Countdown to War, Day 24. 21 July 1914: growth of trade unionism, and reappearance of a disturbing story

One hundred years ago today, on Tuesday 21 July 1914, Martin, a young member of the still relatively new National Union of Railwaymen, might have taken some encouragement from news in the Manchester Guardian. It even started with a well-deserved side-swipe at government departments.

With that hustling enterprise which distinguishes Government Departments the Chief Registrar of Friendly Societies has now issued his report on the position of trade unions in 1912. The public would take more interest in these documents if they dealt with last year instead of the year before. Nevertheless, this report contains matters of great interest to the social student. In the first place it reveals the immense growth of trade unionism in seven years, and its improved organisation.

“Improved organisation” meant that there were fewer trades unions: down from 742 to 683 over ten years. Despite the fall in number of organisations, the number of members had been steadily climbing:

1903   1,575,000 
1905   1,567,000
1910   2,017,000
1911   2,372,000
1912   2,507,000

The fall in the early years of the century had given way to a rapid rise.

Ten years ago the trade unions probably included about one-fifth of the adult male workers of the country. To-day they approach one-third.

Strikers in London: organisation was growing

What with the 40 or so Labour MPs, it felt as though the working man was beginning to feel his strength and raise his voice. About time.


Not such a good thing was the re-emergence of that damned business in Serbia in the aftermath of the shooting of the Austrian Grand Duke. Two students had been arrested in Hungary over a plot to shoot another important figure of the Empire, the “Ban of Croatia”. Apparently one of them had:

... repeatedly declared that attempts against eminent persons, such as the Archduke Francis Ferdinand... were necessary, as thereby anarchy would be created and intervention of the Servian Army for the union of Croatia and Servia would be facilitated.

That story was followed by one that set still more alarm bells ringing. A Berlin-based Reuter’s correspondent reported on “German Anxieties.”

There is reason to believe that an Austro-Hungarian Note, embodying the results of the investigation into the murder of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife at Sarayevo, will be communicated to the Powers ... within the next days and possibly to-morrow.

Apparently there was “marked uneasiness” on the stock exchange “as the date for the action which Austria-Hungary proposes to take in Belgrade draws nearer.”

Action? In Belgrade? The capital of Serbia itself? To take action in a foreign capital would surely involve an invasion, wouldn’t it? That was the first he’d heard of any such plans. He wasn’t surprised the stock exchange was concerned. He wasn’t that pleased about it himself. 

In political quarters in Berlin it is not denied that the Austro-Hungarian action, which is imminent, may add temporarily to the strain, but hope is expressed that the crisis which may possibly arise will be confined to Austria-Hungary and Servia, especially as the action to be taken from Vienna will be given a polite though positive form, and its justification, it is thought, must be recognised even in Belgrade.

What on earth was “polite but positive” action?

“They knock on the door before knocking it down and setting fire to your house,” said the Cynic.

And it was all very well to hope that whatever happened would be confined to Austria-Hungary and Serbia, but what if it wasn’t? If it spilled over, where would the spill stop?

“Right on your doorstep,” said the Cynic, “you mark my words.”

Meanwhile, another article spoke of the “Dual Alliance”. Raymond Poincaré, the President of France, was visiting the Tsar of Russia. Their warships had met up too, though that hadn’t been an entirely unmitigated a success: “at four o’clock this morning a thick mist enveloped the French and Russia naval forces, and the France, on board which was M. Poincaré, came into collision with a Russian dredger.”

Yes, well. Perhaps things weren’t running that smoothly inside the Dual Alliance.

Russian ship.
Dangerous. Particularly in mist. Even to allies

Countdown to War, Day 23. 20 July 1914: the US State Department learns some geography

One hundred days ago today, on Monday 20 July 1914, the Manchester Guardian confirmed the bad news Martin had read the day before: “Big Score by Surrey”.

What the heck. The Guardian was the local paper. They could at least show some pain. He’d expected no sympathy from the Observer, southern-based as it was, but the Guardian? Surely it would have a few tears for the woes of Lancashire? Instead they wrote of “Hobb’s brilliant century”. What’s brilliant about a century scored for the other side?

Still, things could be worse. Look at Mexico. He thought the departure of the ex-Dictator, Huerta, might mean the end of the troubles there, but it seemed everything was just starting up all over again.

