Taking train from the city, glimpses can be caught, as we near our destination, of the pretty houses and gardens of the village, forming a great contrast to the densely populated district of Stirchley on the other side of the line. Stepping on to the station, we are greeted by a whiff of the most delicious fragrance, which is quite enough of itself to betray the whereabouts of the great factory lying beneath us, of which from this point we have a fairly good bird's-eye view. Down the station steps, and a few yards up the lane to the left, with a playing field on one side, and on the other a plantation of fir-trees almost hiding the red brick and timbered gables of the office buildings, and we have arrived at the factory lodge. Looking through the open door down a vista of archways bowered in clematis and climbing roses, with an alpine rock garden at each side of the broad walk, we might almost imagine ourselves to be at the entrance to some botanical gardens. But a glance at the thousands of check hooks covering the inner wall of the lodge informs us that more than 2,400 girls pass in and out every day. The men's lodge is at a separate gate. Before entering the works, a few steps further along the road will give us some idea of the many advantages gained by moving the factory out into the country. Just opposite the lodge a sloping path leads to the cycle-house, where some 200 machines are stored during work hours. Beyond this, in the middle of a flower garden, stands the Estate Office of the Bournville Village Trust, and in the background higher up a girls' pavilion can be seen through the trees. Behind it stretch asphalt tennis-courts and playing-fields, bordered by a belt of fine old trees, under whose shade wind pretty shrubbery walks lined with rustic seats. A passage under the road leads straight from the works into these beautiful grounds, and on a summer's day few prettier sights could be found than the numbers of white-robed girls who stream across in the dinner-hour to revel in the sunshine of the open fields, or sit in groups beneath the shady trees, enjoying a picnic lunch. A little further along the road the trees and the rhododendron bushes sweep backwards, leaving an open space, where a smooth lawn reaches to the front of a fine old mansion, for many years used as a home for some fifty of the work-girls whose own homes are at a distance, or who have no home at all. The fruit gardens and vineries belonging to "Bournville Hall" are used for the benefit of work-people who are ill. [Illustration--Black and White Plate: Coronation Cricket Pavilion, Bournville.]