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FROM THE BRYANT ROOM ARCHIVES
By Myrna Sloam, ©Jan/Feb 2003
"Our Village in a Valley" by Martha Fruehwirth, ©1933.
A hint of spring is in the air, as a warm breeze gently waves the scrawny bushes and dead grass and, incidentally, the skirt and hair of a girl as she stands upon a hill and gazed off into the clear blueness of the sky far above. Her glance wanders down, lights upon a far off hill, and finally comes to rest on the little village snuggled at her feet. Here is a panorama of life below her.
A singular laziness pervades the valley village. Protected on three sides by hills and on one by a bay reaching far out into indefinable blueness. It seems to see no reason to hurry. Even the as yet leafless trees around a chain of three glimmering lakes seem to sway less than they do on the hill. Certainly the few cars wending their way on crooked roads are in no hurry. Their ant-like crawl up steep hills or along the one moderately busy street of the village shows a reluctance at leaving so peaceful a place. The three little lakes, bathed in sunshine, seem to smile up at her, aware of her appreciation of their mirror-like surface and be-willowed shores. Silver threaded brooks, across which slowly moving workmen are building bridges, connect the lakes and add a romantic essence to the unfinished park. Near the dock, in which but a few private yachts can rest at a time, are clustered most of the houses.
A sonorous peal, clear and low, is wafted up to her and makes her aware of the high stone tower surrounded by a green plot, seemingly the center of town. How important that tower with its clock must be to the villagers. How many people awake at night, count its strokes and wish it would hurry; how many, hurrying by, glance at it and wish it would seize time and let them catch up with it! To the villagers it means Time, rapidly passing by them, hurrying some along with it, leaving some behind.
The girl's reflections are interrupted a minute, and when she again regards the valley, her gaze alights on the different houses along the streets. What drama of life plays itself out in each one daily? If she could look into a window of each, in which would she find the most happiness? The most sadness? She feels that if she knew all the people in the small town, their trials and joys, she would have learned a good deal of life that she never find in books.
As she slowly wends her way homeward, she thinks of the little valley, of how much humanity is concealed there, how many joys and griefs are experienced, how many hearts are broken, mended again. How many more valleys like this are there in the world?
Note: This evocative story, written by Martha Fruehwirth, first appeared in
the 1933 Roslyn High School Yearbook. Martha was an aspiring writer and served
as editor-in-chief of the 1934 Yearbook. She graduated in 1934 and went on to
marry and raise a family. The story came to light a few months ago when Hendra
(Morel) Dye, found it while looking through her mother's (Dorothy Abramowitz
Morel) yearbook. Hendra contacted me in the library's Local History Collection
and then contacted Martha (now Martha Cameron) who lives in Florida. Martha
graciously gave her permission for the library to reprint this story. Many thanks
to Hendra and all our warm wishes to Martha. We are so pleased that she was
willing to share her vision of Roslyn with the community once again.
Permission to reproduce, publish or display whole
text articles must be obtained from the Bryant Library Archivist.
Email: localhistory@bryantlibrary.org