‘Seems like there’s a call for a schoolteacher round here,’ Mary had said to me afterwards, nudging me gently. ‘There are children running wild all round Elm Heath village, with no one to teach them.’
‘I’m not staying,’ I’d said at the time. But that was several hours ago, and since then I’d been thinking, wondering what I would do when Agnes had recovered enough to go home. Christmas was just a few days away and she was returning to her family for the day, or maybe even two, depending on how she felt. I knew it wouldn’t be long before she wanted to go back to London for good. And then what would I do? I couldn’t go home, Joseph had made that very clear. So why shouldn’t I stay in Elm Heath?
I’d been quiet as I’d visited Agnes that afternoon, mulling over my options. I’d assumed I’d go to Manchester or another city, and join the WSPU fight there instead of London, hoping that Joseph hadn’t really spread the word about me to other police forces.
But could I give up the fight for women’s suffrage altogether and instead devote my life to teaching? Would I even be allowed to teach again, given my criminal past?
‘You’re in an odd humour today,’ Agnes had commented, so I’d told her what was on my mind. She’d nodded thoughtfully. ‘You might not have to give up entirely,’ she’d said. I’d seen a glint in her eye that I’d not seen since the terrible events in Parliament Square.
I’d leaned forward. ‘How do you mean?’
‘We always need writers, for the newspaper and for pamphlets. You’re forever scribbling your thoughts down in that notebook you carry round. Scribble for the suffragettes instead. You could write under a pen-name.’
‘Esther Whitehouse,’ I’d said immediately. ‘That was the false name I gave Joseph.’
Agnes had looked almost disappointed. ‘Really?’ she’d said. ‘I thought you were more creative than that.’
‘I was thinking on my feet.’
She’d snorted, and I’d smiled to see the old Agnes emerging.
‘Enid Whitehouse,’ she’d suggested.
I’d shrugged. ‘Matters not one bit to me.’
‘It does matter,’ Agnes had said. ‘It means Esther Watkins can stay here and teach the next generation, while Enid writes revolutionary literature.’ She’d looked at me carefully. ‘If, of course, you want to stay here?’
I’d examined my emotions, testing myself to see how I’d feel to leave Elm Heath and start new in Manchester or Glasgow. It did not seem to be a tempting proposition. Then I’d thought about staying with Kenneth and Mary, perhaps running my own school, getting to know Lester, and Delia, and the others. And I’d smiled.
‘I think I do want to stay,’ I’d said. ‘There are some wonderful children here, who need proper teaching. I want to be the one to do it.’
‘It won’t be easy, starting a school,’ Agnes had warned. ‘It’s going to be a fight.’
‘That’s one thing I’m most definitely not afraid of.’
Now, sitting by my window, watching the sun drop behind the barn and listening to the men’s calls as they shut up the cows for the evening, I realised I was happy. I had a plan, and I had some fire in my belly – and I hadn’t left the WSPU behind after all. There was just one thing I still had to do, to draw a line under this whole episode, I thought. I needed to write to Joseph and tell him exactly how I felt.
Agnes was right that I scribbled in my notebook all the time. Ever since I had been a young girl, I’d found writing was the best way to manage my feelings and make sense of things that happened to me. I’d written letters to my father when he died, getting out all of my anger on to the page and then burning the pages when I felt better. I’d written about my experiences in prison for the WSPU, and when I met Joseph I’d written him love notes. And now I was going to tell him what I thought of what I had done. What he’d done. What we’d done to each other. I knew I’d probably never send the letter, but I knew it was worth writing.
With the light in my room beginning to fade, I lit a candle, and then I pulled my notepaper towards me, and began to write.
Dear Joseph, I began.
I have lived many lives in my twenty-one years in this world. I have been a daughter, a teacher, a criminal and a lover. But above all, Joseph, I am a fighter.
