The Suffragette

  When the same Cabinet Minister spoke at Nottingham the police again arrested, and subsequently released, four women, one of whom was Miss Watts, the daughter of a well-known local clergyman. A like procedure was adopted in numberless cases afterwards. Inside the hall, an unexpected protest was made by Mr. C. L. Rothera, the City Coroner for Nottingham and a prominent Liberal, but in spite of the fact that he was one of the most familiar and respected figures in the town, he narrowly escaped ejection.

  At Northampton, Mr. Samuel again encountered the women, for a plucky little band, led by Miss Marie Brackenbury, attempted to rush the strong iron gates of the hall. They were flung back by the police, but, nothing daunted, Miss Brackenbury climbed to the top of a forty-foot scaffolding adjoining the Exchange, and, though the rain poured continuously, addressed the crowd from that great height.

  But the most extraordinary scenes were perhaps those that took place when Mr. Lloyd George and Mr. Sydney Buxton spoke at Limehouse on July 30th. Some twenty men were there determined to see that the women’s cause should not be overlooked, and as soon as the singing of, “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” which heralded Mr. Lloyd George’s appearance on the platform had died away, a man was seen climbing up one of the pillars at the back of the hall. Having mounted some fifteen feet from the ground, he uncoiled a rope from around his waist, contriving a sort of swing seat for himself, and, unfurling a purple-white-and-green flag, hung there above the meeting. Numbers of stewards at once rushed from every direction to haul him down, but more than a dozen of his friends had already gathered around the pillar. Instead of beginning their speeches, the Cabinet Ministers sat whispering together. Then one of them went across to Mrs. Lloyd George and a companion, and immediately these two, the only women present, left the meeting and the struggle began. Gradually the defenders of the pillar were wrenched from their posts. An eye-witness declared that he saw “one man frogmarched out by half a dozen stewards between two rows of infuriated blackguards, who were raining blows with their fists on his defenceless face.” A gentleman, quite unconnected with the Suffragists men, who had taken no part in the struggle, protested against this excessive and cowardly violence, but was at once set upon and himself flung outside. One man, home from the Colonies, had his shoulder fractured, another had one wrist broken and the other sprained; another received black eyes and a broken nose; whilst a Cambridge undergraduate had his collarbone broken and a dozen other men needed medical attendance, one fainting through loss of blood some time after he had been ejected. At last the stewards reached the pillar, the rope was cut and the man aloft with the flag was hauled down and set upon by the mob of stewards, who tumbled over each other in the attempt to kick and strike at him; one man deliberately hit him over the face with a glass bottle. When finally he was thrown outside, the police carried him to a doctor.

  Now the Cabinet Ministers proceeded with their speeches, but when Mr. Lloyd George began to speak of the “people’s will,” there came a megaphone chorus from a little workman’s dwelling close to the hall where the Suffragettes were lying concealed, “Votes for Women,” “Votes for Women,” “Votes for Women.” The stewards rushed to the windows on that side of the hall and shut them hurriedly, but the sound penetrated still for the people of the neighbourhood joined in and supported the megaphones with cheers and cries of “Stick to it, miss, stick to it.” Even this was not all, for a desperate charge was being led against the police cordon that guarded the doors of the Hall and in this struggle thirteen women were placed under arrest.

  These women were summoned to appear before Mr. Dickinson at the Thames Police Court on the following morning, when they were charged with obstruction and as a result, twelve of them were taken on to Holloway for terms varying from ten days to two months. They were all determined to protest as those who had gone before them had done, against the prison treatment, and when ordered to undress and to proceed to the cells, they refused and linking arms stood with their backs to the wall. The Governor then blew his whistle and a great crowd of wardresses appeared. They fell upon the women and after a long struggle dragged them apart, forced them into the cells, and ordered them to change into prison clothes. Worn out as they now were with vain resistance, they still bravely refused to give in and their clothes were literally torn from their backs.

