THE DRAMA OF 365 DAYS
It is not alone in Flanders or on the North Sea that our country's battle is being fought, and when I think I hear the hammering on ten thousand anvils in the forges of Woolwich, Newcastle, and Glasgow, and the thud of picks in the coal and iron mines of Cardiff, Wigan, and Cleator Moor, where hundreds of thousands of men are working long shifts day and night, half-naked under the fierce heat of furnaces, sometimes half choked by the escaping fumes of firedamp, I tell myself it is not for me, too old for active service and only able to use a pen, to dishonour England, and her Empire, in the presence of her Allies, or weaken her in the face of her enemies, by one word of complaint against the young manhood of my country.
THE PART PLAYED BY WOMAN
The latest and perhaps the most vivid of the
flashes as of lightning which have revealed the
drama of the past 365 days has shown us the
part played by woman. What a part that has
been! Nearly always in the histories of the
great world-wars of the past the sympathy of the
spectator has been more or less diverted from
the unrecorded martyrdom of the myriads of
forgotten women who have lost sons and husbands
by the machinations of the few vain
