Primrose Square

by Anne Douglas

  She was a large woman, perhaps in her early forties, wearing a grey two-piece and matching hat over a coil of thick fair hair. Very relaxed in manner, she announced to her audience that she was going to tell them something of the general struggle for the vote in the past. A history lesson, yes, but it would help to make people understand that gaining the vote had never been an easy matter for anyone, which only made the modern woman’s fight more difficult.

  For instance, did the audience know that you had to go back to 1432 to find the vote first being given to men? That was when Henry VI was on the throne and the voters had to own property worth forty shillings. A fortune, no less, so very few men would qualify. Women, of course, were not even mentioned.

  Everyone laughed and settled down to listen as Mrs Greer guided them through the centuries, outlining reforms that prevented abuse of the system, explaining how various Acts had gradually given more men the vote, provided they were householders, and of how women had always been hoping that their turn would come and had always been disappointed. Until here they were in the twentieth century, and activity had never been greater. Mrs Pankhurst had formed a social and political union for women to fight for the vote. Other societies had come into being. Victory was certainly on the way. It had been difficult for men to get the vote at one time; today it was still difficult for women, but they would get there in the end.

  ‘Never give up!’ Mrs Greer cried. ‘Whatever it costs, work on!’ She raised her arm and smiled her beaming smile. ‘Always remember, the slogan is – Votes for Women!’

  And with that last call, she sat down to prolonged applause, delicately wiping her brow with her handkerchief before rising to take her bow.

  ‘Well, Elinor, what did you make of that?’ Miss Ainslie asked, after a few questions had brought the meeting to a close and volunteers were serving tea and biscuits.

  ‘I enjoyed it,’ Elinor replied honestly. ‘Mrs Greer made it all so clear and interesting; I feel I understand things better.’

  ‘She’s certainly an excellent speaker and does so much to help us. Her husband’s a lawyer and doesn’t approve, but she just steams ahead, anyway.’ Miss Ainslie laughed. ‘But now you must come and meet more people, Elinor. I think you’ll find everyone very friendly.’

  ‘I already have, Miss Ainslie.’

  It was true – everyone Elinor met over the tea and biscuits appeared genuinely keen to talk to her, while she in return was intensely pleased to find herself talking quite naturally to them. For the first time she could remember, she was communicating on a level with people who might have been her employers, for though she could talk to Miss Ainslie, it wasn’t possible to forget the difference in their positions at the Primrose. Here, there were no differences. She was a young woman who wanted a vote, in conversation with other women who wanted the same, putting forward her views and finding them listened to, which was so remarkable, she found the experience quite heady and exciting. Only a little nagging point of dissent at the back of her mind suggested that in the sort of world she’d like to be in, it shouldn’t really have been so remarkable.

  Still, when she asked if the violence some suffragettes were using might possibly do the cause harm, it was gratifying that people listened to her and gave considered replies, one agreeing that some folk did believe that.

  ‘But many of us in this group are non-militant and are still grateful that those who aren’t have brought our struggle to public notice.’

  ‘And have suffered for it,’ another lady put in. ‘Their prison experiences have been appalling.’

  ‘Indeed, the militants are truly brave,’ someone added, then hastily put a hand on Elinor’s arm. ‘But don’t worry, my dear, you will not be asked to set fire to anything, or put bombs in houses.’

  Which was exactly what Miss Ainslie had told her, so that was all right. When they’d left the hall and were on their way to the tram, however, it occurred to Elinor to ask if there was some reason why she would never be asked to do anything violent.

  ‘Is it just because your group is non-militant, or is there some other reason, Miss Ainslie?’

  Miss Ainslie hesitated. ‘Well, I suppose it’s just that people can be treated differently in prison. If someone has – you know – friends in high places – they might do better.’

  As understanding dawned, Elinor’s dark eyes glittered a little.

  ‘Oh, I see. It’s because I wouldn’t have friends in high places, so I’d be more at risk?’

  ‘It sounds terrible, I know . . .’

  ‘No’ really. Only to be expected.’ Elinor laughed shortly, as their tram came into sight. ‘That’s what they call the way of the world, eh?’

