With me--and I am sure that I speak for all the others
as well--it was not a question of mere pleasure; it was
no love of gardening for its own sake that inspired us.
It was a plain national duty. What we said to ourselves
was: "This war has got to stop. The men in the trenches
thus far have failed to stop it. Now let _us_ try. The
whole thing," we argued, "is a plain matter of food
production."
"If we raise enough food the Germans are bound to starve.
Very good. Let us kill them."
I suppose there was never a more grimly determined set
of men went out from the cities than those who went out
last May, as I did, to conquer the food problem. I don't
mean to say that each and every one of us actually left
the city. But we all "went forth" in the metaphorical
sense. Some of the men cultivated back gardens; others
took vacant lots; some went out into the suburbs; and
others, like myself, went right out into the country.
We are now back. Each of us has with him his Paris Green,
his hoe and the rest of his radish seed.
The time has, therefore, come for a plain, clear statement
of our experience. We have, as everybody knows, failed.
We have been beaten hack all along the line.
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