THE OTHER WOMAN’S SON.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume VI, Issue 274, 4 November 1916, Page 2

THE OTHER WOMAN’S SON.

(Bx LIIJLI TURNER ) Not all >nt]-(ons<_iiplion women lie th' slmlJ stlt-n'-suied <l< terinined ones in cxidtna at mu tings Ihe>e ait mam of t’mm silent tnind unbappx geuuim h '■tiugglinq with tin rnoblem that ‘-itm* to be presentea to th( in bv fno question “biial 1 vote to send aimthei woman s son to the trenches 1 They an the women in whom sintiment holds stronger swav than reason, and who must not be blamed that this is so, since it is a matter of constitution. They arc the women upon whom the framer of the question—some lover of Germany without a doubt —counted when he concocted it. “Appeal to sentiment in a woman and you’ll win every time,” he said to him, and went out and sowed it broadcast, with his tongue in bis iluek. “Shall I vote to send another woman’s son to the trenches I” Let the timid women answer this for themselves by asking themselves, quite quietly, another question—

WHAT WOMAN’S SON ? Do you mean the woman who already has given more fhan her share? You know that you do not, since she is already exempt. Do you mean the woman who has her son for her sole support ? No ; you know that she also is exempt. K IS THIS THE WOMAN YOU MEAN ? The one who is contentedly continuing to enjoy life as if there were no war. spending more money than she has ever spent before, pluming herself in the latest monstrosity of fashion, demanding rich foods, soft living, gaiety, while other people’s sons are keeping the country safe for her and making it possible for her to have exactly what she demands ? OR IS THIS THE WOMAN YOU MEAN ? The one who, though she may be spending as much as before the war, and is even retrenching and subscribing to war funds and working for soldiers, has several stalwart sons who are staying behind with the women and children while other women’s sons are dying because they must stay in the trenches till fatigue and disease do what the German bullets do not do, since no one comes to relieve them? OR PERHAPS IT IS THIS WOMAN— The one, whoever she is or whatever she is doing—whose sons are shouting themselves hoarse with applause at the Stadium, where blows are delivered that nothing on earth would induce them to face, or who are looking on and cheering at games they do not play ? AND NOW'. Ask yourselves afresh the' question that is troubling you—“ls my sentiment going to prevent me from voting to send the sons of these women to the trenches ” You know’ that it is not. You know that the thought of the other Woman’s son staying in these trenches to his death through not being reinforced, is, day by day, as the time for decision draws nearer, burning into your profoundest sentiment like a live coal. Timid women, cast off your fear. Justify your womanhood at whatever cost to yourselves, and say to all efficient manhood, in a voice that shall roll next week from shore to shore of this vast continent—■ Strike —for your altars and your fires, Strike—for the green graves of your sires, God —and your native land. Avenel, Mosman.