Get Non-Traditional and Advanced Machining Technologies: Machine Tools and Operations 2nd Edition Helmi Youssef free all chapters
Get Non-Traditional and Advanced Machining Technologies: Machine Tools and Operations 2nd Edition Helmi Youssef free all chapters
com
https://textbookfull.com/product/non-traditional-
and-advanced-machining-technologies-machine-tools-
and-operations-2nd-edition-helmi-youssef/
https://textbookfull.com/product/non-traditional-and-advanced-
machining-technologies-2nd-edition-helmi-youssef-author/
textbookfull.com
https://textbookfull.com/product/traditional-machining-technology-2nd-
edition-helmi-youssef/
textbookfull.com
https://textbookfull.com/product/manufacturing-technology-materials-
processes-and-equipment-first-edition-helmi-a-youssef/
textbookfull.com
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-oxford-handbook-of-music-and-the-
brain-oxford-library-of-psychology-michael-h-thaut/
textbookfull.com
Information Security Planning A Practical Approach 2nd
Edition Susan Lincke
https://textbookfull.com/product/information-security-planning-a-
practical-approach-2nd-edition-susan-lincke/
textbookfull.com
https://textbookfull.com/product/osteoarchaeology-a-guide-to-the-
macroscopic-study-of-human-skeletal-remains-efthymia-nikita-auth/
textbookfull.com
https://textbookfull.com/product/spinoza-a-life-steven-nadler/
textbookfull.com
https://textbookfull.com/product/contemporary-arts-as-political-
practice-in-singapore-1st-edition-wernmei-yong-ade/
textbookfull.com
214 Single Best Answer Questions in Obstetrics eBook
Edition Eranthi Samarakoon
https://textbookfull.com/product/214-single-best-answer-questions-in-
obstetrics-ebook-edition-eranthi-samarakoon/
textbookfull.com
Non-Traditional and
Advanced Machining
Technologies
Non-Traditional and
Advanced Machining
Technologies
Second Edition
.
by CRC Press
6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300, Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742
Reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable data and information, but the author and publisher can-
not assume responsibility for the validity of all materials or the consequences of their use. The authors and
publishers have attempted to trace the copyright holders of all material reproduced in this publication and
apologize to copyright holders if permission to publish in this form has not been obtained. If any copyright
material has not been acknowledged please write and let us know so we may rectify in any future reprint.
Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmit-
ted, or utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying, microflming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, with-
out written permission from the publishers.
For permission to photocopy or use material electronically from this work, access www.copyright.com or
contact the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. (CCC), 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400.
For works that are not available on CCC please contact [email protected]
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only
for identifcation and explanation without intent to infringe.
Typeset in Times
by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India
Dedication
vii
viii Contents
Index...................................................................................................................... 459
Preface
Non-Traditional and Advanced Machining Technologies consists of 11 chapters.
Every chapter has been updated emphasizing new information on the relevant topics.
Today’s interests such as machining of DTC materials, assisted machining technolo-
gies, and hybrid processes are also featured in brand-new chapters. Accordingly, this
book provides a comprehensive description of non-traditional and advanced machin-
ing technologies, from the basic to the most advanced, in today’s industrial applica-
tions. It is a fundamental textbook for undergraduate students enrolled in production,
materials and manufacturing, industrial, and mechanical engineering programs.
Students from other disciplines can also use this book while taking courses in the
area of manufacturing and materials engineering. It should also be useful to gradu-
ates enrolled in high-level machining technology courses and professional engineers
working in the feld of the manufacturing industry. The book covers the technolo-
gies, machine tools, and operations of several non-traditional machining processes.
The treatment of the different subjects has been developed from the basic principles
of machining processes, machine tool elements, and control systems, and extends to
ecological machining and the most recent machining technologies, including non-
traditional methods, and machining DTC materials. The book presents environment-
friendly machine tools and operations; as well as design for machining, accuracy,
and surface integrity realized by both traditional and non-traditional machining
operations. Solved examples, problems, and review questions are provided.
Design for accurate and economic machining, ecological machining, levels of
accuracy, and surface fnish attained by machining methods are also presented.
