Every morning she is up when I am, breakfasts off a piece of bread and some butter, then off to the omnibus, her arms fair dropping with bills and posters. Back in the afternoon, a cup of tea and a cake, then off again to knock the doors and wheedle the women into promising their attendance. From what Miss Sylvia says, a good few of the men have given permission for their wives to go. It would be brave man could refuse Mrs Drummond, I’m thinking, for though she is not fierce like Cook, she is very firm and does not like to lose a fight.
First Cook did not like her at all, for she came bustling down to the kitchen and tried to instruct her in a Scottish gruel with oats and salt and water. Cook sniffed mightily and said she thought she was above serving slops to her employers, but Mrs Drummond just laughed till the tears ran down her face and said, ‘That’s me in my place,’ (according to Cook, who speaks a morsel of Scottish) and after that she begged Cook’s pardon and said it was just that she was sad sick for her babbies and the gruel would make her think herself back home. The next we know, Cook is making a great tub of it and it is vile indeed, although if you stir some sugar in, it is much improved.
Mrs Drummond came back all white like a statue this afternoon. Cook asked if someone had thrown a bag of flour over her, but Mrs Drummond just laughed and said, no, she had been chalking all over the pavements to tell people about the rally. I wondered how she had got away with it. When I asked her she just gave me a great big wink and said, ‘I hae my ways, little one,’ or something like that.
Miss Annie told me she would be seeing Ma this morning and had I any message for her? I asked that she would take the blanket and tell Ma I am working a coat for Will. Also I gave her three shillings to give to Ma and a ham bone that Cook had left for throwing out, as too small to make a soup of. Poor Miss Annie looked like a Hebrew slave, so weighed down was she when she left.
Miss Annie says Ma is feeling better. She sent thanks for the money and the ham bone and says Frank was home last Sunday as his ship was docked at Tilbury. I asked Miss Annie if she had seen Pa but she said, no, he was working. Alfie, too, which is good to hear. He has employment shifting coal for Mr Turner – a shilling a day. I only hope he will not lose it coming home. Miss Annie said Evelyn begged to have her hair washed but there was not time. She has promised to do it soon. Will has another tooth. I asked about my nan. ‘She is not so well, Maggie, but I gave your ma some mint leaves for her to ease the bloating.’
‘How could you know what to take her, miss?’
Miss Annie laughed. ‘Maggie, before I go out each day, I skim the garden. There is always something will serve and it’s cheaper than the apothecary.’
‘And did you talk to many women, miss?’
‘I did. Your ma is a regular recruiting sergeant. She took me from house to house and at every one of them we got a cup of tea. I tell you, Maggie, by the time we were done I was fair bursting for the lavvy.’
‘And will they come to the rally?’
Miss Annie shrugged. ‘Some will, I’m sure. I’m to talk to another group on Friday night – friends of your ma that she sings with, and some others at the wash-house. Oh, we shall get there by and by, but it’s a long ladder we’re climbing. Still, when I see women so wretched and worn down with work and child-bearing…’ She stopped and I knew she feared to have hurt my feelings.
‘If anyone can make my ma’s life better, I would do all I could to help them,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘I never doubted it, Maggie. And you wait. Things will get better for women soon, and it’ll be the likes of thee and me and your poor ma they’ll have to thank.’
On the day of the rally we were all up early. Me to light the fires and get my chores done, for Mrs Roe said I must certainly go to the meeting, though Cook made faces like a thundercloud and muttered all day about giddy-gaddying and wasting good working time and how I should have to make it up come Saturday.
When it was time to go she gave me a slice of currant cake wrapped in paper and threepence. ‘For your fare. Mrs Roe may do as she pleases, but you must come back and finish the pressing afore you go to bed.’ I thanked her and said I wished she was coming too. She went bright pink and said she couldn’t be doing with such nonsense and any woman with any sense should know better than to leave her family and go flibbertigibbeting all over town. Since I have done reading recipes to Cook she has taken to hearing stories from The Ladies’ Home Journal and her words are becoming wondrous fancy.
