Suffragette Girl (42 page)

For the rest of the day Florrie listened to impassioned speeches by the miners’ leaders and officials of other unions. They stayed in the park until it began to grow dusk. Tired, but
exhilarated, Florrie walked home.

The moment she stepped into the house, Charlie came rushing down the stairs, calling out, ‘Mother! She’s home.’ He danced about in front of her. ‘Where’ve you been,
Auntie Flo? There have been such ructions here. Mother’s been in such a state and Uncle Gervase is out looking for you. Even Grannie Lee’s been here.’

Isobel appeared from the morning room. ‘Oh, thank goodness you’re safe. We’ve been worried sick. Gervase has been beside himself. We heard there were demonstrations taking
place and—’

‘Oh, Iso, I’m sorry you’ve been worried, but I’ve had the most marvellous day.’ She linked her arm through Isobel’s and held out her hand to Charlie.
‘Come – I’ll tell you all about it.’ She laughed. ‘There’ve been
ructions
out there too.’

Whilst Meredith poured them a glass of sherry and a drink of cordial for Charlie, Florrie stood in front of the fireplace, her eyes shining and feeling more alive than she had for the last ten
years.

‘Thank you, Meredith. Oh, Iso – I
wish
you’d been with me. It was like the old days again. There was a demonstration in Hyde Park, just like our suffragette meetings.
There was this man from Durham who got up and spoke to the crowds – there were
thousands
there and—’

At that moment, they heard Meredith open the front door and voices in the hall. Then the door to the morning room was flung open and Gervase came striding in. His face was like thunder as he
moved straight to Florrie, took her by the shoulders and shook her, making her spill her sherry. Florrie gasped, more with shock at such a reaction from the normally gentle, placid man than from
physical pain.

‘Where have you been? We’ve been worried out of our minds. I’ve had the police out looking for you.’

Florrie faced him squarely, glaring back at him. ‘I don’t need your permission to go out,’ she said through gritted teeth. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Isobel’s
anxious face, but Charlie was grinning from ear to ear and bouncing up and down on the sofa. It seemed the young rascal quite enjoyed a ‘ruction’.

‘Tell him where you’ve been, Auntie Flo.’ But before she could open her mouth to say a word, Charlie went on excitedly, ‘She’s been to a demonstration about the
miners’ strike in Hyde Park. She was just going to tell us all about it when you came in. Oh, do tell us, Auntie Flo.’

Gervase seemed not to hear him. ‘You’re a guest in this house,’ he went on as if Charlie had not interrupted. ‘It was discourteous to Isobel, if nothing else. And I
don’t suppose you care a jot about how I feel. How terrified I’ve been for your safety.’ He released her and stepped back. His temper cooling swiftly, his shoulders drooped as he
added with infinite sadness, ‘But then, you never have, have you?’ Then he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Florrie staring after him. Seeing his genuine distress upset her
far more than his anger could ever do.

There was a moment’s silence before Charlie piped up again, ‘Come on, Auntie Flo, do tell us.’

But Florrie’s bubble of excitement had burst. ‘Oh, Iso, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize – I never thought you’d both worry about me.’ Her gaze was still
on the door as she shook her head slowly and added, ‘Not like that.’

Isobel smiled. Though she’d been worried too by Florrie’s absence all day long, her anxiety had mainly been fuelled by Gervase’s fear. ‘Darling, he loves you,’ she
said simply. ‘That’s why.’

Charlie – to whom all this was new – beamed again. ‘Are you going to marry him, Auntie? Oh, do say you are, and then Jacques and I will be – will be—’ He
turned to Isobel. ‘What will we be, Mother?’

‘Cousins, darling.’

‘Yes, that’s it. We’ll be cousins. And that’d be absolutely topping!’

By the end of the following day, it was clear that the talks had failed and a general strike was to begin at midnight on the 3rd May.

Florrie went out each day to join in the throngs of strikers milling about the streets, intent on disrupting any attempt at a normal day.

She returned home the next evening to find that Isobel had joined the ladies manning the food kitchens in Hyde Park and Gervase was planning to present himself at the nearest police station to
sign on as a Special Constable.

Now he and Florrie – and Isobel too – were really on opposite sides.

By the time the strike was a few days old, a veritable army of city workers – barristers, stockbrokers and undergraduates amongst them – were driving trains, buses
and lorries and keeping the essential supplies moving. Food coming in from abroad was escorted from the docks into the city by the army and the police. Gervase was on duty as a Special
Constable.

