Take a mining towalet like Woodhouae, with a population o ten thousand people, and three generations behind it. This space of three generations argues a certain well-eslablied society. The old County has fled from the sight of so much ilisembowelled coal, to flourish on mineral rights in regions Blill idyllic. Remains one great and inaccessible magnate, the local coal owner: three generations old, and clambering 00 the bottom step of the County, kicking off the mass below. Rule him out. A well established society in Woodhouse, full of line shades, ranging from the dark of coal-dust to grit of stone-mason and sawdust of timber-merchant, through the lustre of lard and Wtter and meat, to the perfume of the chemist and the disinfectant of the doctor, on to the serene gold-tarnish of bankmanagers, cashiers for the firm, clergymen and such-like, aa laras the automobile refulgence of the general-manager ol all the collieries. Here the ne plus ultra. The general man aser lives in the shrubberied seclusion of the so-called Manor, The genuine Hall, abandoned by the County, has been taken over aa offices by die firm. Here we are then: a vast substratum of colliers; a thick sprinkling of tradespeople inlermingled with small employers of labour and diversified by elementary schoolmasters and nonconformist clergy; a higher layer of bank-managers, rich millers and well-to-do ironmasters, episcopal clergy and the nanagers of collieries, then the rich and sticky cherry of the local coal-owner glistening over all. Such the complicated social system of a small industrial lown in the Midlands of England, in lliis year of grace 1920. But let us go back a little. Such it was in tlie last calm year of pleotv, 1913. A calm year of plenty. But one chronic and dreary malady: that of the odd women. Why, in the name of all proiperily, should every c Jasa tut the Vowesl msti!
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)