Suffragette (4 page)

“Really?” she replied with surprise.

“On 19th May in 1905, a group often women went to speak to the Prime Minister. Amongst these women was 76-year-old Emily Davies who handed the women’s suffrage petition to the Prime
Minister. His answer to them was, ‘Be patient.’ This was not the response they had expected. Women (and some men) had been actively campaigning for votes for women since the 1860s and
they were tired of being patient. And so the movement grew in momentum and it became militant.” “Well, yes, Dollie, that is one of the incidents that fired the desire to fight harder
and more vehemently. But my way, the way of the NUWSS, headed by Millicent Garrett Fawcett, is equally active. We have the same burning ambition to see women enfranchised. Why not consider allying
yourself with us?”

“But if both organizations are fighting the same battle…?”

“They are, but their approaches are different, and although Christabel and I have known one another since I was your age and she is a dear friend whom I admire, I do not always agree with
the means she uses. And I think it is important you know that my grandmother was a suffragist. She was never a suffragette.”

I was taken aback. I had always assumed that Lady Violet was a suffragette.

20th May 1909

This morning Flora took me shopping to buy clothes that she feels will better suit my needs here in London.

“But I am only staying ten days!” I exclaimed.

“Well, you can leave them in the wardrobe for your next visit,” she laughed. “That blue bedroom is now exclusively yours.”

We travelled to Knightsbridge in a hansom. This is a long, low vehicle that holds two passengers with a driver seated on a high deck behind. It was the first I had ever been in. Before being set
down outside Harrods, a terrifyingly posh and shockingly expensive store, we made a short detour to Cadogan Square.

“My father lives there.” Flora pointed to one of the tall, elegant houses.

I felt myself stiffen. “Are we going in?” I asked nervously.

“Another day, perhaps. I wanted you to see where your mother came during the dockers’ strike. I was descending the stairs, I remember it clearly, and I saw her waiting at the door. I
went to ask if I could help her, but she refused point blank to deal with me. Eventually one of the staff turned her away.

“I think the reason my grandmother made the journey to the East End in search of you all was because I had told her about your mother’s visit. The incident had troubled me greatly. I
had not known what to do for the best. I brooded over it until, eventually, I turned to Grandma.”

“And you think that your meeting my mother was what prompted Lady Campbell to visit our home and offer us assistance?”

Flora considered my question. “It was a part of the reason. And now see, Dollie, after all these years, here we are together like sisters. An odd turn of events, don’t you
agree?”

And I do agree. Still, I sensed that there was more to the story than Flora would tell. I love her already, though I am deeply conscious of our differences. We are poles apart! Even when we were
looking at clothes today, I preferred the simpler, practical dresses, while Flora was excited by flamboyant and ornate gowns. But she did not insist and bought me those I chose.

After we returned from our shopping expedition and I had thanked her for my two new outfits – they are lovely – she promised that before I left she would take me to the
Prince’s Skating Rink, which is also in Knightsbridge, quite close to Harrods.

“But I can’t skate.”

“No, you will see. A grand bazaar is being held there, or an Exhibition as everyone is calling it. It has been mounted by the WSPU to raise money for the cause.”

I cannot wait! I shall be surrounded by real suffragettes. All those women I have been reading about for so long. Flora tells me that they have been advertising it in the streets with their very
own band.

21st May 1909

I have a desperate urge to contact my mother. I promised never to return, but only because she practically forced me to give my word. Would she hold it against me if I broke
that promise now, after four years? Does she miss me? Does she ever think of me? Is she still alive? I would so like to share with her all that is happening to me, to introduce her to my new
life.

23rd May 1909

It is settled. Tomorrow, we will visit the Exhibition. That’s the exciting news. But after that, in two days’ time, I must return to school. The prospect makes me
very downhearted. I am having such a wonderful time. The country means nothing to me without Lady Violet there to encourage and befriend me. Here, with Flora, I feel as though I have found a real
sister.

