Suffragette Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Good – so that’s settled.’ Augusta stood up. ‘So, you have a few days in London, Florrie. And I mean a few days. And see if you can sort something out with Isobel.’ With that, she swept regally from the room, leaving father and daughter staring at one another, wondering just how all that had happened.

  Forty-Five

  ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

  ‘Catching the train,’ Gervase smiled down at her. ‘Like you, I imagine. I didn’t know you were going to see Isobel.’

  ‘I wasn’t – I mean, it’s a spur-of-the-moment thing.’

  He eyed her with amusement. ‘Going to do a bit of bus-driving in the capital, if this strike the TUC are calling for comes about?’

  Florrie laughed. ‘Certainly not! I’ll be marching with the miners and the other strikers and carrying a banner.’

  Gervase’s laughter faded. ‘Oh, Florrie dear, do be careful.’ He sighed. ‘I do wish you’d marry me and let me take care of you – of both of you.’

  Florrie tapped his arm playfully. ‘Now, now, Gervase. It’s April the thirtieth, not New Year’s Eve.’

  He took her hand and tucked it through his arm and led her towards a first-class carriage. ‘Well, just be warned – this year I shall press my case with even more vigour than ever before.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Florrie gave an exaggerated sigh. After the war, with the two families partying each year’s end once again, Gervase had resumed his annual proposal. It was always light-hearted, but Florrie was never in any doubt that it was nevertheless earnest.

  ‘Darlings, how lovely!’ Isobel threw her arms out wide, trying to embrace them both at once. ‘I didn’t know you were coming with Gervase, Florrie dear.’

  ‘Neither did I.’ Florrie smiled. ‘And forgive me for arriving unexpectedly. I hope it’s all right?’

  ‘Of course, of course – you’re always welcome.’

  There was a shout from the landing above and Charlie pounded down the stairs and skidded to a halt in front of them. ‘Where’s Jacques? Hasn’t he come too?’

  Florrie hugged her godson. ‘Not this time.’ The boy’s face fell and he pouted.

  Gervase laughed and ruffled his hair. ‘Next time, old chap. But it was just as well he didn’t come. If this strike goes ahead we could be trapped here for weeks.’

  The boy’s eyes shone. ‘That’d be top-hole.’

  The three adults laughed and Isobel explained, ‘That’s his latest word. Everything is “top-hole” or “topping”. Come along, get yourselves settled into your rooms and we’ll have a sherry before dinner. And you, young man,’ she hugged her son to her side, ‘as a special treat, can join us.’

  ‘Oh, topping!’

  When Charlie, eyes drooping, had gone to bed, the three adults lingered over coffee and liqueurs.

  ‘This strike business could get very serious, you know. And ugly,’ Gervase said. ‘What’s the latest news, Iso?’

  ‘The TUC have called for a general strike to start at midnight on the third.’

  ‘That’s only two days. Doesn’t give us much time.’

  ‘Time? To do what?’ Florrie asked.

  ‘To get organized so that the strike disrupts things as little as possible.’

  Florrie stared at first one and then the other. ‘What d’you mean? That’s what the strike’s for. To disrupt everyone’s lives so that they listen to the miners’ case.’

  ‘We’ve every sympathy with the miners’ cause, but—’

  ‘No, you haven’t, if you’re trying to undermine what they’re hoping to achieve.’

  ‘We can’t let the whole country grind to a standstill. Think about food supplies and other essentials. How is this going to affect the sick and the elderly, Florrie, to say nothing of babies and infants? We can’t stand by and see people starving.’

  ‘Oh, it won’t come to that.’

  ‘It might very well,’ Gervase said grimly.

  Florrie’s face was mutinous. ‘Well, I’m still on the side of the strikers.’ She stood up. ‘So, if you’d rather I didn’t stay under your roof, Iso—’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Florrie. This has nothing to do with our friendship. We just disagree for once. It’s not often we do.’

  Florrie sank back into her seat. She looked at Gervase. ‘What – what do you intend to do?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I’m going to wait and see what happens. It might be settled at the eleventh hour.’