  Who would not shrink from such an ordeal! Who would not rather huddle quietly into the prison clothes, however ill-fitting, coarse and objectionable they might be than be subjected to such a thing as this, well knowing that whatever happened one must be overpowered in the end? And these women did shrink from the ordeal, but bore it for all their shrinking. “A long file of wardresses fairly ripped my clothes off, leaving me only half covered,” says Lucy Burns; “I counted twelve wardresses in my cell. They tried to taunt and goad me,” says Mable Capper, “but I bit my lips.”

  When the prison clothes had been forced onto them or they had been left half covered with the garments lying beside them, to put them on as best they might, even then they went on bravely with their protest. The ventilation of the cells was inadequate — It was their duty to break the panes, and, though they well knew that as a consequence they would be taken where the want of air was even greater and where they could not break the glass, not one of the twelve shrank back. The windows were scarcely broken when vengeance followed. They were dragged away to the punishment cells and in these unwholesome dungeons they carried out the Hunger Strike, some of them under conditions even worse than those borne by their previously imprisoned comrades.

  In some of the punishment cells, including that of Mrs. Leigh, a sanitary convenience, in appearance exactly like an ordinary closet without a lid, was fixed against the wall. There was no water supply for keeping this clear, the inner vessel being withdrawn through the wall from the corridor outside, when it required emptying. When it is realised that the prisoner remained in the cell both night and day without a moment’s intermission, and that the ventilation was in any case absolutely inadequate, the objectionable character of this arrangement will be clearly understood. When the matter was made public and commented upon afterwards, Mr. Gladstone stated that this closet was only put there in case of emergency and that in every case the prisoner would be readily allowed to go to the W. C. in the corridor on ringing her bell. Unfortunately none of the Suffragettes who had been placed in the cells in which these closets were, had tested the matter, but those who are familiar with the Holloway régime, will, for various reasons, doubt the truth of this statement, though Mr. Gladstone probably believed it. When a prisoner is told that she will not be allowed to leave her cell at all for several days and instead of being sent each morning to fetch her own washing water, as is usual, she has it brought to her by a wardress; when at the same time she finds a sanitary convenience in her cell and the usual cry of “lavatory,” is omitted, she naturally concludes that the receptacle is there for her use, and that she will not be permitted to use any other. Anyone who has asked questions in Holloway, where questions are discouraged, knows that, especially if the prisoner were under punishment, questions upon this point would probably not receive either polite or pleasant replies.

  For two nights Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Leigh were denied even a mattress and were obliged to sleep on the hard wooden plank. The long sleepless nights were for all the prisoners the hardest part of the trial and as they grew weaker, their minds, as happens to people during illness, were often filled with strange fancies which could only with difficulty be subdued. They feared that they might walk in their sleep and eat the food which was always left in their cells during the night. Threats to feed them forcibly were constantly being made and the horror of being suddenly overpowered was always upon them. Lucy Burns tells how once in the night she heard a sudden scream. “That cannot be one of our women,” she thought, “it is too incoherent,” but holding her breath she listened with quickly beating heart. The cry came again and again and at last she heard quite plainly, “No, no, take it away.” Then she leapt f
rom her bed and stood at the door hour after hour waiting for what might come, until at last, worn out and stiff with cold she wrapped herself in her blanket and fell asleep with her head against the door. Saturday evening, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday passed.

  On Wednesday the visiting magistrates came round. The prisoners whom they had come to punish were now all weak and haggard and some were unable to rise from their beds. Nevertheless further sentences of close confinement in the punishment cells, which they had never yet left, were passed upon them all. But the authorities dared not attempt to carry out these sentences. The chances of life and death had become too evenly balanced now, and Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Leigh were set free that evening and the remainder of the women on Thursday and Friday, August 5th and 6th.