Such a building is Caxton Hall! It is vast like a palace and full of wooden seats – row upon row – in a great space like a theatre, and corridors and mirrors and stairs leading off all over the place.
I was charged to put a programme on each chair, while a dozen or more ladies unrolled posters and pinned them to the walls and round the stage, on which was set a table and some chairs, much like at the Albert Hall. I greatly feared we were to hear more speeches of the kind delivered there and wondered if I might creep away when I had done my work and walk about outside till the meeting was over.
In the entrance we set up trestle-tables which we covered with great white cloths and then piled high with leaflets and handbills. We uncoiled flags – glorious blood red – and hung them round the walls and over the entrance, then back to the main hall to dress the stage with white and purple banners. Miss Billington was fixing one. She asked me if it was straight. I nodded. ‘And it’s the right way up this time, miss.’ She gave me a very funny look.
By noon the hall was mostly ready and we went into a room behind the stage where lemonade and bread with potted meat and jam pastries were spread out all along one side. I did not think I should be allowed, but Miss Sylvia spotted me and led me right up to where a huge lady with the biggest hat you ever saw was pouring tea. ‘Mrs Montefiore, may I introduce Maggie? She has worked like a Trojan to help us get ready for today.’
The huge lady held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Maggie,’ she said. I bowed my head, thinking she must surely be a royal person with such a hat, for all she had a foreign name.
At two o’clock the doors were opened and ladies, two or three at a time, began to wander in. By half past two the hall was but a quarter full. I could see Miss Annie and Miss Sylvia in earnest talk with Mrs Drummond who, as always, looked exceedingly cheerful and kept shaking her head and laughing as though it were the simplest thing in the world to fill the place to bursting.
As I was helping to lay out teacups there came a flurry of voices outside and through the door swept Mrs Pankhurst herself, so fine in a lilac coat and hat to match.
‘Where’s Annie? Find her for me, please, and tell her I must speak to her at once.’ A lady rushed off, returning with Miss Annie who looked very down and harassed.
Mrs Pankhurst embraced her kindly. ‘Well, Annie, how have you done? Where are all our workers? We can’t just preach to the converted.’ Poor Miss Annie looked as though she wished the ground would swallow her.
‘Mrs Drummond and Sylvia and I have been about every single day, talking to the women. We could get no firm promises, but I truly thought more would be here, Mrs Pankhurst.’
Mrs Pankhurst gave a little shrug. ‘Well, it cannot be helped. A few are better than none. And those that hear Mr Keir Hardie will go home converted, I am sure.’ At this moment they were joined by Miss Sylvia and Miss Christabel who seemed a little displeased with each other.
Miss Christabel fair pounced on Mrs Pankhurst. ‘Have you seen this, Mother? What Sylvia and Annie have achieved between them? If there are two hundred people out there I should be surprised. And all of them belonging already, I’ll be bound.’
Miss Sylvia, distressed, I could tell, murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Mother. It hasn’t been for lack of trying. We have all been working like dogs.’
‘Dogs would have done a better job,’ snorted Miss Christabel.
Mrs Pankhurst put a hand on her arm. ‘We must make do with those we’ve got, Christabel. We have the hall, we have an audience, we have our speake
r. And we have the Press. Let’s see if we can’t rouse a few headlines, come what may.’
Just then one of the younger ladies came hurrying in and handed Mrs Pankhurst a letter. She read it, folded it, put it in her pocket. We all waited. ‘Mr Hardie sends his apologies, but regrets he is unable to attend this afternoon.’
There was a veritable gasp around the room. Mrs Pankhurst raised her shoulders. ‘Perhaps it is just as well, seeing we have so small a gathering for him. Annie, you will speak as arranged and I will say a few words. What they will be will depend on the King’s Speech.’
‘Well, whatever it is, Mother, please make sure it raises their appetites.’
I had never heard Miss Sylvia speak so sharply.
‘Oh, I shall endeavour to do that,’ said her mother. ‘I usually manage something of the kind.’
‘Good,’ replied Miss Sylvia, ‘for we’ve five hundred currant buns to dispose of before anyone goes home.’