  There was silence amongst them, his choice of words reminding them poignantly of the armistice signed at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

  ‘Lady Lee is organizing helpers,’ Isobel said, trying to bring their maudlin thoughts back to the present. ‘They intend to help out at London’s General Post Office if the workers go on strike there. And I hear some of the society ladies are planning to open up soup kitchens.’

  Florrie shook her head. ‘I don’t believe this. Lady Lee! So she’s a traitor too, is she?’

  ‘Oh, Florrie, that’s a bit harsh.’ Isobel was hurt.

  ‘But we all fought for our rights. We believed in the same things. What’s happened to you?’

  ‘It’s a bit different—’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Florrie was adamant. ‘We all sit in our grand houses with roaring coal fires in every room, and we never give a thought to the men who hew it with their bare hands in dark and dangerous conditions. It’s one of the worst jobs in the world.’ She shuddered. ‘And you’re begrudging them a fair day’s pay.’

  ‘Militant action isn’t the way to go about it,’ Gervase began.

  ‘You never agreed with the things we did as suffragettes,’ Florrie rounded on him. ‘So I’m not surprised at you. But Lady Lee – and you, Iso. I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. The miners haven’t been treated fairly since the end of the war. You know that. We’ve had strikes before. Remember the one that lasted three months in ’twenty-one? Talking does no good.’ She glanced at Isobel again. ‘We both know that.’

  Florrie stood her ground. She refused to be swayed and the following morning – Saturday – she went out into the streets. There was a feeling of unrest and agitation in the air. Florrie felt herself swept along in the pent-up excitement. There were groups of people marching in an orderly fashion, some holding banners declaring Support the Miners and the slogan the miners’ leader had thought up: Not a minute on the day, not a penny off the pay.

  ‘Where’s everyone going?’ Florrie asked a woman marching along with the men.

  ‘Hyde Park. There’s to be a demonstration.’

  Florrie’s eyes shone as she fell into step beside her. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘A party of us have come from up north. We’re peaceful, like. We aren’t looking for mekin’ trouble, but ya know what they’ve tried to do the miners, dun’t ya? Well, our men aren’t goin’ to stand for it no more. An’ now workers all over the country are prepared to come out on strike wi’ us. The printers here in London are refusing to bring out a newspaper that’s got an article in it criticizing the trade union. And now dockers, railwaymen – all sorts of transport workers – and others are prepared to come out an’ all.’ She grinned. ‘There’ll be urgent talks in Downing Street, you mark my words, but it won’t mek no diff’rence. We’re solid this time and we’re going to bring London to a halt.’

  Florrie walked beside her, feeling the old thrill of being involved in something worthwhile. Once again, she was fighting for the right for the voice of ordinary people to be heard.

  As the marchers reached Hyde Park, Florrie exclaimed, ‘My goodness, there must be thousands of people here.’

  ‘I told you, didn’t I? This time they’ll have to listen to us.’

  For the rest of the day Florrie listened to impassioned speeches by the miners’ leaders and officials of other unions. They stayed in the park until it began to grow dusk. Tired, but exhilarated, Florrie walked home.

  The moment she stepped into the house, Charlie came r
ushing down the stairs, calling out, ‘Mother! She’s home.’ He danced about in front of her. ‘Where’ve you been, Auntie Flo? There have been such ructions here. Mother’s been in such a state and Uncle Gervase is out looking for you. Even Grannie Lee’s been here.’

  Isobel appeared from the morning room. ‘Oh, thank goodness you’re safe. We’ve been worried sick. Gervase has been beside himself. We heard there were demonstrations taking place and—’

  ‘Oh, Iso, I’m sorry you’ve been worried, but I’ve had the most marvellous day.’ She linked her arm through Isobel’s and held out her hand to Charlie. ‘Come – I’ll tell you all about it.’ She laughed. ‘There’ve been ructions out there too.’

  Whilst Meredith poured them a glass of sherry and a drink of cordial for Charlie, Florrie stood in front of the fireplace, her eyes shining and feeling more alive than she had for the last ten years.

