by Anna Carey
‘How was it?’ I asked flatly.
‘It was marvellous,’ said Mabel. She had the good grace to look guilty. ‘Sorry about giving away your seats,’ she said.
‘It’s all right,’ said Nora, nobly, even though it clearly wasn’t. I knew I would find it very hard to forgive Mabel for her foolishness.
‘Some of us are going to Margaret’s house for tea,’ said Mabel. She looked at me and Nora. ‘Why don’t you all come? It won’t make up for missing the meeting, of course, but it could be rather fun. Kathleen’s aunt has made the most magnificent cake and she’s taking it along.’
Imagine, us going to a late-night suffragette party! Maybe I could forgive Mabel after all. But of course I should have known that Phyllis would have to do her responsible-big-sister act.
‘Sorry, Mabel, but Mother and Father would kill me if I kept these girls out late,’ she said. ‘I’d better get them home.’
So we missed the party too. And the worst thing was that when we came home, Mother and Father of course asked me how the concert was, and I had to smile and say it was wonderful.
‘It was very good of Phyllis to take you,’ said Mother.
‘Josephine certainly wouldn’t have taken me anywhere when I was your age,’ said Father, with a grin. And I had to grin back and say, ‘I suppose I’m lucky to have Phyllis.’ Which in a way is very true, because if it weren’t for her we’d never have found out about the movement at all, and she did take us to the meeting despite my almost-blackmail, but at the same time, I was still feeling terribly disappointed so it was very difficult to hide my gloomy mood. But I had to, until I got into bed (Julia was fast asleep) and then I must admit I cried. But only for a minute.
So there you have it. I went to the biggest, most important suffrage meeting of the year and I didn’t hear or see anyone. And me and Nora almost had a serious falling-out (though I suppose I am glad that my Frank meetings are out in the open). I can’t believe we didn’t get to see that glamorous countess (she didn’t come on a white horse – which at least we might have been able to see, seeing as we were right at the entrance – but Phyllis said she gave a good speech). I almost wish we hadn’t bothered chalking about the meeting now. Oh, all right, I don’t wish that, but it does seem rotten bad luck after all our work. And I feel terribly flat. Last night was such a grand affair that there might be no other big meetings or suffrage events for ages. I’m trying to tell myself that the most important thing is that the meeting was a big success and lots of people came AND the awful Ancient Hibernians didn’t show up and ruin it all by throwing eggs and lettuces and things, but I still feel very glum. Oh well. I will write more tomorrow, if I’m not too depressed.
Monday
Something rather dramatic happened today, though I’m not sure whether it will turn out to be good or not. Grace told our classmates that me and Nora are suffragettes. As you know, we hadn’t really planned to tell anyone else at school. I suppose the whole time we have been torn between wanting to stand up for our beliefs (new though they might be) in public and not wanting to get into trouble. But anyway, everyone in our class knows now.
It happened, like most vaguely interesting things at school, at break. We were in the refectory, and Nora, Stella and I were talking to Daisy Redmond and Johanna Doyle about what we might do when we leave school. Nora, Daisy and I want to go to university, but Stella and Johanna don’t.
‘So what will you do?’ asked Nora. ‘You’ll have to do something. You know what the staff always say. We can’t expect to just live at home doing nothing until we get married. If we get married,’ she added.
‘That’s just what I’m going to do,’ said Johanna, but she didn’t sound very happy about it. ‘Father doesn’t believe in women working. He doesn’t really think girls should be educated at all, to be honest. There were awful rows at home about me coming here.’
Of course, one knows that plenty of people don’t believe in educating girls. Look at Aunt Josephine. But our school has always been rather progressive in that regard, so it’s quite rare to find anyone here whose parents think that way.
‘I was thinking I might be a nurse,’ said Stella.
I wasn’t sure I could imagine Stella dealing with all the blood and such like. But if Nora thinks she can be a doctor, I suppose Stella can be a nurse.
‘You’d have to go to England,’ said Daisy. ‘That’s where the only Catholic training place is. Sister Augustine said so.’