  ‘Elinor, don’t let any of this put you off joining us,’ Miss Ainslie said urgently. ‘You did really well this evening, talking so easily, meeting so many strangers; I was proud of you. Please, stay with us.’

  After a pause, Elinor nodded. ‘All right, I’ll try another meeting or two, anyway. I do believe in your cause.’

  ‘I’m so glad.’

  But as they boarded the tram and took their places on the hard slatted seats, Elinor’s thoughts had suddenly drifted home to her family. She did not regret taking the stand she had, yet wished so much it hadn’t had to happen. When would she see Ma again? And Corrie? She’d better try to fix up meetings. And Dad? If only he’d been different . . . As the days had gone by and she hadn’t seen him, the funny thing was, she was almost missing him, too.

  Nine

  On one of her free Saturday afternoons, Elinor arranged to meet her mother at a little café off the High Street. Though she’d never seen her father, she’d met Corrie once or twice and as the July days passed quickly by had attended another talk for suffragettes in the church hall and two brief outdoor gatherings.

  All interesting and enjoyable, even when the children in the streets had to be dissuaded from shouting cheeky messages, but gradually – she didn’t even like to admit it – she was beginning to find that some of her early euphoria was fading.

  It wasn’t that she minded being grateful to the ladies at the meetings who treated her like one of themselves, more that she wished she had been just that. True, she seemed able to hold her own, but while she’d liked to believe at first that there was no gulf between herself and the others, it came to her at last that the gulf was there and couldn’t be bridged.

  Why not? She’d thought about it a lot, for she felt in her heart she should be the equal of anyone. Where was the difference, then? Background, of course, and education. These women seemed to know so much. They could talk so easily about every subject under the sun, whereas for her and those in her position, the world was so narrow, it was as though they were wearing blinkers and could only see what was around them.

  But education could change all that. Could provide opportunities. Help folk to better themselves, if they wanted to, as she did. Only, if you had to leave school early to earn your living, where could you get more education? There had to be a way, Elinor thought, and was determined to find it.

  When she met her mother, she wanted to tell her all that was on her mind, but first Hessie seemed to need to talk about her dad.

  ‘He’s missing you,’ she told Elinor, pouring tea. ‘Aye, it’s true, I knew he would. Just wishes he could get out of all the trouble he’s caused without looking a fool, but canna think of a way. Want some of this teacake?’

  Elinor studied her mother. Although she’d dressed up specially for her little jaunt away from Friar’s Wynd, she was looking strained, with a new deep line between her brows and the usual shadows beneath her eyes.

  ‘Bet it’s no’ been easy for you, Ma,’ Elinor murmured, taking some of the buttered teacake. ‘If Dad’s been in a bad mood.’

  ‘He’s been all right, that’s the funny thing.’ Hessie shook her head, on which was perched her best straw hat trimmed with daisies. ‘He’s more like sad, eh? A bit depressed. Like we all are, Corrie as well.’

  ‘I
f you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s no use, Ma. Dad’s taken his stand, I’ve taken mine, and there’s no going back.’

  ‘But are you really getting mixed up with the ladies wanting the vote, Elinor? If you were to give them up, he’d no’ mind if you stayed on at the Primrose, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ve been to some meetings.’ Elinor drank her tea. ‘I do believe in what they’re doing, except for the violence, and the group I’m with are against that.’

  ‘So you’ll keep on with ’em?’ Hessie sighed. ‘Seems there’s no hope, then.’

  ‘Well, things have changed a bit. It was grand when I first met Miss Ainslie’s friends, they were all so nice, treated me the same as if I was one of them. But the truth is, I’m not.’

  ‘You’re just as good as anybody, Elinor! The only difference is some folk are better off.’

  Elinor passed her mother a plate of cakes and took one herself. ‘It isn’t just that. I think the biggest difference comes from what’s in people’s heads. Whether you’re educated or not. Now, I had to leave school early—’

  ‘We needed the money, Elinor. When you started working, you were one less mouth to feed. It just wasn’t possible to let you do the leaving certificate.’

  ‘I know, I understand, I’m no’ blaming anybody. But what’s made me think, since I mixed with these new folk, is that I’m never going to better myself unless I get some more education.’ Elinor met her mother’s eyes with a darkly burning gaze. ‘And I mean to do that, Ma. I won’t be staying in service for ever.’

