Things a Bright Girl Can Do

by Sally Nicholls

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  February 1914

  Strange Happenings Outside a Playhouse

  Evelyn

  The Lioness

  Of May and Her Mother

  Button Badges

  Speaking Out of Turn

  Coney Lane

  Sandwiches

  May Morning

  Knickerbocker Glories and Blood

  Secrets and Confidences

  A Drawing-room Meeting

  A Supper Guest

  Mother, May I?

  Belonging

  Sadie

  A Militant

  Release

  Consequences

  A Meeting Place

  Short, and Containing Much Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

  A Lady Visitor

  A Life Full of Purpose

  An Ordinary Member of the Public

  Names

  ‘Danger’ Duty

  Roly-poly Pudding

  A Room in White Porcelain

  Alone

  No Surrender

  Changeling Child

  Home

  August 1914

  Mafeking

  A Telegram

  Ill

  Want

  The Principle of the Thing

  Up

  The Ghost of Christmas Future

  A Storm in a Hobnailed Boot

  Kneading

  Consolation

  March 1915

  Tea Parties, Euclid and Knitting

  Every Man Will Do His Duty

  The Sniper and the Hun

  Bloody Men

  Cranquettes

  The Lusitania

  October 1915

  Another Telegram

  A Sort of Hopelessness

  Ice

  Respect

  For Ever

  Choice

  June 1916

  Offensive Behaviour

  Factory Girl

  By Your Leave

  Adults

  Postcards From the Dead

  Gas

  A Bailiff With a Teacup

  What Are You Going to Do?

  There’s a Long, Long Trail A–winding

  Mr Moss

  Everything

  The Rest of Your Life

  Dizzyingly, Deliriously Happy

  Doors, Open and Shut

  March 1917

  Points

  Eat Less Bread

  Meeting in the Middle

  Charcoal

  Stones at the Window

  A Vote

  February 1918

  Chips

  Historical Note

  Acknowledgements

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781448188826

  Version 1.0

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by

  Andersen Press Limited

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road

  London SW1V 2SA

  www.andersenpress.co.uk

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  The right of Sally Nicholls to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Text copyright © Sally Nicholls, 2017

  Extract from Unfinished Adventure by Evelyn Sharp reprinted by kind permission of Faber and Faber. Every attempt has been made to contact the Estate of Evelyn Sharp to obtain their permission.

  Extract from The Home Front by Sylvia Pankhurst reprinted by kind permission of Helen Pankhurst

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.

  Hardback ISBN 978 1 78344 525 7

  Trade paperback ISBN 978 1 78344 637 7

  TO ALL MY babysitters, without whom this book would have been even later than it actually was.

  February

  1914

  REFORMS CAN ALWAYS wait a little longer, but freedom, directly you discover you haven’t got it, will not wait another minute.

  Unfinished Adventure, Evelyn Sharp

  Strange Happenings Outside a Playhouse

  ‘YOU TELL ME that women are weak-willed! You tell me that women are weak-spirited, and foolish, and ignorant, and only fit to stay at home and raise the children.’ The woman on the orange crate paused, then added, ‘Hardly seems fair on the children, does it?’

  There was laughter from the crowd. Evelyn, always fascinated by the Suffragettes, said, ‘Hold up a minute, can’t you?’ to Teddy, who stopped at once.

  A man in the crowd called, ‘A woman’s sphere is the home! Do you contest it?’

  ‘Her sphere, yes. Not her prison. You may as well say a man’s sphere is the office, and take his vote as well.’

  More laughter. This time, Evelyn joined in.

  ‘Oh, come!’ It was an older, rather apoplectic-looking gentleman. ‘A woman doesn’t need a vote! Her husband votes for her, and if she’s not happy with his choice, she has a hundred ways to make him change his mind. That’s a woman’s proper influence, not the ballot box.’