I don’t mean fighting with fists, or sticks, or weapons; I know that’s wrong. I know I should never have lashed out at Alf the way I did, and I hope you can tell him that I am sorry.
What I do mean is fighting with all my heart for whatever I believe in.
I have fought tooth and nail for the right of women to vote and though you have made it clear I cannot continue, I will not stop fighting in my heart. I have fought to defend my friends when they are in trouble. And I can see now that my future will be fighting to give children an education. All children, not just the privileged few.
But part of knowing when to fight is knowing when it’s just not worth the battle. Joseph, it’s clear that you didn’t think our love was worth fighting for. And, I have to admit that I didn’t think it was worth the fight either.
I loved you, Joseph, and I think we could have been happy together. We’d have lived a simple life with no conflict. But what’s the point in that? Sometimes the fight is part of the fun.
Goodbye, Joseph. I’m sorry for any hurt I caused you. I hope you can look back on our time together one day and smile. And I hope sometime soon you find a girl who is worth fighting for.
Fond regards,
Esther.
Chapter 45
Lizzie
2020
I read Esther’s letter over and over. It was inspiring and sad in equal measure. I wondered if she’d ever met anyone else after Joseph. It seemed not, as I knew she’d never married.
A knock on my door made me look up. It was Cara Kinsella, looking very worried.
‘Are you okay, Cara?’
‘Miss,’ Cara said. ‘I’ve done something bad.’
I doubted that. She was such a sweet little girl. But I nodded seriously.
‘Take a seat and tell me all about it. But come round that way because I dropped something.’
Cara looked at the broken glass on the floor.
‘Ooh careful, Miss. Someone could cut themselves. Maybe you.’
I smiled. ‘I know, I’ll clear it up after we’ve had a chat.’
Cara sat down. She looked very small and sad and my heart ached for her.
She took a breath. ‘I pushed Stevie in my class and he landed on his bum and now he’s crying,’ she said in a hurry.
‘Okay. That’s not like you, Cara.’
She bit her lip. ‘I wanted him to stop.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Well, you know Mia in year three?’
‘I do.’
‘Well, I was sad, because my mum died. And sometimes I feel sad, but no one minds. They just let me be sad for a while and then I am happy again.’
I blinked in surprise. Kids were amazingly astute.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘So, you were sad, Cara?’
‘Stevie was being annoying and asking me why I was sad. And Mia said he should just let me be sad because what difference did it make to Stevie, and she said Stevie was lucky to have a mum.’
‘Good girl, Mia,’ I said under my breath. ‘Is that why you pushed him?’
‘No,’ Cara said witheringly. ‘I pushed him because instead of leaving us all alone, he started being really annoying and saying horrible things about Mia’s mummy like how she would die soon too and then Mia would be sad as well.’
She swallowed a sob and I felt awful for her.
‘And I got even more upset and Mia was upset too, and I told Stevie to shut up but he didn’t, so I shoved him.’
She looked down at her knees.
‘And I know we’re not allowed to hurt each other, but Stevie was hurting Mia.’
‘You should have told one of the teachers.’
‘I know but Maisy Cooper fell off the wall and her head was all
bleeding so Mr Welsh was busy, Miss.’
I gave her a stern look. ‘Cara, I can’t condone violence. Do you understand what that means?’
‘No, Miss.’
‘Condone means to allow something and give it approval.’
‘Right, Miss.’
‘So, I can’t condone what you did.’
Cara looked sad but there was a glint of defiance in her eyes that I liked.
‘But?’
I couldn’t hide my smile. ‘But you were defending a friend and I’m not going to punish you. This time.’
‘Thank you, Miss.’
‘I’ll have a word with Mia and Stevie too.’
Cara was staring at my shelf. ‘You kept the corn dollies,’ she said.
‘Of course I did.’
‘Are they working? Are they bringing you good luck?’
I tried not to grimace and instead forced a smile. ‘I hope so.’