‘Oh, we can’t have the Prime Minister missing his tot of whisky every night, now can we?’

‘Does he drink whisky?’ Isobel asked innocently.

‘I don’t know,’ Florrie snapped. ‘I was just being sarcastic’

Isobel regarded her thoughtfully. ‘That’s not like you, Florrie. This is really getting to you, isn’t it?’

‘I—’ she began and then groaned. She hated being at loggerheads with either Isobel or Gervase. She still felt guilty for the time she’d blamed him for failing to save
James’s life. It hadn’t been his fault. The regulations of army life were so harsh and rigid; there’d been nothing more he could have done. She saw that now.

Isobel’s voice interrupted her thoughts and brought her back to the present.

‘Florrie, dear—’

‘I just want a fairer society for everyone. I thought that’s why we fought for the vote. I thought we might make a difference.’

‘It’ll take time,’ Isobel said gently. ‘And this strike – it’s all bound up with politics and economics, and I can’t profess to understand it all. Maybe
Gervase does, but I don’t. I just think that hurting the innocent is not the way to go about it. Whatever we did, Florrie, for the Cause, we never hurt people.’

‘I’m sorry, Iso,’ Florrie said, with genuine contrition, ‘but I just can’t agree with you. This is about people’s livelihoods.’

Isobel laughed. ‘Then we’ll agree to go our separate ways. You to march with the strikers, me to dole out soup.’

Each morning they parted company – in more ways than one – outside the front door.

The streets were thronged with people: men in cloth caps and trilbys, some in their workaday clothes, others obviously dressed in their Sunday best, hoping no doubt, Florrie
thought, to make a good impression – to prove that they were not just a rowdy mob out to cause trouble. Florrie glanced about her. She could see no other women at all. The milling crowd was
all men.

For the most part they were orderly and well behaved, but when an armoured car drove down the street, it seemed to incense them. They surged forward to surround a tramcar manned by volunteers.
The driver, fearful of causing injury to someone, brought it to a halt. The crowd cheered and jeered and thumped the air in victory with clenched fists, whilst the driver looked terrified and his
passengers shook angry fists at the mob.

‘You ought not to be out ’ere, miss,’ someone said close by. ‘You’ll get trampled to death in this lot.’

Florrie grinned back at him. ‘Thanks, but I came to march with you. To show support, but—’

Whatever she had been going to say to the young man was drowned by a howl from the crowd surrounding the tram. They were surging forward, trying to grab hold of a man in uniform who was
attempting to climb onto the tram. Florrie caught her breath as she recognized the figure.

‘Gervase, oh, Gervase.’ She pushed and shoved her way through.

‘’Ere, mind what you’re doin’, miss. They mean business,’ the young man tried to warn her. But her fury gave her strength. How dare they manhandle Gervase? After
he’d fought in the war for them, after he’d won medals.

She kicked and pushed and shoved. Behind her the young man laughed and joined in. ‘Let the lady through.’

At last she came to where Gervase was now lying on the ground and some of the strikers were holding him down. One aimed a vicious kick at his ribs, to be rewarded by the well-aimed toe of her
sturdy boot on his shins.

She bent down and hauled Gervase to his feet. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. She turned on the rebels. She shook her fist in their faces. ‘I’m on your side, damn
you,’ she shrieked. ‘At least I was – but not if this is the sort of thing you’re going to do. He’s a war hero. He won medals. He fought for you lot to win the freedom
for you to make peaceful protests. But not like this. Not injuring folk—’

‘He’s not on our side now,’ someone shouted. ‘He’s helping to break the strike.’

‘No, he’s trying to keep order. Trying to stop folks getting hurt. That’s all he’s doing.’

‘Florrie—’

‘Shut up, Gervase, and let me handle this.’

Those near enough to hear her laughed and some of their anger eased.

‘Eh, that’s put you in your place, feller.’ ‘Hiding behind her petticoats, a’ yer?’ ‘She ought to’ve been one o’ them
suffragettes—’

Florrie rounded on him, but grinned. ‘I was. I marched with banners and broke windows. I went to prison for my beliefs, so you lot don’t frighten me one bit. Now,’ she looked
about her again. The crowd was calmer now, no longer baying for blood like a pack of hounds at a hunt. ‘If you’ll let us pass, this constable needs his head attending to.’

‘Needs it testing, if you ask me.’