  ‘Indeed?’ The Suffragette was enjoying this. You could tell. ‘It’s rather hard on the unmarried woman or the widow though, isn’t it? And the husband.’ More laughter. ‘I’m not sure your idea of proper influence is very complimentary to either sex.’

  A young woman in a fur coat was pushing her way past Evelyn.

  ‘Ooh!’ she said, to the man beside her. ‘I do think these women are perfectly horrid. As if any lady would want to stand on a nasty box and shout things at delivery boys.’

  Evelyn bristled. She opened her mouth, but Teddy put his hand on her arm.

  ‘Cool it,’ he said. Then, before Evelyn could argue, he nodded at the Suffragette on the orange crate. ‘She’s doing rather well, isn’t she?’

  ‘I think she’s splendid,’ said Evelyn.

  ‘Isn’t she, though?’ It was another Suffragette, one of the ones who were standing at the edge of the crowd, passing out handbills. This one looked about twelve, although Evelyn supposed she must be older. She had long, loose fair hair under her tam o’shanter, and a wide, toothy smile.

  ‘Would you like a handbill? We’ve a meeting at the Albert Hall next week; you must come along if you’re interested. There’s more about it in Votes for Women, only that’s a penny.’

  ‘All right,’ said Evelyn, fumbling for her purse. The woman on the orange crate was lecturing her audience on the iniquity of British divorce laws. Evelyn took her copy of Votes for Women and scowled at the front page.

  ‘Look here,’ she said suddenly to the girl. ‘You Suffragettes think girls should be able to do all the things men can, don’t you? Live in flats on their own, and get degrees, and – oh, everything. Don’t you?’

  ‘Lord!’ said Teddy, audibly.

  ‘Oh yes,’ the girl said. ‘But the vote is the first step. Those things will follow once we get the vote, and heaps of other things too – state orphanages, and old-age pensions – why!’ Her little white face flushed
. ‘Once women have the vote, we’ll never go to war, you know. What sort of woman would send her sons off to be slaughtered?’

  ‘You,’ said Teddy, ‘have obviously never met my Aunt Gwladys. Evelyn, Mother and Father will be wondering where—’

  Behind them, there was an outraged roar from the crowd. Evelyn turned. The Suffragette on the orange crate was clutching her cheek, her mouth open in shock. As Evelyn watched, another missile was flung at her; she ducked and it missed. A boot-black and a man selling hot chestnuts at the edge of the crowd whooped appreciatively.

  The apoplectic gentleman called, ‘I say, steady on! Mind the lady, can’t you?!’

  The chestnut-seller pulled an awful face. ‘Go on!’ He yelled at the woman on the orange crate. ‘If you was my wife, I’d take a stick to you!’

  ‘Evelyn,’ said Teddy. ‘I’m frightfully sorry, but we’re going to have to look slippy if we want to catch Mother and Father. We’ll miss the first act at this rate.’

  ‘I know,’ said Evelyn. But she didn’t move.

  ‘Why don’t you stay at home where you belong?’ the chestnut-seller roared. He picked up a handful of chestnuts, cooling on the side of his brazier, and flung them at the Suffragette’s eyes. She ducked again, but did not step down from the crate.

  ‘Evelyn—’ said Teddy.

  ‘Cheese it, can’t you, Jimmy Boon!’ It was another woman, standing in the doorway of the shop behind them. ‘Some of us are trying to listen to the lady!’

  ‘You can cheese it and all, you daft cow!’ the chestnut-seller yelled. He pulled back his arm and flung a final chestnut in her direction.

  It hit Evelyn square on the jaw.

  She liked to say, later, that was the moment when she made up her mind.

  Evelyn

  EVELYN COLLIS WAS seventeen years old. And despite what certain poets might have to say about it, she was finding this more of an impediment than an ornament.

