Crooked Pieces (12 page)

‘You are right, Maggie. But it is a just one so God will be on our side. Always remember that.’

I think she must have forgotten that God is a man.

At last! Mr Hardie sent word that there would be a reading of a bill for us in the Parliament. Mrs Pethick Lawrence nearly danced when she heard. Miss Miller declared it was a vital step and we must all go to hear the debate so, late in the evening, we set off.

We had to climb more steps than Jacob’s Ladder until at last we entered a dusty place, dark and manky – not at all like the room the grey men lounged about in.

At the front was an iron grille and for a moment I feared we were in a prison cell, but then Miss Sylvia showed me how we could look down on the Parliament as they talked, so we settled ourselves down and listened for what seemed like forever as the men made speeches to each other, about I know
not what. No more did they, I reckon, for I saw more than one asleep on his bench, and some of them seemed outright tipsy. I looked all around for my bobby but the constables there seemed as old as the stonework they guarded.

The room was quite packed with ladies, many of them in evening dress, and others like me, in work clothes so that we must have made a quaint sight, jammed together like sprats.

I was just thinking how glad I would be to see my bed when a door at the back opened and Miss Annie rushed in. ‘Now,’ she whispered most urgently and all the other ladies, many of whom looked quite as droopy as did I, stirred themselves and began to murmur.

I looked down and saw entering the chamber old Mr Hardie, although amongst the others there he looked quite spry and I was glad to see his beard had had a trim.

‘This is
it,
’ whispered Miss Sylvia and clasped my arm so hard I nearly squealed.

Mr Hardie began to speak, saying that sex should be no bar to having a vote, whereat one of those who had been asleep rose to his feet and said, it should be no bar to having a family either, at which there was a great whoop of laughter from all those present, many stamping their feet and shouting, ‘Hear, hear’, which of course no one could.

Mr Hardie continued that it was unfair and unjust to expect women to pay taxes and receive nothing in return. Another man called out there should be a tax on their tongues – more laughter – and another, a very silly man who could hardly stand for bandiness, cried out that women were the cause of all Man’s troubles and so it had been since Eve had struck her bargain with the serpent. This, it seemed, was the funniest thing ever
said, or so you would have thought to see the gentlemen fairly rolling around the chamber. For myself I have heard far better at the music hall and still seen cabbages thrown.

Again Mr Hardie rose to his feet, saying the behaviour of the Honourable Gentlemen was such that he began to think women, and women alone, should order the affairs of the nation, at which a voice (Miss Miller’s, I would lay good money) cried out, ‘Hear, hear’.

A dark silence fell. The Honourable Gentlemen began to mutter amongst themselves and then a very ancient person who positively flopped in his seat, signalled a constable.

‘Justice for women!’ came another cry and out comes Miss Billington’s banner, she trying with all her might to thread it through the grille. I know not how it looked to those below but it struck me it could do with a good washing from where I sat.

Next we knew, the door again flew open and in rushed a herd of constables like bulls and began hauling off the ladies, many clinging to their seats till they were fairly dragged away. I could not believe what was happening. That ladies with fine hats and fans and everything genteel should be so mauled about. Indeed I had not thought that any man could behave so roughly to a woman if he were not married to her or on the drink. I ran for all my might before they got to me, down the stairs and back into the courtyard where a great pile of coats and wraps were lying, some badly torn, that the bobbies had ripped off as the women fled.

It was wrong of me, I know, but seeing them there, it came to me how many women in my street would give a week’s rent for just a touch of such soft fine garments, for all they were torn and muddied.

The next day there was a great turmoil at the office, for the newspapers were all full of what had happened, although I do not think they got it right for they said it was the fault of the women, and not the Parliament that seemed to me more like a bear garden than a place for making laws. They have named us the ‘suffragettes’ to set us apart from men who also want the vote. I venture they would not be so hard on them! Still it seems our efforts were not lost. The Prime Minister has decided he will receive the ladies on May 19
^th
.

