They don't put it that way. They say: "We are fed up with that man. We've no quarrel with the German people and we're sorry for them, but we're fed up with this Nazi business and all it means. It's got to be killed." That is the verdict of the common man who is risking his life to see the sentence carried out. It is the verdict, roughly put, of the whole British' nation, who backed Mr. Chamberlain's policy of appeasement until Hitler broke all his pledges and betrayed even his own hatreds and passions, which he called His creed, by his pact with Russia, whom he Had shriekingly denounced for six years as the arch-enemy of mankind, But there is none of the lighthearteelness of 1914. The marching youth is not singing gay old songs. There is no flagwagging, cheering of sense of adventure that may be more amusing than the drudgery of daily life. The adventure has gone out of war. What price glory? as some one asked.
The British mood is stern, grim, serious. We know now all there is to know about war. On village greens in England, Scotland and Wales stand memorials to the fathers of sons who are now called up for service. A million of them. Fathers and mothers of lads now in the ranks of the militia and all services went through the last war and remember it with all its agonies, all its darkness. They have no illusions.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.