prompt:
Chapter: MEN'S SOCIAL WORK, LONDON

THE MIDDLESEX STREET SHELTER

The first of the London Institutions of the Salvation Army which I
visited was that known as the Middlesex Street Shelter and Working
Men's Home, which is at present under the supervision of Commissioner
Sturgess. This building consists of six floors, and contains sleeping
accommodation for 462 men. It has been at work since the year 1906,
when it was acquired by the Army with the help of that well-known
philanthropist, the late Mr. George Herring.

Of the 462 men accommodated daily, 311 pay 3d. for their night's
lodging, and the remainder 5d. The threepenny charge entitles the
tenant to the use of a bunk bedstead with sheets and an American cloth
cover. If the extra 2d. is forthcoming the wanderer is provided with a
proper bed, fitted with a wire spring hospital frame and provided with
a mattress, sheets, pillow, and blankets. I may state here that as in
the case of this Shelter the building, furniture and other equipment
have been provided by charity, the nightly fees collected almost
suffice to pay the running expenses of the establishment. Under less
favourable circumstances, however, where the building and equipment
are a charge on the capital funds of the Salvation Army, the
experience is that these fees do not suffice to meet the cost of
interest and maintenance.

The object of this and similar Shelters is to afford to men upon the
verge of destitution the choice between such accommodation as is here
provided and the common lodging-house, known as a 'kip house,' or the
casual ward of a workhouse. Those who avail themselves of these
Shelters belong, speaking generally, to the destitute or nearly
destitute classes. They are harbours of refuge for the unfortunates
who find themselves on the streets of London at nightfall with a few
coppers or some other small sum in their pockets. Many of these social
wrecks have sunk through drink, but many others owe their sad position
to lack or loss of employment, or to some other misfortune.

For an extra charge of 1d. the inmates are provided with a good
supper, consisting of a pint of soup and a large piece of bread, or of
bread and jam and tea, or of potato-pie. A second penny supplies them
with breakfast on the following morning, consisting of bread and
porridge or of bread and fish, with tea or coffee.

The dormitories, both of the fivepenny class on the ground floor and
of the threepenny class upstairs, are kept scrupulously sweet and
clean, and attached to them are lavatories and baths. These lavatories
contain a great number of brown earthenware basins fitted with taps.
Receptacles are provided, also, where the inmates can wash their
clothes and have them dried by means of an ingenious electrical
contrivance and hot air, capable of thoroughly drying any ordinary
garment in twenty minutes while its owner takes a bath.

The man in charge of this apparatus and of the baths was one who had
been picked up on the Embankment during the past winter. In return for
his services he received food, lodging, clothes and pocket-money to
the amount of 3s. a week. He told me that he was formerly a commercial
traveller, and was trying to re-enter that profession or to become a
ship's steward. Sickness had been the cause of his fall in the world.

Adjoining the downstairs dormitory is a dining and sitting-room for
the use of those who have taken bed tickets. In this room, when I
visited it, several men were engaged in various occupations. One of
them was painting flowers. Another, a watch repairer, was apparently
making up his accounts, which, perhaps, were of an imaginary nature. A
third was eating a dinner which he had purchased at the food bar. A
fourth smoked a cigarette and watched the flower artist at his work. A
fifth was a Cingalese who had come from Ceylon to lay some grievance
before the late King. The authorities at Whitehall having investigated
his case, he had been recommended to return to Ceylon and consult a
lawyer there. Now he was waiting tor the arrival of remittances to
enable him to pay his passage back to Ceylon. I wondered whether the
remittances would ever be forthcoming. Meanwhile he lived here on
7-1/2d. a day, 5d. for his bed and 2-1/2d. for his food. Of these and
other men similarly situated I will give some account presently.

Having inspected the upper floors I descended to the basement, where
what are called the 'Shelter men' are received at a separate entrance
at 5.30 in the afternoon, and buying their penny or halfpennyworth of
food, seat themselves on benches to eat. Here, too, they can sit and
smoke or mend their clothes, or if they are wet, dry themselves in the
annexe, until they retire to rest. During the past winter of 1909 400
men taken from the Embankment were sheltered here gratis every night,
and were provided with soup and bread. When not otherwise occupied
this hall is often used for the purpose of religious services.

I spoke at hazard with some of those who were sitting about in the
Shelter. A few specimen cases may be interesting. An old man told me
that he had travelled all over the world for fifty years, especially
in the islands of the South Pacific, until sickness broke him down. He
came last from Shanghai, where he had been an overseer on railway
work, and before that from Manila. Being incapacitated by fever and
rheumatism, and possessing 1,500 dollars, he travelled home,
apparently via India and Burma, stopping a while in each country.
Eventually he drifted to a lodging-house, and, falling ill there, was
sent to the Highgate Infirmary, where, he said, he was so cold that he
could not stop. Ultimately he found himself upon the streets in
winter. For the past twelve months he had been living in this Shelter
upon some help that a friend gave him, for all his own money was gone.
Now he was trying to write books, one of which was in the hands of a
well-known firm. He remarked, pathetically, that they 'have had it a
long time.' He was also waiting 'every day' for a pension from
America, which he considered was due to him because he fought in the
Civil War.

Most of these poor people are waiting for something.

This man added that he could not find his relatives, and that he
intended to stop in the Shelter until his book was published, or he
could 'help himself out.'

The next man I spoke to was the flower artist, whom I have already
mentioned, whose work, by the way, if a little striking in colour, was
by no means bad, especially as he had no real flowers to draw from. By
trade he was a lawyer's clerk; but he stated that, unfortunately for
him, the head partner of his firm went bankrupt six years before, and
the bad times, together with the competition of female labour in the
clerical department, prevented him from obtaining another situation,
so he had been obliged to fall back upon flower painting. He was a
married man, but he said, 'While I could make a fair week's money,
things were comfortable, but when orders fell slack I was requested to
go, as my room was preferable to my company, and being a man of
nervous temperament I could not stand it, and have been here ever
since'--that was for about ten weeks. He managed to make enough for
his board and lodging by the sale of his flower-pictures.

A third man informed me that he had opened twenty-seven shops for a
large firm of tobacconists, and then left to start in business for
himself; also he used to go out window-dressing, in which he was
skilled. Then, about nine years ago, his wife began to drink, and
while he was absent in hospital, neglected his business so that it
became worthless. Finally she deserted him, and he had heard nothing
of her since. After that he took to drink himself. He came to this
Shelter intermittently, and supported himself by an occasional job of
window-dressing. The Salvation Army was trying to cure this man of his
drinking habits.

A fourth man, a Eurasian, was a schoolmaster in India, who drifted to
this country, and had been for four years in the Colney Hatch Asylum.
He was sent to the Salvation Army by the After Care Society. He had
been two years in the Shelter, and was engaged in saving up money to
go to America. He was employed in the Shelter as a scrubber, and also
as a seller of food tickets, by which means he had saved some money.
Also he had a L5 note, which his sister sent to him. This note he was
keeping to return to her as a present on her birthday! His story was
long and miserable, and his case a sad one. Still, he was capable of
doing work of a sort.

Another very smart and useful man had been a nurse in the Army Medical
Corps, which he left some years ago with a good character.
Occasionally he found a job at nursing, and stayed at the Shelter,
where he was given employment between engagements.

Yet another, quite a young person, was a carman who had been
discharged through slackness of work in the firm of which he was a
servant. He had been ten weeks in the Institution, to which he came
from the workhouse, and hoped to find employment at his trade.

In passing through this building, I observed a young man of foreign
appearance seated in a window-place reading a book, and asked his
history. I was told that he was a German of education, whose ambition
it is to become a librarian in his native country. He had come to
England in order to learn our language, and being practically without
means, drifted into this place, where he was employed in cleaning the
windows and pursued his studies in the intervals of that humble work.
Let us hope that in due course his painstaking industry will be
rewarded, and his ambition fulfilled.

All these cases, and others that I have no space to mention, belonged
to the class of what I may call the regular 'hangers-on' of this
particular Shelter. As I visited it in the middle of the day, I did
not see its multitude of normal nightly occupants. Of such men,
however, I shall be able to speak elsewhere.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Sassoon and Dr. Rivers meet for tea and discuss Sassoon's beliefs about war. Sassoon explains that he no longer dislikes the Germans, but rather, his anger is focused on British citizens and non-combatants who remain apathetic to the great suffering of soldiers in combat. He admits to exposing himself to excessive danger on the battlefield, understanding that this may signify a death wish, but insists that he took his most unnecessary risks while under orders from his superiors. Sassoon insists that he is not a pacifist, but rather, he is a critic of the cruelty involved in this particular war. Dr. Rivers enquires about Sassoon's dreams and hallucinations, learning that his new patient often sees apparitions of crawling corpses as he is waking up or falling asleep. Sassoon keeps pulling at the threads on his shirt that used to hold his ribbon for bravery in combat. Dr. Rivers learns that Sassoon regrets throwing his ribbon in a river; the lieutenant describes how the light ribbon didn't sink but "bobbed around in the current, looking depressingly insignificant against a looming ship in the background". The two part on good terms and Dr. Rivers warns Sassoon he is not neutral: as a military psychologist, it is his job to convince the lieutenant to return to war. At dinner in the cafeteria, Dr. Rivers tells Bryce he finds Sassoon surprisingly "impressive". Meanwhile, Sassoon imagines another scene from the war but manages to eat in peace. A patient named Anderson introduces himself to Sassoon and they chat about golf. Suddenly, a man across the room vomits and has to be dragged out; Dr. Rivers abandons his dinner to follow his heaving patient. After gently attending to the vomiting man, the psychologist reflects that his patient's suffering is "without purpose or dignity". The man, known as Burns, was thrown through the air by an exploding shell and landed with his face in the decomposing stomach of a German corpse. Now, every time he attempts to eat, Burns can only taste and smell rotting flesh. Dr. Rivers agrees with Burns that his plight is like a sick joke, with none of the honor or respect that a more orthodox wound might garner. Outside, Captain Graves finally arrives at Craiglockhart


prompt:
Chapter: THE SPA ROAD ELEVATOR

BERMONDSEY

The next Institution that I inspected was that of a paper-sorting
works at Spa Road, Bermondsey, where all sorts of waste paper are
dealt with in enormous quantities. Of this stuff some is given and
some is bought. Upon delivery it goes to the sorters, who separate it
out according to the different classes of the material, after which it
is pressed into bales by hydraulic machinery and sold to merchants to
be re-made.