Already the next revolution has begun. Pablo Orozco, who has been a Rebel at intervals for years past and was lately in Huerta’s service, has declared war on the new Government, whatever it may be.

It seemed a bit harsh, not to give the new lot even the slightest chance to prove what its worth. It made you thankful not to be living in such a place. Must be pretty awful to have all that fighting going on: how could you begin to make a living? Besides, it was a lot too hot, by all accounts.

That wasn’t the only story from America to catch his eye. It seemed that the canal that first the French, and then the Americans, had been building through Panama, to link the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans, was due to open in a few weeks. Arranging the official ceremony had provided an opportunity for some in the US administration to improve their education. 

Panama Canal
Switzerland snubs the official opening

An important piece of knowledge has just been assimilated by the State Department at Washington. It is that the sister Republic of Switzerland, though equipped with the full paraphernalia of a State in other respects, has no navy. The fact is due not to any parsimony on the part of the Administration, but to the regrettable absence of a coastline.

A somewhat acrimonious dispute is at the moment raging in Washington as to the precise person on whom the responsibility should fall for not being acquainted with this interesting geographical particular before the invitation was sent to Switzerland to send a number of warships to take part in the opening of the Panama Canal.

The Swiss Government, it appears, has just replied regretting in the blandest diplomatic terms that it is unable to accept the invitation owing to the fact mentioned above that there are no warships belonging to the Alpine Republic.

The story of four sisters in the East End of London also provoked a smile:

Four sisters were married at St. Barnabas Church, Bethnal Green, on Saturday. Hundreds of people turned out to catch a glimpse of the brides, and the church filled so quickly that the doors had to be closed to prevent overcrowding... The sisters are orphans, and lived ... with another sister who kept house for them. They had been engaged for some time, and they realised that if one of them decided to leave and get married the financial loss ... might lead to the break-up of the home. Accordingly they agreed that the best way out of the difficulty was to go to the altar together. The other sister, it is understood, will live with one of the couples.

Not a bad day. All in all. Unfortunate news about the cricket, and even worse from Mexico, but that was a long way away. And then two stories to get cheerful about and nothing really disturbing from closer to home.

Yes, really not a bad day at all, 20 July 1914.

“Dont count your chickens,” said the Cynic.

Countdown to War, Day 22. 19 July: Germany puts weapons before democracy, Huerta gets out of Mexico, Pankhurst gets out of gaol, US money gets into Ireland

One hundred years ago today, on Sunday 19 July 1914, Martin the railwayman from Manchester might have collected the Observer from his Methodist Minister, and read about an exercise in Dulwich, South London, the previous day. Though it sounded gruesome, it had apparently been a good-humoured event.

Dulwich Village was under fire yesterday afternoon. According to the programme of the fourth annual inspection of the Camberwell Red Cross Nurses, England had been invaded but it cannot be said that the inhabitants of the district treated the situation with much gravity, for they turned out in their best white frocks and sporting suits to gloat over the “wounded”. ...

The injured, who wore their ills with astonishing optimism, were cared for by beaming nurses in smart blue uniforms and many of the spectators would have willingly been injured for the sake of the smiles given...

Amusing, he thought. Though he suspected that with real injuries, it might have taken more than a smile to lighten the mood.

Oh, that Huerta chap in Mexico was in trouble again. In fact he wasn’t even in Mexico any more.

General Huerta has decided to depart on board the German cruiser Dresden... It is understood that Jamaica is the destination... In the course of an interview General Huerta said: “When I assumed the presidency I said publicly that I would restore peace, come what might. I have paid. It has cost me the Presidency. To restore peace has been my whole and sole ambition.”

If Huerta’s only ambition had been peace and he’d been driven out by a military uprising, Martin couldn’t help feeling he’d fallen somewhat short of his aspirations.

Then there were some snippets that caught his eye, such as one under the headline: “American Money for Volunteers”.

The United Irish League has forwarded to Mr. Redmond £2,000 of the promised £20,000 to be used for the Nationalist cause.

Money from the US for John Redmond, leader of the Irish Party in Parliament? What business was it of Americans to meddle in the affairs of the United Kingdom?

An article headlined “Mrs. Pankhurst again released” reported laconically that the great Suffragette leader was back out of prison, if only for twelve days. But there was no talk of her speaking at any further meeting, as had been the plan before her previous arrest. 

