That's the way to put heart into them. Make them understand
they're of use, that they can help themselves, help others, learn a
trade, be self-supporting. We trained them to row. Some of them never
had had oars in their hands except on the pond at Hempstead Heath on a
bank holiday. We trained a crew that swept the river."

It was fine to see the light in his face. His enthusiasm gave you a
thrill. He might have been Guy Nickalls telling how the crew he coached
won at New London.

"They were the best crews, too. University crews. Of course, our
coxswain could see, but the crew were blind. We've not only taught them
to row, we've taught them to support themselves, taught them trades.
All men who come here have lost their eyesight in battle in this war,
but already we have taught some of them a trade and set them up in
business. And while the war lasts business will be good for them. And it
must be nursed and made to grow. So we have an 'after-care' committee.
To care for them after they have left us. To buy raw material, to keep
their work up to the mark, to dispose of it. We need money for those
men. For the men who have started life again for themselves. Do you
think there are people in America who would like to help those men?"

I asked, in case there were such people, to whom should they write.

"To me," he said, "St. Dunstan's, Regent's Park."[C]

[Footnote C: In New York, the Permanent Blind Relief War Fund for
Soldiers and Sailors of Great Britain, France, and Belgium is working in
close association with Mr. Pearson. With him on the committee, are
Robert Bacon, Elihu Root, Myron T. Herrick, Whitney Warren, Lady Arthur
Paget, and George Alexander Kessler. The address of the fund is 590
Fifth Avenue.]

I found the seventeen acres of St. Dunstan's so arranged that no blind
man could possibly lose his way. In the house, over the carpets, were
stretched strips of matting. So long as a man kept his feet on matting
he knew he was on the right path to the door. Outside the doors
hand-rails guided him to the workshops, schoolrooms, exercising-grounds,
and kitchen-gardens. Just before he reached any of these places a brass
knob on the hand-rail warned him to go slow. Were he walking on the
great stone terrace and his foot scraped against a board he knew he was
within a yard of a flight of steps. Wherever you went you found men at
work, learning a trade, or, having learned one, intent in the joy of
creating something.