These works stand upon two acres of land. Parts of the existing
buildings were once a preserve factory, but some of them have been
erected by the Army. There remain upon the site certain
dwelling-houses, which are still let to tenants. These are destined to
be pulled down whenever money is forthcoming to extend the factory.

The object of the Institution is to find work for distressed or fallen
persons, and restore them to society. The Manager of this 'Elevator,'
as it is called, informed me that it employs about 480 men, all of
whom are picked up upon the streets. As a rule, these men are given
their board and lodging in return for work during the first week, but
no money, as their labour is worth little. In the second week, 6d. is
paid to them in cash; and, subsequently, this remuneration is added to
in proportion to the value of the labour, till in the end some of them
earn 8s. or 9s. a week in addition to their board and lodging.

I asked the Officer in charge what he had to say as to the charges of
sweating and underselling which have been brought against the
Salvation Army in connexion with this and its other productive
Institutions.

He replied that they neither sweated nor undersold. The men whom they
picked up had no value in the labour market, and could get nothing to
do because no one would employ them, many of them being the victims of
drink or entirely unskilled. Such people they overlooked, housed, fed,
and instructed, whether they did or did not earn their food and
lodging, and after the first week paid them upon a rising scale. The
results were eminently satisfactory, as even allowing for the
drunkards they found that but few cases, not more than 10 per cent,
were hopeless. Did they not rescue these men most of them would sink
utterly; indeed, according to their own testimony many of such
wastrels were snatched from suicide. As a matter of fact, also, they
employed more men per ton of paper than any other dealers in the
trade.

With reference to the commercial results, after allowing for interest
on the capital invested, the place did not pay its way. He said that a
sum of L15,000 was urgently required for the erection of a new
building on this site, some of those that exist being of a
rough-and-ready character. They were trying to raise subscriptions
towards this object, but found the response very slow.

He added that they collected their raw material from warehouses, most
of it being given to them, but some they bought, as it was necessary
to keep the works supplied, which could not be done with the gratis
stuff alone. Also they found that the paper they purchased was the
most profitable.

These works presented a busy spectacle of useful industry. There was
the sorting-room, where great masses of waste-paper of every kind was
being picked over by about 100 men and separated into its various
classes. The resulting heaps are thrown through hoppers into bins.
From the bins this sorted stuff passes into hydraulic presses which
crush it into bales that, after being wired, are ready for sale.

It occurred to me that the dealing with this mass of refuse paper must
be an unhealthy occupation; but I was informed that this is not the
case, and certainly the appearance of the workers bore out the
statement.

After completing a tour of the works I visited one of the bedrooms
containing seventy beds, where everything seemed very tidy and fresh.
Clean sheets are provided every week, as are baths for the inmates. In
the kitchen were great cooking boilers, ovens, etc., all of which are
worked by steam produced by the burning of the refuse of the sorted
paper. Then I saw the household salvage store, which contained
enormous quantities of old clothes and boots; also a great collection
of furniture, including a Turkish bath cabinet, all of which articles
had been given to the Army by charitable folk. These are either given
away or sold to the employes of the factory or to the poor of the
neighbourhood at a very cheap rate.

The man in charge of this store was an extremely good-looking and
gentlemanly young follow of University education, who had been a
writer of fiction, and once acted as secretary to a gentleman who
travelled on the Continent and in the East. Losing his employment, he
took to a life of dissipation, became ill, and sank to the very
bottom. He informed me that his ideals and outlook on life were now
totally changed. I have every hope that he will do well in the future,
as his abilities are evidently considerable, and Nature has favoured
him in many ways.

I interviewed a number of the men employed in these works, most of
whom had come down through drink, some of them from very good
situations. One had been the superintendent of a sewing-machine
company. He took to liquor, left his wife, and found himself upon the
streets. Now he was a traveller for the Salvation Army, in the
interests of the Waste-Paper Department, had regained his position in
life, and was living with his wife and family in a comfortable house.

Another was a grocer by profession, all of whose savings were stolen,
after which he took to drink. He had been three months in the works,
and at the time of my visit was earning 6s. a week with food and
lodging.

Another had been a Barnardo boy, who came from Canada as a ship's
steward, and could find nothing to do in England. Another was a
gentleman's servant, who was dismissed because the family left London.

Another was an auctioneer, who failed from want of capital, took to
drink, and emigrated to Canada. Two years later he fell ill with
pleurisy, and was sent home because the authorities were afraid that
his ailment might turn to consumption. He stated that at this time he
had given up drink, but could obtain no employment, so came upon the
streets. As he was starving and without hope, not having slept in a
bed for ten nights, he was about to commit suicide when the Salvation
Army picked him up. He had seen his wife for the first time in four
years on the previous Whit Monday, and they proposed to live together
again so soon as he secured permanent employment.

Another had been a soldier in the Seaforth Highlanders, and served in
the Egyptian Campaign of 1881, and also in the American Army.
Subsequently he was employed as a porter at a lodging-house at a
salary of 25s. a week, but left because of trouble about a woman. He
came upon the streets, and, being unable to find employment, was
contemplating suicide, when he fell under the influence of the Army at
the Blackfriars Shelter.

All these men, and others whom I spoke to at random but have no space
to write of, assured me that they were quite satisfied with their
treatment at the works, and repudiated--some of them with
indignation--the suggestion that I put to them tentatively that they
suffered from a system of sweating. For the most part, indeed, their
gratitude for the help they were receiving in the hour of need was
very evident and touching.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Sassoon meets Graves and directs him to Dr. Rivers. Graves, who has recently undergone treatment for shell-shock, explains to Dr. Rivers why he convinced Sassoon to accept placement in the hospital: He believes that Sassoon's long-term health depends on maintaining his bond with his soldiers. Being court-martialed would have separated Sassoon from his men permanently; at least this way, the lieutenant can be cured and then return to the front. Graves tells Rivers that Sassoon sent him a copy of the anti-war letter before it was published. As soon as he received it, Graves left the Isle of Wight and made it his mission to save Sassoon by convincing their superiors of his mental instability. Graves admits to Dr. Rivers that he lied to Sassoon to get him to acquiesce to the plan, but the psychologist condones it, saying it was the best way to preserve the lieutenant's mental health. Graves describes his own performance in front of the mental health board; he spoke the whole time and ordered Sassoon to remain silent, lest he make too much sense. In response to Dr. Rivers' questions, Graves explains that he agrees with his friend's anti-war sentiment but believes that soldiers still have a duty to serve above all, whether or not they support a particular war or action. Graves dismisses famous pacifists like Bertrand Russell and Ottoline Morrell, claiming they are simply manipulating Sassoon for their own political gain. After hearing Graves's account, Dr. Rivers suggests that Graves stay with Sassoon, who will need support during his first night at Craiglockhart. Dr. Rivers sits down to analyze the poems that Sassoon wrote while recovering from a shoulder wound. The poems describe a soldier discovering a sleeping figure that is really a rotting corpse, a general surveying his troops before bloody combat, and the pain of watching fellow troops die on the battlefield. Rivers reflects that Sassoon has achieved a seemingly stable mental state by processing his trauma through poetry. Many soldiers attempt to forget the unforgettable, which is why they are tormented by cruel nightmares. In the corridor, Dr. Rivers meets Sassoon's new roommate, who anxiously asks if the lieutenant is a German spy. Dr. Rivers assures him that Sassoon is neither German nor a spy


prompt:
Chapter: THE GREAT PETER STREET SHELTER

WESTMINSTER

This fine building is the most up-to-date Men's Shelter that the
Salvation Army possesses in London. It was once the billiard works of
Messrs. Burroughes and Watts, and is situated in Westminster, quite
near to the Houses of Parliament. I visited it about eight o'clock in
the evening, and at its entrance was confronted with the word 'Full,'
inscribed in chalk upon its portals, at which poor tramps, deprived of
their hope of a night's lodging, were staring disconsolately. It
reminded me of a playhouse upon a first-night of importance, but,
alas! the actors here play in a tragedy more dreadful in its
cumulative effect than any that was ever put upon the stage.

This Shelter is wonderfully equipped and organized. It contains
sitting or resting-rooms, smoking-rooms, huge dormitories capable of
accommodating about 600 sleepers; bathrooms, lavatories, extensive
hot-water and warming apparatus, great kitchens, and butteries, and so
forth. In the sitting and smoking-rooms, numbers of derelict men were
seated. Some did nothing except stare before them vacantly. Some
evidently were suffering from the effects of drink or fatigue; some
were reading newspapers which they had picked up in the course of
their day's tramp. One, I remember, was engaged in sorting out and
crumpling up a number of cigar and cigarette ends which he had
collected from the pavements, carefully grading the results in
different heaps, according to the class of the tobacco (how strong it
must be!) either for his own consumption or for sale to other
unfortunates. In another place, men were eating the 1d. or 1/2d.
suppers that they had purchased.

Early as it was, however, the great dormitories were crowded with
hundreds of the lodgers, either in bed or in process of getting there.
I noticed that they all undressed themselves, wrapping up their rags
in bundles, and, for the most part slept quite naked. Many of them
struck me as very fine fellows physically, and the reflection crossed
my mind, seeing them thus _in puris naturalibus_, that there was
little indeed to distinguish them from a crowd of males of the upper
class engaged, let us say, in bathing. It is the clothes that make the
difference to the eye.

In this Shelter I was told, by the way, that there exists a code of
rough honour among these people, who very rarely attempt to steal
anything from each other. Having so little property, they sternly
respect its rights. I should add that the charge made for
accommodation and food is 3d. per night for sleeping, and 1d. or 1/2d.
per portion of food.