French armoured cruiser Ernest Renan

The article “Brothers in Arms” was about one of the leading figures in the Royal Navy, Sir John Jellicoe, who wrote to a Frenchman and fellow vice-Admiral:

My dear de Marolles, – Last night nearly 70 officers, who took part in Chinese operations in 1900, dined together under the presidency of Sir Edward Seymour. I have been asked to write to you and say that they have not forgotten our French comrades, and that they drank their health and that of their brave leader, yourself. It is with great pleasure that I perform this duty. 

Comrades in arms, then. Some people rated the Frogs. Though Martin still wondered whether the safer money wouldn’t be on the Germans. But the Germans: they seemed terribly earnest about keeping their people down and their arms plentiful.

The Liberal papers are drawing attention to another telegram from the Crown Prince expressing approval of a political pamphlet in which the present Chancellor and his policy are handled in a not very flattering manner.

The recipient of the telegram is Professor Bueholz, of Posen, who, in his pamphlet, strongly combats the modern tendencies towards the democratisation of the German Government and affirms the necessity of further armaments.

Crown Prince Wilhelm with German troops
No more a bundle of laughs than last time we saw him

Depressing. Though not as depressing as finding out that Surrey had racked up an impressive 402 against Lancashire at the Oval the previous day. 

That wasn’t a match Martin’s county was likely to win.

Countdown to War, Day 21. 18 July: What's Russia sticking its oar in for? And why's Germany sounding hostile?

One hundred years ago today, on Saturday 18 July 1914, Martin and the other railwaymen in his crew would have opened their Manchester Guardian to read that a movement was gaining steam to reducing the working week for city corporation workers to 48 hours. A meeting had been held, at which:

...the chair was taken by Councillor Davy, who spoke of the work that had always been done by the Labour group in the City Council in advocating the eight-hour day.

An eight-hour day and a six-day week? Everyone in the tracklayer gang agreed in wishing them luck. Who wouldn’t want the working week to be that short?

More generally, most of the news was gloomy. In Ireland, a new organisation rejoicing in the name “Sinn Fein” claimed to have come across a document circulated to police chiefs by the Chief Secretary for Ireland, Augustine Birrell.

Augustine Birrell
Cartoon by "Spy" for Vanity Fair

Sinn Fein quoted Birrell’s document:

When preparing your monthly confidential report, for the present please give a concise report in paragraph 1 of the development of the Irish Volunteer force in your county...

Class of persons who are joining.

Is the force now supported by all sections of Nationalists? ... Is it supported by the Roman Catholic clergy? ...

[On the Protestant Ulster Volunteers] The state of party feeling, and whether any change for the better or worse is noticeable.

Is anything known definitely with regard to the proposed establishment of the Provisional Government?

Still, Martin and his friends had become used to Ireland as the source of bad news that never went away. More worrying were reports from the Continent, starting with one from Vienna:

The “Neue Freie Presse” learns with reference to the present tension between Austria and Servia, due to the Bosnian murders, that the Russian Government hopes the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy will not make demands threatening the national independence of Servia, but is willing, in the interests of peace, to support the demands of Austria-Hungary in Belgrade if they are moderate.

The Russians? What were they sticking their noses in for? It was bad enough that there was “tension” between Austria and Serbia without someone else getting stuck in. And he didn’t like talk of “the interests of peace”. Why was anyone saying they were suddenly at risk?

It seemed that Russia also had a “use for England”. Another article revealed that the German newspaper, the Berliner Tageblatt had reported on rumours of an Anglo-Russian naval agreement. And just at the time, as the Guardian had reported before, that Britain was conducting its biggest ever naval review. The German editor seemed to be quite a cynic:

”Certainly,” he says, “the existence of negotiations over a naval agreement between England and Russia have been denied. Not indeed by Sir Edward Grey [the Foreign Secretary], who chose his words wisely, and stated with perfect truth that there were no negotiations for an alliance. It was the ‘Westminster Gazette’ which denied fully and completely all that had been said on the authority of an absolutely reliable and exactly informed Paris source.

What sort of source is absolutely reliable? A spy?

The German paper was convinced the French, allies of Russia and in their Entente Cordiale with Britain, were involved.

