She often had the desire after one of these sessions to pick up her skirts and run back to Sunderland to see her mam and da, but she never did. There was no point, after all. She had written to her mother several times but without giving her address, and she knew from Mrs Walton with whom she regularly corresponded that Olive and Adam had a daughter. No doubt they were now all playing happy families and her presence would not be welcome at best and an acute embarrassment at worst. It was better she stayed away, she would tell herself, the bitterness that always accompanied such thoughts hardening her heart. But try as she might, she couldn’t shut memories of her old life away completely, which was why she filled every waking moment.
It was now the beginning of August and Ruby had a week’s holiday, something that was a mixed blessing. When she was working and then in the evenings attending her classes or a suffrage meeting, it only left the void of Sunday to plan for. She would clean her room from top to bottom, do her week’s washing, complete any outstanding homework from her courses, write her weekly letter to Mrs Walton and generally keep herself busy. Now she had seven days to try and find tasks to keep her occupied, which was impossible. The year before, Ellie had been around and when they weren’t doing things together, she had made sure she spent hours reading at the library or sewing a new summer dress for each of them. But Ellie had gone.
Ruby woke up on the Monday morning and lay staring at the ceiling. Ellie had said she didn’t want to be like her, that life was passing her by, and she was probably right. It hadn’t felt like that when she had company, but now she felt all at odds with herself. She was only twenty, for goodness’ sake, and she was living like an elderly spinster. Just last week Matron Henderson had commended her for having an old head on young shoulders, saying she had the attitude and viewpoint of someone three times her age. It had been meant as a compliment but thinking about it now it didn’t feel like one. Just the opposite.
Oh, what was the matter with her? Irritated now, she jumped out of bed and padded over to the small fireplace where the coals she had banked down the night before with damp tea leaves and slack showed a faint glow. Even in the warmest weather she kept the fire going; it was her only means of making a cup of tea or toasting bread or having a supply of hot water.
Stirring the embers into flames she added more coal and then hung the kettle she’d filled from the tap in the yard the night before over the fire. She would feel better when she’d had a cup of tea, and in truth she had plenty to be thankful for. She was comfortable enough living here; she had money in the bank and a good job that paid very well, more than lots of men earned these days with the dole queues growing and more than two million unemployed. And it wasn’t even as if those families that could draw the dole were provided with an adequate means of survival; every week they were seeing more folk coming to the workhouse doors, either that or they starved in their own homes. She had to count her blessings and stop being silly.
She continued the mental pep talk as she made tea and toast and then got dressed. At least she could go to the suffrage meeting being held near the bandstand in Castle Leazes that afternoon, which she would have been unable to do if she had been at work. It was a special occasion and a friend of Baroness Stocks, the educationalist and a leading feminist, was speaking, according to the local branch of the movement to which Ruby belonged.
Later that day as she walked the half-mile or so through hot dusty streets to Castle Leazes, Newcastle’s first big public park, she was recalling the evening when she had persuaded Ellie to accompany her to one of the meetings. It hadn’t been a success. Ellie had clearly been uncomfortable as the meeting had progressed, and later, when they had walked home together, her friend had admitted she didn’t see what all the fuss was about. ‘I mean,’ Ellie had said, ‘it’s not as if women can’t vote now, is it.’
‘Only women over thirty,’ Ruby had reminded her. ‘And even then most men in the government regard women as somewhat scatty, hysterical creatures who could never be trusted with any real decisions about the country and important matters.’
Ellie had glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. ‘But men do have a better understanding of politics and all that, don’t they? I mean, women’s brains work different to men’s.’
‘Ellie, we’re just as intelligent as men, more so in some cases. Some men I’ve met are as thick as two short planks.’
Ellie had giggled, but then continued, ‘Still, it can’t be right to do what some of those women did in the past. Blowing things up and hurting people.’
‘I think the militants thought that desperate times called for desperate measures. Do you know that before the war the then Home Secretary tried to get the militant suffragettes to be certified as lunatics and put in asylums? He only failed because the medical profession wouldn’t agree to it. Women like Emmeline Pankhurst were bullied and threatened and put in prison where they went through awful trials, and don’t forget that in the beginning they only resorted to violence because they were lied to and let down by the government on numerous occasions. They got to the point where they couldn’t justify another generation of women wasting their lives begging for the vote. Deeds, not words, was their motto and you can understand why when you look back on how they were treated.’
Ellie had stared at her doubtfully. ‘My da always said that the suffragettes were mainly a load of upper- and middle-class women with nothing better to do than to make trouble because they were bored, and they dragged working-class women into their daftness through telling them a load of old codswallop.’
‘Ellie, I don’t mean to be rude, but your da is one of the men I mentioned who’s as thick as two short planks.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Think for yourself, lass.’