The sight of this Institution crowded with human derelicts struck me
as most sad, more so indeed than many others that I have seen, though,
perhaps, this may have been because I was myself tired out with a long
day of inspection.

The Staff-Captain in charge here told me his history, which is so
typical and interesting that I will repeat it briefly. Many years ago
(he is now an elderly man) he was a steward on board a P. and O.
liner, and doing well. Then a terrible misfortune overwhelmed him.
Suddenly his wife and child died, and, as a result of the shock, he
took to drink. He attempted to cut his throat (the scar remains to
him), and was put upon his trial for the offence. Subsequently he
drifted on to the streets, where he spent eight years. During all this
time his object was to be rid of life, the methods he adopted being to
make himself drunk with methylated spirits, or any other villainous
and fiery liquor, and when that failed, to sleep at night in wet grass
or ditches. Once he was picked up suffering from inflammation of the
lungs and carried to an infirmary, where he lay senseless for three
days. The end of it was that a Salvation Army Officer found him in
Oxford Street, and took him to a Shelter in Burne Street, where he was
bathed and put to bed.

That was many years ago, and now he is to a great extent responsible
for the management of this Westminster Refuge. Commissioner Sturgess,
one of the head Officers of the Army, told me that their great
difficulty was to prevent him from overdoing himself at this
charitable task. I think the Commissioner said that sometimes he would
work eighteen or twenty hours out of the twenty-four.

One day this Staff-Captain played a grim little trick upon me. I was
seated at luncheon in a Salvation Army building, when the door opened,
and there entered as dreadful a human object as I have ever seen. The
man was clad in tatters, his bleeding feet were bound up with filthy
rags; he wore a dingy newspaper for a shirt. His face was cut and
plastered over roughly; he was a disgusting sight. He told me, in
husky accents, that drink had brought him down, and that he wanted
help. I made a few appropriate remarks, presented him with a small
coin, and sent him to the Officers downstairs.

A quarter of an hour later the Staff-Captain appeared in his uniform
and explained that he and the 'object' were the same person. Again it
was the clothes that made the difference. Those which he had worn when
he appeared at the luncheon-table were the same in which he had been
picked up on the streets of London. Also he thanked me for my good
advice which he said he hoped to follow, and for the sixpence that he
announced his intention of wearing on his watch-chain. For my part I
felt that the laugh was against me. Perhaps if I had thought the
Salvation Army capable of perpetrating a joke, I should not have been
so easily deceived.

This Staff-Captain gave me much information as to the class of
wanderers who frequent these Shelters, He estimated that about 50 per
cent of them sink to that level through the effects of drink. That is
to say, if by the waving of some magic wand intoxicants and harmful
drugs should cease to be obtainable in this country, the bulk of
extreme misery which needs such succour, and it may be added of crime
at large, would be lessened by one-half. This is a terrible statement,
and one that seems to excuse a great deal of what is called 'teetotal
fanaticism.' The rest, in his view, owe their fall to misfortune of
various kinds, which often in its turn leads to flight to the delusive
and destroying solace of drink. Thus about 25 per cent of the total
have been afflicted with sickness or acute domestic troubles. Or
perhaps they are 'knocked out' by shock, such as is brought on by the
loss of a dearly-loved wife or child, and have never been able to
recover from that crushing blow. The remainder are the victims of
advancing age and of the cruel commercial competition of our day. Thus
he said that the large business firms destroy and devour the small
shopkeepers, as a hawk devours sparrows; and these little people or
their employes, if they are past middle age, can find no other work.
Especially is this the case since the Employers' Liability Acts came
into operation, for now few will take on hands who are not young and
very strong, as older folk must naturally be more liable to sickness
and accident.

Again, he told me that it has become the custom in large businesses of
which the dividends are falling, to put in a man called an
'Organizer,' who is often an American.

This Organizer goes through the whole staff and mercilessly dismisses
the elderly or the least efficient, dividing up their work among those
who remain. So these discarded men fall to rise no more and drift to
the poorhouse or the Shelters or the jails, and finally into the river
or a pauper's grave. First, however, many spend what may be called a
period of probation on the streets, where they sleep at night under
arches or on stairways, or on the inhospitable flagstones and benches
of the Embankment, even in winter.

The Staff-Captain informed me that on one night during the previous
November he counted no less than 120 men, women, and children sleeping
in the wet on or in the neighbourhood of the Embankment. Think of
it--in this one place! Think of it, you whose women and children, to
say nothing of yourselves, do not sleep on the Embankment in the wet
in November. It may be answered that they might have gone to the
casual ward, where there are generally vacancies. I suppose that they
might, but so perverse are many of them that they do not. Indeed,
often they declare bluntly that they would rather go to prison than to
the casual ward, as in prison they are more kindly treated.

The reader may have noted as he drove along the Embankment or other
London thoroughfares at night in winter, long queues of people waiting
their turn to get something. What they are waiting for is a cup of
soup and, perhaps, an opportunity of sheltering till the dawn, which
soup and shelter are supplied by the Salvation Army, and sometimes by
other charitable Organizations. I asked whether this provision of
gratis food did in fact pauperize the population, as has been alleged.
The Staff-Captain answered that men do not as a rule stop out in the
middle of the winter till past midnight to get a pint of soup and a
piece of bread. Of course, there might be exceptions; but for the most
part those who take this charity, do so because if is sorely needed.

The cost of these midnight meals is reckoned by the Salvation Army at
about L8 per 1,000, including the labour involved in cooking and
distribution. This money is paid from the Army's Central Fund, which
collects subscriptions for that special purpose.

'Of course, our midnight soup has its critics,' said one of the
Officers who has charge of its distribution; 'but all I know is that
it saves many from jumping into the river.'

During the past winter, that is from November 3, 1909, to March 24,
1910, 163,101 persons received free accommodation and food at the
hands of the Salvation Army in connexion with its Embankment Soup
Distribution Charity.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Anderson, a combat medic, describes a dream in which he is pinned down naked and bound with corsets while his father-in-law jabs at him with a staff that has a serpent curled around it. Anderson then becomes defensive, mocking Freudian theories and daring Dr. Rivers to interpret his dream. The psychologist connects the snake and staff to the caduceus badge that medics wear on their uniforms. Anderson admits that he is afraid to practice medicine again, specifically because of the blood he will have to see. He describes mistakenly letting a mud-covered soldier bleed to death. However, even though Anderson dreads having to return to his civilian practice, he treats it as an inevitability. As a result, his screaming nightmares keep the entire floor awake every night. Sassoon and Graves go swimming in the pool, appraising each other's scars and playing in the water. Sassoon remembers an injured young soldier who "had a neat little hole" between his legs after having his genitals shot off. Afterwards, the lieutenant goes to Dr. Rivers' office for their meeting. Sassoon explains to Dr. Rivers that it suits Graves to attribute Sassoon's actions to a mental breakdown because it allows Graves to avoid confronting his own inaction. Dr. Rivers asks about Sassoon's brother and father, both of whom have been dead for years. The lieutenant describes his life before joining the military, when he struggled to integrate his vastly different desires and interests. He identifies the army as the "only place ever really belonged". Dr. Rivers asks Sassoon if he feels guilty for being safe in the hospital while troops continue to die on the front, provoking outrage from the lieutenant. Elsewhere in Craiglockhart, Burns decides to go for a walk in the English countryside. It is crisscrossed with barbed wire fences and full of thick mud , making it disturbingly reminiscent of the trenches. In the fog, the soldier stumbles upon a tree filled with dead, hanging animals. Burns starts to run but then returns to confront the grisly, surreal scene. He takes the animals down and arranges them in a circle on the earth, which is where he feels they are "meant" to be. He then takes off his clothes and lies naked in the center of the ring, feeling peaceful. Eventually, Burns returns to the hospital, where everyone has been looking for him. He realizes that he has only returned because he wants to continue his treatment with Dr. Rivers


prompt:
Chapter: THE FREE BREAKFAST SERVICE

BLACKFRIARS SHELTER

On a Sunday in June I attended the Free Breakfast service at the
Blackfriars Shelter. The lease of this building was acquired by the
Salvation Army from a Temperance Company. Behind it lay contractors'
stables, which were also bought; after which the premises were rebuilt
and altered to suit the purposes to which they are now put, the
stabling being for the most part converted into sleeping-rooms.

The Officer who accompanied me, Lieut.-Colonel Jolliffe, explained
that this Blackfriars Shelter is, as it were, the dredger for and the
feeder of all the Salvation Army's Social Institutions for men in
London. Indeed, it may be likened to a dragnet set to catch male
unfortunates in this part of the Metropolis. Here, as in the other
Army Shelters, are great numbers of bunks that are hired out at 3d. a
night, and the usual food-kitchens and appliances.

I visited one or two of these, well-ventilated places that in cold
weather are warmed by means of hot-water pipes to a heat of about 70
deg., as the clothing on the bunks is light.

I observed that although the rooms had only been vacated for a few
hours, they were perfectly inoffensive, and even sweet; a result that
is obtained by a very strict attention to cleanliness and ample
ventilation. The floors of these places are constantly scrubbed, and
the bunks undergo a process of disinfection about once a week. As a
consequence, in all the Army Shelters the vermin which sometimes
trouble common lodging-houses are almost unknown.

I may add that the closest supervision is exercised in these places
when they are occupied. Night watchmen are always on duty, and an
Officer sleeps in a little apartment attached to each dormitory. The
result is that there are practically no troubles of any kind.
Sometimes, however, a poor wanderer is found dead in the morning, in
which case the body is quietly conveyed away to await inquest.

I asked what happened when men who could not produce the necessary
coppers to pay for their lodging, applied for admission. The answer
was that the matter was left to the discretion of the Officer in
charge. In fact, in cases of absolute and piteous want, men are
admitted free, although, naturally enough, the Army does not advertise
that this happens. If it did, its hospitality would be considerably
overtaxed.

