A Time for Courage

by Margaret Graham

  During the evening they talked of Harry and the heat that he had spoken of. They talked of Arthur’s work in the City. They talked of the new term in Parliament and Lord Wilmot worried about the tax that would be levied to pay for the Pensions Bill.

  ‘Five shillings they want for everyone over seventy. It threatens the empire, you know. It’s the beginning of the end.’

  They did not talk of women’s suffrage because Arthur felt his father would not understand. ‘Though I think the suffragettes show a pleasing spirit,’ he said to Hannah as he took her to see the jasmine which was growing so well in the conservatory. ‘Perhaps it gives you girls something to do that’s fun.’ He kissed her and his lips were soft and warm.

  The next week Esther and Hannah travelled to the big suffragette meeting at the Albert Hall for, reasoned Hannah, to attend meetings was not militant and could not affect the principle of no militancy until the Pensions Bill was passed. Frances had nodded but had not come.

  As they entered the domed building Esther whispered in Hannah’s ear, ‘I wonder what Prince Albert would have said about women using his building to discuss a campaign for votes.’ Hannah, forced along by the press of women behind and in front and to the side of her, said, ‘He’d have looked down that long nose of his and said, “I am not amused”, I should think.’

  Their soft laughter sounded good to Hannah but as they entered the auditorium they both fell silent at the sight and sound of women from wall to wall; murmuring, talking, waving to one another. Hannah felt an excitement, a relief that she was here at last amongst a great mass who felt as she did. She had not known there were so many, so very many.

  The suffragist meetings she had attended with Frances had been small and decorous, not crammed and vocal as this gathering was. She looked at the women in front and the large woman who stood at her side, a working woman. There was a set to her chin, a determination that the woman next to her also wore and on and on down the row. A sense of belonging took and held Hannah and there was a great peace within her because at last she was here. She wanted to be able to go home and sit by the wicker chair and tell her mother of the sights and sounds that were soaking into her with every second.

  Esther took her arm. ‘Look,’ she said pointing towards the platform.

  Hannah pushed thoughts of her mother away, back, not to her father’s house, but to the home in Cornwall where Joe was sorting apples and Eliza was making curtains, for it was here that she believed her mother now lived, embodied in an idea which she had made reality. Hannah pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, making her lips hurt. To think of her mother in this way was all that made the loss endurable. She breathed deeply and listened as Esther repeated herself taking Hannah’s arm and shaking it.

  ‘Look.’

  Hannah craned her head above the crowd, following Esther’s hand and then she saw it. An empty chair set on the platform with a placard which read ‘Mrs Pankhurst’s Chair’. The speakers were entering as Hannah remembered that Emmeline Pankhurst was in prison for obstructing the police and applause filled the auditorium, wave upon wave to the very height of the dome, and it was for Mrs Pankhurst and all the other women who were deprived of their liberty because they had dared to demand their rights.

  Hannah’s hands ached from clapping, her throat was tight from cheering but all the time she wondered whether when the time came she would have their courage. Would she be able to carry on walking when the police called on her to stop? And would her voice be as loud when it was her turn to heckle at a meeting? She was still clapping, everyone was clapping. But could she keep on demanding until the stewards came as they always did, hurting and pushing until the police took her to the cells? Could she do it, she wondered, and her palms were damp and the noise of the women all around her could not drown the question she asked herself, one that she could not yet answer. Had she been waiting because she was afraid? It was a question which was too uncomfortable to consider.

  It was the sudden hush that brought her back to Esther and to the large woman, but not before she realised that, at this moment, she was glad that the Pensions Bill still had not been passed so perhaps after all her question was answered. Fear was her enemy. A woman was standing on the platform and as she spoke Hannah rose as all the others did when they were told that the Government had released the prisoners and Mrs Pankhurst would take the chair tonight after all.

  That night, when the meeting was ended, Hannah did not take a hansom cab from outside the hall but walked and walked because she was charged with energy, with excitement, with a sense of belonging and Esther was with her, her eyes alight, her cheeks flushed.