There is to be a great rally in celebration. Women are to come from all over the country. Every kind, rich and poor, high and low, old and young. I have worked my fingers dizzy typing. Miss Sylvia was going to order more buns but her mother advised against it, saying the time for buns would be when they had the victory. Miss Sylvia remarked they would be stale by then, but Mrs Pankhurst said if that were her only worry she would die a happy woman.

I understood her reasoning, but I think Mrs Pankhurst, and Miss Christabel, too, do not entirely understand what a difference a little food may make to a hungry woman. It is all very well for the helpers to have lemonade and potted meat and pastries when they have but put out a few tables and hung the banners. That could be left. But when a woman has walked an hour to the starting point and must walk another two in the procession…

I cannot complain. I am fed like a queen at Mrs Garrud’s. She says she has found an old coat that I may borrow to learn the fighting in, so I have no excuse! I am to go on Tuesday evening for an hour to see how I like it.

I do like it! At first I thought I would not, for the hall was full of the most fierce-looking creatures I ever saw. They were huffing and snorting and whipping their arms around like they would slice through a brick wall if it stood in their way, but Mrs Garrud calmed them down and introduced me to each of them and they all shook my hand and said they were glad to know me, and generally made me feel so welcome, by the end of the lesson I was slashing and wheezing away like I was born to it.

Mrs Garrud says it will make me strong as a lion and twice as flexible. I looked that up. It said:
‘will bend without breaking’
. We shall see.

Such a rally! Women – more than the eye could see – from every rank and trade, all along the Embankment cheering their very hearts out. Brass bands playing; costumes of every hue – shawls, clogs, purple gowns, the leather aprons of the tanners, – oh, so many different garbs, so much colour.

Off marched our leaders, heads held high like a conquering army, banners flying in the breeze, the traffic forced to stop and make way. I could have burst for pride to be a part of such a day, for all I had done but little towards it. I was there, and that was enough.

We waited and waited, all hopeful and gay in the spring sunshine, for we truly believed no man and no Parliament could ignore such a throng. We joked and laughed and took turns to say what we would vote for first. I said, ‘Sugar’, and a woman by me said, ‘enough money to bury me babbies decent’, which seemed a bit of a waste. Another wanted a straw hat with ribbons, and another, a smeary broken-looking
woman with dark cracks in her skin, said, ‘Daylight’. I thought to myself, no one should have to ask for that.

At length came word that the meeting was over. We clambered to our feet, breathless, hardly daring to speak, dizzy with excitement. Even the bands fell silent, cymbals raised.

They never sounded. The meeting was indeed over. And
nothing
achieved. It seemed although this Sir Henry, this Prime Minister, had owned himself in favour of the Cause, he durst not go against his fellow ministers. I wondered what sort of a leader he could be that was afraid to force his will on those beneath him.

A sort of dull emptiness spread over us.

The ladies came back very down, except Miss Annie who looked crosser than I ever saw her. ‘We are not going to stop for this,’ she cried out, as they came near. ‘We are going on with our agitation.’ All who heard her cheered for she has a way of lifting people’s spirits. Nothing ever dismays her for long. She is like a rubber ball. You may throw her down from the greatest heights but she will bounce right back again, and higher than before.

So we did not give up. We marched to Trafalgar Square. Not an inch of pavement was free. Bodies everywhere. Even the great stone lions had mill girls draped about them like they were no fiercer than factory tom cats.

The traffic had to stop all over again and some of the cabmen who started off yelling at us gave up and joined in, many swearing it was better than the vaudeville.

Speaker after speaker.

‘Are we to take this? Are we to accept that our words, our
wishes count for nothing in the eyes of this mean and cowardly government?’

‘Look about you. What do you see? Hundreds, nay, thousands – from every part of the country, come here today to demand justice. The right to be heard.’

‘If God had not meant women to speak out he would not have given them voices.’

‘He slipped up there,’ yelled a man from the back of the crowd. Lucky he was at the back or he would have been hung from the nearest lamp-post judging by how the mill girls turned on him.