Leaving the dormitories, I entered the great hall, in which were
gathered nearly 600 men seated upon benches, every one of which was
filled. The faces and general aspect of these men were eloquent of
want and sorrow. Some of them appeared to be intent upon the religious
service that was going on, attendance at this service being the
condition on which the free breakfast is given to all who need food
and have passed the previous night in the street. Others were gazing
about them vacantly, and others, sufferers from the effects of drink,
debauchery, or fatigue, seemed to be half comatose or asleep.

This congregation, the strangest that I have ever seen, comprised men
of all classes. Some might once have belonged to the learned
professions, while others had fallen so low that they looked scarcely
human. Every grade of rag-clad misery was represented here, and every
stage of life from the lad of sixteen up to the aged man whose
allotted span was almost at an end. Rank upon rank of them, there they
sat in their infinite variety, linked only by the common bond of utter
wretchedness, the most melancholy sight, I think, that ever my eyes
beheld. All of them, however, were fairly clean, for this matter had
been seen to by the Officers who attend upon them. The Salvation Army
does not only wash the feet of its guests, but the whole body. Also,
it dries and purifies their tattered garments.

When I entered the hall, an Officer on the platform was engaged in
offering up an extempore prayer.

'We pray that the Holy Spirit may be poured out upon these men. We
pray, O God, that Thou wilt help them to take fresh courage, to find
fresh hope, and that they may rise once again to fight the battle of
life. We pray that Thou mayst bring to Thy feet, this morning, such as
shall be saved eternally.'

Then another Officer, styled the Chaplain, addressed the audience. He
told them that there was a way out of their troubles, and that
hundreds who had sat in that hall as they did, now blessed the day
which brought them there. He said: 'You came here this morning, you
scarcely knew how or why. You did not know the hand of God was leading
you, and that He will bless you if you will listen to His Voice. You
think you cannot escape from this wretched life; you think of the past
with all its failures. But do not trouble about the years that are
gone. Seek the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all other
things shall be added unto you. Then there will be no more wandering
about without a friend, for I say to you that God lives, and this
morning you will hear from others, who once were in a similar
condition to yourself, what He has done for them.'

Next a man with a fine tenor voice, who, it seems, is nicknamed 'the
Yorkshire Canary,' sang the hymn beginning, 'God moves in a mysterious
way.' After this in plain, forcible language he told his own story. He
said that he was well brought up by a good father and mother, and lost
everything through his own sin. His voice was in a sense his ruin,
since he used to sing in public-houses and saloons and there learnt to
drink. At length he found himself upon the streets in London, and
tramped thence to Yorkshire to throw himself upon the mercy of his
parents. When he was quite close to his home, however, his courage
failed him, and he tramped back to London, where he was picked up by
the Salvation Army.

This man, a most respectable-looking person, is now a clerk in a
well-known business house. In his own words, 'I knelt down and gave my
heart to God, and am to-day in a good situation.'

Next a Salvation Army soldier spoke. Four years before he had attended
the Sunday morning meeting in this hall and 'found the friendship of
God. He has helped me to regain the manhood I had lost and to do my
duty. For two years now I have helped to support an invalid sister
instead of being a burden to every one I knew, as once I was.'

After the singing of the hymn, 'Rock of Ages,' another man addressed
the meeting. He had been a drunkard, a homeless wanderer, who slept
night after night on the Embankment till fortune brought him to this
service and to the Penitent-Form. Since that time, two and a half
years before, no drink had passed his lips, and once again, as he
declared, he had become 'a self-respecting, respectable citizen.'

Then a dwarf whom I had seen at work in the Spa Road Elevator, and who
once was taken about the country to be exhibited as a side show at
fairs and there fell a victim to drink, gave his testimony.

Another verse, 'Could my tears for ever flow,' and after it, in rapid
succession, spoke a man who had been a schoolmaster and fallen through
drink and gambling; a man who, or whose brother, I am not sure which,
had been a Wesleyan preacher, and who is now employed in a Life
Assurance Company; a man who had been a prisoner; a man who had been a
confirmed drunkard, and others.

Always it was the same earnest, simple tale of drink and degradation,
passed now for ever; of the Penitent-Form; of the building up of a new
self, and of position regained.

More singing and an eloquent prayer which seemed to move the audience
very much, some of them to tears; an address from a woman Salvation
Army Officer, who pleaded with the people in the name of their
mothers, and a brief but excellent sermon from Commissioner Sturgess,
based upon the parable of the Marriage of the King's Son as recorded
in the 22nd chapter of St. Matthew, and of the guests who were
collected from the highways and byways to attend the feast whence the
rich and worldly had excused themselves.

Then the great and final invocation to Heaven to move the hearts of
these men, and the invitation to them to present themselves at the
Penitent-Form. Lastly a mighty, thundering hymn, 'Jesu, Lover of my
soul,' and the ending of the long drama.

It was a wonderful thing to see the spiritually-faced man on the
platform pleading with his sordid audience, and to watch them stirring
beneath his words. To see, also, a uniformed woman flitting to and fro
among that audience, whispering, exhorting, invoking--a temptress to
Salvation, then to note the response and its manner that were stranger
still. Some poor wretch would seem to awaken, only to relapse into a
state of sullen, almost defiant torpor. A little while and the leaven
begins to work in him. He flushes, mutters something, half rises from
his seat, sits down again, rises once more and with a peculiar,
unwilling gait staggers to the Penitent-Form, and in an abandonment of
grief and repentance throws himself upon his knees and there begins to
sob. A watching Officer comes to him, kneels at his side and, I
suppose, confesses him. The tremendous hymn bursts out like a paean of
triumph--

     Just as I am, without one plea,

it begins, the rest I forget or did not catch.

Now the ice is broken. Another comes and another, and another, till
there is no more room at the Penitent-Bench. They swarm on to the
platform which is cleared for them, and there kneel down, and I
observed the naked feet of some of them showing through the worn-out
boots.

So it goes on. At length the great audience rises and begins to
depart, filing one by one through a certain doorway. As they pass,
Officers who have appeared from somewhere wait for them with
outstretched arms. The most of them brush past shaking their heads and
muttering. Here and there one pauses, is lost--or rather won. The
Salvation Army has him in its net and he joins the crowd upon the
platform. Still the hymn swells and falls till all have departed save
those who remain for good--about 10 per cent of that sad company.

[Illustration: SEEKING THE HOMELESS AT MIDNIGHT.]

It is done and the catcher feels that he has witnessed the very
uttermost of tragedies, human and spiritual.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mere common 'revivalism'! the critic will say, and it may be so. Still
such revivalism, if that is the term for it, must be judged by its
fruits. I am informed that of those who kneel here experience shows
that but a small percentage relapse. The most of them become what in
the Salvation Army cant--if one chooses so to name it--is known as
'saved.'

This means that from drunkards and wastrels stained with every sort of
human fault, or even crime, they are turned into God-fearing and
respectable men who henceforward, instead of being a pest to society
and a terror to all those who have the misfortune to be connected with
them, become props of society and a comfort and a support to their
relatives and friends.

Thus is the mesh of mercy spread, and such is its harvest.

The age of miracles is past, we are told; but I confess that while
watching this strange sight I wondered more than once that if this
were so, what that age of miracles had been like. Of one thing I was
sure, that it must have been to such as these that He who is
acknowledged even by sceptics to have been the very Master of mankind,
would have chosen to preach, had this been the age of His appearance,
He who came to call sinners to repentance. Probably, too, it was to
such as these that He did preach, for folk of this character are
common to the generations. Doubtless, Judea had its knaves and
drunkards, as we know it had its victims of sickness and misfortune.
The devils that were cast out in Jerusalem did not die; they reappear
in London and elsewhere to-day, and, it would seem, can still be cast
out.

I confess another thing, also; namely, that I found all this drama
curiously exciting. Most of us who have passed middle age and led a
full and varied life will be familiar with the great human emotions.
Yet I discovered here a new emotion, one quite foreign to a somewhat
extended experience, one that I cannot even attempt to define. The
contagion of revivalism! again it will be said. This may be so, or it
may not. But at least, so far as this branch of the Salvation Army
work is concerned, those engaged in it may fairly claim that the tree
should be judged by its fruits. Without doubt, in the main these
fruits are good and wholesome.

I have only to add to my description of this remarkable service, that
the number netted, namely, about 10 per cent of those present, was, I
am told, just normal, neither more nor less than the average. Some of
these doubtless will relapse; but if only _one_ of them remains really
reformed, surely the Salvation Army has vindicated its arguments and
all is proved to be well worth while. But to that one very many
ciphers must be added as the clear and proved result of the forty
years or so of its activity. Whatever may be doubtful, this is true
beyond all controversy, for it numbers its converts by the thousand.

       *       *       *       *       *

The congregation which I saw on this particular occasion seemed to me
to consist for the most part of elderly men; in fact, some of them
were very old, and the average age of those who attended the
Penitent-Form I estimated at about thirty-five years. This, however,
varies. I am informed that at times they are mostly young persons. It
must be remembered--and the statement throws a lurid light upon the
conditions prevailing in London, as in other of our great cities--that
the population which week by week attends these Sunday morning
services is of an ever-shifting character. Doubtless, there are some
_habitues_ and others who reappear from time to time. But the most of
the audience is new. Every Saturday night the highways and the hedges,
or rather the streets and the railway arches yield a new crop of
homeless and quite destitute wanderers. These are gathered into the
Blackfriars Shelter, and go their bitter road again after the rest,
the breakfast, and the service. But as we have seen here a substantial
proportion, about 10 per cent, remain behind. These are all
interviewed separately and fed, and on the following morning as many
of them as vacancies can be found for in the Paper Works Elevator or
elsewhere are sent thither.

I saw plenty of these men, and with them others who had been rescued
previously; so many, indeed, that it is impossible to set out their
separate cases. Looking through my notes made at the time, I find
among them a schoolmaster, an Australian who fought in South Africa, a
publican who had lost L2,000 in speculation and been twelve months on
the streets, a sailor and two soldiers who between them had seen much
service abroad, and a University man who had tried to commit suicide
from London Bridge.

