Suffragette (10 page)

30th July 1910

Flora has been trying to persuade me to go travelling with her. Part of me would enjoy it, but I refused. I feel I should stay in London and be close to my mother, and I want to
keep my promise to help staff the WSPU offices.

12 August 1910

London feels quite empty already and I am rather lonely, but I have managed to catch up on a heap of school reading. Once the vote is through I will need to concentrate on
taking my exams and getting into university. So these long-drawn-out days have a useful purpose.

I took the bus over to see Mother this evening. I came up with the most wonderful plan and can’t think why I haven’t thought of it sooner. I could teach her to read and write. But
when I suggested it, she shook her head. “It’s too late for all that, Dollie.”

“It’s never too late,” I retorted, but she refused to discuss the matter further. There are days when she infuriates me.

23rd August 1910

Miss Baker returned from visiting her family yesterday. This afternoon we walked in sunny Green Park together and caught up on all our news.

A postcard arrived from Flora saying that she will be back by the middle of September.

18 October 1910

Flora gave a party at the house this evening in honour of her friend, Edward Morgan Forster, who published his new novel today. He is a writer I enjoy. Or, to be truthful,
although he has published three previous works I have only so far read his last,
A Room With a View
, which was great fun. Much of it is set in Italy, a country loved by my dearly missed
patron, Lady Violet. But I did not attend the
soirée
because I spent the evening at the Union offices. Everyone is agitated about what will happen when Parliament reconvenes. Mrs
Pankhurst has written to Mr Asquith to forewarn him that if no time is made for our bill then militant demonstrations will recommence.

10 November 1910

Flora burst into my room this morning with a mountain of lovely gifts for me. A silk kimono from Japan, embroidered Indian slippers, French cologne and Forster’s latest
novel,
Howard’s End
. Apparently, it is causing quite a stir. “Edward has written a dedication to you and here, look, I cut out this splendid review from the most recent issue of
The Spectator.”

I was rather overwhelmed by it all.

“I hope you like his book. I devoured it at one sitting and believe it quite excellent. You look tired, Dollie. You never stop studying. How is it going?” But she did not wait for my
response. “Have a splendid birthday, my dearest.” And she was gone to have her bath.

It’s true; I have been swotting late into the night. I need to create as much free time as possible to devote to my Union duties. This is a critical time for us, as we await the news.
After school, I attended a big meeting at the Albert Hall in support of the Conciliation Bill. £9,000 was raised. Wonderful! Emmeline in her address to the crowds said that if the Bill, in
spite of our efforts, is thrown out by the government, then it will be the end of our truce.

Flora made me delicious hot chocolate when I arrived home. “You look frozen, dear. Have you had a lovely birthday?”

I thanked her again for my presents.

“Were you at the Albert Hall?”

I nodded, but did not elaborate.

“It is not my place to tell you what or what not to do, but your involvement troubles me. You know that, don’t you, Dollie? If the Bill does not go through, I fear trouble from the
militants.”

12th November 1910

Mrs Pankhurst is reminding Mr Asquith regularly that Parliament must set aside time for the Conciliation Bill. There has been absolutely no assurance from him that this will
happen, so she has called upon members to mass together on the 18th for a special deputation. The march is to coincide with the reassembling of Parliament.

I will have to skip school to be there.

14th November 1910

I confided in Celia today that I won’t be at school on Friday. When I explained why she expressed a wish to march. “I haven’t dared join the WSPU yet, but
being there will be like creating modern history.”

18th November 1910

Celia and I met outside the tube station at Tottenham Court Road.

“I brought sandwiches,” she said. “Isn’t this exciting? I’ve never played truant before.”

Arriving at Caxton Hall we found a crowd of several hundred women. “There has been bad news,” Ada Wright informed the members.

Then Emmeline, with Christabel at her side, rose to speak.

“Earlier this morning, Mr Asquith opened his first parliamentary session by informing the Commons that negotiations with the House of Lords have broken down and Parliament is to be
dissolved by the King on 28th November. He went on to say that between now and that date, priority will be given to government business. No mention whatsoever has been made of our conciliation
bill.”