No sensible person in Germany will say that the Entente presents an insurmountable obstacle to better Anglo-German relations... [but] it is just because English statesmen and a very large part of the English people have within the last few months shown with undeniable openness of feeling how valuable to them a good and friendly relationship between the English and German nation appears, that those in Germany who have the same desire ... must express their fears when these friendly wishes ... are undermined from a third side with clever measures and proposals.

Poincaré on his visit to Russia
With Tsar Nicholas II on the imperial yacht Alexandria

It seemed that the French President Raymond Poincaré, who was then on a visit to Russia, would be acting as an intermediary in the supposed negotiations with Britain. Would that undermine relations with Germany?

Certainly those ties were close at the moment. It was with a lighter heart that Martin read out another piece.

The “London Gazette” last night contained the announcement that the King has ordained that the children born to their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Brunswick and Luneburg shall at all times hold and enjoy the style and attribute of “highness,” with their titular dignity of prince or princess prefixed to their respective Christian names... and that the designation of the children shall be “a prince (or princess) of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.”

“Good thing,” one of Martin’s mates pointed out, “we have to keep the traditions going.”

Martin smiled.

“Good thing,” said another, “I’d rather keep them Germans on our side if things do turn nasty. Bloody good soldiers. And I never did trust the Frogs.”

Martin’s smile faded as he looked at him in some surprise. Solders? Things turning nasty? It was no more than he’d been thinking these last couple of days, but it somehow hurt to have it said out loud.

Sir Edward Carson, the troublesome loyalist. And the Winslow Boy

Some readers of my “Countdown to War” series of blog posts have asked about that strange character, Sir Edward Carson.

As pressure mounted, in the years leading up to the First World War, for some kind of Home Rule in Ireland – i.e. a measure of autonomy within the United Kingdom – he took the leadership of the Protestant movement in Ulster that opposed any slackening of the ties with Britain. He was a lawyer and a Member of Parliament, but he raised and at least connived at the arming of a resistance group that came to be known as the Ulster Volunteer Force.

Sir Edward Carson opposing Home Rule
He launched the slogan "No Surrender"

Decades later, the UVF and its successors were major contributors to the troubles that plagued Northern Ireland between 1972 and 1997.

Even back then, it was a significant factor in the instability of the island and its steady drift towards civil war.

And yet Carson was never arrested. Indeed, the British government treated him as a spokesman for a certain strand of opinion, and someone with whom it was prepared to negotiate. It’s hard not to feel that if he was treated so leniently, despite fomenting armed insurrection against the State he was sworn to serve, it was because at heart the government couldn’t bring itself to condemn a movement that set out to keep at least a part of Ireland under its control.

Because he favoured the Union, he was a loyalist, and one can be indulgent towards any degree of disloyalty in a loyalist.

This adulation of a rebel and insurgent continues to this day. There is a greater than life-size statue of Carson on the drive up to Stormont Castle outside Belfast, the seat of the power-sharing government of Northern Ireland and its Assembly. One can’t help admiring the Republicans who turn up there each day and go past the statue, on their way to continue work for the peaceful development of the province.

What amazes me most about the man, however, is that there was another side to his character. The Terence Rattigan play The Winslow Boy tells the story of a young cadet expelled from Naval College for the theft of a five shilling postal order; a leading right-wing MP and lawyer takes up the case and his brilliant forensic skills become the biggest weapon in the defence of the child.

The lawyer, Sir Robert Morton, bases his legal action on a so-called “petition of right”. Technically, this is an appeal to the Sovereign to correct a wrong that has been done to a subject. The play several times makes powerful and poignant use of the words inscribed on such a petition, “let Right be done.” At one point, Morton declares, “it is easy to do justice, but it is very hard to do right”.

It came as a shock to me a few years ago – such a shock that I put up a blog post on the subject at the time – to discover that the historical figure on whom Morton is modelled, who fought the case of the real cadet on whom the Winslow boy is based, was none other than Sir Edward Carson.

I’ve always preferred my heroes when I can see that they have feet of clay. Carson’s interesting because he’s a villain in whom I can see a halo. And that’s marvellously intriguing.