‘That’s good. That’s what we wanted to happen. Because we all like you.’
This time my smile was genuine. ‘I like you all too. You can go back to class now.’
Cara jumped to her feet, obviously relieved to have got off scot-free and I looked down at Esther’s letter.
‘Some things are worth fighting for,’ I said, as Cara left. She gave me a look that suggested she thought I was losing my marbles and scampered off down the corridor. But, I thought, getting up and going to the window, I wasn’t losing my marbles at all. In fact, I was finding them. If that was a thing. Cara’s little story, and Esther’s letter, had made me realise that sometimes you did have to fight for what you believed in.
Grant hadn’t fought for me – he’d chosen his career instead of our marriage. And it looked like Danny had done the same, picking his contract with Texo ahead of Elm Heath and our budding romance. So there was no reason why I couldn’t fight for what I wanted too. I felt a spark of determination deep inside. What I wanted was to save Elm Heath. I wanted Cara to go to a school where her friends would understand that she had sad times and that was okay. I wanted the kids to believe that their corn dollies had done the trick. I wanted to fight for this little school and, I had to admit, I wanted to rub bloody Danny’s nose in it too. I wanted to show everyone that money and financial projections weren’t as important as giving kids a chance, and building on history.
I stared down at the empty playground. The sky was heavy and grey and I thought it might snow.
‘Some things are worth fighting for,’ I said again, out loud. Danny wasn’t worth the fight. But Elm Heath most definitely was.
‘Talking to yourself?’ Paula was by my side. ‘Looks like it might snow,’ she said.
‘I know. I hope it does. We can get the kids out on the village green, building snowmen and having snowball fights, and then take loads of photos. They’ll look great on the website.’
She studied me, amusement in her eyes. ‘What do you care?’
I took a breath. ‘I’m going to stay,’ I said. ‘I’ll see this through.’
Paula shrieked in a manner most unbecoming to a deputy head, and threw her arms around me. ‘Thank God. We’d be lost without you.’
‘It’s not going to be easy,’ I warned.
‘Well, as I always tell Chloe, if it’s worth doing, it’s probably going to be difficult.’
I grinned. ‘Sometimes the fight is part of the fun.’
‘Wise words indeed.’
‘Esther wrote them.’ I showed her the letter I’d found.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘It was behind the photograph in the frame,’ I said. ‘I was looking at her picture, feeling a bit gloomy and I noticed the frame was cracked. So I took it down, thinking I’d get it reframed but I dropped it. And the letter was inside. She must have hidden it, I guess.’
Paula was reading the letter already, tears filling her eyes.
‘It’s really sad, isn’t it? That she was let down by the man she loved.’
I snorted. ‘We are kindred spirits, Esther and me.’
Paula chuckled.
‘It’s inspiring too, though don’t you think?’ I continued. ‘She had such a vision of what this school was going to be. I don’t think we can let her down.’
‘It’s like a message from beyond the grave, or a warning from history,’ Paula said dramatically.
‘It’s a reminder that things aren’t always straightforward.’
Paula rolled her eyes. ‘So what’s the plan?’ she asked, carefully laying the letter down on my desk.
‘We’ve got two months to turn things round, which isn’t long. But Nate’s done a great job with the rally, and I’ll make sure all the journalists know about it. It would be brilliant if we could get some more press coverage.’
I’d probably have to get in touch with Grant again, I thought. But it would be worth it.
‘I think we’re doing really well with the PR side. But It’s the money side of things we need to work on,’ Paula said. ‘I can speak to Chris, see if he’s got any bright ideas? We need to get the school making some proper cash.’
‘The breakfast and after-school clubs are doing well.’
‘Yes, but we need more. Ways to get the building earning money outside of school hours, I think. Maybe we could brainstorm some ideas?’
I smiled at her. ‘I’d like that,’ I said.
‘Come round for dinner?’
