The latest and perhaps the most vivid of the flashes as of lightning
which have revealed the drama of the past 365 days has shown us the
part played by woman. What a part that has been! Nearly always in
the histories of the great world-wars of the past the sympathy of the
spectator has been more or less diverted from the unrecorded martyrdom
of the myriads of forgotten women who have lost sons and husbands by
the machinations of the few vain and selfish women who have governed
continents by playing upon the passions of men. Thank God, there has
been nothing of that kind in this case. On the contrary, woman’s part
in this red year of the war has been one of purity, sacrifice, and
undivided glory.
Towards the end of it we saw a procession through the streets of London
of 30,000 women who had come out to ask for the right to serve the
State. I do not envy the man who, having eyes to see, a heart to feel,
and a mind to comprehend, was able to look on that sight unmoved. Every
class of woman was represented there, the gently-born, the educated, and
the tenderly-nurtured, as well as the humbly-born, the uneducated, and
the heavily-burdened, the woman with the delicate, spiritual face, as
well as the woman with the face hardened by toil. And they were marching
together, side by side, with all the barriers broken down. It was not
so much a procession of British women as a demonstration of British
womanhood, and it seemed to say, “We hate war as no man can ever hate
it, but it has been forced upon us all, so we, too, want to take our
share in it.”