a great farm, where the planting is done. Here also is a large coach house, where the farming implements and the carriages are kept; and here again is a large paddock, where a ferocious bull is confined. At the western extremity is a remarkable spring, from which all the drinking water and all the water used for cooking are taken. This is drawn in great pails every morning and carried to the house for use during the day. Behind the house is the dairy, where the cream is separated and the butter made. Going down a little slope, one sees a large space fenced in, where the cattle graze. There are. perhaps, ten or twelve cows, two horses, twenty-four pigs, and twenty sheep, both black and white, each kind of animal in its own compartment within this enclosure. The northern extremity is the most picturesque. Here is a large river, Abann Sliah, Mountain River, which joins the Shannon. At this point on the river is a beautiful castle, which was formerly the ancient residence of the Obriens, earls of Inchiquin, on the opposite side of which is lovely Inchiquin Lake, a mile in length, with a hill (Cantlay or Countlay), celebrated in legend, rising over its western shore. The lake gives name to the barony of Inchiquin. This view is plainly seen from the northern side of the house. The death of any member of this family was made known to the household a week before its occurrence by the crying of the banshee, famous in Irish tradition, who came to the hank of the river every night and could be heard crying from evening till daybreak. This castle is now untenanted and is gradually falling to decay. The beauty of this Irish home under the light of the moon is a sight long to be remembered. The stillness of the scene in the evening twilight seems to be invoking the blessing of God after the labors of the day. FRANCES M. BETAGH. ’23.