Also there was a person who was recently described in the newspapers
as the 'dirtiest man in London.' He was found sitting on the steps of
a large building in Queen Victoria Street, partly paralysed from
exposure. So filthy and verminous was he, that it was necessary to
scrape his body, which mere washing would not touch. When he was
picked up, a crowd of several hundred people followed him down the
street, attracted by his dreadful appearance. His pockets were full of
filth, amongst which were found 5s. in coppers. He had then been a
month in the Shelter, where he peels or peeled potatoes, etc., and
looked quite bright and clean.

Most of these people had been brought down by the accursed drink,
which is the bane of our nation, and some few by sheer misfortune.

Neither at the service, nor afterwards, did I see a single Jew, for
the fallen of that race seem to be looked after by their fellow
religionists. Moreover, the Jews do not drink to excess. Foreigners,
also, are comparatively scarce at Blackfriars and in the other
Shelters.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: While doing his night rounds, Dr. Rivers is introduced to a new patient, Billy Prior, who suffers from selective mutism but also has horrific nightmares that leave him screaming. Prior is an officer from a blue-collar background, which was rare during the early 20th century. When Rivers first questions Prior, the patient answers by writing in block letters on a notepad, claiming that he doesn't remember his dreams or the incident that caused him to lose his voice. After a brief examination, Prior becomes difficult and refuses to communicate any longer. Sassoon meets Graves for dinner, enjoying the opportunity to venture out of the confines of Craiglockhart. However, their conversation is awkward: the lieutenant admits to being afraid of the hospital and of his own mental health. While walking back to Craiglockhart, Sassoon seethes internally at the ignorant civilians around him, sparing his only positive feelings for a drunken soldier exiting a bar. As Sassoon begins to relax, he experiences a flashback of "Armageddon". He thinks to himself that despite what Dr. Rivers may say, he is thoroughly happy to go to bed each night knowing that he is safe. As Rivers prepares for bed, he becomes frustrated while contemplating Sassoon's anti-war opinions. Britain cannot leave German militarism to terrorize the next generation, Rivers thinks to himself. That night, Rivers dreams that he is testing sensitivity to pain by pricking the arm of his friend, Henry Head. As Rivers becomes increasingly uncomfortable with his role, Head becomes aggressive. He eventually picks up a scalpel and cleanly slices Dr. Rivers's arm open. At this moment, the psychologist wakes up. He reflects that this dream mimics the actual research he once performed with Head at Cambridge. Head was studying nerve regeneration and severed the nerve in his own hand in order to chart the return of physical sensation. Dr. Rivers was tasked with pricking Head with needles to test for sensitivity, which caused Head "extreme" pain. Rivers concludes that the dream is a result of his conflicted feelings about causing mental torment to his patients by forcing them to relive horrifying war experiences. The only patient he does not have to force is Burns, whose memories already haunt him plenty. Dr. Rivers believes that his method of therapy, which encourages men to express their feelings and render themselves vulnerable, can be emasculating for men who grew up in an environment where masculinity is synonymous with repression. The psychologist even admits to bottling up his own emotions about his private life. However, Dr. Rivers believes that processing traumatic memories is the only way to treat shell-shock and therefore, remains committed to his methodology


prompt:
Chapter: THE EX-CRIMINALS

On the afternoon of the Sunday on which I visited the Blackfriars
Shelter, I attended another service, conducted by Commissioner
Sturgess, at Quaker Street.

Here the room was filled by about 150 men, all of whom had been
rescued, and were then working in the various Shelters or elsewhere. I
may say that I have seldom seen a congregation of more respectable
appearance, and never one that joined with greater earnestness in a
religious service.

I will take this opportunity to observe that the Salvation Army
enforces no religious test upon those to whom it extends its
assistance. If a man is a member of the Church of England or a Roman
Catholic, for instance, and wishes to remain so, all that it tries to
do is to make him a good member of his Church. Its only _sine qua non_
is that the individual should show himself ready to work zealously at
any task which it may be able to find for him.

The rest of that afternoon I spent in interviewing ex-criminals who
were then in the charge of the Salvation Army. To give details of
their cases in this book is impossible. Here I will only say,
therefore, that some of these had been most desperate characters, who
had served as much as thirty or forty years in various prisons, or
even been condemned to death for murder. Indeed, the nineteen men whom
I interviewed had, between them, done 371 years of what is known as
'time.'

I cannot honestly report that I liked the looks of all these gentry,
or believed everything that they told me. For instance, when such
people swear that they have been wrongly convicted, an old lawyer and
magistrate like myself, who knows what pains are taken by every
English Court to safeguard the innocent, is apt to be sceptical.
Still, it should be added that many of these jailbirds are now to all
appearance quite reformed, while some of them are doing well in more
or less responsible positions, under the supervision of the Army.

The Salvation Army Officers have authority from the Home Office to
visit the various prisons, where the inmates are informed that those
who are desirous of seeing them must give in their names. Then on a
certain day, the Officer, who, under Commissioner Sturgess, is
responsible for the Prison work of the Army in England, appears at the
Wandsworth or the Pentonville Prison, or wherever it may be. There he
finds, perhaps, as many as 150 men waiting to see him, the total
number of ex-prisoners who pass through the hands of the Army in
England averaging at present about 1,000 per annum. He interviews
these men in their cells privately, the prison officials remaining
outside, and stops as long with each of them as he deems to be
needful, for the Governors of the prisons give him every opportunity
of attaining the object of his work. This Officer informed me that his
conversation with the prisoners is not restricted in any way. It may
be about their future or of spiritual matters, or it may have to do
with their family affairs.

The details of each case are carefully recorded in a book which I saw,
and when a convict is discharged and given over to the care of the
Army, a photograph and an official statement of his record is
furnished with him. This statement the Army finds a great help, as in
dealing with such people it is necessary to know their past in order
to be able to guard against their weak points.

The Government authorities have now begun to seek the aid of the Army
in certain special cases. If they feel that it is unnecessary to
retain a man any longer, they will sometimes hand him over, should the
Salvation Army Officers be willing to take him in and be responsible
for him. General Booth and his subordinates think that if this system
were enlarged and followed up, it would result in the mitigation or
the abbreviation of many sentences, without exposing the public to
danger.

In discussing this matter with them, I ventured to point out that it
would be a bad thing if the Army became in any way identified with the
prison Authorities, and began, at any rate in the mind of the criminal
classes, to wear the initials G.R. instead of those of the Army upon
their collars. This was not disputed by Commissioner Sturgess, with
whom I debated the question.

What the Army desires, however, is that the Government should
subsidize this work in order to enable it to support the ex-convicts
until it can find opportunity to place them in positions where they
can earn their own bread. The trouble with such folk is that,
naturally enough, few desire to employ them, and until they are
employed, which in the case of aged persons or of those with a very
bad record may be never, they must be fed, clothed, and housed.

After going into the whole subject at considerable length and in much
detail, the conclusion which I came to was that this work of the
visitation of prisoners by Salvation Army Officers, and the care of
them when released either on or before the completion of their
sentences, is one that might be usefully extended, should the Home
Office Authorities see fit so to do. There is no doubt, although it
cannot guarantee success in every case, that the Salvation Army is
peculiarly successful in its dealings with hardened criminals.

Why this is so is not easy to explain. I think, however, that there
are two main reasons for its success. The first is that the Army takes
great care never to break a promise which it may make through any of
its Officers. Thus, if a man in jail is told that his relatives will
be hunted up and communicated with, or that an application will be
made to the Authorities to have him committed to the care of the Army,
or that work will be found for him on his release, and the like, that
undertaking, whatever it may be, is noted in the book which I have
mentioned, and although years may pass before it can be fulfilled, is
in due course carried out to the letter. Now, convicts are shy birds,
who put little faith in promises. But when they find that these are
always kept they gain confidence in the makers of them, and often
learn to trust them entirely.

The second and more potent reason is to be found in the power of that
loving sympathy which the Army extends even to the vilest, to those
from whom the least puritanical of us would shrink. It shows such men
that they are not utterly lost, as these believe; that it, at any
rate, does not mark them with a figurative broad arrow and consign
them to a separate division of society; that it is able to give them
back the self-respect without which mankind is lower than the beast,
and to place them, regenerated, upon a path that, if it be steep and
thorny, still leads to those heights of peace and honour which they
never thought to tread again.

This is done not by physical care and comfort, though, of course,
these help towards the desired end, but by its own spiritual means, or
so it would appear. Its Officers pray with the man; they awake his
conscience, which is never dead in any of us; they pour the blessed
light of hope into the dark places of his soul; they cause him to hate
the past, and to desire to lead a new life. Once this desire is
established, the rest is comparatively simple, for where the heart
leads the feet will follow; but without it little or nothing can be
done. Such is the explanation I have to offer. At any rate, I believe
it remains a fact that among the worst criminals the Salvation Army
often succeeds where others have failed.

Another point that should not be overlooked in this connexion is that
it must be a great comfort to the sinner and an encouragement of the
most practical sort to find, as he sometimes will, that the hands
which are dragging him and his kind from the mire, had once been as
filthy as his own. When the worker can say to him, 'Look at me; in
bygone days I was as bad as or worse than you'; when he can point to
many others whose vices were formerly notorious, but who now fill
positions of trust in the Army or outside of it, and are honoured of
all men; then the lost one, emerging, perhaps, for the fifth or sixth
time from the darkness of his prison, sees by the light of these
concrete examples that the future has promise for us all. If _they_
have succeeded why should _he_ fail? That is the argument which comes
home to him.