Later

A lady called Katherine Mansfield came by this afternoon to lend Flora a volume of John Ruskin’s work,
The Stories of Venice
, because Flora is planning a trip to
Italy later this summer. Miss Mansfield was invited to stay to tea. I rather liked her. She is originally from New Zealand.

“Do you know the writings of Ruskin?” she asked me.

I confessed that I did not.

“Ah, he is one of the greatest writers of English prose. You must read him, particularly if you have ambitions to be a journalist, Dollie. His earlier works on travel and art are quite
exceptional.”

Then the discussion turned to a Debussy concert she had attended yesterday evening at the Queen’s Hall. This was followed by passionate complaints about the stench and pollution caused by
motor cars. “There are so many of the blasted things now. Everywhere in this city, the streets reek of petroleum,” she cried. “It is not at all like my home town of Wellington. I
positively refuse to use one. If I take a cab, it must be a hansom.”

Flora hooted with laughter. “Oh, Katherine, my dear, I fear that you will never visit me again!” And she confessed that she has ordered a Fiat motor car, which will be arriving any
day now.

Miss Mansfield then told us that in Australia and New Zealand women are far better regarded than in England. In those two far-off antipodean countries, women have already won the vote!

“Melbourne, the last state on the Australian continent to concede it, gave women the vote last year.

Here in England we females are disgracefully discriminated against and oppressed by men,” she lamented, and continued by saying that until we have the vote and a voice of our own, nothing
will change.

How I agree with her sentiments!

24th May 1909

The Exhibition! Oh, the Exhibition! What sights I have seen and what a secret adventure I have made of it.

First, we visited two replica prison cells. I went inside one of them and walked around. It was eerie! And so cramped. They had been constructed to demonstrate what women are suffering on our
behalf, the conditions they are being forced to endure for the sake of what they believe is our right. And it
is
our right. Women should have a voice in this country. In every country.

Afterwards, to brighten our mood, we ate the most delicious ice cream from a stall set up by Americans, and then we paraded up and down the alleys, in amongst the busy throng of chattering
people, peering at all the goods on offer. Of course I had no money to buy anything, but I didn’t care. I was there to look, gaze and breathe it all in. We visited stalls with displays of
exotic pieces of jewellery, and all sorts of handicrafts. I have never seen so many lace pillowslips and tablecloths! There were kindly stallholders selling books, flowers, herbs, needlework,
chinaware, fancy hats and Lord knows what else. There were bands playing rousing music, tables laid out for tea. We made a stop at a booth for the Actresses’ Franchise League. Flora, of
course, knew everyone and was greeted with much embracing. She introduced me to a group of her actress friends. I do not remember all their names, but Elizabeth Robins, the American woman with the
amber beads who was at Flora’s the other day, was one of them. Several others were fluttering around a tall, skinny gentleman with a beard. He was wearing a tweed suit and seemed to be
holding court, talking rapidly in a thick Irish accent.

“Who’s he?” I whispered to Flora.

“His name is George Bernard Shaw, a rather well-known music critic and playwright, and an active supporter of women’s rights. He wrote a play two or three years ago,
The
Doctor’s Dilemma
, whose leading character is named Sir Bloomfield Bonnington. He swears he didn’t steal the name from Father,” she grinned.

Then, while Flora chatted animatedly to her colleagues, I stood gazing in every direction. There was such a buzz of energy fed by the excitement and the determination to win this battle against
the current Liberal government. Well, against all anti-suffrage governments. In fact, against anyone who claims that women are lesser citizens than men and are not capable of understanding
politics. Suddenly, my eyes lighted on a stand where a large white, purple and green banner had been hung.

“Do you know what those colours represent?” Elizabeth asked me.

“They are the colours of the Women’s Social and Political Union.”

“Yes, but why those three in particular?”

I shook my head.

“Purple stands for dignity, white for purity and green for hope. But why don’t you go and find out for yourself? Don’t worry, I’ll tell Flora where you’ve
gone.”