The topics covered throughout the book chapters refect the rapid and signifcant
advances that have occurred in various areas in machining technologies, and they
are organized and described in such a manner as to draw the interest of students.
The chapters of the book are aimed at motivating and challenging students to explore
technically and economically viable solutions to a variety of important questions
regarding product design and optimum selection of machining operation for a given
task.
Outline of Non-Traditional and Advanced Machining Technologies
Unit I: Non-Traditional Machining Operations and Non-Traditional Machine
Tools
Chapter 1 presents an introduction and classifcation of the non-traditional
machine tools.
Chapter 2 presents the mechanical machining processes such as ultrasonic, jet
machining, and abrasive fow machining.
Chemical milling, electrochemical machining and electrochemical grinding
machine tools are described in Chapter 3.
Machine tools for thermal processes such as electric discharge, laser beam, elec-
tron beam, and plasma arc machining are presented in Chapter 4. Machine tools,
basic elements, accessories, operations, removal rate, accuracy, and surface integrity
are covered for each case.
xv
xvi Preface
xvii
xviii Acknowledgements
xix
Visit https://textbookfull.com
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks, textbook
and enjoy exciting offers!
xx Author Biographies
xxi
xxii List of Symbols
χ Susceptibility of conglomerates
βm Abrasive/air weight mixing ratio %
ξ Oscillation amplitude μm
ω Angular speed radian/s
εms Coeffcient of magnetostrictive elongation
η Current effciency %
ρ Density of the magnetostriction material kg/m3
θm Melting point of workpiece material °C
σ Stress kg/mm2
λ Wavelength μm
List of Acronyms
Abbreviation Description
ac Alternating current
AFM Abrasive fow machining
AGMA American Gear Manufacturing Association
AISI American Iron and Steel Institute
AJECM Abrasive jet electrochemical machining
AJM Abrasive jet machining
AMZ Altered material zone
ANSI American National Standards Institute
ASME American Society of Mechanical Engineers
ASTM American Society for Testing and Materials
ATM Atmosphere
AWJ Abrasive water jet
AWJD Abrasive water jet deburring
AWJM Abrasive water jet machining
BHN Brinell hardness number
BUE Built-up edge
CBN Cubic boron nitride
CD Conventional drilling
CFG Creep feed grinding
CFRP Carbon fber reinforced polymer
CG Conventional grinding
CHM Chemical machining
CH milling Chemical milling
CI Cast iron
CMC Ceramic matrix composite
CNC Computer numerical control
CW Continuous wave
CY Cyaniding
dC Direct current
DFM Design for manufacturing
DIN Deutsches Institut für Normung
DOF Degrees of freedom
DOT Department of Transportation
DTC Diffcult-to-cut
EB Electron Beam
EBM Electron beam machining
ECA Electrochemical abrasion
ECAM Electrochemical arc machining
ECD Electrochemical dissolution
ECDB Electrochemical deburring
ECDG Electrochemical discharge grinding
xxiii
xxiv List of Acronyms
I t was the third of April in 1918, the Wednesday after Easter, and
the war had now lasted three years and eight months. It had
become the aching habit of the whole world. Throughout the winter
it had been for the most part a great and terrible boredom, but now a
phase of acute anxiety was beginning. The “Kaiser’s Battle” was
raging in France; news came through sparingly; but it was known
that General Gough had lost tens of thousands of prisoners,
hundreds of guns, and vast stores of ammunition and railway
material. It was rumoured that he had committed suicide. But the
standards of Tory England differ from those of Japan. Through ten
sanguinary days, in a vaster Inkerman, the common men of Britain,
reinforced by the French, had fought and died to restore the
imperilled line. It was by no means certain yet that they had
succeeded. It seemed possible that the French and British armies
would be broken apart, and Amiens and Paris lost. Oswald’s mind
was still dark with apprehension.
The particular anxieties of this crisis accentuated the general
worry and inconveniences of the time, and deepened Oswald’s
conviction of an incredible incompetence in both the political and
military leadership of his country. In spite of every reason he had to
the contrary, he had continued hitherto to hope for some bright
dramatic change in the course of events; he had experienced a
continually recurring disappointment with each morning’s paper.