  ‘Thank you, Meredith. Oh, Iso – I wish you’d been with me. It was like the old days again. There was a demonstration in Hyde Park, just like our suffragette meetings. There was this man from Durham who got up and spoke to the crowds – there were thousands there and—’

  At that moment, they heard Meredith open the front door and voices in the hall. Then the door to the morning room was flung open and Gervase came striding in. His face was like thunder as he moved straight to Florrie, took her by the shoulders and shook her, making her spill her sherry. Florrie gasped, more with shock at such a reaction from the normally gentle, placid man than from physical pain.

  ‘Where have you been? We’ve been worried out of our minds. I’ve had the police out looking for you.’

  Florrie faced him squarely, glaring back at him. ‘I don’t need your permission to go out,’ she said through gritted teeth. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Isobel’s anxious face, but Charlie was grinning from ear to ear and bouncing up and down on the sofa. It seemed the young rascal quite enjoyed a ‘ruction’.

  ‘Tell him where you’ve been, Auntie Flo.’ But before she could open her mouth to say a word, Charlie went on excitedly, ‘She’s been to a demonstration about the miners’ strike in Hyde Park. She was just going to tell us all about it when you came in. Oh, do tell us, Auntie Flo.’

  Gervase seemed not to hear him. ‘You’re a guest in this house,’ he went on as if Charlie had not interrupted. ‘It was discourteous to Isobel, if nothing else. And I don’t suppose you care a jot about how I feel. How terrified I’ve been for your safety.’ He released her and stepped back. His temper cooling swiftly, his shoulders drooped as he added with infinite sadness, ‘But then, you never have, have you?’ Then he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Florrie staring after him. Seeing his genuine distress upset her far more than his anger could ever do.

  There was a moment’s silence before Charlie piped up again, ‘Come on, Auntie Flo, do tell us.’

  But Florrie’s bubble of excitement had burst. ‘Oh, Iso, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize – I never thought you’d both worry about me.’ Her gaze was still on the door as she shook her head slowly and added, ‘Not like that.’

  Isobel smiled. Though she’d been worried too by Florrie’s absence all day long, her anxiety had mainly been fuelled by Gervase’s fear. ‘Darling, he loves you,’ she said simply. ‘That’s why.’

  Charlie – to whom all this was new – beamed again. ‘Are you going to marry him, Auntie? Oh, do say you are, and then Jacques and I will be – will be—’ He turned to Isobel. ‘What will we be, Mother?’

  ‘Cousins, darling.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. We’ll be cousins. And that’d be absolutely topping!’

  Forty-Six

  By the end of the following day, it was clear that the talks had failed and a general strike was to begin at midnight on the 3rd May.

  Florrie went out each day to join in the throngs of strikers milling about the streets, intent on disrupting any attempt at a normal day.

  She returned home the next evening to find that Isobel had joined the ladies manning the food kitchens in Hyde Park and Gervase was planning to present himself at the nearest police station to sign on as a Special Constable.

  Now he and Florrie – and Isobel too – were really on opposite sides.

  By the time the strike was a few days old, a veritable army of city workers – barristers, stockbrokers and undergraduates amongst them – were driving trains, buses and lorries and keeping the essential supplies moving. Food coming in from abroad was escorted from the docks into the city by the army and the police. Gervase was on duty as a Special Constable.

  ‘Oh, we can’t have the Prime Minister missing his tot of whisky every night, now can we?’

  ‘Does he drink whisky?’ Isobel asked innocently.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Florrie snapped. ‘I was just being sarcastic’

  Isobel regarded her thoughtfully. ‘That’s not like you, Florrie. This is really getting to you, isn’t it?’

  ‘I—’ she began and then groaned. She hated being at loggerheads with either Isobel or Gervase. She still felt guilty for the time she’d blamed him for failing to save James’s life. It hadn’t been his fault. The regulations of army life were so harsh and rigid; there’d been nothing more he could have done. She saw that now.

  Isobel’s voice interrupted her thoughts and brought her back to the present.

  ‘Florrie, dear—’

  ‘I just want a fairer society for everyone. I thought that’s why we fought for the vote. I thought we might make a difference.’