Miss Christabel burst out laughing. ‘Oh well done, my sister. No recruits but you’ve sorted out the eating arrangements. Perhaps that’s what you should stick to. It’s plainly what you’re best at.’
Miss Sylvia said nothing, but she bit her lip hard and walked clear out of the room. Miss Christabel seemed very little unsettled and set about ordering those remaining to various tasks. Me she sent out to the front to direct latecomers to their seats.
I was not halfway there when there came a sound – a sort of murmuring like distant bees, then, as it came closer, more like voices, women’s voices, then voices raised in song.
I raced to the entrance hall. If I had not seen it…
Outside the great glass doors, all across the road for as far as I could see and right round the corner, came women, red flags swirling, singing for all their hearts. Beside them on horses rode bobbies, some laughing, others looking quite brain-lashed with bewilderment. Up the stairs the women came, into the hall, like a great brown wave, for their clothes were poor and shoddy and hardly a strip of colour in their hats. Some had babies squawling and blabbing, others were grimed and oily from work. Old, young, and every shade between. Up the steps and into the hall. I had to press myself against the wall for fear of being trampled, then ran as quick as I could, back the way I had come.
I burst through the door. ‘Oh, Miss Annie,’ I cried, not daring to address Mrs Pankhurst. ‘They have come.’ Miss Annie came hurrying across to me.
‘Who, Maggie? Who has come? Is it the police?’
‘No, miss. Well, only a few on horses. But the women… Hundreds, miss. And babies and all. They are…like the lilies of the field.’ I was not sure that this was quite right, but Miss Sylvia seemed to understand, for she leapt up and ran to a little side door that gave on to the stage. Opening it a crack, she beckoned wildly with her hand. All rushed to look, even Mrs Pankhurst, though she is very little and could scarce see past Mrs Montefiore and her hat.
Miss Sylvia shut the door. ‘Perhaps we shall need those buns after all, Mother.’
Mrs Pankhurst nodded gaily. ‘I think we may, my dear. Well done. And well done, Annie and Mrs Drummond. Your efforts have borne fruit. Now it is up to us to ripen it on the bough.’ I thought this very beautiful and made a grand effort to put it to memory.
‘Maggie, what are you doing here? I thought you were to show latecomers in. You’ll not find many round here.’
I blushed purple and back again. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Christabel, ma’am… I only came to…’
Miss Sylvia stepped in. ‘It was Maggie brought us the news.’ Miss Christabel gave me a lovely smile. ‘Thank you, Maggie. You are a clever, useful girl. Now hurry back to your post.’
It was on my way back that I saw Ma. She was leaning against a wall, eyes closed, the baby riding so high in her she could scarce find space for breathing. Mrs Grant was with her and looking more than anxious. I fought my way across to them. ‘Ma.’
She opened her eyes and tried to smile. ‘I thought I might see you, Maggie. Miss Annie said you would be here.’ She took a great gasp of air.
‘Ma, you must sit down. Have you been walking all the way from home?’ I did not see how she could.
‘Miss Annie arranged that we would come on the Underground,’ Mrs Grant told me. ‘But it is a perilous long way up from it and your ma so near her time.’
Wrong though it was, I felt a stab of envy that Ma should have been on the Underground train when I had not.
‘There’s tea,’ I said. ‘And buns. Miss Sylvia bought five hundred.’
‘Enough to feed an army,’ Mrs Grant declared.
‘An army is what we are.’ It was Miss Sylvia. ‘But an army that needs a chair.’
‘Please, Miss Sylvia, this is my ma,’ I said, wishing Ma had not looked so done in.
Miss Sylvia held out her hand. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs Robins. Annie cannot sing your praises high enough for all the help you’ve given her.’
Ma straightened up. ‘I thank you, ma’am, but I’ve done little enough.’
‘I’m sure that’s not so. And Maggie here has been quite excellent. You must be very proud of her.’
Ma made a snitching sound as she does when praise is offered. ‘I hope she will always do her best.’
‘That and more. Now will you come and take a cup of tea and something to eat before the meeting begins? You must be weary from the journey.’