His intelligence told him that all the inefficiency, the confusion, the
cheap and bad government by press and intrigue, were the necessary
and inevitable consequences of a neglect of higher education for the
past fifty years; these defects were now in the nature of things,
almost as much as the bleakness of an English February or the fogs
of a London November, but his English temperament had refused
hitherto to accept the decision of his intelligence. Now for the first
time he could see the possibility of an ultimate failure in the war. To
this low level of achievement, he perceived, a steadfast contempt for
thought and science and organization had brought Britain; at this
low level Britain had now to struggle through the war, blundering,
talking, and thinking confusedly, suffering enormously—albeit so
sound at heart. It was a humiliating realization. At any rate she could
still hope to struggle through; the hard-won elementary education of
the common people, the stout heart and sense of the common
people, saved her gentlefolk from the fate of their brother inefficients
in Russia. But every day he fretted afresh at the costly and toilsome
continuance of an effort that a little more courage and wisdom in
high places on the allied side, a little more knowledge and clear
thinking, might have brought to an entirely satisfactory close in 1917.
For a man of his age, wounded, disappointed, and a chronic
invalid, there was considerable affliction in the steadily increasing
hardships of the Fourth Year. A number of petty deprivations at
which a healthy man might have scoffed, intensified his physical
discomfort. There had been a complete restriction of his supply of
petrol, the automobile now hung in its shed with its tyres removed,
and the railway service to London had been greatly reduced. He
could not get up to London now to consult books or vary his moods
without a slow and crowded and fatiguing journey; he was more and
more confined to Pelham Ford. He had been used to read and work
late into the night, but now his home was darkened in the evening
and very cheerless; there was no carbide for the acetylene
installation, and a need for economy in paraffin. For a time he had
been out of coal, and unable to get much wood because of local
difficulties about cartage, and for some weeks he had had to sit in his
overcoat and read and write by candlelight. Now, however, that
distress had been relieved by the belated delivery of a truckload of
coal. And another matter that may seem trivial in history, was by no
means trivial in relation to his moods. In the spring of 1918 the food
supply of Great Britain was at its lowest point. Lord Rhondda was
saving the situation at the eleventh hour. The rationing of meat had
affected Oswald’s health disagreeably. He had long ago acquired the
habit of living upon chops and cutlets and suchlike concentrated
nourishment, and he found it difficult to adapt himself now to the
bulky insipidity of a diet that was, for a time, almost entirely
vegetarian. For even fish travels by long routes to Hertfordshire
villages. The frequent air raids of that winter were also an added
nervous irritation. In the preceding years of the war there had been
occasional Zeppelin raids, the Zeppelins had been audible at Pelham
Ford on several occasions and once Hertford had suffered from their
bombs; but those expeditions had ended at last in a series of
disasters to the invaders, and they had never involved the uproar and
tension of the Gotha raids that began in the latter half of 1917. These
latter raids had to be met by an immense barrage of anti-aircraft
guns round London, a barrage which rattled every window at Pelham
Ford, lit the sky with star shells, and continued intermittently
sometimes for four or five hours. Oswald would lie awake throughout
that thudding conflict, watching the distant star shells and
searchlights through the black tree boughs outside his open window,
and meditating drearily upon the manifest insanity of mankind....
He was now walking up and down his lawn, waiting until it should
be time to start for the station with Joan to meet Peter.
For Peter, convalescent again and no longer fit for any form of
active service—he was lamed now as well as winged—was to take up a
minor administrative post next week at Adastral House, and he was
coming down for a few days at Pelham Ford before carrying his wife
off for good to a little service flat they had found in an adapted house
in the Avenue Road. They had decided not to live at The Ingle-Nook,
although Arthur had built it to become Peter’s home, but to continue
the tenancy of Aunts Phyllis and Phœbe. They did not want to
disturb those two ladies, whose nervous systems, by no means stable
at the best of times, were now in a very shaken condition. Aunt
Phyllis was kept busy restraining Aunt Phœbe from inflicting lengthy
but obscure prophetic messages upon most of the prominent people
of the time. To these daily activities Aunt Phœbe added an increasing
habit of sleep-walking that broke the nightly peace of Aunt Phyllis.