Cries of disappointment and anger rang through the crowds. Mrs Pankhurst held her hands high, requesting silence. She then made it plain that, in spite of this news, the demonstration was to be
peaceful. “I will deliver the following Memorial to our Prime Minister, and we will make our point. But there are to be no acts of militancy.” She read out to us the Memorial she had
been intending to give to Asquith:

This meeting of women, gathered together in the Caxton Hall, protests against the policy of shuffling and delay with which the agitation for women’s enfranchisement has been met by the
government, and calls on the government at once to withdraw the veto which they have placed upon the Conciliation Bill for Women’s Suffrage, a measure which has been endorsed by the
representatives of the people in the House of Commons.

There was general cheering and support and then, led by Emmeline, Christabel and Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, about 300 of us, including Mary Richardson, Ada Wright, Miss Baker, Celia and myself,
marched from Caxton Hall to Parliament. Although determined in our purpose, we were all good-humoured. We walked in bands of twelve or sixteen, many arm in arm. Celia ate one of her sandwiches,
offering me the other, but I was nervous and not hungry. All was harmonious and pleasant until we reached the steps of the House of Commons. There we found lines of police waiting for us, and our
mood immediately darkened. I heard later that many of the bobbies had been brought in specially by the new Home Secretary, Mr Winston Churchill, from the district of Whitechapel (where they are
used to rough work).

Before any of us could reach the House of Commons we had to face organized gangs of both plain-clothes police and those in uniform. Suddenly, as we moved forward, they began to shove, push and
accost us. Some women got frightened and began to scream. Celia was one. I saw her panic, turning in circles. It was horrible. Friends all around me were being hurt. Celia was manhandled by a
bobby. She screamed hysterically. I tried to reach her but it was chaotic. I couldn’t get through the press of people. Men shoving, women being pushed. Then I felt a hard blow against the
base of my neck and fell to the ground. A man’s boot kicked me in the ribs. A hand hauled me to my feet again.

By that time Mrs Pankhurst and Mrs Garrett Anderson had got through, but I had lost all sight of Celia and I was scared for her. Several policemen a few feet away from me began tearing
women’s clothes, touching them in improper places. Foul words were spoken. I was very afraid and deeply shocked. I yelled out, “Celia!” but it was hopeless. I began to feel
sick.

Though trembling, I moved on forward alongside Ada and 50 or so others until we reached the steps. As we did so we were forced back by the police. It was like a human wall pressing against
us.

A female voice I didn’t recognize called out: “This way! Follow me.”

A small band of us turned left. We were to enter the House by an underground passage that was known to some, though not to me. Unfortunately the police pursued us and the scene that followed was
ghastly. We were attacked and, in certain cases, sexually molested by members of the police force. Their manners and their tongues were brutal and indecent. I cannot even write the words I heard
spoken by those men. I myself was grabbed by the hair and dragged back out on to the street where I was pushed until my knees buckled and I dropped to the ground on all fours like an animal. Even
then I was beaten hard. I was not arrested but kicked back into a jeering crowd, bleeding and bruised.

I made my way back to Bloomsbury alone. My clothes hung from me like rags, my legs were sore and I was fighting back tears. Fortunately, Flora was out when I arrived home. I would not have
wanted her to see the condition I was in, nor to know that I had not attended school. I dread to think what Celia’s grandmother will say if she has arrived home in a similar condition.

19th November 1910

A photograph printed in this morning’s
Daily Mirror
shows Ada Wright thrown to the ground, beaten and hurt. The paper headlined yesterday’s incidents
“Black Friday”, and so we will christen the day. The number of women arrested is recorded as well over 100. And at least 50 women were seriously injured. How is it possible that our
police could behave in such a disgusting way?

I am covered in scratches and bruises and had horrid nightmares. Thank Heaven it is Saturday and there is no school, except that there is no news from Celia.

I skipped breakfast and avoided Flora all day. If she had seen me and guessed where I had been, she would have been furious.