  ‘It’ll take time,’ Isobel said gently. ‘And this strike – it’s all bound up with politics and economics, and I can’t profess to understand it all. Maybe Gervase does, but I don’t. I just think that hurting the innocent is not the way to go about it. Whatever we did, Florrie, for the Cause, we never hurt people.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Iso,’ Florrie said, with genuine contrition, ‘but I just can’t agree with you. This is about people’s livelihoods.’

  Isobel laughed. ‘Then we’ll agree to go our separate ways. You to march with the strikers, me to dole out soup.’

  Each morning they parted company – in more ways than one – outside the front door.

  The streets were thronged with people: men in cloth caps and trilbys, some in their workaday clothes, others obviously dressed in their Sunday best, hoping no doubt, Florrie thought, to make a good impression – to prove that they were not just a rowdy mob out to cause trouble. Florrie glanced about her. She could see no other women at all. The milling crowd was all men.

  For the most part they were orderly and well behaved, but when an armoured car drove down the street, it seemed to incense them. They surged forward to surround a tramcar manned by volunteers. The driver, fearful of causing injury to someone, brought it to a halt. The crowd cheered and jeered and thumped the air in victory with clenched fists, whilst the driver looked terrified and his passengers shook angry fists at the mob.

  ‘You ought not to be out ’ere, miss,’ someone said close by. ‘You’ll get trampled to death in this lot.’

  Florrie grinned back at him. ‘Thanks, but I came to march with you. To show support, but—’

  Whatever she had been going to say to the young man was drowned by a howl from the crowd surrounding the tram. They were surging forward, trying to grab hold of a man in uniform who was attempting to climb onto the tram. Florrie caught her breath as she recognized the figure.

  ‘Gervase, oh, Gervase.’ She pushed and shoved her way through.

  ‘’Ere, mind what you’re doin’, miss. They mean business,’ the young man tried to warn her. But her fury gave her strength. How dare they manhandle Gervase? After he’d fought in the war for them, after he’d won medals.

  She kicked and pushed and shoved. Behind her the young man laughed and joined in. ‘Let the lady through.’

  At last she came to where Gervase was now lying on the ground and some of the strikers were holding him down. One aimed a vicious kick at his ribs, to be rew
arded by the well-aimed toe of her sturdy boot on his shins.

  She bent down and hauled Gervase to his feet. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. She turned on the rebels. She shook her fist in their faces. ‘I’m on your side, damn you,’ she shrieked. ‘At least I was – but not if this is the sort of thing you’re going to do. He’s a war hero. He won medals. He fought for you lot to win the freedom for you to make peaceful protests. But not like this. Not injuring folk—’

  ‘He’s not on our side now,’ someone shouted. ‘He’s helping to break the strike.’

  ‘No, he’s trying to keep order. Trying to stop folks getting hurt. That’s all he’s doing.’

  ‘Florrie—’

  ‘Shut up, Gervase, and let me handle this.’

  Those near enough to hear her laughed and some of their anger eased.

  ‘Eh, that’s put you in your place, feller.’ ‘Hiding behind her petticoats, a’ yer?’ ‘She ought to’ve been one o’ them suffragettes—’

  Florrie rounded on him, but grinned. ‘I was. I marched with banners and broke windows. I went to prison for my beliefs, so you lot don’t frighten me one bit. Now,’ she looked about her again. The crowd was calmer now, no longer baying for blood like a pack of hounds at a hunt. ‘If you’ll let us pass, this constable needs his head attending to.’

  ‘Needs it testing, if you ask me.’

  ‘I agree with you there, but he doesn’t deserve to have it knocked off.’ She smiled again, knowing she’d won them over. ‘At least if he does, I’ll be the one to do it.’

  The young man who’d helped her push her way to Gervase’s side now parted the crowd for them to walk through to safety.

  ‘By heck, feller, you’ve got a cracker there,’ someone called out. ‘Wish she was my missus.’

  ‘So do I,’ Florrie heard Gervase mutter as she hustled him away, pausing only to thank the stranger who’d helped them.

  The young man doffed his cap and watched them go. My, he thought, she was a beauty and no mistake. And a fiery piece an’ all. He echoed the sentiments of the wag in the crowd. I wish she were mine.