Ellie had grinned. ‘Aye, all right, I will, but I tell you now them sort of meetings aren’t for me, Ruby. To be honest I don’t care about the vote, and if I could vote now I wouldn’t know who to vote for. I’m not like you, am I. If I’m going to read anything, I’d rather it be The People’s Friend or My Weekly, something like that, and preferably with a nice box of chocolates at the side of me.’
Ruby had had to smile. This was Ellie thinking for herself and so she couldn’t argue. If her friend wasn’t interested in suffrage, so be it. Everyone was different; her mam had used to say it was what made the world go round. And there the conversation had ended.
Ruby sighed heavily as she remembered how she and Ellie had walked home arm in arm that day; it seemed a lifetime ago now. What she hadn’t fully appreciated back then was just how vulnerable her friend was. It wasn’t that she wanted or expected Ellie to think or behave in the way she did, she just wanted her to be happy and contented and adored by the man she had given her heart to. And there had been no sign of that with Daniel Bell.
Ellie had been right in one thing she had said that day, Ruby thought now. Women’s brains did work differently to men’s and so did their hearts. For momentary satisfaction Adam had taken Olive, even though he didn’t even like her sister. That side of the male sex was beyond her understanding. And if Adam could do that, what was Daniel Bell capable of? Of a sudden she decided she would try and find out the number of the house where Ellie was living and go and see her to make sure she was all right, even if it meant facing Daniel and braving his hostility. Once she knew Ellie was happy, she wouldn’t bother them again. But she couldn’t leave things the way they were.
It was a beautiful day and as she reached the outskirts of the park, the sweet scent of trees and ornamental flower beds was a welcome contrast to the terraced streets. The deep-blue sky was flecked with fluffy white clouds and the August sun was hot on her face as she made her way towards the bandstand in the distance. A large crowd had already gathered, mostly women but with a few men dotted here and there, and children were playing on the grass. She saw some faces she recognized from the local meetings she attended, but there were lots of new ones too.
It was clear that the speak
er, a Lady Russell, had an entourage who were very definitely out of the top drawer of society. It was well known that such people financed the ongoing fight for equality, and in the last six years, since women had been eligible to stand as candidates for Parliament, women’s suffrage had become slightly more respectable in some quarters. Lady Russell and her companions were sitting on chairs on the bandstand talking amongst themselves, and Ruby recognized one of the group, a Mrs Clarissa Palmerston. Mrs Palmerston had a large country estate just outside Newcastle where she lived with her husband, a brigadier in the army. Mrs Palmerston, Ruby had been told, spent a certain amount of time at her town house in London, but she had caused a stir some months ago when she had arrived at a local meeting in her chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. The chairwoman of the meeting had been beside herself with delight, causing one woman to mutter darkly to Ruby, ‘Look at that one, she’s all over m’lady like a rash. They talk about equality but it’s still them an’ us when push comes to shove.’
Ruby had known what the woman meant – the chairwoman had been embarrassing in her effusiveness – but to be fair, Mrs Palmerston herself had seemed quite down to earth and happy to chat with anyone. It had been the chauffeur Ruby had felt sorry for. He had stayed with the car outside the hall where the meeting was held, and several times he could be heard by the women inside chasing off the local bairns to whom the beautiful vehicle had proved irresistible. Once or twice his language had been as colourful as a sailor’s but Mrs Palmerston had appeared oblivious and hadn’t so much as blushed.
It was another half an hour before Lady Russell was introduced with a great deal of pomp and ceremony. She was wearing an elegantly cut black suit, long in the jacket and the skirt mid-calf, her pale-mauve shirt collar spread across her shoulders and a three-cornered hat in the same colour shading her face. Ruby found herself assessing the cost of what was clearly an extremely expensive outfit for the first few moments and had to remind herself to concentrate on what Lady Russell was actually saying. In contrast to her serious and demure appearance, her speech was fiery from the outset, immediately holding the attention of the crowd.
‘Do not think that because we now have women in Parliament the fight for equality can be less robust,’ she began. ‘In fact it is now more urgent than it has ever been. I have it on good authority that the courageous Lady Astor finds it necessary to engage in open, savage warfare with the most corrupt element in the House of Commons daily as she fights against untrue and possibly actionable slurs against her and her family. Hostility – petty, persistent and often vicious – is constant from certain male colleagues in the House, and these brave women are being put under unbearable strain simply because of an unwritten consensus among these bigoted males that a female MP is by nature wrong. Of course, the aim is to freeze women out of the government by any means possible and cause them maximum embarrassment and humiliation in the process, so discouraging constituencies from adopting other women candidates. Should we call these creatures men?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I think not. I have a better name for such persons but one that I cannot voice in the presence of children.’
There were a few murmurs of ‘Shame on them,’ and suchlike, before Lady Russell went on.