22nd November 1910

No one has even mentioned my absence from school, but there is an uproar about Celia who was arrested on Friday. Apparently her grandmother was summoned to the police station
and, after various formalities, Celia was released without being charged, because of her age.

She looked pale today and she has several cuts on her face. “I didn’t mention you,” she whispered at break. “There was no point in getting us both into trouble. I have
been forbidden any involvement in suffrage activities. My grandmother says I have acted like a hooligan and disgraced the family name.”

“But you haven’t! What happened on Friday wasn’t your fault. It was a peaceful demonstration until the police became aggressive.”

“I know, even so…”

“Thank you,” I said, and I hugged her because I thought she was going to cry and because I feel horribly guilty about her.

14th December 1910

The weather is endlessly wet which seems to more than match the mood of these days. The police are claiming that it was not they who touched women indecently on Black Friday. A
report from the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police denies all accusations.

Mr Churchill has stated that the only ones to blame for the disagreeable scenes on 18th November were the “disorderly women themselves”. What a truly horrid man he is!

17th December 1910

School broke up today. Celia told me that she won’t be coming back next term. Her parents are returning to India and she must either go with them or be sent to a boarding
school outside London.

Life feels grim. We are about to face our second General Election within a year.

20th December 1910

Asquith has been returned to power. Again! Oh, why could we not have been given lovely Mr Keir Hardie, along with his colleague George Lansbury? They and certain others in the
Labour Party are so much more sympathetic to our cause. Asquith’s majority remains very small so I must take heart from that.

Flora’s father, Sir Thomas Bonnington, was here. I was on my way out of the door to see my mother when he arrived. Obviously, Flora introduced me. I nodded and then hurried away as soon as
I could. He is an old man now but there was a look in his eyes that made me shiver. My father used to speak of him as cold and heartless. Seeing him today, I understand why.

27th December 1910

Flora told me this morning that Mrs Pankhurst’s sister, Mary Clarke, died quite suddenly on Christmas Day. She had been released from prison only two days earlier. I
wonder what part the shocking conditions of prison life have played in her unexpected death? I am typing a condolence letter.

(I mustn’t boast, but my typing is rather skilled now. I love Flora for buying me such a present.)

20th January 1911

At the WSPU offices there is talk that Christabel and Mrs Pankhurst will renew the truce. Although a great number of the members are pressing to return to militancy, the
Pankhursts are holding them back. The organization is in dispute. There are many who feel that we have been betrayed too many times already – I am one of them! – and then there are
those, loyal to the Pankhursts, who will follow their leaders’ advice whatever. Others say Mrs Pankhurst is tired and sad. During this last year she has lost her only son, her mother and now
her sister. Certain members feel that she wants peace at any price and an end to this interminable suffrage struggle.

Emily Wilding Davison asked me if I was sufficiently passionate about winning the vote that I would die for it. I couldn’t immediately answer.

“The Cause needs a martyr,” she said.

Suddenly I pictured Celia Loverton with her cut face. She, in a modest way, has become a sort of martyr to me. She is probably on the boat to India now. I miss her.

Others may feel as strongly as Emily obviously does. The overruling sentiment within the WSPU is that this government is deaf to our pleas and “it is time to go to battle”. It is
certainly what I feel.

21st January 1911

Flora took me to a concert this evening. It was a celebration for released prisoners. The music,
The March of the Women
, had been written especially for the event.

6th February 1911

Our new government has met for the first time. There is a move towards a new bill for us, a Second Conciliation Bill, though no mention was made of it in the King’s
speech.

15th March 1911

Serious criticism is being lobbied against our organization, of Mrs Pankhurst and Christabel, too. It hurts to read it, and I believe it confuses the general public. Even within
the WSPU, disputes and alliances are dividing us. We should not fight among ourselves. It is important that our goal bonds us. Miss Baker assures me that Mrs Pankhurst is aware of the situation,
but accepts that within any organization divisions and struggles are inevitable. It seems wrong to me.