But Stella didn’t like the sound of going that far.
‘Maybe I could be an instructress in poultry keeping,’ she said.
We all stared at her.
‘A what?’ I said.
‘You know, someone who teaches people how to look after chickens,’ said Stella.
‘But why on earth would you do that?’ said Nora. ‘You’re not interested in chickens, are you?’
‘There was a talk about jobs a few months ago for us boarders – remember, Daisy?’ said Stella. ‘And it was one of the things they mentioned. Like joining the civil service or the bank. Or teaching in a school. But I don’t think I’d be much good at those other ones.’
I wasn’t sure I could imagine Stella being much good teaching people about chickens either, but I wasn’t rude enough to tell her that. Besides, I had been struck by another thought.
‘It’s so unfair,’ I said.
‘What is?’ said Stella. ‘Do you mean unfair to the chickens?’
‘No, to girls,’ I said. ‘The idea that there are only about five jobs we can do. I mean, if we were boys, we wouldn’t just have teaching and nursing the bank and the civil service and, and … chickens. We could try being anything we liked and nobody would say we couldn’t.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Daisy.
‘I am right,’ I said. ‘And you know, if women had the vote, then maybe that would change. Eventually, at least.’
Grace, who was sitting at the next table with Gertie, stood up and went over to us.
‘Can you please keep the noise down over there?’ she said. ‘Some of us need peace and quiet in our lunchbreak.’
‘We weren’t being that loud,’ said Daisy.
‘You weren’t, Daisy,’ said Grace. ‘But I’m afraid Mollie was being very noisy. I’m sorry Mollie, but you were.’
‘It’s break,’ said Nora. ‘Not French class. We’re allowed to talk.’
‘You’re not allowed to scream and shout,’ said Grace primly. ‘Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at you pair.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I said sharply. ‘I wish you’d stop making these snide remarks. If you’ve got something to say, just say it properly, instead of pretending to be nice.’
Grace was so offended that she forgot to put on her nice voice.
‘Well, isn’t making a racket what you suffragettes do?’ she snapped.
‘You what?’ said Johanna.
‘They’re not suffragettes, you goose,’ said Daisy. She looked at me and Nora. ‘You’re not, are you?’
I caught Nora’s eye. What should we do? Should we deny it? But surely that’s wrong, if we really believe in the cause. And we do, we really do. So I said, ‘Yes, we are.’
Daisy and Johanna looked astonished.
‘Are you really?’ said Johanna. ‘What do you do?’
‘We’ll tell you,’ said Nora, ‘when certain sneaky tell-tales aren’t listening.’ And she gave Grace a very meaningful look.
The funny thing was, Grace didn’t look particularly pleased by her revelation. In fact, as soon as she said it, she looked as though she wished she hadn’t. I suppose she liked having something secret to hold over us. Anyway, she didn’t stick around. She tossed back her curls and said, ‘I’m sorry you think I’d do anything so low as tell tales. I thought you’d told your chums about your … activities. I didn’t realise you were ashamed of them.’ And before we could think of a reply to that, she had returned to her seat.
‘We’re no
t ashamed of them,’ I said.
‘Do tell us all about your suffragette business,’ begged Daisy.
‘Not here,’ said Nora. ‘Let’s go to the library.’
We didn’t have too much time before break finished so we scurried down the corridor to the library and found a quiet corner where no one could overhear us.
‘Go on then,’ said Daisy, when we were all settled at the round table.
‘We go to meetings,’ said Nora. ‘Suffrage meetings.’
She didn’t say that we’d only been to two. And that we hadn’t actually got into the last one.
‘And we helped sell a suffrage magazine in Sackville Street,’ I said, which was almost a lie but not quite. After all, we had looked after the bag, so we were helping Phyllis.
‘Goodness!’ said Daisy.
‘And you mustn’t tell a soul about this,’ said Nora, impressively, ‘but we chalked suffrage things on the pavement in town. Telling people about the meeting.’