  Meanwhile three young Suffragettes, Vera Wentworth, Mary Phillips and Rose Howey had gone through the hunger strike in Exeter having been arrested in that town on Friday, July 30th, whilst leading a crowd of 2,000 people to the doors of Lord Carrington’s Budget meeting in the Victoria Hall there. Their arrest had excited great popular indignation and with shouts of “Let them go, you cowards,” the people had rushed to their rescue but the soldiery had been called out to beat them back.

  Suffering born for a cause begets sympathy with that cause and coercion arouses sympathy with the coerced. Nevertheless tyranny and cruelty beget their like, a crowd, however hostile, will hesitate to throw the first stone but when that has been flung, many missiles will often follow. Thus, when it was shown that rather than do them justice the Government was prepared to thrust women into unwholesome dungeons and to leave them to starve there for many days, a more brutal and vindictive temper began to manifest itself amongst the more disorderly sections of its supporters than had ever before been shown.

  On August 2nd, a great Liberal fête was held at Canford Park, near Poole in Dorsetshire. There were sports and games and Mr. Churchill was to deliver an address on the Budget. Annie Kenney with three companions attended the fête and the story of what took place is best told in her own words. She says:

  As we entered the Park together we saw two very young girls being dragged about by a crowd of Liberal men, some of whom were old enough to be their fathers. They had thrown a pig net over them, and had pulled down their hair. We heard afterwards that these girls came from a village near by, but the Liberals suspected them to be Suffragettes and ordered them out of the Park. Before Miss Brackenbury and I had been in the place many minutes, though we had never opened our lips, we were followed by a howling mob of Liberal men. We thought we could get away from them if we went and watched the sports instead of going direct to Mr. Churchill’s meeting, but they crowded round us and the language they used is not fit for print. After a time a police officer came up and told us that we must clear out of the place, as we were causing all the trouble, though we had never replied back to anything that had been said. As soon as the crowd saw the police were against us the trouble began. There seemed to be thousands of them surging round us and they divided Miss Brackenbury and myself, but she tried to keep me in view as much as she could. They did not seem to want to do anything to her, because she looked strong and big, but they all came and attacked me. They were calling out to each other to get hold of me and throw me into the pond which was very near. I shall never forget at this point seeing a carriage in which were two old ladies come driving up. The carriage was almost turned over and the two women were white with fright and breathing very quickly, but though I appealed to the men on behalf of the two ladies they took no notice. Luckily the crowd just swerved round the corner and I consider the lives of the two women were saved not through good management or through any feeling on the part of the Liberals, but it was just a piece of luck. After that they seemed to become more enraged. I then turned and faced the crowd, and, strange to say, when I could turn round and face them they never attempted to do anything to me, but as soon as my back was turned they started dragging me about in a most shameful way. One man who was wearing the Liberal colours pulled a knife out of his pocket, and to the delight of the other staunch Liberals, started cutting my coat. They cut it into shreds right from the neck downwards. Then they lifted up my coat and started to cut my frock and one of them lifted up my frock and cut my petticoat. This caused great excitement. A cry came from those Liberals, who are supposed to have high ideas in public life, to undress me. They took off my hat and pulled down my hair, but I turned round upon them and said that it would be their shame and not mine. They stopped then for a minute, and then two men, also wearing the Liberal colours, got hold of me and lifted me up and afterwards dragged me along, not giving me an opportunity to walk out in a decent way.

  So they dragged her out, the little fragile woman with her torn garments and her masses of golden hair falling below her waist, her sensitive face flushed and her blue eyes, wide with pain and horror. They dragged her close past the house of the great Wimbourne family who owned Canford Park, but though the guests and members of the family who were watching from the balcony and from the lawn in front, were appealed to by others, they made no attempt to intervene and saw the great gates opened and the little ragged, exhausted figure with her streaming hair, thrust outside, well knowing that the nearest railway station was more than three miles away.

  Truly it needed some courage to face things like this for the sake of any cause, and this was not an isolated happening.