  ‘It’s all so very exciting, Hannah. Oh, to think of those women suffering imprisonment. What heroines. How glamorous.’ She gripped Hannah’s arm. ‘It’s the excitement which appeals, isn’t it? Flouting the law, being seen to be brave. I must write and tell Harry what a wonderful idea it was of mine.’

  Hannah’s laughter was tinged with irritation at such remarks which could only have come from her cousin, but she would not allow Esther to impinge on her own elation, her own enthusiasm, and her fear was forgotten as she felt again the atmosphere and comradeship of the past few hours. It was like nothing else she had known. She would not be fighting alone and that knowledge made her feel that anything was possible, that her fear could be conquered.

  The following week Hannah talked to Frances as they drank thick warm cocoa before the fire. Asquith wanted proof that there was support for women’s suffrage, though, as Frances had said, what had he been seeing all these years? Her tone had been bitter. None the less the suffragists were arranging a procession to the Albert Hall and the suffragettes were marching to Hyde Park.

  Frances looked at her and nodded. ‘So at last you have a decision to make, Hannah. Under which banner will you march?’ She stirred her cocoa and tapped the spoon twice before putting it in her saucer.

  Hannah nodded, looking into the fire which leapt and spun over the dried logs which she had brought from the cellar today.

  Frances continued. ‘But before you do decide, just let me say that I should be hurt if you left the schoolhouse just because you chose a different path to me. I enjoy your company and want you to remain here with me.’

  Hannah looked up from the fire to Frances now and felt a lightness growing within her because she had felt that to declare for the suffragettes would mean the end of all this. She looked about the room to the books, the desk, the dog, which was yelping in its sleep.

  ‘It’s just that I still feel this anger, this need to make the Government listen. They’re not listening. We have to shout, to grip their collars and make them look at us while we speak the words which they must one day listen to.’ She had risen and begun to pace the floor. ‘They should not need proof. There are all the years of suffrage work to be seen, all the petitions, the lobbying. It is an insult.’

  ‘Do sit down, Hannah.’ Frances was laughing.

  But Hannah felt restless, full of an energy that could not be released. It was as though there was something pushing and roaring against a barrier which she could not yet move aside; a barrier of waiting. She crossed her arms, her hands gripping tightly, and she made herself turn and sit in the chair, made herself take her mug between her hands, bringing it to her lips and sipping, feeling the steam on her face.

  ‘I must choose the suffragettes,’ she said, watching the face of her Headmistress, her friend.

  There was a pause and she could hear the clock, and the fire as it hissed and spat.

  ‘Of course you must. You are just confirming what we have both known for a long time,’ Frances said at last, her face still calm and her voice level as it always was. There was a further pause and then Frances spoke again, her voice slow as she sought words carefully.

  ‘But, Hannah, do be careful. It is not an easy path. The suffragettes are frequently imprisoned and that is not pleasant even in the first division which is for political prisoners. Usually it is th
e second division or at worst the third and that, my dear, is a true punishment.’

  Frances placed her mug on the table and bent forward, using the brass poker to push a log further on to the fire. Sparks rose and some clung to the soot that coated the back of the hearth. She could not know what the women had suffered during their imprisonments but she had seen them on their release and she feared for Hannah, whom she had grown to love. This girl who was her friend and almost her child but how could one protect another? Frances shook her head. She knew it was impossible, and there would be anguish and pain for Hannah as she fought the coming battle and that would be her pain too. All she could do for now was to continue to delay the hardship for her in the hope that soon the vote would be given and Hannah need not face those things that Frances feared would break her.

  ‘But the Pensions Bill is not through yet, Hannah.’ Frances was sitting back in her chair now, her fingers steepled in front of her face. ‘Do you remember what we discussed? This reform government is so important and I fear that the suffragettes will damage it. We must have social reforms, you know that.’ Hannah nodded, feeling the frustration build into a physical pain. Yes, she knew that and yes, she would wait until the Pensions Bill was through and it would not just be because Frances desired this but because she did too.

