No. 5,000 26 April, 1924 I f you had asked, 'What
is Sheffield for?' 20 years ago you would have had an answer back pat enough. It might not have pleased you, but it would have been given with a convincing assurance. Sheffield would have been proud of itself.
Where there's smoke, there's brass!
Where there's muck, there's money!
It would have been the familiar answer that the world's work cannot be carried on in white kid gloves, that Sheffield was busy with the hard work of the world and had no time — hardly inclination — for what she would term the softer things of life. The smoke, the grime, the ugliness were the circumstances of adventure, the thrilling and desired hardships of a voyage to Eldorado. But what now? I am as ignorant as Voltaire's ingenu at Versailles —I am no industrial expert of course — but I wondered a little not only in Sheffield but in Hull, and in Leeds and still more looking out of the train at the miles and miles of mining villages stretched out along the country, whether I was in presence of industrial efficiency?
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