“Thank you,” I said, hurrying off through the crowds. There were quite a few people queuing to ask questions but eventually I was able to push my way forward to a desk where a
red-haired woman with pince-nez was presiding over piles of pamphlets. Her job was to explain to all those interested what the aims of the WSPU are. I told her that I knew all about the fight and
that my dream was to become a member.

“Well, why not join now?” she replied in a broad Scottish accent.

“Might I?” I was thrilled at the prospect but also a bit scared. I can’t quite explain why. Well, yes, I can. I think it was because I felt as though I was being treacherous to
Flora, who had made it clear that she is a suffragist not a suffragette, and that Lady Violet had also leaned towards the less militant approach. Then I reasoned that Lady Violet would want me to
be true to myself. Above all else, I believe that is what she would demand of me.

But will it make that much difference if I join? I was asking myself. And my silent response was that these are the women I admire and want to be affiliated with. These are the women, if any,
who could change the hardships that housewives such as my mother are forced to endure.

The Scottish lady handed me a form, which I filled in and signed after barely a glance before thrusting it nervously back at her.

She read my name and said, “Welcome, Dollie Baxter. We are delighted that you are with us. Feel free to visit our offices at 4, Clements Inn, whenever you fancy. Think of it as your home.
My name is Harriet Kerr and I am the office manager.”

“I’ll be there, Miss Kerr,” I said, and I hurried away in search of Flora.

On our way home in her new Fiat motor car Flora told me more about her Irish playwright friend, Mr Shaw. He’s a Socialist and a fighter for the rights of the poor. I am not madly
interested in plays – actually, I have never been to a theatre show – but I would dearly love to meet him and ask him many questions.

25th May 1909

Flora is my very best friend and I love her like a sister, but I have not yet plucked up the courage to confess to her that yesterday I joined the suffragettes. Though I did
feel desperate enough over breakfast to blurt out my desire not to return to Cheltenham.

“But it is a very fine institute and your education is of the utmost importance, Dollie. Surely you realize that? And Grandma went to such lengths –”

“Yes, I know, but without her close at hand, it will never be the same again. If it’s possible, I would prefer to continue my education here. I feel at home in London. Oh, Flora, I
would so like my future to be here.”

“Well, there is Croydon Girls’ High School or Blackheath, but they are long distances out of town. I will make some enquiries. There are sure to be several excellent girls’
schools in the city centre, though it may mean that you will need a tutor until we find the right one for you. Leave it with me.”

“Thank you. I will be closer to my roots and relatives. Well, to my mother…”

“Is it your wish to return to your birthplace and live with her?”

I remained silent. How many times recently have I asked myself this question? Of course, I know that I cannot stay on indefinitely with Flora… But how can I go back? I know so little of
my mother’s way of life now; I have become estranged from my past. The fact is, I belong nowhere.

“I don’t think so,” I answered eventually, “though I long to see her again, to have news of her.”

“Have you visited her while you’ve been in town?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why don’t we go together? Tomorrow morning, directly after breakfast, we’ll take the Fiat and…”

I hesitated, remembering my vow. Flora mistook my hesitation for an unwillingness to include her.

“How thoughtless of me! No, you must go alone. I won’t intrude on your life. I only want to assist you as my grandmother has done. When you are ready, let me know what you have
decided and I will do everything I can to help you. In the meantime, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you please.”

I nodded and smiled at the touch of her hand on mine.

Flora is splendid, but we are so different. Her world is exciting and international, but it is not my way forward. I must make my home where my heart is, where I feel my commitments lie. But
first I must learn whatever news there might be of my mother.

26th May 1909

I don’t know where to begin to express what I am feeling tonight and all that I have witnessed during the course of this day.

After breakfast, I walked to the southern end of Holborn and from there found a bus that was heading east out of the city centre. I chose a seat by the window so that I could peer out at all the
London streetcars and the thoroughfares and the people bustling by. Many of the main roads have been furnished with electric lights now, but there are gas lamps down the narrower side-streets. I
needed distraction. I was making my way to the district of my old home in search of my mother and my heart was beating fast with the anticipation of what lay ahead.