She would wander through the moonlit living rooms gesticulating
strangely, and uttering such phrases as “Blood! Blood! Seas of blood!
The multitudinous seas incarnadine”; or “Murder most foul!”
She had a fixed idea that it was her business to seek out the Kaiser
and either scold him or kill him—or perhaps do both. She held that it
was the duty of women to assassinate. Men might fight battles, it was
their stupid way; but surely women were capable of directer things. If
some woman were to kill any man who declared war directly he
declared war, there would be a speedy end to war. She could not, she
said, understand the inactivity of German wives and mothers. She
would spend hours over her old school German grammar, with a
view to writing an “Open Letter to German Womankind.” But her
naturally rich and very allusive prose was ill adapted to that sort of
translation.
Many over-sensitive people were suffering more or less as Aunt
Phœbe was suffering—from a sense of cruelty, wickedness, and
disaster that staggered their minds. They had lived securely in a
secure world; they could not readjust. Even for so sane a mind as
Oswald’s, hampered as it was by the new poison his recent wound
had brought into his blood, readjustment was difficult. He suffered
greatly from insomnia, and from a haunting apprehension of
misfortunes. His damaged knee would give him bouts of acute
distress. Sometimes it would seem to be well and he would forget it.
Then it would become painfully lame by day and a neuralgic pain at
night. His moods seemed always exaggerated now; either he was too
angry or too sorrowful or too hopeful. Sometimes he experienced
phases of blank stupidity, when his mind became unaccountably
sluggish and clumsy....
Joan was indoors now packing up a boxful of books that were to go
with her to the new home.
He was feeling acutely—more acutely than he wanted to feel—that
his guardianship was at an end. Joan, who had been the mistress of
his house, and the voice that sang in it, the pretty plant that grew in
it, was going now—to return, perhaps, sometimes as a visitor—but
never more to be a part of it; never more to be its habitual presence.
Peter, too, was severing the rope, a long rope it had seemed at times
during the last three years, that had tethered him to Pelham Ford....
Oswald did not want to think now of his coming loneliness. What
he wanted to think about was the necessity of rounding off their
relationship properly, of ending his educational task with some sort
of account rendered. He felt he owed it to these young people and to
himself to tell them of his aims and of what he considered the whole
of this business of education amounted to. He had to explain what
had helped and what had prevented him. “A Valediction,” he said. “A
Valediction.” But he could not plan out what he had to say that
morning. He could not arrange his heads, and all the while that he
tried to fix his thoughts upon these topics, he was filled with
uncontrollable self-pity for the solitude ahead of him.
He was ashamed at these personal distresses that he could not
control. He disliked himself for their quality. He did not like to think
he was thinking the thoughts in his mind. He walked up and down
the lawn for a time like a man who is being pestered by uncongenial
solicitations.
In spite of his intense affection for both of them, he was feeling a
real jealousy of the happiness of these two young lovers. He hated
the thought of losing Joan much more than he hated the loss of
Peter. Once upon a time he had loved Peter far more than Joan, but
by imperceptible degrees his affection had turned over to her. In
these war years he and she had been very much together. For a time
he had been—it was grotesque, but true—actually in love with her.
He had let himself dream—. It was preposterous to think of it. A
moonlight night had made his brain swim.... At any rate, thank
Heaven! she had never had a suspicion....
She’d come now as a visitor—perhaps quite often. He wasn’t going
to lose his Joan altogether. But each time she would come changed,
rather less his Joan and rather more a new Joan—Peter’s Joan....
Some day they’d have children, these two. Joan would sit over her
child and smile down at it. He knew exactly how she would smile.
And at the thought of that smile Joan gave place to Dolly. Out of the
past there jumped upon him the memory of Peter bubbling in a
cradle on the sunny verandah of The Ingle-Nook, and how he had
remarked that the very sunshine seemed made for this fortunate
young man.
“It was made for him,” Dolly had said, with that faintly
mischievous smile of hers.