There remains a matter to be considered. Let us suppose that as time
goes by the Authorities become more and more convinced of the value of
the Army's prison work, and pass over to its care criminals in
ever-increasing numbers, as they are doing in some other countries and
in the great Colonies, what will be the effect upon the Army itself?
Will not this mass of comparatively useless material clog the wheels
of the great machine by overlading it with a vast number of
ex-prisoners, some of whom, owing to their age or other circumstances,
are quite incapable of earning their livelihood, and therefore must be
carried till their deaths? When I put the query to those in command,
the answer given was that they did not think so, as they believed that
the Army would be able to turn the great majority of these men into
respectable, wage-earning members of society.

Thus of those who have been sent to it lately from the prisons, it
has, I understand, been forced to return only two, because these men
would not behave themselves, and proved to be a source of danger and
contamination to others. As regards the residuum who are incapacitated
by age or weakness of mind or body, General Booth and his Officers are
of opinion that the Government should contribute to their support in
such places as the Army may be able to find for them to dwell in under
its care.

I hope that these forecasts, which after all are made by men of great
experience who should know, may not prove to be over-sanguine. Still
it must be remembered that in England alone there are, I am told, some
30,000 confirmed criminals in the jails, not reckoning the 5,000 who
are classed as convicts. If even 20 per cent of these were passed over
to the care of the Army, with or without State grants in aid of their
support, this must in the nature of things prove a heavy burden upon
its resources. When all is said and done it is harder to find
employment for a jailbird, even if reformed, than for any other class
of man, because so damaged a human article has but little commercial
value in the Labour market.

If, however, the Salvation Army is prepared to face this gigantic
task, it may be hoped that it will be given an opportunity of showing
what it can do on a large scale, as it has already shown upon one more
restricted. Prison reform is in the air. The present system is
admitted more or less to have broken down. It has been shown to be
incompetent to attain the real end for which it is established; that
is, not punishment, as many still believe, for this hereditary idea is
hard to eradicate, but prevention and, still more, reformation.

The 'Vengeance of the Law' is a phrase not easy to forget; but among
humane and highly-civilized peoples the word Vengeance should be
replaced by another, the best that I can think of is--Regeneration.
The Law should not seek to avenge--that may be left to the savage
codes, civil and religious, of the dark ages. Except in the case of
the death sentence, which is not everywhere in favour, it should seek
to regenerate.

If, then, among other agencies, the Salvation Army is able to prove
beyond cavil that it can assist our criminal system to attain this
noble end, ought not opportunity to be given it in full measure? Is it
too much to hope that when the new Prison Act, of which the substance
has recently been outlined by the Home Secretary, comes to be
discussed, this object may be kept in view and the offer of the
Salvation Army to co-operate in the great endeavour may not be lightly
thrust aside? If its help is found so valuable in the solution of this
particular problem in other lands, why should it be rejected here, or,
rather, why should it not be more largely utilized, as I know from
their own lips, General Booth and his Officers hope and desire?[2]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: After his first night at Craiglockhart, Prior regains his voice. When Dr. Rivers visits him, though, Prior still refuses to cooperate. Prior senses the inherent power imbalance between a psychologist and patient, demanding to know why he must share personal information when the doctor doesn't reciprocate. Prior suggests hypnosis, but Dr. Rivers explains that he would prefer to try other methods first. When the psychologist threatens to leave the room, Prior finally shares his memories about his breakdown. He was forced to stand in a flooded No Man's Land for 50 hours while German shells whizzed all around him, killing his fellow soldiers. Prior also reveals that he saw the officer who relieved him from his post walking down a hallway at Craiglockhart. Dr. Rivers next meets with Sassoon, who explains that despite Graves' insistence, he has not been manipulated by Bertrand Russell or other pacifists. He says he was initially introduced to pacifism by Edward Carpenter, who also wrote The Intermediate Sex, a book which "saved" Sassoon by making him feel less freakish. Dr. Rivers, who is familiar with the book, warns Sassoon that if the details of his intimate life become public, people will use them to discredit his cause. Dr. Rivers schedules two free hours so that he can finish some work. However, Billy Prior's father interrupts him. Mr. Prior is a blue-collar worker with a thick accent who expresses nothing but contempt for his son. He believes that Billy's mother gave the young man upper-class pretensions by encouraging his improper ambition. Mr. Prior proclaims that would have had more pity for his son had he been shot. He also reveals that during his visit with Billy, the young officer was mute and suffering from asthma. Soon thereafter, Mrs. Prior comes to visit Dr. Rivers, embarrassed at what she imagines her husband has said. Unlike her husband, Mrs. Prior is soft, compassionate, and desperately proud of Billy. She explains that Mr. Prior has had a difficult life. He was sent to work when he was ten, and he is jealous of his son's talents and aspirations. Mrs. Prior admits to preventing Billy from connecting with his father's working-class background, for which Billy is resentful at times. Mrs. Prior muses that "the less you do" for men, "the more highly you're thought of". Soon after Mrs. Prior's departure, another patient, Broadbent, interrupts Dr. Rivers for a third time. Broadbent, who fabricates elaborate stories about honorary degrees and military awards, informs the psychologist that his mother is very ill. He requests time off from Craiglockhart to go visit her. Dr. Rivers, who is very suspicious about Broadbent's claims, instructs Broadbent to ask Bryce for permission to go. Broadbent becomes angry that Dr. Rivers won't advocate for him and leaves the psychologist's office in search of Bryce. After dinner, Dr. Rivers finds Prior sitting alone in the common room. The young officer is having trouble breathing. Prior reveals that his father physically abused his mother when he was a child. Dr. Rivers leads Prior to his room and physically inspects him, surprised that someone with intense asthma would be allowed to serve in the military. Prior explains that his asthma was much worse at home than it was on the front


prompt:
Chapter: THE MEN'S WORKSHOP HANBURY STREET, WHITECHAPEL

This Salvation Army carpentering and joinery shop has been in
existence for about fifteen years, but it does not even now pay its
way. It was started by the Army in order to assist fallen mechanics by
giving them temporary work until they could find other situations.

The manager informed me that at the beginning they found work for
about thirty men. When I visited the place some fifty hands were
employed--bricklayers, painters, joiners, etc., none of whom need stop
an hour longer than they choose. From 100 to 150 men pass through this
Workshop in a year, but many of them being elderly and therefore
unable to obtain work elsewhere, stop for a long while, as the Army
cannot well get rid of them. All of these folk arrive in a state of
absolute destitution, having even sold their tools, the last
possessions with which a competent workman parts.

The Parliamentary Committee of the Labour Party and the Trade Unions
have recently stirred up a great agitation, which has been widely
reported in the Press, against the Hanbury Street Workshop, because
the Army does not pay the Union rate of wages. As a result the Army
now declines all outside contracts, and confines its operations to the
work of erecting, repairing, or furnishing its own buildings.

Here it may be stated that these complaints seem to be unreasonable.
The men employed have almost without exception been taken off the
streets to save them from starvation or the poorhouse. Often enough
they are by no means competent at their work, while some of them have
for the time being been rendered practically useless through the
effects of drink or other debaucheries. Yet it is argued with violence
that to such people, whom no business firm would employ upon any
terms, the Army ought to pay the full Trade Union rate of wages. When
every allowance is made for the great and urgent problems connected
with the cruel practice of 'sweating,' surely this attitude throws a
strange light upon some of the methods of the Trade Unions?

The inference seems to be that they would prefer that these derelicts
should come on the rates or starve rather than that the Army should
house and feed them, giving them, in addition, such wage as their
labour may be worth. Further comment seems to be needless, especially
when I repeat that, as I am assured, this Hanbury Street Institution
never has earned, and does not now earn, the cost of its upkeep.

It is situated in the heart of a very poor district, and is rather a
ramshackle place to look at, but still quite suitable to its purposes.
I have observed that one of the characteristics of the Salvation Army
is that it never spends unnecessary money upon buildings. If it can
buy a good house or other suitable structure cheap it does so. If it
cannot, it makes use of what it can get at a price within its means,
provided that the place will satisfy the requirements of the sanitary
and other Authorities.

All the machines at Hanbury Street are driven by electric power that
is supplied by the Stepney Council at a cost of 1_d_. per unit for
power and 3_d_. per unit for lighting.

An elderly man whom I saw there attending to this machinery, was
dismissed by one of the great railway companies when they were
reducing their hands. He had been in the employ of the Salvation Army
for seven years and received the use of a house rent free and a wage
of 30_s_. a week, which probably he would find it quite impossible to
earn anywhere else.

The hours of employment are from 6.30 a.m. to 5.30 p.m. if the man is
engaged on outside work, or to 6 p.m. if he labours in the workshop,
and the men are paid at various rates according to the value of their
work, and whether they are boarded and lodged, or live outside. Thus
one to whom I spoke, who was the son of a former mayor of an important
town, was allowed 3_s._ a week plus food and lodging, while another
received 9_s._ a week, 5_s._ of which was sent to his wife, from whom
he was separated. Another man, after living on the Army for about two
years, made charges against it to the Carpenters' and Joiners' Union.
He returned and apologized, but had practically to be kept under
restraint on account of his drinking habits.

Another man spent twenty years in jail and then walked the streets. He
is now a very respectable person, earns 27_s._ 6_d._ a week, and lives
outside with his wife and family. Another was once convicted of
cruelty to his children, whom he placed under the boards of the
flooring while he went out to drink. These children are now restored
to him, and he lives with them. Another among those with whom I
happened to speak, was robbed by a relative of L4,000 which his father
left to him. He was taken on by the Army in a state of destitution,
but I forget what he earned. Another, the youngest man in the Works,
came to them without any trade at all and in a destitute condition,
but when I saw him was in charge of a morticing machine. He had
married, lived out, and had been in the employ of the Army for five
years. His wage was 27_s._ 6_d._ a week. Two others drew as much as L2
5_s._ 11_d._ each, living out; but, on the other hand, some received
as little as 3_s._ a week with board and lodging.

Amongst this latter class was a young Mormon from Salt Lake City, who
earned 4_s._ 6_d._ a week and his board and lodging. He had been in
the Elevator about three months, having got drunk in London and missed
his ship. Although he attended the Salvation Army meetings, he
remained a Mormon.

