HARD CASES.
Among other applications which were recently heard for exemption from the new Compulsory Service Act for unmarried men we extract the following:—
Mr. Isaac Goldstein claimed exemption for his clerk, a stalwart youth of twenty-two, on the ground that he was indispensable to him in his business.
Asked what his business was the applicant said he was a bookmaker.
The Chairman. I thought there was no racing now.
Mr. Goldstein. Oh, yes. Steeple-chasing every week.
The Chairman. Do people still go to races and bet?
Mr. Goldstein. Of course they do. Why not?
The Chairman. I fancied they might have found other things to do. Also I fancied that money might be short.
The applicant said that there was plenty of money about if you knew where to look for it.
The Chairman. And who ride the horses?
Mr. Goldstein. The jockeys, of course.
The Chairman. They prefer that to doing anything more serious for their country?
Mr. Goldstein. They are doing something very serious for their country. They're preserving the breed of horses. Where would old England's horseflesh be without races and steeplechases?
The Chairman. You say this young man is indispensable to you. How?
Mr. Goldstein. He is my clerk. He writes down the bets. I haven't got time to write down bets myself; I'm too busy taking them. He's one of the quickest clerks in England. I should go broke if I hadn't got him.
Application refused.
Mr. Joe Tummilee applied for the exemption of a comedian playing in his revue, "Never mind the War." This young man, he said, who was twenty-nine, was the life and soul of the piece, and if he joined the Army the applicant would be put both to inconvenience and loss.
The Chairman. Are there not older or married actors that you could employ for this great work?
Mr. Tummilee. They're not so good. The comedian in question was a very agile dancer and was also good-looking. Other men might not attract the public.
The Chairman. Is the attraction of the public essential?
Mr. Tummilee (surprised). Naturally. How should we managers live otherwise? Besides, when a great war is going on it's a national duty to try and make people forget. My theatre, you perhaps are not aware, is a favourite resort for wounded soldiers, who are never so happy as when they are there.
The Chairman. Surely all that happiness will not disappear because this one performer is missing?
Mr. Tummilee. Most of it. He's the great draw.
The Chairman. Has it not occurred to you that the country ought to come first?
Mr. Tummilee. I consider I'm doing a great deal for the country, and he too, by making it laugh.
The Chairman. You must find an older funny man or soon we may all be weeping.
Application refused.
Mr. Samuel Bland claimed exemption on the ground that he disapproved of war and physical force.
The Chairman. What would you do if you caught a burglar in your house?
Applicant. I should lock him in and call for the police.
The Chairman. Then you don't mind relying on the physical force of others for your own protection?
Applicant. That is part of the machinery of civilisation.
The Chairman. So, I fear, is an army. Do you pay your taxes?
Applicant. Yes.
The Chairman. Why?
The Applicant. Because there is Scriptural warrant for it.
The Chairman. But you know that a large part of them goes to maintain our fighting men. Without money we should have to give in.
Applicant. I obey the law. I don't necessarily know where the money is going.
The Chairman. Your position is very illogical. Either you should take your part in defending your country or obey your conscience and either go to prison for refusing to pay taxes for the carrying-on of the War, or emigrate to some place more like Utopia than this is. As it is you take advantage of other men's readiness to fight and even to die for you, and actually pay them to do so, but raise conscientious objections to doing either for yourself. A conscience that is so adaptable is not worth considering.
Application refused.
Harry Cadgsmith, who said he was a picture-palace proprietor, applied for exemption for the commissionaire who stood outside the building and invited people in.
The Chairman. How old is he?
Mr. Cadgsmith. Thirty-four.
The Chairman. Is he strong?
Mr. Cadgsmith. Very. He is also highly trained; he wears uniform and calls out the attractions. The cinema is one of the principal alleviations of modern life and but for this man's powerful voice many people might pass by and never enter.
The Chairman. What kind of pictures do you show?
Mr. Cadgsmith. The best.
The Chairman. Are they English?
Mr. Cadgsmith. Some are. But the public prefer American ones. I always pride myself on giving the public what it has the sense to want.
The Chairman. Might it not be better employed elsewhere? Making munitions, for example?
Mr. Cadgsmith. That is nothing to do with me. My business is to supply a demand.
The Chairman. What is your chief film this week?
Mr. Cadgsmith. It is a very fine story entitled "The Prince of Crooks."
The Chairman. Could not a woman take this man's place?
Mr. Cadgsmith. Not to do it justice.
Application refused.