I knew that she was only asking me so I didn’t stay at home by myself and mope about Danny, but somehow I didn’t mind. I was lucky to have her, I thought.
‘Thanks, Paula,’ I said.
She patted my arm. ‘Any time.’ Then she frowned. ‘Now, I hate to come over all health and safety, but are you aware you’ve got a load of broken glass on the floor of your office?’
I nodded. ‘It’s from Esther’s photograph. I suppose I should clean it up.’
‘I’ll get the dustpan and brush.’
Chapter 46
Lizzie
The rally was a triumph. It was a joy from start to finish. We were really lucky with the weather, which had been wet and wild the week before but cleared just in time and revealed a beautiful, if a bit blowy, spring day.
We all gathered in the school in the morning as Nate took us through the plan for the day.
‘I’m expecting about a hundred people,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a few more. I’ve got banners ready, and Pippa’s made the sashes.’
He gestured to a table by the door where the props were piled. As before, he’d based them all on the now-familiar suffragette banners and sashes but they read Save Elm Heath instead of Votes for Women.
‘I’ve also blown up the photograph of Esther Watkins and used that on some banners,’ Nate added and I smiled at the thought of Esther continuing to campaign, fifty years after her death.
‘So we’re going to gather in the playground then march along the main road through the village to the big roundabout. Then we’ll march round the roundabout, and back to the school,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some of the kids ready with drums to lead the parade and we’ve got the big banner to hold at the front. When we get back to school, there’s a makeshift stage set up round the back where Miss Armstrong is going to make a speech …’
‘This is brilliant,’ I said to Paula. ‘He’s worked so hard.’
‘Everyone’s worked hard,’ she said. ‘Especially you.’
She was right, I supposed. In a desperate effort to stop myself brooding over Danny, I’d thrown myself into working every evening on the campaign to save Elm Heath. I’d helped Nate with the preparation for the rally, organising the closure of the road and finding people to man stalls. And I’d spent hours poring over figures and budgets, trying to find a way to make the school building pay. I’d discovered that the patch of waste ground behind the school belonged to us, too. I had wondered if we could sell it for development but Paula’s husband, Chris, said he thought it was too small.
‘You could build an extension to the schoo
l, though,’ he said.
I’d snorted. ‘Ah yes, with all the extra money there is lying around.’
But he’d given me an idea.
‘Maybe we could do some sort of partnership,’ I said, thinking of how Danny’s firm operated. ‘Get a company to build something – a sports hall perhaps or a music centre – and then we can use it for the kids, and rent it out to organisations, and the builders can take a cut of the profits.’
Chris had reacted so favourably that I knew it was a good plan. But though I’d drawn up a list of ideas about what we could build, I was a teacher, not a business guru. I had no idea how to get investment or how to start pitching ideas.
Apart from that, I’d budgeted a plan for expanding the breakfast and after-school clubs into holiday clubs, and for renting out parts of the school at weekends. I’d found a netball club that wanted to use our courts one evening a week, and a painting group that had expressed an interest in meeting in our hall.
But while it was all very encouraging, I wasn’t sure it was enough to compete with the big fat luxury-flat-shaped carrot Texo were dangling in front of Blyton Council.
For now, though, I was determined to be positive, as Nate clapped his hands together.
‘Today couldn’t have happened without you guys – the staff and the PTA of Elm Heath,’ he said, sounding a bit choked up. ‘Your efforts have shown us all that this school is worth the fight we’re all putting up. I think people are beginning to gather in the playground ready to march, so grab yourself a banner, and a sash, and let’s get going.’
There was a small cheer from the gathered group of teachers and other staff. Paula and I followed them all out into the playground and stopped in astonishment at the sight that greeted us. The playground was full of children, parents, local people and people I’d never seen before. Some of them were in Edwardian dress like mini suffragettes. Others were decked out in purple and green. There were so many people that no one else could fit into the school grounds and the crowds were beginning to snake down the road.
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