In these Works all sorts of articles are manufactured to be used by
other branches of the Salvation Army. Thus I saw poultry-houses being
made for the Boxted Small Holdings; these cost from L4 5_s._ to L4
10_s._ net, and were excellent structures designed to hold about two
dozen fowls. Further on large numbers of seats of different patterns
were in process of manufacture, some of them for children, and other
longer ones, with reversible backs, to be used in the numerous Army
halls. Next I visited a room in which mattresses and mattress covers
are made for the various Shelters, also the waterproof bunk bedding,
which costs 7_s._ 9_d._ per cover. Further on, in a separate
compartment, was a flock-tearing machine, at which the Mormon I have
mentioned was employed. This is a very dusty job whereat a man does
not work for more than one day in ten.

Then there were the painting and polishing-room, the joinery room, and
the room where doors, window frames, and articles of furniture are
constructed; also special garden benches, cleverly planned so that the
seat can be protected from rain. These were designed by a young lady
whom I chance to know in private life, and who, as I now discovered
for the first time, is also a member of the Salvation Army.

Such is the Hanbury Street Workshop, where the Army makes the best use
it can of rather indifferent human materials, and, as I have said,
loses money at the business.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Prior wakes up screaming again and Dr. Rivers comes to calm him. Billy admits that he wants to impress the doctor before taunting him with some sharp psychological insights, saying that Rivers's patients must all look at him as a "Daddy" figure. Dr. Rivers realizes that Prior has been reading one of his books and learning about the practice and methodology of psychology, which unnerves him, although he cannot articulate why. Prior finds a section in Rivers's book about homosexuality and teases the doctor about it. Prior then describes the class divisions on the front, claiming that only those with the "correct" clothing and background are truly welcomed by the other officers. He mocks the upper-class officers' dreams of glory in war, but then states that the only thing that truly angers him is when civilians claim there are no class divisions in the army. Prior still refuses to share the content of his nightmares and again requests hypnosis. After the session is over, Dr. Rivers admits that he feels a sense of dread when he thinks about Billy Prior. Sassoon shows Dr. Rivers a piece in the Times that discredits his letter by describing Sassoon as an otherwise patriotic soldier suffering from shell-shock. Depressed by this recent development, Sassoon points out another front page story: a boy who was not yet 18 has died in the war. The lieutenant is angry that a man not yet old enough to serve has been slaughtered and yet, people will read this news calmly over breakfast. Somewhat upset, Dr. Rivers stutters in his reply. The psychologist brings the conversation back to Sassoon's treatment, agreeing to meet with him three times a week and encouraging him to build relationships with the other patients. When he writes Sassoon's admission report, Dr. Rivers omits any "intimate details" in order to protect him. The report outlines the lieutenant's history and notes that he has "no physical signs of any disorder of the Nervous Systems". Rivers also explains that Sassoon would no longer oppose the war if the end was in sight. Later, when meeting with the other staff psychologists, Dr. Rivers discusses Sassoon. One of his colleagues questions the need to meet with Sassoon at all since he is not mentally ill. Dr. Rivers claims that it is his duty to convince Sassoon to return to the front, which he can only accomplish if he meets the lieutenant regularly. He believes since the lieutenant's reasons for objecting to the war are emotional, he will be able to convince him to go back with superior logical arguments.


prompt:
Chapter: STURGE HOUSE, BOW ROAD

This branch of the Men's Social Work of the Salvation Army is a home
for poor and destitute boys. The house, which once belonged to the
late Dr. Barnardo, has been recently hired on a short lease. One of
the features of the Army work is the reclamation of lads, of whom
about 2,400 have passed through its hands in London during the course
of the last eight years.

Sturge House has been fitted up for this special purpose, and
accommodates about fifty boys. The Officer in charge informed me that
some boys apply to them for assistance when they are out of work,
while others come from bad homes, and yet others through the Shelters,
which pass on suitable lads. Each case is strictly investigated when
it arrives, with the result that about one-third of their number are
restored to their parents, from whom often enough they have run away,
sometimes upon the most flimsy pretexts.

Not unfrequently these boys are bad characters, who tell false tales
of their past. Thus, recently, two who arrived at the Headquarters at
Whitechapel, alleged that they were farm-labourers from Norfolk. As
they did not in the least look the part, inquiries were made, when it
was found that they had never been nearer to Norfolk than Hampstead,
where both of them had been concerned in the stealing of L10 from a
business firm. The matter was patched up with the intervention of the
Army, and the boys were restored to their parents.

Occasionally, too, lads are brought here by kind folk, who find them
starving. They are taken in, kept for a while, taught and fed, and
when their characters are re-established--for many of them have none
left--put out into the world. Some of them, indeed, work daily at
various employments in London, and pay 5s. a week for their board and
lodging at the Home. A good proportion of these lads also are sent to
the collieries in Wales, where, after a few years, they earn good
wages.

In these collieries a man and a boy generally work together. A while
ago such a man applied to the Army for a boy, and the applicant,
proving respectable, the boy was sent, and turned out extremely well.
In due course he became a collier himself, and, in his turn, sent for
a boy. So the thing spread, till up to the present time the Army has
supplied fifty or sixty lads to colliers in South Wales, all of whom
seem to be satisfactory and prosperous.

As the Manager explained, it is not difficult to place out a lad as
soon as his character can be more or less guaranteed. The difficulty
comes with a man who is middle-aged or old. He added that this Home
does not in any sense compete with those of Dr. Barnardo; in fact, in
certain ways they work hand in hand. The Barnardo Homes will not
receive lads who are over sixteen, whereas the Army takes them up to
eighteen. So it comes about that Barnardo's sometimes send on cases
which are over their age limit to Sturge House.

I saw the boys at their dinner, and although many of them had a bad
record, certainly they looked very respectable, and likely to make
good and useful men. The experience of the Army is that most of them
are quite capable of reformation, and that, when once their hearts
have been changed, they seldom fall back into the ways of dishonesty.

This Home, like all those managed by the Salvation Army, is spotlessly
clean, and the dormitories are very pleasant rooms. Also, there is a
garden, and in it I saw a number of pots of flowers, which had just
been sent as a present by a boy whom the Army helped three years ago,
and who is now, I understand, a gardener.

Sturge House struck me as a most useful Institution; and as there is
about it none of the depressing air of the adult Shelters, my visit
here was a pleasant change. The reclamation or the helping of a lad is
a very different business from that of restoring the adult or the old
man to a station in life which he seems to have lost for ever.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: During one of his sessions, Prior describes participating in an attack in a detached and taunting manner. When Dr. Rivers presses him about his feelings, Prior responds frankly and aggressively that the experience was "sexy" and he felt a "burst of exultation" at seeing wounded soldiers on the ground. He reveals that during the attack, he was knocked unconscious by a shell. He awoke in a crater with his soldiers and they drank from his flask and laughed when another soldier slid down into the crater. Despite his injuries, Prior woke up speaking and was not sent for treatment at the time. When Dr. Rivers suggests that he and Prior are on the "same team," Billy retorts that they are not. Another patient, Wilfred Owen, comes to visit Sassoon in his room, asking him to sign five copies of his book of poetry. Owen is intimidated by the lieutenant's "good looks," aristocratic bearing, and poetic talent, which exacerbates his nervous stammering. Sassoon is welcoming and kind, asking Owen to sit down with him after he enthusiastically recites lines from the lieutenant's poems. Owen articulates his feeling that the war is blurring into the wars before it. Disturbed but in agreement, Sassoon intimates that he has also imagined himself in the future, looking back at the ghosts of this war. After an awkward pause, Owen asks Sassoon to contribute poems to the Hydra, Craiglockhart's literary magazine of which Owen is the editor. Sassoon agrees and invites Owen to bring him copies of his own poetry. Owen is embarrassed, admitting that he does not write about the war because he prefers to keep poetry his refuge from the "ugliness". Sassoon teases him about this but still encourages him to bring his poems, no matter what they are about. Sassoon and Anderson play a round of golf. The medic has an embarrassing outburst of rage when he misses an important shot and threatens to hit Sassoon with a club. Sassoon reacts politely, laughing off the incident, but both officers are disturbed by Anderson's anger. They have lunch afterward, careful not to talk about anything but golf. Anderson reflects that talking about the war would force intimacy into their relationship. He has read Sassoon's published letter and although, like Dr. Rivers, he agrees with the lieutenant's assessment of the war, Anderson believes that the conflict must be seen to completion. Billy Prior wanders into a bar in town where he orders fish and chips. He overhears four female employees of a munitions factory laughing and telling stories a few tables over. One of them, Sarah Lumb, approaches Prior and teases him about eating so quickly. The other women excuse themselves, giggling, and Sarah and Billy look for a place to have a drink. As many bars don't allow women, they walk towards a hotel. Sarah explains that she is earning five times as much as she was before the war. Prior reflects that the war has expanded the world for women while shrinking it for men. They arrive at the hotel bar and order several rounds. Sarah reveals that she lost her boyfriend in the attack at Loos, during which British gas blew back into British trenches. She refers to the incidents of the battle obliquely, simply saying that her boyfriend was at Loos. She is haunted by the absurdity of his death, caused by his own country's weaponry. After several drinks, she further intimates that her mother doesn't believe that men and women can really love each other. Billy says he doesn't know whether they can, either. Furthermore, Billy is surprised at the amount Sarah can drink. They walk to a graveyard where Billy tries to have sex with Sarah on a tombstone, but she pushes him away. He decides in his mind that the more aggressive he is, the longer he will have to wait, so he gives her a teasing kiss and walks her home. They agree to meet again the following Sunday. As Prior walks back to Craiglockhart, he checks the time on his watch and realizes that he will not make curfew


prompt:
Chapter: THE CENTRAL LABOUR BUREAU

This Bureau is established in the Social Headquarters at Whitechapel,
a large building acquired as long ago as 1878. Here is to be seen the
room in which General Booth used to hold some of his first prayer
meetings, and a little chamber where he took counsel with those
Officers who were the fathers of the Army. Also there is a place where
he could sit unseen and listen to the preaching of his subordinates,
so that he might judge of their ability.