  On August 8th, Miss Helen Toison had a similar experience at Rushpool Hall, Saltburn by the Sea. This is her own description:

  The day was beautiful and the private grounds in which Mr. Churchill and Mr. Samuel were to speak were thronged with a great crowd of their supporters, a large number of whom were miners. About ten of us had obtained admission in one way or another and had stationed ourselves at different points. As each woman spoke there was a great roar from the crowd, who nearly all left the speaker to follow and ill-treat her as she was being taken out. When my own turn came I started to ask a question, but was stopped by the hand of a Liberal steward, which was thrust into my mouth. The next thing I remember is two stewards holding my arms and a third coming up and deliberately kicking me in the body. This was a sign to the crowd to do what they liked with me and they thrust me forward with cries of “Throw her in the pond.” They dragged me to a steep bank above the pond and here three men, seeing that my hold upon a small tree was giving way, tried to help me. Nothing of what happened during the next ten minutes is at all clear in my memory. I was often full length on the ground and I know I was bruised from head to foot. The crowd abated their efforts to trample me underfoot when the word was passed that the police were at last coming. When I was pulled up the bank again I found that my skirt and underclothing had been nearly torn off.

  A Miss De Legh, daughter of Dr. De Legh of Coatham, a guest at Rushpool Hall, quite unconnected with the Suffragettes, was set upon by one man who pushed her into some bushes and blew tobacco smoke into her face. She afterwards brought an action for assault against her assailant and he was fined £3. His defence was that she had cried “cowards” to those who were ejecting the Suffragettes and had thus angered the crowd so that if he had not seized her she would probably have been swept into a pond.

  On August 20th, when Lord Crewe spoke at the great St. Andrew’s Hall, Glasgow, Miss Alice Paul succeeded in climbing to the roof and in the hope of being able to speak to the Cabinet Minister from this point, she lay there concealed for many hours in spite of a downpour of rain. When she was discovered and forced to descend she was heartily cheered for her pluck by a crowd of workmen, one of whom came forward and apologised for having told a policeman of her presence, saying that he had thought she was in need of help.

  Later, when the women attempted to force their way into the building, the people needed no urging to lend their aid, and the police who were guarding the entrance were obliged to use their truncheons to beat them back. When the officers of the law attempted to make arrests, the women were rescued from their clutches agai
n and again. Eventually Adela Pankhurst, Lucy Burns, Alice Paul and Margaret Smith were taken into custody, but even when the gates of the police station were closed upon them, the authorities feared that they would not be able to hold their prisoners for the crowds shouted vociferously for their release and twisted the strong iron gates. It was only when the women themselves appealed to them that they consented to refrain from further violence.

  When Lord Crewe had safely left the town, the friends of the women were allowed to bail them out, on the understanding that they would appear at the police court at nine o’clock the following morning. Nevertheless though they arrived before the appointed time, there was no one to show them the Court room and whilst they wandered about in the passages, trying to find their way, their case was disposed of behind locked doors and with the public excluded. The bail was escheated and a warrant was issued for their arrest before five minutes past nine. At this Mr. Thomas Kerr, one of the bailees, rose to protest and asked two minutes leave to find the defaulting prisoners, saying that he was sure they were already in the building, but he was abruptly told that the court was closed. He went outside and immediately met the ladies and brought them in before Bailie Hunter, who presided, had left the Bench, but though the Bailie saw them he hurried away, whilst the Fiscal2 tried to put all the blame upon him. The bail was never refunded and the women never answered to the warrants and so the matter dropped.

  The same Friday, August 20th, on which Lord Crewe had spoken at Glasgow, Mr. Haldane, the Secretary of State for War, was addressing a meeting at Liverpool and Mrs. Leigh, who was in command of the Suffragette army there had organised her forces in such a way as to give an effective reply to his jeering reference to what he described as the “bodkin tactics.” Early in the day she and a number of others had taken up their quarters in an empty house separated from the hall by a narrow passage only. When the meeting began she clambered through the window and swung herself on to the roof with the most extraordinary agility at so great a height and with so slender a foothold, that observers were thrilled with horror.