The Birmingham age-herald., 1917-04-15
What England Really
 Is Doing in the War
Superficial Gaiey of London Gives False Impression of the Real Seriousness of the British People-The True Test Found in the Country Towns and Villages Where All
 the Young Men Are Fighting and All the Old Men
 and the Women Working for Their Country

1 Dinner puts our guest into a goot | humor He appreciates our freshly 1 caught herrings and Norfolk pheasants
 Afterward he lights a cigar and glances at the empty card table. No chance of rubber. I suppose?" he l suggests. You used to have such g
 crowd dropping in.'' | l glance at my wife, who lays down her
 knitting and shakes her head. | T tried to get some one" she told US
 but it's MT. Hamilton's night at the hospital"
 1 Our neighbor.' intervene He's get | ting on for sixty, but he sits up at the hospital two nights week to give the
 nurses a chance Then tried Mrs. Bell" my wife
 proceeds, but it's her night at the can | teen"
 Whats become of young Grant, the
 schoolmaster?"
 He joined an o. T. c. the week after | the war began" I explain. He's com manding his company now and got the Military Cross last week." l And that woman who was crazy upon bridge-Mrs. Prothero-the woman witt the pretty house near the sea?" The house is turned into hospital" 1 I reply, "and Mrs. Protehro is called Sis ter Margaret" My friend muses for a moment. Some changes! What about the | pretty, fluffy-haired lady, Mrs Frank Johnson?'
 My wife looks up and smiles. You wouldn't think her pretty now. She has housemaid at the hospital for a year. She'd never done anything of the sort, and it took her so long to learn to nurseg She Is Sister Nellie now, and ! wears q perfectly hideous uniform T guess we'll go without bridge, then,' ,'' my friend observes. I'm afraid we'll have to-" I assent 
 We discuss our plans for a days recrea- ton, the next morning.
 Golf course still going?" my guest inquires. There are 10 holes quite playable" l assure him cheerfully. We may have to wait halfway round, if there's any sig mailing going on. and they sometimes have bayonet practice on the fourth in, though" We arrive on a deserted tee.
 No caddies?" my visitor exclaims. I shake my head. There are jobs for all the boys on the land, or under the national service bu- reau. We chucked them year ago." We play a restricted round. the only pertOfmerS. My guests leadS the way to the bar. He gazes round him in amaze ment.
 "Why, what's become of all your pals, '' he demands, as we settle down to our solitary refreshment, served by a sur prised old lady.
 Well, let me see whom you used to know" I ruminate. There's Colonel Dane. He's training a brigade down by Spalding. Short-he was over 60 too but they gave him a home job. Macin- tyre-hes soldering. Brand, Jackson and Sidney-poor fellows, they've all gone. Jameson's censoring. Paulson and Stel- lite are still here, but they're running canteens.
 My friend sips his mixed vermouth doubtfully.
 NO ice?'
 I shake my head.
 we don't allow a single thing to be carried by rail except necessaries."
 He stalks off home with me. We pass no men save in khaki. From the little lawn in front of my bungalow we pause to listen to the sound of martial music The country lanes seem alive with long, moving columns, the best view from my windows is spoiled by a long line of tar