The large hall is now part of yet another Shelter, which contains 232
beds and bunks. I inspected this place, but as it differs in no
important detail from others, I will not describe it.

The Officer who is in charge of the Labour Bureau informed me that
hundreds of men apply there for work every week, of whom a great many
are sent into the various Elevators and Shelters. The Army finds it
extremely difficult to procure outside employment for these men, for
the simple reason that there is very little available. Moreover, now
that the Government Labour Bureaux are open, this trouble is not
lessened. Of these Bureaux, the Manager said that they are most
useful, but fail to find employment for many who apply to them.
Indeed, numbers of men come on from them to the Salvation Army.

The hard fact is that there are more idle hands than there is work for
them to do, even where honest and capable folk are concerned. Thus, in
the majority of instances, the Army is obliged to rely upon its own
Institutions and the Hadleigh Land Colony to provide some sort of job
for out-of-works. Of course, of such jobs there are not enough to go
round, so many poor folk must be sent empty away or supported by
charity.

I suggested that it might be worth while to establish a school of
chauffeurs, and the Officers present said that they would consider the
matter. Unfortunately, however, such an experiment must be costly at
the present price of motor-vehicles.

I annex the Labour Bureau Statistics for May, 1910:--

     LONDON

          Applicants for temporary employment  479
          Sent to temporary employment         183
          Applicants for Elevators             864
          Sent to Elevators                    260
          Sent to Shelters                      32

     PROVINCES

          Applicants for temporary employment  461
          Sent to temporary employment         160
          Applicants for Elevators             417
          Sent to Elevators                    202
          Sent to Shelters                      20
          Sent to permanent situations          35

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: During his meeting with Dr. Rivers, Prior expresses his anger at being confined to the hospital for two weeks after missing curfew. Prior explains that he was out looking for a woman and teases the doctor, asking whether or not he will be interrogated about it. When Dr. Rivers fails to respond, Billy changes the conversation and starts asking about officers and mutism. Dr. Rivers explains that mutism is common among enlisted men and rare among officers, presumably because mutism comes from a desire to say something that could trigger grave consequences. Therefore, lowly soldiers are much more afraid of expressing themselves than officers. Dr. Rivers adds that officers often stammer, instead. He also asserts that officers have more complex dreams than soldiers do. Prior brings attention to Dr. Rivers' own stammer, catching him off-guard. The psychologist tries to explain that his stammer is life-long and not the result of trauma, but Billy insinuates that Rivers has been trying not to say something for fifty years. When Prior finally leaves, Dr. Rivers feels deeply irritated. Seeing that he has a few moments before his next patient, Dr. Rivers decides to go walking. Out on the hospital lawn, he watches two officers cutting grass with scythes. The figures remind him of death. Later that night, Dr. Rivers is compiling a list of patients who are ready to go back to the battlefield when Prior interrupts him to apologize. He admits that his nightmares mix visions of bloody combat with sexual elements, and that worries him. Dr. Rivers finally suggests that they try hypnosis. Billy, who turns out to be highly suggestible, falls into a trance and describes the events leading up to his breakdown. He was walking through the trenches and stopped to chat with two men frying bacon and making tea over a weak fire. He continued on and a few seconds later, an explosion destroyed the area, killing the two men. Afterwards, Billy shoveled the remains of the men into a bag that one of his soldiers was holding. When he was done, he looked down and saw an eyeball staring at him from below the duckboards. Prior delicately picked it up and then held it out towards the soldier saying, "'What am I supposed to do with this gob-stopper. Billy continued working, covering the area with lime, and then realized that his lower jaw had gone numb. His soldiers later took him to the medics. When he awakens from the hypnosis, Prior is angry that something so mundane triggered his breakdown; he had shoveled gruesome remains many times before. Prior had assumed that he was traumatized because he had somehow caused the death of his men. Prior begins crying and butting his head against Rivers's stomach, reminding the psychologist of a kid butting a nanny goat. Dr. Rivers explains that trauma is often the result of stress eroding someone's defenses over time, rather than the fallout from one single event. Nevertheless, Billy doesn't want to be the kind of man who breaks down. Dr. Rivers assures him all kinds of men break down under the stress of war. Dr. Rivers, exhausted, begins to prepare for bed. He reflects that fathers are opaque to their children, like psychologists are to their patients. He is disturbed once again by Prior's ability to read him and remembers a similar patient named Layard. Layard once told Rivers that he was like a "male mother". He resents that nurturing is considered a female trait, even when practiced by men. Dr. Rivers thinks about the officers who care so much for their soldiers and compares them to impoverished mothers. They are both "totally responsible for lives they have no power to save". The psychologist thinks to himself that this war, which promised mobilization and adventure, has only left men helpless in the trenches, waiting to die.


prompt:
Chapter: THE INTERNATIONAL INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT

This is a curious and interesting branch of the work of the Salvation
Army. About two thousand times a year it receives letters or personal
applications, asking it to find some missing relative or friend of the
writer or applicant. In reply, a form is posted or given, which must
be filled up with the necessary particulars. Then, if it be a London
case, the Officer in charge sends out a skilled man to work up clues.
If, on the other hand, it be a country case, the Officer in charge of
the Corps nearest to where it has occurred, is instructed to initiate
the inquiry. Also, advertisements are inserted in the Army papers,
known as 'The War Cry' and 'The Social Gazette,' both in Great Britain
and other countries, if the lost person is supposed to be on the
Continent or in some distant part of the world.

The result is that a large percentage of the individuals sought for
are discovered, alive or dead, for in such work the Salvation Army has
advantages denied to any other body, scarcely excepting the Police.
Its representatives are everywhere, and to whatever land they may
belong or whatever tongue they may speak, all of them obey an order
sent out from Headquarters wholeheartedly and uninfluenced by the
question of regard. The usual fee charged for this work is 10_s_.
6_d_.; but when this cannot be paid, a large number of cases are
undertaken free. The Army goes to as much trouble in these unpaid
cases as in any others, only then it is not able to flood the country
with printed bills. Of course, where well-to-do people are concerned,
it expects that its out-of-pocket costs will be met.

The cases with which it has to deal are of all kinds. Often those who
have disappeared are found to have done so purposely, perhaps leaving
behind them manufactured evidence, such as coats or letters on a
river-bank, suggesting that they have committed suicide. Generally,
these people are involved in some fraud or other trouble. Again,
husbands desert their wives, or wives their husbands, and vanish, in
which instances they are probably living with somebody else under
another name. Or children are kidnapped, or girls are lured away, or
individuals emigrate to far lands and neglect to write. Or, perhaps,
they simply sink out of all knowledge, and vanish effectually enough
into a paupers grave.

But the oddest cases of all are those of a complete loss of memory, a
thing that is by no means so infrequent as is generally supposed. The
experience of the Army is that the majority of these cases happen
among those who lead a studious life. The victim goes out in his usual
health and suddenly forgets everything. His mind becomes a total
blank. Yet certain instincts remain, such as that of earning a living.

Thus, to take a single recent example, the son of a large bookseller
in a country town left the house one day, saying that he would not be
away for long, and disappeared. At the invitation of his father, the
Army took up the case, and ultimately found that the man had been
working in its Spa Road Elevator under another name. Afterwards he
went away, became destitute, and sold matches in the streets.
Ultimately he was found in a Church Army Home. He recovered his
memory, and subsequently lost it again to the extent that he could
recall nothing which happened to him during the period of its first
lapse. All that time vanished into total darkness.

This business of the hunting out of the missing through the agency of
the Salvation Army is one which increases every day. It is not unusual
for the Army to discover individuals who have been missing for thirty
years and upwards.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Sarah and the other munitions girls share a cup of tea. Sarah is upset that Billy Prior did not show up for their date on Sunday, unaware that he was not allowed to leave Craiglockhart because he had violated curfew. Sarah's friends tease her for a few moments before discussing the dreaded return of Lizzie's husband, who physically abused her before the war. As Lizzie explains, "'Peace broke out'" for her the day the war began. A new patient, Willard, lies immobilized on a table. Pieces of tombstone are embedded in his back-side from crossing a graveyard under fire. Though he has no injuries to his spine, Willard cannot walk. Dr. Rivers patiently attempts to introduce the possibility that Willard's paralysis is mental and a result of combat stress, but Willard continues to insist that his spinal cord must be damaged. Sassoon arrives a few minutes before Dr. Rivers for their meeting at the Conservative Club. As he waits, he listens to a pair of upper-class men discuss the war. Their words fill him with hatred, and he finds that his anger has a sexual edge. Though Sassoon has been quick to hold civilians in contempt, he is disgusted with himself for being safely tucked away, thus allowing his message to be disregarded. He thinks that he has become like the apathetic civilians he despises. One of his friends has recently been killed on the battlefield, thus exacerbating Sassoon's guilt. Dr. Rivers arrives and, as Sassoon studies the menu, the psychologist mulls over how much easier his life would be had Sassoon been assigned elsewhere. The lieutenant reminds Rivers of the costs of the war, leaving him constantly questioning whether the psychological and physical damage to these men can ever be justified. Rivers and Sassoon joke over the young waiter who is overly impressed by Sassoon's uniform but the conversation hits a difficult patch when the subject of Sassoon's recently deceased friend arises. After an awkward pause, Sassoon speaks of another friend who was shot through the throat. He admits feeling guilty for being safe; as his friends continue to perish, it has become harder and harder for Sassoon to stay away from the front. Dr. Rivers leaves the club while Sassoon is deep in conversation with an astronomer. Rivers thinks that he will be able to convince Sassoon to return to war because of the lieutenant's inherent need to prove his courage. Upon returning to Craiglockhart, the psychologist finds Willard and his wife stranded at the bottom of a steep hill because Mrs. Willard is not strong enough to push the wheelchair up the slope. Dr. Rivers helps her, noting Willard's growing rage at his impotence