‘Such tactics are shameful and only prove all the more how essential it is for us to continue to stand up against such tyranny. Such males wish to prove that Lady Astor and other women will be unable to cope with the work required of them. Lady Astor was refused a seat at the corner of a bench, thus forcing her to climb over men’s legs to be able to take her rightful place in the House. They pretended that they couldn’t find a lavatory for her and made her walk to the far end of the building. Before a debate on venereal disease they put the most graphic photographs imaginable in the lobby in an attempt to embarrass her, and made speeches considered unsuitable for a woman’s ears. All this has been done and is being done, make no mistake about that. There is a very real feeling of hatred in the chamber but if these men imagine that the expansion of women’s liberty will be intimidated by such aggression, then they are wrong. I repeat, they are wrong.’
Now some cheers rang out along with shouts of, ‘Hear, hear!’ Ruby, along with many other women in the crowd, was quite oblivious to the hot sun beating down, captivated by Lady Russell’s passion and eloquence as she continued to speak for nearly an hour.
It was just after four o’clock in the afternoon when Lady Russell said in closing, ‘A decade ago, when the armies of every great power in Europe were preparing for war, another war – that of women against the injustices meted out to them by the government of the time – was put on hold. Women in all ranks of life in Britain put aside their own interests for the good of the nation, so they could nurse the wounded, care for the destitute, comfort the sick, nurture the lonely and be the solid foundation on which armies went forth to defeat the enemy. The struggle for enfranchisement of women was not abandoned, but, as women always do, they considered others’ needs before their own. Something, sadly, some men find so difficult even to this day.’
‘She’s right there,’ a stout matron standing just in front of Ruby said in an aside to her friend. ‘Selfish toerags, most of ’em, and my Ned’s one of the worst an’ no mistake. Wouldn’t even make a cup of tea when I was flat on me back pushing out our last bairn, the miserable blighter.’
Her friend shushed her as Lady Russell continued, ‘A friend of the suffragists, Mr Wedgwood, made a speech in the House of Commons at that time, and he finished by saying that he believed no future government would repeat the mistakes and brutality of the Asquith ministry, under which women like Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst, Annie Kenney, Mary Leigh and others suffered such horrors. He believed that the Cabinet changes which would of necessity occur as a result of warfare would make future militancy on the part of women unnecessary. I leave it to each one of you to determine whether his hopes have been realized.’
‘Don’t have to think long an’ hard about that one, do you,’ the woman piped up again. ‘My Ned’d knock me into next weekend if he knew I was here listening to her and there’s plenty like him all over, including among the toffs. Men like power, that’s the thing.’
It seemed Lady Russell agreed with her, as she went on, ‘Suffice to say that a decade later women are still treated as inferior beings who only have the intelligence to vote at the age of thirty. Quite what the government imagines happens in a woman’s brain between the age of twenty-nine and thirty, I have yet to understand, but apparently below this magic number we are merely considered as simpletons. But one thing that Mr Wedgwood stated was absolutely spot on.’
Lady Russell paused. She was well aware that she held her audience in the palm of her dainty hand and a slight smile touched her lips. ‘It is an impossible task to crush or delay the march of women towards their rightful heritage of political liberty and social and industrial freedom. One day, perhaps not for some decades it is true, but one day a woman Prime Minister will rule this great country of ours and a woman Home Secretary will sit in office. Women will take their rightful place in the medical profession, in law, in business and in scientific research.’
As resounding cheers broke forth, the wife of the maligned Ned turned and shook her head at her friend. ‘Never in a month of Sundays,’ she scoffed. ‘I’d love to see it, mind, but a woman Prime Minister? As much chance of that as hell freezing over.’
It did seem a pipedream. Ruby’s gaze swept over the group on the bandstand and then took in the bright hopeful faces all around her. But then if you didn’t believe you could make your dreams come true, what was the point in anything? Why not a woman Prime Minister and Home Secretary? Why not women rising up in the professions Lady Russell had mentioned? The only thing that would prevent it was women themselves and if this gathering was anything to go by, there were plenty who believed it could happen in spite of the woman in front of her. Change was in the air; it was almost tangible, and it was exciting.
Once the noise ha
d died down, Lady Russell’s piercing eyes surveyed her audience. ‘My great heroine, Emmeline Pankhurst, was fortunate enough to have been brought up by parents who took an active part in the great struggle for human freedom in many areas. From a young child she understood the meaning of words like slavery and emancipation. At a time when, to their shame, propertied classes in England were largely pro-slavery, her family and the circle of friends they associated with were opposed to such wickedness. Her father, Robert Goulden, was a most ardent abolitionist, and her mother took an active part in raising money for newly emancipated slaves in the United States.’
What a different childhood to her own. Ruby didn’t know if she envied Emmeline Pankhurst or pitied her. Her own home had been a place where her mam cooked and cleaned and looked after them all, including her da, and the only time any conversation had been faintly political was when her da was reading the paper and commented about something or other like ex-servicemen reduced to a life of street hawking by the lack of jobs after the war. Before he had come home from France, her mam had never even bought a paper. Her childhood had been carefree on the whole, happy.
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