leaves us triumph, victory, and peace.

Edith Cavell's name is another that shines upon our roll of
honour--the same serene great spirit--no thought of self, but only a
great love and desire to serve--and a great fearlessness. Her message,
before she went out alone at dawn to her death, which added another
stain to the enemy's pages dark with blood, was the message of one who
saw the eternal verities, the things worth living and dying for.

Our men's Roll of Honor is a heavy Roll. We have lost in killed and
permanently out of the army, a million men and over 75 per cent of our
casualties are our own Island losses. Our women in every village and
in every city street have lost husbands, fathers, brothers, lovers and
friends. From every rank of life our men have died, the agricultural
labourer, the city clerk, the railway man, the miner, the engineer,
the business man, the poet, the journalist, the author, the artist,
the scientist, the heirs of great names, many of the most brilliant
of our young men. We comb out our mines and shipyards, and factories,
ceaselessly for more men. Our boys at eighteen go into the army.
From eighteen to forty-one every man is liable for service. Our
Universities have only a handful of men in them and these are
the disabled, the unfit, and men from other countries. Oxford and
Cambridge Colleges are full of Officers' Training Corps men. The
Examination Schools and the Town Hall at Oxford are Hospitals, and
Oxford and Cambridge streets are full of the blue-clad wounded, as
are so many of our cities. We are a nation at war, and at war for over
three years and everywhere and in everything we are changed.

In these years we women have lived always with the shadow of the war
over us--it never leaves us, night or day. We do not live completely