Countdown to War, Day 20. 17 July 1914: a suffragette martyr, more trouble with Carson, the Royal Navy assembles, French airmen get lost

One hundred years ago today, on Friday 17 July 1914, Martin the railwayman would have discovered from his Manchester Guardian that the authorities had succeeded after all in keeping Emmeline Pankhurst from attending the votes for women meeting the day before. Two days ago the paper had quoted her fellow suffragette Mrs Mansel saying that “Mrs. Pankhurst was going to the meeting on Thursday evening, and nothing could stop her.”

There’d been an attempt to get her there; she’d emerged from the house surrounded by the “announced ‘bodyguard’ of clergymen and doctors” who would attempt to prevent her being re-arrested.

Emmeline Pankhurst
Didn't make it to the meeting

Following them came Mrs. Pankhurst on a stretcher, accompanied by some nurses. She was covered with a black evening cloak and looked very pale. A nurse endeavoured to enter the motor ambulance, but was prevented by the police.

In the meantime, Mrs. Pankhurst had been lifted into the motor ambulance, followed by another nurse. Chief Inspector McBrien and Inspector Parker sprang in immediately afterwards. While this was happening a uniformed policeman had got on the seat beside the driver, and before the crowd had fully realised it Mrs. Pankhurst was on her way to Holloway [women’s prison].

“The women still got £15,000 in contributions,” said the young man reading the article, “despite the arrest.”

“Despite?” said the Cynic, “Because. Nothing’s so effective for getting sympathy as martyrdom.”

Home Rule legislation for Ireland was entering its final stages in Parliament. Compromise between Protestant opponents of Home Rule and Catholic nationalists looked as remote as ever.

Communications have taken place to-day between the Prime Minister and Sir Edward Carson. What the result of these was cannot be known, but it may be assumed that no settlement is at present in sight, and that the chance of one is at the moment slender owing to the persistence of the uncompromising attitude taken by the Ulster leader in Belfast last week and since he returned to London.

He smiled a wrily.

“Carson’s a lawyer, but his movement is stockpiling arms. Illegally. Criminally. And the government’s crawling to him. Why don’t they arrest him? Why aren’t they interrogating him instead of negotiating with him?”

“Hold on,” said one of this workmates, “he’s a patriot. He wants to keep the United Kingdom united. A kingdom with Ireland in it.”

“What’s a crime for some,” said the Cynic, “is just a different way of doing the right thing in others. If you’re a loyalist, whatever you do’s loyal, illegal or not.”

Meanwhile, Parliament kept talking about legislation for Ireland. Well, he wished them luck. Legislation was at least preferable to war. And there was no war so bitter as civil war.

Talking of war, what was happening in Europe generally? There at least the alarming news items from yesterday’s paper seemed not to have been followed up by further worrying developments. Unless – what should he make of the massive assembly of the fleet now under way at Portsmouth? Sea and air fleet, in fact – he needed to get used to the fact that there were now airborne weapons too.

Nearly five hundred war vessels comprising the British Home Fleet will be assembled at Spithead during the week-end for the ‘test mobilisation’ and inspection by the King. The first contingent, including most of the bigger battleships and cruisers, steamed into the Solent yesterday and provided a fine spectacle.

It seemed that there had been a “splendid response” to the Admiralty’s call for reservists, “17,000 of whom have joined for eleven days.”

Reservists called up?

The “newly-created air service” would be on display. Overall, the exercise would involve the “most powerful fleet ever known” to have been deployed.

He couldn’t make up his mind whether this was just for show or preparation for something more sinister.

Another story was about “French Airmen Detained”. It sounded bad, but wasn’t. Or perhaps it wasn’t. He couldn’t tell whether there something sinister behind the apparently ridiculous.

A couple of French airmen mistook the Black Forest, in Germany, for the Vosges, in France, got lost and had to land on German soil. It all ended well (though God knows what sort of reception the two flyers came home to), as the Guardian reported:

The army headquarters at Carlsruhe have decided that the aviators shall be allowed to return after a protocol has been drawn up.

He didn’t know what to make of that. Either the French air service was so incompetent that they couldn’t work out where that highly sensitive frontier ran, or they were spying on Germany, which as well as being sinister enough in itself, meant they weren’t smart enough to get away with it, which showed worrying incompetence.

Either way, it wasn’t a story to inspire much confidence in our Entente Cordiale partners.