How far off that seemed now, and how vivid still! He could
remember Dolly’s shadow on the rough-cast wall, and the very things
he had said in reply. He had talked like a fool about the wonderful
future of Peter—and of the world. How long was that ago? Five-and-
twenty years? (Yes, Peter would be five-and-twenty in June.) How
safe and secure the European world had seemed then! It seemed to
be loitering, lazily and basely indeed, but certainly, towards a sort of
materialist’s millennium. And what a vast sham its security had
been! He had called Peter the “Heir of the Ages.” And the Heritage of
the Ages had been preparing even then to take Peter away from the
work he had chosen and from all the sunshine and leisure of his life
and to splinter his shoulder-blade, smash his wrist, snap his leg-
bones with machine-gun bullets, and fling him aside, a hobbling,
stiff, broken young man to limp through the rest of life....
§2
That was what his mind had to lay hold of, that was what he had to
talk about, this process that had held out such fair hopes for Peter
and had in the end crippled him and come near to killing him and
wasting him altogether. He had to talk of that, of an enormous
collapse and breach of faith with the young. The world which had
seemed to be the glowing promise of an unprecedented education
and upbringing for Peter and his generation, the world that had
been, so to speak, joint guardian with himself, had defaulted. This
war was an outrage by the senior things in the world upon all the
hope of the future; it was the parent sending his sons through the
fires to Moloch, it was the guardian gone mad, it was the lapse of all
educational responsibility.
He had to keep his grasp upon that idea. By holding to that he
could get away from his morbidly intense wish to be personal and
intimate with these two. He loved them and they loved him, but what
he wanted to say was something quite beyond that.
What he had to talk about was Education, and Education alone. He
had to point out to them that their own education had been
truncated, was rough ended and partial. He had to explain why that
was so. And he had to show that all this vast disaster to the world
was no more and no less than an educational failure. The churches
and teachers and political forms had been insufficient and wrong;
they had failed to establish ideas strong and complete enough and
right enough to hold the wills of men. Necessarily he had to make a
dissertation upon the war. To talk of life now was to talk of the war.
The war now was human life. It had eaten up all free and
independent living.
The war was an educational breakdown, that was his point; and in
education lay whatever hope there was for mankind. He had to say
that to them, and he had to point out how that idea must determine
the form of their lives. He had to show the political and social and
moral conclusions involved in it. And he had to say what he wanted
to say in a large manner. He had to keep his temper while he said it.
Oswald, limping slowly up and down his lawn in the April
sunshine, with a gnawing pain at his knee, had to underline, as it
were, that last proviso in his thoughts. That was the extreme
difficulty of these urgent and tragic times. The world was in a phase
of intense, but swift, tumultuous, and distracting tragedy. The
millions were not suffering and dying in stateliness and splendour
but in a vast uproar, amidst mud, confusion, bickering, and
incoherence indescribable. While it was manifest that only great
thinking, only very clear and deliberate thinking, could give even the
forms of action that would arrest the conflagration, it was
nevertheless almost impossible for any one anywhere to think clearly
and deliberately, so universal and various were the compulsions,
confusions, and distresses of the time. And even the effect to see and
state the issue largely, fevered Oswald’s brain. He grew angry with
the multitudinous things that robbed him of his serenity.
“Education,” he said, as if he called for help; “education.”
And then, collapsing into wrath: “A land of uneducated
blockheads!”
No! It was not one of his good mornings. In a little while his steps
had quickened and his face had flushed. His hands clenched in his
pockets. “A universal dulness of mind,” he whispered. “Obstinacy....
Inadaptability.... Unintelligent opposition.”
Broad generalizations slipped out of his mind. He began to turn
over one disastrous instance after another of the shortness of mental
range, the unimaginative stupidity, the baseness and tortuousness of
method, the dull suspicions, class jealousies, and foolish conceits
that had crippled Britain through three and a half bitter years. With a
vast fleet, with enormous armies, with limitless wealth, with the loyal
enthusiasm behind them of a united people and with great allies,
British admirals and generals had never once achieved any great or
brilliant success, British statesmen had never once grasped and held
the fluctuating situation. One huge disappointment had followed
another; now at Gallipoli, now at Kut, now in the air and now
beneath the seas, the British had seen their strength ill applied and
their fair hopes of victory waste away. No Nelson had arisen to save
the country, no Wellington; no Nelson nor Wellington could have
arisen; the country had not even found an alternative to Mr. Lloyd
George. In military and naval as in social and political affairs the
Anglican ideal had been—to blockade. On sea and land, as in Ireland,
as in India, Anglicanism was not leading but obstruction.
