by Megan Rix
‘You’ll never catch them all!’ Alfie laughed as he watched his funny little pup. He was so glad he had found her. So very glad. This was the best Christmas ever.
‘Rascal!’ Alfie called, holding his arms out. Rascal dashed over to him and dropped her ball at his feet. ‘One more throw,’ Alfie said.
After ten more throws, they ran back to the house. The kitchen was toasty and warm after the cold park.
‘Brrrr,’ Alfie said, hanging his coat on the back of a chair.
Rascal dropped her new ball next to her old one and then curled up in her basket.
Daisy came into the kitchen, her eyes red.
‘What’s happened?’ Alfie asked her.
‘Mrs Clarke’s been taken ill,’ she told him. ‘The doctor’s with her now. Alfie – it’s serious.’
She filled a bowl with hot water and headed back to the drawing room as Alfie stared after her. Rascal whined.
They stayed in the kitchen out of the way and it wasn’t until the next morning that Alfie found out Mary had died.
‘She was such a lovely lady,’ Daisy said, blowing her nose. ‘So caring.’
Alfie nodded. ‘Rascal loved her.’
He looked round. Where was the puppy?
‘Have you seen Rascal?’ he asked Daisy.
Daisy shook her head.
Rascal’s basket was empty. But her ball was still there.
Alfie hoped she hadn’t gone upstairs to the bedrooms, which she was strictly forbidden to do. He went to check, but as he hurried past the drawing room he saw Rascal was in there with Mrs Pankhurst. The puppy was sitting close to her feet and Mrs Pankhurst was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Alfie tried to slip away unseen but Rascal spotted him in the doorway and wagged her tail. Mrs Pankhurst looked up and beckoned Alfie in. Her eyes were red from crying.
‘She’s gone, Alfie,’ she said. ‘My darling, sweet sister Mary has gone. I don’t know how I shall bear it – 1910 started off such a terrible year with dear Harry’s death, and now it has ended horribly with Mary’s. All I hope is that the two of them are together in heaven.’
Mary had been in charge of the suffragettes in Brighton and lots of her friends came to Southgate for the funeral. Alfie wasn’t going to take Rascal to the cemetery for the funeral but Mrs Pankhurst said he should.
‘Mary loved her so and would have liked her to be there,’ she said.
Alfie and Rascal looked at the wreaths outside the church while the service took place inside. On one of the wreaths were the words I GLADLY PAY FOR THE PRICE OF FREEDOM.
‘It was what she said when she received her last prison sentence,’ Mrs Pankhurst told Alfie when the service was over. ‘I won’t let her death be in vain. “Deeds not Words”: that’s what we need now more than ever.’
Chapter 8
SPRING 1911–MARCH 1912
Rascal dashed past Mr Goulden to the front door, wagging her tail. But it wasn’t her friend the postman, who sometimes gave her a bit of biscuit from his pocket. When Mr Goulden opened it, there was a man holding a large briefcase, looking glum in the spring sunshine.
‘May I help you?’ Mr Goulden asked him.
‘I’m here to deliver the census forms,’ the man said.
‘Oh, yes.’ Mr Goulden invited the man in and asked Daisy to make him a cup of tea.
In the drawing room Rascal sat next to the man and looked pointedly at him, but he didn’t pour any of his tea into the saucer for her.
‘Thirty-six thousand of us have been hired to distribute the 1911 census forms and collect them in on the third of April,’ the man told Mr Goulden as he slurped his tea. ‘It’ll record where everyone slept on the night of the second of April: the residents of the house, their age and their employment.’
Rascal put her paw out to the man but he drank the last few drops of tea and then put the cup down on the saucer, empty. Rascal made a sad little sound and lay down with her head on her paws.
‘We’ll see you on the third of April, then, with the form all filled in ready for you,’ Mr Goulden said, as he and Rascal showed the man to the door.
‘That you will,’ said the man.
On 2 April Rascal was very busy running back and forth to the front door to greet the twenty ladies that arrived during the day.
‘Welcome, welcome,’ Mr Goulden said, as he ushered them in.