Johanna and Daisy looked so astonished we might as well have told them that we’d set fire to a postbox.
‘Is that against the law?’ said Johanna.
‘No,’ said Nora, very confidently. ‘It just washes away.’
It did strike me again that we had been taking it for granted that it was all right to chalk.
I wasn’t sure whether Daisy or Johanna approved of all this or not. They just looked a bit stunned. And then the bell rang for class, and we didn’t really have a chance to talk to them for the rest of the day.
‘You don’t think Daisy or Johanna will side with Grace about all this, do you?’ I asked, when me and Nora were walking home.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Nora. She kicked a stone along the pavement. ‘But how unfair it all is, that we have to live in fear of Grace getting us into trouble just because we want to fight for our rights!’
‘Including,’ I said, ‘the right to do more jobs than just teach people about chickens.’
I was still thinking about the unfairness of the world when I arrived home from school. Maggie let me in and told me she’d made another lemon cake.
‘And Jenny is here,’ she said. ‘If you’d like to come down and say hello.’
‘Of course I would!’ I said. Jenny is Maggie’s sister – her name is Jane really. She and Maggie are orphans, which I think is very sad, though Maggie says she is used to it now as their parents died a long time ago when they were quite young. That’s when Maggie first went into service and came to live with us, and Jenny went to work in a biscuit factory. Jenny comes and visits Maggie regularly, and sometimes Maggie goes to visit her on her afternoon off. I’ve always liked Jenny, and not just because sometimes she gives me a broken or misshapen biscuit (they get them at the factory and sometimes they taste even nicer than the perfect biscuits). So I was very pleased to see her when I followed Maggie down the steps and into the kitchen.
‘Hello Jenny!’ I said.
‘Hello there, young Mollie,’ said Jenny, smiling back at me and holding out a plate. ‘Have some cake.’
Maggie poured me some tea, and soon I was sitting at the table with the two Murphy sisters. Their surname is Murphy, did I ever tell you that? I suppose I never think about it because we always call them by their Christian names. It’s funny that I call some grown-ups, like Mother’s friends and Nora’s mother, Mr. and Mrs. whatever their surname is. But Jenny and Maggie and servants in general are always just called by their first names. It seems a bit rude to them, now that I think of it. Imagine if I suddenly called Mrs. Sheffield ‘Maria’. She’d never let me take out The Menace again. Actually, maybe I should try it the next time she’s here …
But I’m getting distracted (again). We were at the kitchen table, and I was drinking tea and eating the extremely delicious lemon cake, which was possibly as good as Nellie’s mother’s cake. I asked Jenny about the biscuit factory and she said that she and the other women who work there weren’t happy at the moment.
‘Because we’ve found out that we’re going to be expected to cover the men’s lunch breaks,’ she said. ‘But we won’t be paid for it.’
I remembered what Phyllis had said about Jenny the other week.
‘Aren’t you a trade unionist?’ I said.
‘I certainly am,’ said Jenny happily.
Maggie shot her a warning look. ‘We’ll have none of that talk in this kitchen,’ she said.
‘Oh come on, Maggie,’ said Jenny. ‘We were talking about it here just before Mollie came in.’
‘That,’ said Maggie, ‘was when we were among ourselves.’ She looked at me. ‘And, Mollie, before you say anything about not minding, we’ve been through this before. I’m not going to be responsible for you hearing all sorts of radical talk.’
‘That’s what happens when you have your feet under another man’s table,’ said Jenny. ‘You think it’s a good thing, bed and board and all that, but once you’re there you can’t call your soul your own. No offence meant to your mother and father, Mollie.’
‘That’s all right,’ I said.
‘I might have to slave away in that factory,’ said Jenny. ‘But as soon as I walk out through those gates, I can do what I like and say what I like.’
‘Well, isn’t that nice for you?’ said Maggie. ‘Not everyone can have a wonderful job in a factory. In case you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t that many jobs for girls like us.’
