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In a large factory making an ignition and lighting system for automobiles, much expert assembly work is performed by a man totally blind. Is this man, who does all his work by sense of touch, under any handicap in competition with his sighted colleagues? As a matter of fact, he is probably a more faithful workman because he appreciates the opportunity of his job, and is likely to turn out a better day's product than the man next to him because he will not be distracted by looking out of the window at things going on in the street.

In a clock factory which uses as gongs spiral coils of tempered wire it is necessary accurately to test and adjust the tone of each gong. This is done by striking the coil, listening to the result, and then making the necessary change by a screw sleeve at one end. In this job which requires the use of two senses only -- touch and hearing -- is a blind man at any disadvantage after he has acquired skill for this work?

The first attempt in planning occupations for the blind is to send them back to their former trade, if this is in any way possible. And it will be found practicable in more instances than would be imagined. In actual experience competent blind workmen will be encountered in almost every line of employment.

Two satisfactory occupations which are almost traditional to the blind are massage and piano tuning. Men who have been trained in the first subject have gone back to employment in military orthopedic hospitals, where their patients are fellow-soldiers injured in other ways than themselves. The period of training is fairly long and the work only suited to men with certain qualifications, but for those who can learn to be good masseurs, employment is secure and earnings good. In Japan the practice of massage has been reserved as a monopoly for the blind. Piano tuning is for many blind men an excellent business, but it is a crowded field and care must be taken not to train for it too many novices.

Men employed in clerical lines before the onset of blindness can be trained, with the aid of a few simple devices, to continue their office job.

Many blind soldiers who come from the farms can most advantageously return to the same work. The man without sight is better off in many ways in the country, where he can get around with little difficulty, without the need of a guide, and running small risk of accident. In addition the national interest is served by his continued activity as a good producer.

It may appear at first blush that a blind man could not get on at all in work about a farm. But note the evidence in a letter from a blinded French soldier:

A man used to working on the farm even if he is totally blind can do practically everything around the barns and stables, if he is not lazy or stupid. He can clean up the yards, go for water, rub down the horses and cows, and feed all the animals. It is not hard to recognize with your hands the linseed mash, the barley, and the bran or the oats, and to know also through your hands when the racks and mangers are full, and, when you come back later, to tell still by your hands whether the animals have eaten. You do not need to see to tend the winnowing-machine, to help in putting the grain into sacks, and then to put the sacks in the wagon. You can cut up beets for the cows, too, and you can help in making bread for the family, for in our part of the country bread is made in the house.

The work in the field is harder, I admit, but there are lots of tasks which you think at first are quite impossible -- you would have laughed in the old days if anyone had told you a man could do them without seeing -- but which now after three or four attempts, after three or four failures perhaps, you finally accomplish. You can easily dig beets and potatoes, unload wagons, and in the season thresh and spread the hay. I can't mention everything, of course, but there you have already quite a list. In addition, when it rains and you have time on your hands, you can make brushes, as you learned to do in the hospital. I should never have believed that I could be as contented as I am now.

The best known institution in the world for blinded soldiers is "St. Dunstan's," in Regent's Park, London. In a fine old house set in the midst of fifteen acres of beautiful land, are housed the British soldiers who have lost their sight in battle. Its "heart and soul" is Sir Arthur Pearson, who lost his sight several years ago and who has devoted his life to the task of "teaching men to be blind," as he expresses it.

Shortly after the war began, Sir Arthur, then President of the National Institute for the Blind, organized the Blind Soldiers' and Sailors' Care Committee, which set about to find a suitable building where blinded soldiers might be trained. The selection was St. Dunstan's, generously placed at the disposal of the committee by Mr. Otto H. Kahn who had the lease of it at that time. The building was once the country house of the wicked Lord Steyne of Thackeray's "Vanity Fair."