Rascal loved all the fuss she was given, especially when some of the women threw her ball for her in the garden.
In the kitchen Alfie helped Daisy make sandwiches and drinks for everyone.
‘What are they all doing here?’ he asked his sister. There were suffragettes everywhere.
‘They’re hiding here overnight, so they can’t be counted in this year’s census,’ Daisy told him. ‘It’s to protest about women not being given the vote.’
‘But where will everyone sleep?’ Alfie asked Daisy. There weren’t enough beds or even chairs for everyone.
‘I doubt there’ll be much sleeping going on here tonight!’ Daisy laughed.
And she was right. Everyone was in very high spirits – they sang round the piano and played cards and charades until well after midnight. Rascal got so tired she went to sleep under the table.
‘If the government won’t let us vote, although it still expects us to pay taxes, then we won’t let ourselves be counted in the census,’ the women said.
‘Women don’t count, so we won’t be counted!’
‘But won’t you get into a lot of trouble?’ Alfie asked them.
‘A five-pound fine or a month in prison,’ one lady said.
Alfie thought that was indeed a lot of trouble for not filling in a form.
‘Mrs Pankhurst is over in Aldwych, hiding at an ice-skating rink with lots of other suffragettes.’
Alfie had never been ice skating and he wished he could have gone there with Mrs Pankhurst – although Rascal might not have liked it and her paws would get frozen on the ice. An image of Rascal trying to skate came into his head and he smiled to himself.
‘I heard thousands of women all over the country are going to do the same as us,’ one suffragette laughed.
‘Mrs Pankhurst and her daughter Christabel have been busy arranging it and sending out messages from headquarters,’ said another.
Alfie took an empty sandwich plate back to the kitchen. They hadn’t seen Mrs Pankhurst since Mary’s funeral, and he hadn’t been asked to deliver any messages for her or the WSPU either. It hadn’t stopped him practising different routes on his bike, though, or cycling into central London. He and Rascal had even been as far as Hampton Court to see Manna and the princess’s dogs.
Up in his room Alfie tossed and turned, but couldn’t get to sleep because of the noise from downstairs, and because he was worrying that Mrs Pankhurst didn’t want him to be her messenger boy any more.
Early the next morning all of the suffragettes left and when the census man came later to collect the form there was nothing written on it about the overnight visitors.
The whole of 1911 went by without Alfie seeing Mrs Pankhurst – she didn’t come to the Gouldens’ house, and she spent Christmas in America.
On New Year’s Eve, Mr and Mrs Goulden called Daisy and Alfie into the drawing room to toast the end of 1911 and the beginning of 1912 with fruit punch. Rascal and little Joan played on the floor together.
‘To absent friends and family,’ Mr Goulden said, and Alfie thought about Mary and Harry, who would never come back, and Mrs Pankhurst, who he hoped would be back soon.
He stroked Rascal’s furry head and she looked up at him with her big brown eyes.
A few months later Alfie was sitting at his desk at Hazelwood School one Friday afternoon when a school monitor came in and spoke to his teacher, Miss Franklin.
‘Alfie, please go to the headmistress’s office,’ Miss Franklin said.
Alfie could feel all the other children staring at him and wondering what he’d done as he stood up and left
the classroom.
‘Come!’ Mrs Goulden called when he tapped on her door.
Alfie was astonished to find Mrs Pankhurst sitting on a chair in Mrs Goulden’s office.
‘Alfred,’ she said with a smile. ‘My, you’ve grown. As has your dog. I thought Rascal might not remember me, but judging by how excited she was when I went to the house, I think she must do.’
‘It’s good to see you, Mrs Pankhurst,’ Alfie said, feeling shy after all this time of not seeing her.
Mrs Pankhurst looked a lot older and thinner, and there were deep lines around her eyes and across her forehead.
‘I want you to take this to Lizzie Holsworth over in the East End. It’s very urgent,’ Mrs Pankhurst told Alfie, holding out a small packet wrapped in sacking and tied with string.
Alfie looked at the address on the label and frowned. ‘Bryant and May factory,’ he said.
‘It’s where the match girls’ strike of 1888 took place,’ Mrs Goulden reminded him. She had talked about the strike in assembly one day.