  ‘I know and the Government won’t be damaged, Frances. Women are not that strong, remember?’ Her tone was ironic and Frances smiled. At least she had bought some time but would it be enough? Please God, let Asquith give us the vote. She did not say this but tried to caution this young woman who had already faced so much.

  ‘I know I’ve said this before but I worry, I suppose, in case the demonstrations, the protests become too militant. I cannot condone violence, Hannah, and it would do our cause no good, and I use “our” collectively. You see, to have the vote requires a degree of responsibility, and should the militancy escalate I fear that all that would result would be the alienation of our supporters within Parliament and that it would become almost a purposeless act. Violence for violence’s sake is not healthy, neither is revenge.’ Frances looked up as the clock struck eleven. ‘Now I think the lecture is over, my dear, for tonight,’ and as she took Hannah’s cup from her she remembered herself at twenty-two, supported by two loving parents who had made everything seem possible. And so it had been until her fiancé died in India and even then the school had held her life together as, with the passing years, her father and then her mother had been ‘gathered’, as Hannah would say. As she held the door for Hannah to pass through she leant forward and kissed her cheek.

  ‘You must be careful, Hannah,’ she said and wanted to send her far from here, to Cornwall, where she belonged and where she would be safe with Joe. But all she could do was smile and hide the fear because had not her parents loved her enough to do that for her too?

  On this warm May day in Frances’s dining-room Esther was wearing cotton gloves to paint ‘Votes for Women’ in black furniture stain on the white calico banner while Hannah crouched beside her, her own brush heavy in her hand, her bare fingers stained with black, but it was good to see them marked like this and to feel the soreness of her palm.

  She knelt upright, easing the stiffness of her back, and as she did so she saw Maureen, one of her Sunday ladies, doing the same and they smiled. The woman wore the new suffragette ribbons, white, green and purple, pinned to her bodice in the shape of a bow, and Hannah turned to look at the bag on the trestle table at the side of the room. She must remember to wear some too.

  ‘Really, Hannah,’ Esther said as she also straightened. ‘I much prefer the meetings. This is all rather hard work. I do hope it isn’t all too hectic on the day.’ She looked across at the poles which lay by the table. ‘They look a little rough and heavy to me.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘You’ll be all right and remember, you have ordered that rather fetching dress to set off your ribbons.’

  She laughed again as Esther’s face broke into a smile. ‘Yes, indeed, and a new hat too. One should go into these things properly, you know, Hannah. Half-measures are not the thing.’

  She patted her hair into shape, and Hannah laughed again. At least she had been able to write to Harry that Esther was now very busy and working with other women, so did it matter that it was all a game to her?

  ‘We must remember to pick up some ribbons before they’re packed away,’ Hannah said, stretching the calico out and painting the line of the ‘T’ a little thicker.

  ‘I’ll get one now,’ Esther said and Hannah smiled at the speed with which her cousin threw down her brush, rose to her feet and pulled off her gloves, throwing them on to the pile of calico scraps which was growing in the centre of the room.

  She sat back on her haunches and eased her neck as Esther clutched her pale blue skirt and apron close to her and wove her way between the women who were working and talking, crouched on the floor like she was. It was good to work with colleagues who had become friends. The old dining-room was transformed. The desks used on Sundays were pushed against the walls for today but they would have to be moved back before the women left.

  Frances had given Hannah the remains of the stain that her suffragists had used to paint their banners when they had marched to the Albert Hall but now, Hannah thought with satisfaction, it was the turn of the suffragettes. Hannah swept the hair which fell forward on to her face back into her bun, smelling the stain again, feeling the sweep of anticipation which had been growing since news of the march had reached them. Suffragettes would be converging on London from all over the country on Midsummer’s Day but before that there was all this work to do. Hannah looked around her. Everywhere in the country women would be painting and cutting and hammering their banners, their flags and their regalia. They would be gathering supporters, enlisting new members, arranging transport, determined that Asquith should never be able to say again that women’s suffrage had no support in the country.

