Collection: Books and Periodicals > Nevada County Historical Society Bulletins

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Title: Volume 005-4 - May 1951 Collection Type: Books and Periodicals Collection Name: Nevada County Historical Society Bulletins # of Pages: 3 Download PDF: User Login Required Download OCR Text: User Login Required

Date Scanned: 2013-11-30 13:22:34 OCR Software Version #: tesseract 5.4.1 Item Sourced From: PDF First Created: 2025-03-17 04:05:30 Last Updated: 2025-03-17 04:05:30

Original Held At: Searls Historical Library Location: 161 Nevada City Hwy, Nevada City, CA 95959

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The Old Schoolhouse This poem, written by George Calanan, is dedicated to his former schoolmate at Columbia Hill, William Huff, who for the past 52 years has served as assayer for the Bunker Hill & Sullivan Mine at Mullan, Idaho. I wandered to the school, Will, I’ve sat beneath the tree, Upon the schoolhouse playground, That sheltered you and me. But few were left to greet me, Will, And few were left to know, Who played with us upon the grounds, More than sixty years ago. The grounds are just as were, Will, But no barefoot boys at play, Were sporting just as we did, With spirits just as gay, But the rocks are just as round, Will, They were cast for boys to throw, And did the Chinese suffer, Will, More than sixty years ago. The old schoolhouse is altered now, The seats have been replaced, By new ones, very like the same Our jacknives once defaced. The same old boards are on the sides, The bell swings to and fro. The music is just the same, Will, ‘Twas more than sixty years ago. The boys were playing some old game, Beneath a scrubby tree, I have forgotten the name just now, You have played the same with me, On that spot ‘twas played with knives, By throwing so and so, The loser had a task to do there, More than sixty years ago. The roar of the giant monitor No longer greets your ears, it, too, has gone the way of All dead wood in past years. But glorious golden memories, Will, Are ours to bestow, To the boys and girls that are today, As we were sixty years ago. The ditches that our mothers feared, Over which we jumped and played, No longer are a menace, They are mere drains today. The trees that lined their banks have vanished, A few stumps mark their way, And the bubbling crystal water, That within their banks did flow, They, too, have been diverted from their uses that were theirs, More than sixty years ago. In vain I sought the building, Where the Christmas tree was held in the hall, And we breathlessly stood in line, And held up our hand at the call; Not a board remains, Will, of that town hall, Where the quadrille was danced to and fro, Where O where is the rhythm that was ours, Will, More than sixty years ago. I stood on the bank of the reservoir, Where we all learned to swim, It was but a dried mud bank, Could I help that my eyes grew dim. And in fancy I beheld the waters clear and cold, And I viewed my reflection as of days of old.. Sure there has been vast changes, Will, Even with you and I and of this we need not be told. The masters, (O’Neil, Robinson, Holman, McCutchan), They have answered the call, We pray they have but gone before, There to prepare a school for all. And where we will all be reunited, In classes as of yore, Where time is measured, Sixty years is but a breath. VO\. YY IND, CT Nevada County Historical Society COLUMBIA HILL EDITION MAY 1951 IN THIS ISSUE— “Columbia, Our Gem of the Mountains”