  She was the second of four children. Her brother Christopher – known as Kit – was nineteen and away at Oxford. Evelyn, though she loved her brother in a dutiful sort of way, could not help resenting the fact that he’d been given everything she had ever wanted, without asking for it or even seeming to care very much when he received it. Christopher had been allowed to do everything at an earlier age than she had. He’d been sent off to boarding school – something Evelyn had always secretly longed for – and now her parents were paying for a university course he didn’t seem to even particularly enjoy. This was especially galling since Evelyn had discovered a desire to go to university herself, and her family had been decidedly unsympathetic.

  Evelyn went to a small day school in Belsize Park, where playing the piano and speaking good French were considered the most important parts of a girl’s education. But, unusually, the girls also learnt Latin and Ancient Greek.

  These were taught by a Miss Dempsey. Evelyn loved Miss Dempsey, and she loved Classics; loved that sense of lifting the lid on a world that was thousands of years old. At the end of last term, Miss Dempsey had said casually to Evelyn, ‘Have you thought about taking the Oxford entrance exam?’

  Evelyn was so surprised she could only stare. Girls at her school rarely went to Oxford. It was nothing she’d ever considered in relation to herself. She’d never thought much about her future at all, except to suppose in the vaguest sense that she would get married and have a family.

  ‘No?’ Miss Dempsey had said mildly. ‘Perhaps you should.’

  And that was all that was said on the matter. But the seed, once planted, had begun to grow in Evelyn’s mind.

  Young women at Oxford couldn’t earn a degree. But they could go to the lectures, sit the examinations, and learn just as much as the young men did. Evelyn was becoming dimly aware that Classics, as taught to girls at her school, only touched at the edges of a world of knowledge that stretched seemingly infinitely into the distance. And that world was something she was beginning desperately to want a part of.

  She had tried to explain this to Teddy, who’d been sympathetic, but baffled.

  ‘I do see it’s jolly unfair and all that,’ he’d said. ‘But does it really matter that much? There’s no earthly use girls learning things, unless they’re planning on forswearing men entirely and going to teach rotten little girls how to spell. And I would hope you aren’t going to do that.’

  But Evelyn couldn’t explain why she wanted to go. Did one have to have a reason for wanting and wanting something?

  She raised the subject of Oxford with her mother at Christmas. The two of them were coming home from a bridge game at the house of one of Evelyn’s mother’s friends. They’d done well, which had put her mother in a good mood, and Evelyn thought it unlikely a better opportunity would arise.

  ‘I spoke to Miss Dempsey about next year,’ she said diffidently.

  Her mother wasn’t paying attention.

  ‘I should have known Mrs Weston had that ace,’ she said. ‘She’d hardly have bid otherwise.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Evelyn. ‘Miss Dempsey thinks I could go to Oxford if I wanted. She tutors girls for the exams, you know. In her spare time, I mean, not at school.’

  ‘Really?’ said Evelyn’s mother. ‘That is a pretty compliment, darling. You must tell your father when we get home.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Evelyn. ‘Only – I think I’d like to.’

  ‘Like to what, dear?’ her mother said. ‘Oh look, there’s the vicar. No, darling, don’t wave, he wants a stall at the bazaar, and I really can’t, not after last time.’

  ‘Go to Oxford,’ said Evelyn fervently. ‘I want to go to Oxford next year and study at one of the women’s colleges. And Miss Dempsey thinks I could.’

  Evelyn’s mother looked at her in astonishment. If Evelyn had demanded a motor car, she couldn’t have been more surprised. There were so few professions open to women, and those that were hardly demanded a degree. A university education, from Evelyn’s mother’s perspective, was simply an expensive way of unfitting one’s daughter for matrimony.

  ‘But, darling!’ she said. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘I don’t know what for, exactly,’ said Evelyn. ‘Do I need a reason? I’d just like to, that’s all.’

  She could see that this was exactly the wrong thing to say, and she hurried on before the moment should pass.

  ‘Just to learn things, you know – Latin and Greek and ancient history and all that. It’d be jolly useful having someone in the family who knew about classical civilisation, don’t you think? And anyway, what use is university going to be to Kit? He’s going to work for Teddy’s father, isn’t he? It’s all decided.’