  ‘What will Arthur say?’ Esther said and Hannah looked up, startled, as her cousin dangled three ribbons in front of her. She pointed to the black marks on Hannah’s hands. ‘You look like some dreadful washerwoman, Hannah. It’s not fair on him. He does have a position to maintain, you know.’

  Hannah hushed her, looking round to see if her Sunday pupil had heard but she had not. ‘Maureen is a washerwoman,’ she hissed.

  ‘But she is not about to marry a Lord’s son,’ Esther replied sharply.

  Hannah snapped, ‘And neither am I, not immediately anyway and if a bit of black stain ruins the man’s prospects it doesn’t say much for the position or the man.’ She took the ribbons with two clean fingertips and put them in the pocket of her apron; they were smooth and cool.

  ‘Let’s leave the banner to dry for a while and then we’ll attach it to the poles. Are you any good with a hammer?’ she asked, enjoying the look of horror on Esther’s face before pushing herself to her feet with a groan. Her knees were sore from kneeling all morning but her feet would be sorer still by the time they had walked the route of the procession. She hoped that this June would not be too hot.

  It was not and the day dawned fresh and bright. The previous week Hannah had edged their white banner with purple and green once the stain had dried.

  Now her group stood amongst the ranks upon ranks of women, holding their poles, which were heavy now and would be heavier still by the time they reached Hyde Park. Those who had been in prison wore white and held white pennants. Hannah tried not to hear Esther as she complained that no one could see her hat and that they must force their way to the edge of the procession so that her dress could be seen. But at least she was here, where Hannah could keep her busy for Harry.

  ‘Stand still for now,’ Hannah ordered. ‘We’ll move across before the start.’

  Sylvia Pankhurst had designed borders for some of the banners and Hannah looked up at theirs and wished that Joe could have come up after all to design hers as he had hoped to be able to do, but the house was too full, he had wr
itten, and she knew that this was true for she and Frances had sent the families down last week, chosen from the ones that came on Sundays as usual.

  ‘There are so many here,’ Esther breathed, looking round.

  ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ Hannah said.

  ‘It would be, if I was on the edge,’ Esther murmured and Hannah gripped her pole more firmly, wanting to tip it hard on to that perfect green hat with the purple ostrich feather. But instead she looked about her and, seeing a gap, eased a way through, pulling Esther as she went until they were at the edge of the procession.

  ‘I do not want to hear one more word from you,’ she said. ‘And what if your father should see you?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, he won’t be watching but he said I was to behave myself,’ Esther replied and Hannah laughed in her amazement. Uncle Thomas was quite extraordinary because not only did he not seem to object to Esther being involved in this political fight, he was in fact pleased that she was busy during the day teaching, and spending much of her other free time with Hannah and the suffragettes. Perhaps he also wanted Esther to wait for Harry, Hannah thought, and for the first time it occurred to her that Harry might indeed return with the wealth he had spoken of so often.

  ‘The leaders are marching,’ the woman in front told them, ‘so we’ll be ready soon.’

  Hannah turned to the row behind her and passed on the message, grinning at Esther and lifting her head, not looking at the people who watched from the sidelines but aware of them. It was pride that coursed through her. Pride that women would travel from seventy towns on special trains and take part in the seven processions that were at this moment heading for Hyde Park. Pride that all these women felt as she did. How could Asquith ignore them now?

  They were moving at last, the women in front hoisting their banners. She nodded at Esther and they did likewise and the seven miles did not seem long and she barely noticed the ache in her arms as she held the banner aloft. Esther changed places with a woman who waved a flag and so Hannah had a different partner and they talked of the north where she came from and the strength of feeling that was building in the provinces as well as the capital. The police directed traffic and allowed the procession to proceed without halting at any junctions. Any jeers were drowned by the louder cheers from within the spectators.