‘I agree with you there, but he doesn’t deserve to have it knocked off.’ She smiled again, knowing she’d won them over. ‘At least if he does, I’ll be the one
to do it.’

The young man who’d helped her push her way to Gervase’s side now parted the crowd for them to walk through to safety.

‘By heck, feller, you’ve got a cracker there,’ someone called out. ‘Wish she was my missus.’

‘So do I,’ Florrie heard Gervase mutter as she hustled him away, pausing only to thank the stranger who’d helped them.

The young man doffed his cap and watched them go. My, he thought, she was a beauty and no mistake. And a fiery piece an’ all. He echoed the sentiments of the wag in the crowd. I wish she
were mine.

‘Oh, whatever’s happened? You’re bleeding.’

‘It’s nothing, Iso. Don’t fuss.’

But his sister sat Gervase down and fussed over him like a mother hen. Whilst Isobel dressed the wound on his forehead, Florrie paced up and down angrily. ‘I was wrong and you were right
– again!’ She paused and glared at Gervase as if it was all his fault. ‘They were like a pack of – a pack of – oh, I can’t think. They were an unruly mob,
surrounding that poor tram driver and all the passengers on it. I bet they were all terrified.’

‘They didn’t look it,’ Gervase remarked mildly. ‘And the “poor” driver was an off-duty policeman.’

Florrie rounded on him. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I met him when I was signing on for special duties. He’s a regular.’

Florrie was silent for a moment and resumed her pacing. Then she said, ‘But that doesn’t alter the way the crowd behaved.’

Gervase, now sporting a white dressing on his right temple, grinned up at her. ‘Some of your suffragette meetings got just as unruly, if you remember.’

She stared at him for a moment and then suddenly burst out laughing. She sank to the chair beside him. ‘You’re right. You
are
right. It’s – it’s different
when you’re passionately involved and part of it all. But when you stand back and watch others – well, it is a little—’ She chuckled again. ‘Unseemly, as Father would
say.’

Isobel stood with her hands on her hips, regarding the two of them. ‘So, what are you going to do now?’

‘Go back on duty,’ Gervase said.

‘Try to find a
peaceful
protest,’ Florrie smiled.

But, on the 12th May, the TUC called off the strike.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Isobel said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘Now perhaps we can get back to normal and you two can stop arguing.’

‘I do feel for the miners, though,’ Florrie commented. ‘They’ve been deserted.’

‘They’re going to carry on their fight, but the general strike was undermined.’ Gervase shrugged. ‘The city didn’t go short of supplies.’

‘Thanks to you and your cronies,’ Florrie said, but the accusation was without heat now. She’d been shocked that the crowd’s militant action had not stopped at the
injuring of persons. At least the suffragettes had always said that only property, never people, should be their target.

Gervase was watching her face. ‘You could still help the miners. Get involved.’

Florrie wriggled her shoulders. ‘I don’t know enough about it. Besides,’ her eyes narrowed, ‘there’s something else I should do.’

‘What?’ Both Gervase and Isobel chorused.

Florrie smiled and tapped the side of her nose. ‘Never you mind.’

‘Oh, Florrie dear, do be careful,’ Isobel pleaded.

She would say no more, but becoming involved in the general strike had reminded Florrie just how much she needed to be busy. As Augusta had said, she needed a cause. And perhaps now the time was
right to carry out the promise she’d given to her beloved brother.

The cause of fighting to clear the names of all those – not just James – who’d been shot at dawn. It wouldn’t bring them back, but it would mean so much to their
families, who lived daily with the shame and horror of how their loved ones died. But whilst there were still people around like her father, she realized it might take years. Perhaps more than her
lifetime. It would be up to the next generation to bring it about. When Jacques grew older she would instil in him the need to carry on the fight to clear his father’s name.

It would be a long, hard road, but she could – and would – make a start.

In the September of 1926, when Jacques had just passed his tenth birthday, Florrie enrolled him in the same London school that Isobel’s son had been attending for the
past three years. Charlie was a kindly boy, merry-faced and cheeky, but good at heart, and he took the younger boy under his protective wing, shielding him from the bullying that new boys sometimes
had to endure. But Jacques, a quiet, introverted child, did not take to the city or to the rough and tumble of school life. After months in the city he grew thin and pale, and caught colds and
influenza during the winter months with disturbing regularity. Florrie, who’d hardly known a day’s illness in her life, was impatient.