French Air Force
Needed to learn not to confuse mountain ranges

Countdown to War, Day 19. 16 July 1914: talk of war. And – the shock of 1914 – mixed bathing in Manchester

One hundred years ago today, on Thursday 16 July 1914, Martin and his railwayman friends, reading the Manchester Guardian during a break in work, would have seen that the French Socialists at their conference had discussed strike action as a means of avoiding war.

The speakers were divided in opinion, some maintaining that it was useless to talk of revolts and strikes in war time since they knew that such movements were impossible, while others declared more confidence should be placed in the force of Socialism. This afternoon, M.Vaillant and M. Jaurès advocated a general strike as a means of preventing war.

Ah, yes. Jaurès. It took him a while to work out how to pronounce the name, but eventually he decided he must be the French Socialist the clever young men from University spoke of so highly at Labour Party meetings. A pretty significant figure, it seemed. And he was right: if preventing war wasn’t a big enough question for a general strike, what would be?

“Ah,” said the Cynic, “so now we think there might be a war to prevent?”

There were certainly enough trouble spots that could breed war around the world. 

The young men kept on reading the Guardian. “Huerta’s family leave”, they discovered: it seemed that the rebels had won in Mexico and the President was going. 

Just the day before they’d read about another arms shipment being seized on the way to Dublin; today it was “Confiscation of 1500,000 Cartridges” in “cement bags at Stockton”; apparently “they were going to Belfast”, so each side was clearly arming as fast as it could. 

Response to hunger-striking suffragettes
The torture of force feeding

A different kind of conflict was taking place even within England itself: an article headlined “Case against forcible feeding” quoted a speaker at a public meeting saying that the participants:

...were there to protest against torture, and especially against torture by forcible feeding as carried out in prisons. As medical men they wished also to protest against the degradation and prostitution of the medical profession by compelling its members to act as torturers and executioners.

Somehow, though, Martin didn’t think French trades unionists would be contemplating a general strike against the government of Mexico, or over the brewing civil war in Ireland – surely a British matter anyway? – and least of all over the mistreatment of British women in British prisons.

“No,” said the man holding the paper, “here’s a piece that’s nearer the mark.”

German Crown Prince Wilhelm
One can just imagine his charming line in self-deprecating humour

It was headlined “Germany’s hour of destiny” and concerned a telegram from the German Crown Prince to the author of a pamphlet that claimed:

... the military preparations in France and Russia will be so far advanced in the spring of 1915 that an invasion by such mighty armies as have never been seen before on earth must be daily expected.

War in Central Europe itself? Surely not. But the article pointed out that the Crown Prince had written:

I have read your excellent pamphlet with the greatest interest, and I wish it the widest circulation among our German people.

Did that mean that Germany was genuinely afraid it might soon face war? That didn’t sound good. 

Even more chilling was the piece about Hungary’s view on Serbia:

In the Lower House of the Hungarian Parliament to-day Count Tisza, the Premier, replying to an interpellation regarding Servian connections with the Sarayevo murders, said that Austria-Hungary’s relations with Servia must be made clear. [...] The question had been raised whether the present uncertainty must not inevitably be decided by war. He must say that the State which did not consider war the “ultima ratio” could not call itself a state.

“What the hell’s an ‘ultima ratio’ when it’s at home?” asked the man reading the piece out loud, “what’s wrong with using English in an English paper?”

István Tisza, Hungarian Prime Minister
A laugh a minute for an evening together, one imagines

But the question that had been asked was whether war was inevitable. Inevitable? That was far more sinister than anything he’d heard previously since that Archduke had been murdered. Were things turning nastier than Martin had imagined?

It lightened the mood when the reader regaled them with the news that an experiment in mixed bathing in Withington, near Manchester, had been a success. It had been carefully managed: 

The regulations of the Committee provided that individual bathers would not be admitted, and this was rigidly enforced. In the matter of costume the Committee had laid down strict rules. Men were permitted to wear only what is known as the University or Amateur Swimming Association costume of dark blue or black material, and women were also limited to a dark costume of like material. If bathers do not possess these they can obtain them at the bath upon a minimal payment.

“Let no-one say that 1914’s not a year for boldness, then,” proclaimed Martin.

“Cautious boldness anyway,” said the Cynic.

“I think I might go for a swim in Withington myself this weekend,” said Martin.

“Why? Do you think you can persuade a woman to go with you?” asked the Cynic.

The baths get bold in Withingotn