Ma began to say that she required nothing, thank you, but I knew why. ‘Ma, you must. It’s free and if you don’t eat a bun, and Mrs Grant, too, and everyone here, we shall be living off them till Christmas.’ Even Ma laughed.
I cannot mind when I have seen so many people all in one place, jam-packed together, munching on those buns like their lives depended on it. At last someone rang a bell and everyone made their way into the grand hall.
I sat with Ma and Mrs Grant near the back. Ma looked so tired I could tell she would rather not be there. I wondered who was minding Evelyn and Will. Not Lucy, I hoped, or they would both end up drowned or worse.
After a few minutes Miss Billington and Mrs Montefiore and some other ladies I did not know came on to the stage and everyone fell silent. Miss Billington thanked the women for coming so far and at such trouble to themselves. She then called upon Miss Annie to address the meeting. As she stood up there was a great roar from all the women she had talked into coming, as though she was one of their own.
She told how we must await the end of the King’s Speech in Parliament. On that depended our next action. I was not sure what this meant, but everyone clapped and cheered, so I did too, and Miss Annie went on to say how more than half the people of Britain were women and it was monstrous that they should have no say in how they were ruled. More cheers. She told how where she came from in the north, women would work a ten-hour day, six days a week, for half what the men alongside them were earning. And was this right? Was this just? Was this Christian?
‘No,’ we all cried, even Ma, who looked much sparkier than before.
Was it right that married women should depend on their men to vote for them, and unmarried girls have no one at all to champion their cause?
‘No. No. NO.’
Were women too stupid to know what they wanted? Were they too lazy to walk to the polling station? Did they not care what happened to their children? Was not this great nation founded on the toil of men and women?
‘Yes. Yes. YES.’
I think if the old grey man from the Albert Hall had stepped on to the stage at that moment, he would have been torn to pieces before our eyes.
Miss Annie made to continue when, suddenly, came a sound from the side of the stage and Miss Christabel fair leapt on to the platform. Those who knew her raised a mighty cheer, but she held up a hand to silence them. ‘Ladies, we all know why we are here today. It is to see if the Government has at last come to its senses. Today is the opening of Parliament.’ She paused, dipped her head, then solemnly raised it again. ‘It is with great regret I must inform you that no
mention whatsoever was made in the King’s Speech today regarding a bill for women’s suffrage.’
There was a silence. More than a silence. A sort of damp despair curling over us. Then, quick as a flash, Mrs Drummond jumped up on her seat and cried, ‘For shame! Shame on this government of weaklings and bullies.’ The cry was taken up like a great chorus and rang round the hall till, had it been trumpets, the walls would surely have fallen. And into all this wildness stepped Mrs Pankhurst. Still, tiny, but like a flame in the darkness.
‘My dear friends, this is a disappointment indeed. More than a disappointment. A blow to the heart of our frail bodies. But let us remember that it is but a blow. One blow. A harsh one. But not a murdering blow. It has hurt us. It has wounded us. It has not killed us. Nor will it ever. For while there are women such as you – true, loyal, honourable, brave, deserving – prepared to fight for what should be theirs by right, we shall never be beaten. We shall fight on. Till we win the glorious day.’
Such cheers as rose would have lifted the roof and carried all the way to the King himself if there was any justice in the world.
Mrs Pankhurst then proposed that all those willing should make their way to the House of Commons and demand to speak with the Members of Parliament. The hall emptied. When we got outside a wicked cold drizzle was falling. I told Mrs Grant to take Ma home. Ma started to protest but Mrs Grant would have none of it. ‘You’ve children at home need their mother, Mrs Robins. Your man’s done well by you to let you come. Don’t give him cause to rue it, for this will be a long hard struggle, to my reckoning.’
I had to ask. ‘Is Pa looking after the littl’uns?’
Ma nodded.
‘But what about his work?’
‘He has a free day.’
‘How? It’s not Christmas.’
Mrs Grant looked at Ma. ‘Shall I tell your Maggie?’
Ma shook her head. She took a deep breath, as deep as she could with the baby squeezing her like an accordion. ‘Your nan’s gone, Maggie. We buried her today. Mr Bailey gave your pa the day off, else I could not have come.’
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