Throughout 1917 the Allied armies upon the Western front had
predominated over the German as greatly as the British fleet had
predominated at sea, and the result on either element had been
stagnation. The cavalry coterie who ruled upon land had
demonstrated triumphantly their incapacity to seize even so great an
opportunity as the surprise of the tanks afforded them; the Admiralty
had left the Baltic to the Germans until, after the loss of Riga, poor
Kerensky’s staggering government had collapsed. British diplomacy
had completed what British naval quiescence began; in Russia as in
Greece it had existed only to blunder; never had a just cause been so
mishandled; and before the end of 1917 the Russian debacle had
been achieved and the German armies, reinforced by the troops the
Russian failure had released, began to concentrate for this last great
effort that was now in progress in the west. Like many another
anxious and distressed Englishman during those darker days of the
German spring offensive in 1918, Oswald went about clinging to one
comfort: “Our men are tough stuff. Our men at any rate will stick it.”
In Oswald’s mind there rankled a number of special cases which he
called his “sores.” To think of them made him angry and desperate,
and yet he could scarcely ever think of education without reviving the
irritation of these particular instances. They were his foreground;
they blocked his vistas, and got between him and the general
prospect of the world. For instance, there had been a failure to
supply mosquito curtains in the East African hospitals, and a number
of slightly wounded men had contracted fever and died. This fact had
linked on to the rejection of the services he had offered at the outset
of the war, and became a festering centre in his memory. Those
mosquito curtains blew into every discussion. Moreover there had
been, he believed, much delay and inefficiency in the use of African
native labour in France, and a lack of proper organization for the
special needs of the sick and injured among these tropic-bred men.
And a shipload had been sunk in a collision off the Isle of Wight. He
had got an irrational persuasion into his head that this collision
could have been prevented. After his wound had driven him back to
Pelham Ford he would limp about the garden thinking of his “boys”
shivering in the wet of a French winter and dying on straw in cold
cattle trucks, or struggling and drowning in the grey channel water,
and he would fret and swear. “Hugger mugger,” he would say,
“hugger mugger! No care. No foresight. No proper grasp of the
problem. And so death and torment for the men.”
While still so painful and feverish he had developed a new distress
for himself by taking up the advocacy of certain novelties and devices
that he became more and more convinced were of vital importance
upon the Western front. He entangled himself in correspondence,
interviews, committees, and complicated quarrels in connection with
these ideas.... He would prowl about his garden, a baffled man, trying
to invent some way of breaking through the system of entanglements
that held back British inventiveness from the service of Great Britain.
More and more clearly did his reason assure him that no sudden
blow can set aside the deep-rooted traditions, the careless, aimless
education of a negligent century, but none the less he raged at
individuals, at ministries, at coteries and classes.
His peculiar objection to the heads of the regular army, for
example, was unjust, for much the same unimaginative resistance
was evident in every branch of the public activities of Great Britain.
Already in 1915 the very halfpenny journalists were pointing out the
necessity of a great air offensive for the allies, were showing that in
the matter of the possible supply of good air fighters the Germans
were altogether inferior to their antagonists and that consequently
they would be more and more at a disadvantage in the air as the air
warfare was pressed. But the British mind was trained, so far that is
as one can speak of it as being trained at all, to dread “over-
pressure.” The western allies having won a certain ascendancy in the
air in 1916 became so self-satisfied that the Germans, in spite of their
disadvantages, were able to recover a kind of equality in 1917, and in
the spring of 1918 the British, with their leeway recovered, were
going easily in matters aerial, and the opinion that a great air
offensive might yet end the war was regarded as the sign of a froward
and revolutionary spirit.