‘That strike made a big difference to the dreadful working conditions of women at the factory,’ Mrs Pankhurst said. ‘And I’m proud to have been part of the strike committee and done all I could to help at the time. But working conditions are still a long way from being perfect.’
Alfie remembered what Mrs Goulden had told them: 1,400 women and girls had gone on strike at the match factory because of the long, fourteen-hour working days, poor pay, fines for being late and the deadly health risk from the white phosphorous that was used to make the matches. White phosphorous hadn’t been allowed to be used since 1910 and now red phosphorous was used to make the matches.
Alfie looked down at the small parcel that Mrs Pankhurst had given him. It had something hard that was shaped like a capital T inside it.
‘What is it?’ he asked before he could stop himself.
‘Best you don’t know, my dear,’ Mrs Pankhurst told him.
Alfie bit his bottom lip. He should have known better than to ask Mrs Pankhurst. She always said that if he were questioned by the police, the less he knew and was able to tell them the better.
‘Get there as quickly as you can, but don’t take any risks,’ Mrs Pankhurst told him. ‘Here’s some money for expenses.’ She handed him two shillings.
‘You can leave school early to take the parcel,’ Mrs Goulden said. ‘Hurry along now.’
‘I’ll go home and get my bicycle,’ Alfie said.
‘No need. Daisy has it outside waiting for you, along with dear Rascal,’ Mrs Pankhurst told him. ‘Remember, it’s urgent.’
Rascal was very excited to see Alfie and wagged and wagged her tail. She’d never been to his school before and usually waited most of the day by the back door at the Gouldens’ house for him to come home.
‘Oh, no – she doesn’t have her suffragette collar on,’ Alfie said. He usually put the purple, white and green collar on Rascal when they went out because she looked so smart in it.
‘Best if no one knows who she is for this trip,’ Daisy said, as they headed away from the school.
‘I wonder what’s inside this parcel that’s so urgent,’ Alfie said to his sister. But Daisy just shrugged.
‘I made two packets of sandwiches for you and Rascal. One’s chicken and the other is dripping. They’re in your bicycle basket, but I wouldn’t leave them there – unless you want Rascal to eat them!’
Alfie grinned. Rascal did love tasty food – or any food, even if it wasn’t all that tasty.
Daisy went with them down Hazelwood Lane towards the main road but when she saw the tram she started running towards the tram stop.
‘Where are you going?’ Alfie called after her.
But Daisy didn’t stop.
‘Things to do!’ she shouted as she jumped on the tram, which headed off along Green Lanes towards Wood Green.
Alfie shook his head. It wasn’t like Daisy to be so secretive, but recently she’d been disappearing off in the evenings, and when he asked her where she’d been she’d told him it was best he didn’t know. It was very annoying!
Rascal made herself as comfortable as possible in the basket on the back of the bike. Now that she was fully grown it was a bit small for her, but at least Daisy had put her ball in the basket too. Rascal could still smell the chicken and dripping sandwiches that Daisy had made but Alfie had put those in his coat pocket.
When Alfie had been given the bike by The General, his feet had only just reached the pedals, but now it was the perfect size for him and he was proud of how fast he could go on it.
It took a little less than an hour to reach the East End from Palmers Green. As Alfie cycled towards the factory, the buildings became more derelict and the children on the street were without shoes and wore clothes that were little more than dirty rags.
‘Got anything to eat?’ one of them shouted.
A group of children crowded round, holding out their hands, begging.
Alfie pulled the first packet of sandwiches his fingers touched from his coat and threw them to the children. Then he pressed down on the pedals as some of them started running after him. Alfie cycled faster, afraid they might try to take his bicycle or, worse, take Rascal.
He was relieved to cycle past the railway station and through the big wrought-iron gates of the factory, leaving the children behind. But he’d never been inside a factory before and he didn’t know where he was supposed to go.
There was a gatekeeper in a little lodge next to the big red-brick factory buildings but Alfie didn’t want to speak to him. Mrs Pankhurst had made it clear that the mysterious parcel had to be kept secret and must be given to Lizzie Holsworth in person. Fortunately the tea-break horn went off and a girl of about the same age as Alfie came out through the swing doors while he was wondering what to do.
‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Lizzie Holsworth. Do you know where she is?’ Alfie asked her.
‘She’ll be out the back,’ the girl said. ‘I’ll show you.’
‘Thanks.’
Rascal hopped down from the basket and gave a wag of her tail as Alfie pushed the bike down the path after the girl. There were eleven or twelve women in the small paved yard at the back.
‘There’s Lizzie,’ said the girl, pointing.
Rascal saw Lizzie walking towards them and wagged her tail and gave a whine. Lizzie was carrying a large ball.
‘Mrs Pankhurst gave me this to give to you,’ Alfie told Lizzie, holding out the parcel.
Lizzie took it from him with a nod, while Rascal sat down, looked up at the ball and put out her paw.
‘Here we go, girls!’ Lizzie shouted.
The factory women ran to their positions as Lizzie threw the football into the middle of the yard. As soon as Rascal saw the football flying through the air, she raced towards it, barking with excitement.
Lizzie laughed. ‘We used to have a dog just like yours when I was a kid. My dad said she was the gentlest dog he’d ever known.’
In no time at all, a charging, laughing game of football was in progress, with Rascal in her element in the midst of it all. It looked so much fun that Alfie joined in too.
The tallest woman Alfie had ever seen stood ready in the goal, which was marked by two aprons.
‘Go on, then, let’s see if you can get that ball past our Gail,’ the other women said to Alfie.
Alfie had learnt to play football at school. He took a deep, steadying breath as the goalkeeper widened her stance and held out her arms.
He positioned the ball on the ground, took a few steps back and then ran at it from the right as if he were going to score with his right foot, but at the last moment he kicked it with his left foot instead. The ball shot past a surprised Gail straight into the goal.
‘Good shot,’ said Gail.
‘Lucky shot!’ shouted one of the girls. ‘Bet he can’t do it again.’
Rascal darted over to try and grab the ball but Gail scooped it up.
‘Best of thre
e!’ she shouted to Alfie.
Alfie ran at the ball and kicked it towards the left side of the goal, but this time Gail managed to stop it.
‘Good try, though,’ Gail said.
Alfie grinned and kicked the ball a third time – and missed.
But Rascal didn’t. She dashed forward, grabbed the ball in her mouth and ran off with it.
‘Bring that ball back, Rascal!’ Alfie called.
Rascal thought she’d much rather keep it, so the football match turned into a game of chase as the women and Alfie charged after Rascal, trying to get the ball back.
‘Here, Rascal,’ Alfie said, breaking off a piece of the sandwich he had left in his pocket.
Rascal stared at it for a few seconds, then she dropped the ball, sat down and put out her paw – definitely food before ball.
It was time they were going, but when Alfie looked round for Lizzie to say goodbye she’d disappeared. Worse, the spot where he’d left his bike was now empty.
‘Have you seen my bicycle?’ Alfie asked the other women as they headed back into the factory.
But no one had.
Alfie felt a sick, hollow feeling in his stomach. Someone had stolen his bicycle.
Rascal looked up at Alfie’s sad face and whined.
Lying by the wall where he’d leant his bike was the sacking from Mrs Pankhurst’s parcel. Alfie picked it up and a piece of paper dropped out. ‘Oxford Street 6 p.m.’ was written on it.
Could Lizzie have taken his bicycle? It seemed the only explanation. It was after five o’clock already. Had she taken it so she could get to Oxford Street by six?
‘Come on, Rascal,’ Alfie said, and they ran out of the factory gates to Bow railway station. They’d never catch a bicycle thief on foot but they might reach Oxford Street by six o’clock if they went on the train.
Alfie was determined to get his bike back. He knew where Lizzie had gone and he’d follow her!
Rascal wasn’t at all sure about the noisy steam train when it came into the station. She backed away from it, but Alfie held out more of the chicken sandwich and it was too much for her to resist.
‘Good dog!’ Alfie said when she hopped on to the train, and he gave her the rest of the sandwich, which she gulped down in no time at all.