Table 1. Abridged list of Physics Department material held in the Richard Burton Archive. Sadly, there are few entries in the 1922 laboratory log book.
Ever since he reached man's estate he has been handling the shovel. Day after day on the footplate of the locomotive he has been feeding fuel into the maws of the hungry furnace. His life was one of clockwork regularity - then one day a shot halted his iron horse - he changed the shovel for a rifle and left t defend the rights of his people.
A hero. Wide of brow, a steady gaze, and square of jaw, and nerves of steel to any danger. This is the figure which typifies personal courage, blended with intelligence and audacity.
With their weapons in their hands they attacked and conquered the stongholds of Fascism, the last citadels of capitalism. With those same arms they will defend those rights so dearly brought against any attempt to take them away.
See them Comrades. They are off to the front, above them unfurled is the Red banner. How cheerfully they go. Perhaps death awaits them round the next corner. But they fear nothing. From above the motor lorry bristling with rifles there rises a clenched fist. Saluting the morning with its will to win.
Triumphantly the soldiers of the people march forward. On ever face there is but one thought reflected. The certainty of Victory. Every heart swells with the thougt that the eyes of the world are upon them. Let nothing halt your attack on land or sea till the enemy be crushed.
The machine guns are spraying the front with death. The proletariat are fighting in the red of the sunrise against the blackness of the past which still spurts flame from enemy rifles. There is nothing so sublime as this comradeship of the trenches, nothing that could fifll us with greater hope.
Proudly he marches to the combat, is head held high, his muscular frame eager for the fray. he does not fear his foe, he could not fear him, he goes forward knowing well that he is justified and that his cause is just. The Liberty of the Proletariat.
A political upheaval upset his boyish games and pastimes. With interest he surveyed the heroic struggle that was played before his eyes, the struggle of a people for life and liberty. Drawn to the combat by the general enthusiasm, he joined the fighters and handles the rifle with a joy and fervour that bodes well for the Social Revolution.
The lorry motor roars, carrying the fighters to the front. There has been the leaving of dear ones, perhaps for the last time. The smile on the face of the soldiers may be a little bitter, but they pull themselves together and with their clenched fists raised they shout 'To You Comrades'.
Through broken ground marching wearily on, their bodies bent with the weight of the load, are two symbols of the revolution: the militiaman and the nurse. Muscles taut and a spark of rebelliousness in their hearts. Both struggling without repose heroically risking their lives to aid the victims of fascist barbarousness.