The sea war had a parallel history. Long before 1914 Dr. Conan
Doyle had written a story to illustrate the dangers of an unrestricted
submarine attack, but no precaution whatever against such a
possibility seemed to have been undertaken by the British Admiralty
before the war at all; Great Britain was practically destitute of sea
mines in the October of 1914, and even in the spring of 1918, after
more than a year and a half of hostile submarine activity, after the
British had lost millions of tons of shipping, after the people were on
short commons and becoming very anxious about rations, the really
very narrow channel of the North Sea—rarely is it more than three
hundred miles wide—which was the only way out the Germans
possessed, was still unfenced against the coming and going of these
most vulnerable pests.
It is hard not to blame individual men and groups when the affairs
of a nation go badly. It is so much easier to change men than
systems. The former satisfies every instinct in the fierce, suspicious
hearts of men, the latter demands the bleakest of intellectual efforts.
The former justifies the healthy, wholesome relief of rioting; the
latter necessitates self-control. The country was at sixes and sevens
because its education by school and college, by book and speech and
newspaper, was confused and superficial and incomplete, and its
education was confused and superficial and incomplete because its
institutions were a patched-up system of traditions, compromises,
and interests, devoid of any clear and single guiding idea of a
national purpose. The only wrongs that really matter to mankind are
the undramatic general wrongs; but the only wrongs that appeal to
the uneducated imagination are individual wrongs. It is so much
more congenial to the ape in us to say that if Mr. Asquith hadn’t been
lazy or Mr. Lloyd George disingenuous——! Then out with the halter
—and don’t bother about yourself. As though the worst of individuals
can be anything more than the indicating pustule of a systemic
malaise. For his own part Oswald was always reviling schoolmasters,
as though they, alone among men, had the power to rise triumphant
over all their circumstances—and wouldn’t. He had long since
forgotten Mr. Mackinder’s apology.
He limped and fretted to and fro across the lawn in his struggle to
get out of his jungle of wrathful thoughts, about drowned negroes
and rejected inventions, and about the Baltic failure and about
Gough of the Curragh and St. Quentin, to general and permanent
things.
“Education,” he said aloud, struggling against his obsessions.
“Education! I have to tell them what it ought to be, how it is more or
less the task of every man, how it can unify the world, how it can save
mankind....”
And then after a little pause, with an apparent complete
irrelevance, “Damn Aunt Charlotte!”
§4
Nowadays quite little things would suddenly assume a tremendous
and devastating importance to Oswald. In his pocket, not folded but
crumpled up, was an insulting letter from Lady Charlotte Sydenham,
and the thought of it was rankling bitterly in his mind.
The days were long past when he could think of the old lady as of
something antediluvian in quality, a queer ungainly megatherium
floundering about in a new age from which her kind would presently
vanish altogether. He was beginning to doubt more and more about
her imminent disappearance. She had greater powers of survival
than he had supposed; he was beginning to think that she might
outlive him; there was much more of her in England than he had
ever suspected. All through the war she, or a voice indistinguishable
from hers, had bawled unchastened in the Morning Post; on many
occasions he had seemed to see her hard blue eye and bristling
whisker glaring at him through a kind of translucency in the sheets of
The Times; once or twice in France he had recognized her, or
something very like her, in red tabs and gilt lace, at G.H.Q. These
were sick fancies no doubt; mere fantastic intimations of the stout
resistances the Anglican culture could still offer before it loosened its
cramping grip upon the future of England and the world, evidence
rather of his own hypersensitized condition than of any perennial
quality in her.
The old lady had played a valiant part in the early stages of the
war. She had interested herself in the persecution of all Germans not
related to royalty, who chanced to be in the country; and had even
employed private detectives in one or two cases that had come under
her notice. She had been forced most unjustly to defend a libel case
brought by a butcher named Sterne, whom she had denounced as of
German origin and a probable poisoner of the community, in the
very laudable belief that his name was spelt Stern. She felt that his
indubitable British ancestry and honesty only enhanced the
deception and made the whole thing more alarming, but the jury,
being no doubt tainted with pacifism, thought, or pretended to think,