  ‘But, darling,’ said Evelyn’s mother, again. She was a little dazed. Evelyn had been thinking of very little except Oxford for nearly a month, but this was an entirely new idea for her mother. ‘Christopher will meet all sorts of people who’ll be useful for him in business. He has to earn his own living, darling – but there’s no thought you’d ever have to do that. These university women lead very sad lives. I’d hoped for better things for you – a husband, and a family, and a home of your own. Don’t you want that?’

  ‘I don’t know what I want,’ said Evelyn. ‘I could go into business like Kit, or—’ She struggled to think what careers were open to respectable women. ‘Or give lectures, perhaps. Does it matter? And anyway,’ she finished desperately, ‘I don’t see that I’m giving up a family and all that. I could still have all those things and a degree. Teddy wouldn’t care.’

  Evelyn’s mother noted Teddy’s name with relief. She was very fond of Teddy, but she had never been sure exactly how Evelyn felt about him.

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t, dear,’ she said comfortingly. ‘Teddy’s a very nice boy. But you can see it from our perspective, can’t you? Going to Oxford costs a lot of money. Why don’t you see how you feel next year when you leave school? I expect by then you’ll be much more interested in golf, or something. But if you still want to crib up on stuffy old languages, perhaps
your father and I could find you a Latin master to come and give you lessons. Far cheaper, and you could stay at home, which would be ever so much nicer, wouldn’t it?’

  Evelyn didn’t answer. She was rigid with fury, and shame that she couldn’t explain to her mother this desire that she couldn’t quite explain to herself. Her mother fussed with the umbrella and pretended not to see.

  ‘There!’ she said. ‘It’s about to rain. And just when we were nearly home too.’

  Evelyn was struggling with herself. At last she burst out, ‘But it isn’t fair! Really it isn’t, Mother! Why should Christopher have everything and I have nothing?’

  There was quite a lot Evelyn’s mother could have said to that. But she contented herself with the standby of mothers and nurses the world over. ‘Well, dear. Life isn’t fair, you know.’

  ‘No,’ Evelyn agreed. ‘But it ought to be.’

  By which her mother assumed that the argument was over.

  But as far as Evelyn was concerned, it had barely begun.

  The Lioness

  ‘IT’S NOT FAIR! It’s the most beastly rotten thing that’s ever happened to me! I hate her! I hate him! I hate the whole ghastly lot of them!’

  Evelyn had worked herself up into a fine rage, pacing up and down the schoolroom, twisting her gloves in her fury. The occasion of her rage was another conversation with her parents about Oxford – this time armed with a very politic letter from Miss Dempsey. It had not gone well. Unlike Teddy’s father, who owned several factories, Evelyn’s father worked in a government office, doing something dull-sounding with figures. There was no money lying around to educate girls who would only go and get married once they finished university anyway.

  Teddy was sitting on one of the ancient nursery armchairs, his sketchbook on his lap. Evelyn’s younger sisters, Hetty and Kezia, loved Teddy’s sketchbook, mainly because of all the pictures of naked girls from art school that they weren’t supposed to know about. Most of the pictures in Teddy’s book were of girls. Life-class nudes. Girls in tearooms. Art-school girls, all modern and hatless and sophisticated. Kezia, late for school, running to catch the omnibus. Hetty curled up in the nursery armchair, reading Little Women for the hundredth time, a dash coming out of her mouth saying – Do you think Jo ought to have married Laurie, Evelyn? I do. Do you think, if you won’t marry him, Teddy might marry me? And dozens and dozens and dozens of pictures of Evelyn. Angry Evelyn. Thoughtful Evelyn. Evelyn in her school skirts. Evelyn dressed for dinner. Evelyn thumping resentfully at the piano. Evelyn reading. Evelyn frowning. Evelyn, her whole face alive with a smile that most of the world never saw.