‘Well, if you had a union job, at least you’d be able to fight for your rights,’ said Jenny. ‘And at least you’d actually have rights. The things you hear about some generals! They’re made to do the work of ten maids all on their own.’
And even though we don’t make our general-servant – Maggie, of course – do all that work, I knew Jenny was right. Just think of how Aunt Josephine treats her servants!
‘Jenny!’ said Maggie, with a pointed look at me.
‘Actually,’ I said, hoping it would calm things down a bit, ‘my friends and I were just talking today about how boys can work at anything but there are only a few jobs that girls can do. I mean, the only jobs they say we can do are teaching, being a nurse, the bank, and the civil service. Or telling people how to keep chickens, of all things. Only five jobs!’
‘Only five jobs for girls like you,’ said Jenny. ‘Girls like us don’t have a chance of working in a bank. Just service or the factory, or farms if you’re in the country and, well, you don’t want to know about some of the other jobs.’
I felt myself go red AGAIN. I hadn’t even thought about that until now. Of course, girls from families like Maggie and Jenny had other jobs they could do. But they were generally much nastier, and always much worse paid, than the jobs the nuns encouraged us to try.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
Jenny looked as though she were regretting her sharp tone. She put her arm around me.
‘And neither did I,’ she said. ‘It’s not your fault things aren’t fair.’
‘I do want to change things,’ I said. ‘My friend Nora and I …’ And then I remembered what Maggie had said about not wanting to know about our activities. It wasn’t fair of me to say anything in front of her. So I just said, ‘We support the suffrage cause.’
‘Good for you,’ said Jenny. ‘Maybe I’ll make a trade unionist out of you too.’
‘Jenny!’ said Maggie again. ‘I think it’s time you went home.’
‘I’m only codding you,’ said Jenny. She stood up and reached for her coat, which was hanging on the back of a chair. I realised with a start that it was an old one of Mother’s. I remember the distinctive cuffs. Mother always gives her old coats to Maggie, and Maggie must have passed this one on to Jenny. Jenny must have noticed me staring because she said, ‘Nice coat, isn’t it? I’m not too proud to accept anyone’s hand-me-downs, especially when it’s such a fine garment as this.’ She gave Maggie a kiss on the cheek.
‘Bye now, Maggie,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in better humour the next time I see
you.’
‘Bye,’ said Maggie, a little stiffly, but then she hugged her sister firmly. ‘What would I do,’ she said into Jenny’s shoulder, ‘without you to keep me on my toes?’
‘Ah, you’d be all right,’ said Jenny. ‘You’d rise up on your own eventually.’
She released herself gently from Maggie’s embrace and patted me on the shoulder.
‘Goodbye, young Mollie,’ she said. ‘Keep fighting the good fight.’ And then she let herself out of the back door and went out the back gate.
‘That girl,’ said Maggie, with feeling, ‘will get me sacked one of these days.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ I said. Even though I knew that if Mother and Father really did decide to let Maggie go, I wouldn’t have much say in the matter.
Maggie knew this too, of course, but she smiled.
‘Off you go, now,’ she said. She gestured towards a soft bundle wrapped in brown paper that was sitting on the kitchen cabinet. ‘I’ve got to run around to the laundry with this in a minute. Your mother forgot to send some of your father’s shirts.’
So I went upstairs to write this letter. Which I will finally finish writing now. I do hope you are well and that you aren’t studying too hard. After all, even if you do go to Oxford, you’ve got a few years to prepare for it. I should probably be studying a bit harder myself, but sometimes it’s very difficult when so many exciting and dramatic things are happening ….
Best love,
Mollie
P.S.
Tuesday
I meant to send this letter this morning on my way to school, but I forgot, so I am opening up the envelope (I will have to gum it down afterwards with glue) because I need to tell you that Nora and I have made a big decision. We are going to take militant action! We’re not going to set off a bomb or chain ourselves to the railings of Dublin Castle, or anything like that. But we are going to do something that is almost certainly breaking the law. And we’re going to do it soon.