One old lady told how she had been fighting to gain the vote for forty years, and swore she would go on another forty if that was what it took. I was much moved by this for though she was bent and crippled in her body, her eyes were like a young girl’s, spilling over with hope.

So many came forward and such a mix – governesses and fishwives, carders and clergymen’s daughters. How odd to think that people who would pass each other in the street should stand together on a wooden platform and swear that they are sisters.

Then at last, Mrs Pankhurst, her voice, so low and calm, carrying to the furthest reaches of the square (I swear, even the pigeons heeded her) urging us on – never to give up, but to fight for what should be ours of right, to work day and night till our goal was met and only then to look for just repose.

‘Remember always, we women are the mother half of the human family. What family can survive or thrive without a mother? We are its very spine, its heart, its life-blood. Without us the human race would cease to exist, and yet we are denied our place in society as though we were no more than animals,
pets, and irritating ones, at that! Indeed there is one gentleman in Parliament who, I am told, has likened the female species to rabbits. I wonder how his mother feels about that. Or indeed, his wife.’ Waves of laughter echoed round the square. ‘I am also told by those who consider themselves to be experts on the matter, that what distinguishes a human being from an animal is a sense of humour. It is some time since I heard a rabbit laugh as you have just done.’ That set us off again. ‘But I must, in all fairness, point out that none of the gentlemen we met this morning so much as mustered a chuckle throughout our visit.’ Her face grew serious. ‘I know today has brought its disappointments. I, too, had nourished great hopes for our meeting with the Prime Minister. No one more than I had longed to stand before you this afternoon and cheer our victory, but patience, good friends. If this bright morning has turned all too suddenly to dreary night, remember still that tomorrow a new day awaits us. So I say to you all, let us take courage and together, arm in arm and shoulder to shoulder, stride bravely on through taunt and difficulty towards the dawn, united as ever, in hope.’

How I would love to have the gift of words – to make strangers stand out in the open and heed me. More than that, to cheer me and clap and stamp their feet, and go away persuaded, for such is Mrs Pankhurst. That Prime Minister could learn a lesson from her, that is afraid of his own party.

Miss Annie says that Mrs Montefiore (with the great big hat) has refused to pay her taxes till she has the vote. She has locked up her gates so that the bailiffs may not enter. We all went to see and surely she is a very brave lady. High on a wall
was nailed a huge banner:
WOMEN SHOULD VOTE FOR THE LAWS THEY OBEY AND THE TAXES THEY PAY.

After a few minutes she came to a window wearing a fur hat with a tassel and holding a noisy little dog. She shouted out to us that if the Parliament men were against us they were wrong. She mentioned one in particular: ‘Asquith’. Such a strange name. I think he must be foreign and if so, maybe a spy, for why else would he be in our government? She said his house had windows, which I thought a little mad, for most houses do, but if she is locked up all alone with only a yapping dog it is possible she has lost her mind, just for now.

More newspaper men were there, which was good for we had brought banners and posters to drape on the fence and some food for Mrs Montefiore, although I did not think it likely she would starve with such a big house and so many hats.

Miss Annie is in prison! It is a terrible thing. We had heeded Mrs Montefiore’s word and gone to this Asquith man’s house, for it is said he is our worst enemy and so must be brought round above all others. He had twice refused to show his face but we were forty strong and quite settled we would not quit till he had spoken with us.

As we arrived a crowd of bobbies (but not mine) came charging at us and fairly ripped our banners away. Miss Billington, who is very attached to hers, as we know, tried to grasp it back, whereat one of the bobbies, a very mean-faced creature with a crooked lip, struck her hard across the face and, next we know, she has slapped the man full square across his scabby cheek. At this another leaps upon her as she were
a wild tiger and near throttles her. A big round woman tries to pull him off and is herself quite slit about by his nails. The police fight like rats and not as men should do, is my opinion.

In all, four were arrested: Miss Annie, a little lame woman who tried to free her, and a poor old woman who did no more than shake her fist at the windows. Also Miss Billington. They have been sent away to Holloway prison for six long weeks.