  ‘Have you never thought you might one day get wed?’

  ‘Oh, Ma! As though that would be the solution to everything!’

  ‘It might be. Depends on who you marry.’

  Mother and daughter exchanged glances, then Hessie looked away.

  ‘Where’ll you get this education, then? I mean, you canna go back to school.’

  ‘I’m going to speak to Miss Ainslie about it. There might be evening classes I can do. I’ve only got limited time off, so I might have to give up her meetings anyway. But she’ll understand, she’s very kind. Look, I’ll get the bill, I’ve to be away.’

  ‘Oh, lassie,’ Hessie murmured, putting her hankie to her eyes. ‘It’s been grand, eh? Shall we meet again soon? And will you see Corrie again? He was that glad to see you when you met him out of work.’

  ‘Sure I will, and I’ll see you, too.’ Elinor, rising, adjusted her hat and took out her purse. ‘You might say to Dad that I send him good wishes. He won’t care, but tell him, anyway.’

  ‘I will, I will. I did say I was going to see you and he never said I shouldn’t.’

  Elinor shrugged. ‘We’d better be grateful for small mercies, then.’

  Outside the café, mixing with the tourists heading for the Royal Mile and the sights of historic Edinburgh, she and her mother exchanged hugs and parted to go their different ways, Hessie shedding a tear again, Elinor feeling low. Until she thought again of speaking to Miss Ainslie.

  As she had hoped, the manageress was able to tell her just what she needed to know. There were courses for adults available in the city, some begun only last year by the Workers’ Educational Association, others organized by various groups, and a few by the council. There would be something to pay, of course, and the WEA would probably charge the least. Miss Ainslie, giving Elinor one of her quick, bird-like glances, raised her eyebrows.

  ‘But what’s brought this on, then? I didn’t know you were interested in studying, Elinor, though I’m very pleased to hear it.’

  Elinor looked down. ‘I’m keen to get on,’ she said after a pause. ‘And I’ll need more than I’ve got to do that.’

  ‘What sort of class would you like to try for?’

  ‘I thought maybe history. Or English – grammar and that.’

  Miss Ainslie pursed her lips. ‘For a job, you don’t think you’d do better with some sort of secretarial skill? Such as typewriting? I believe more and more women are finding jobs in offices these days.’

  ‘Typewriting?’ Elinor had never thought of it. Wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but might be a quicker way to a better job than studying academic subjects, even though that sort of study was what she felt she needed. ‘You think I could be a secretary, Miss Ainslie?’

  ‘Elinor, I think you could be anything you put your mind to. It’s such a shame you couldn’t have stayed on at school.’

  ‘A shame a lot of folk couldn’t do that, Miss Ainslie. But maybe I’ll try this typewriting. Where do you think I could find out where to go?’

  ‘Why, you must speak to Mrs Greer at the next meeting. She had a bundle of leaflets she was showing only the other day – she’s very keen on bringing education to those who’ve missed it.’

  Mrs Greer? Elinor’s eyes widened. And here was I believing I was the only one who cared, she thought, and felt a little guilty.

  Ten

  Mrs Greer was delighted to be able to help Elinor, Miss Ainslie’s protégée, as she called her, a word Elinor didn’t know, but could guess its meaning.

  ‘You’ll find all you need to know in these leaflets I have,’ Mrs Greer told her. ‘What’s available, meeting places, enrolling details, cost and so on. Now, are you going to be able to afford the charge, my dear? I’m sure there are funds available if not.’

  ‘I’ve got some savings,’ Elinor replied quickly, thinking that she’d like to pay her own way, and if she didn’t get the new jacket she’d had her eye on, well, too bad. ‘But when do these classes start?’

  ‘At the end of August for the WEA, with enrolling two weeks earlier. They’re usually held in schools after hours, or a few are at the university. Read through the leaflets and decide what you want to do.’ Mrs Greer patted Elinor’s shoulder. ‘And the best of luck – I really admire your initiative.’

  Another word Elinor didn’t know. At this rate, she would be spending more time than the club members in the Quiet Room, looking up the dictionaries. Whatever would Mattie say?

  Two weeks later, having managed to obtain permission to slip out during the early evening, she made her way to the great gaunt school in Stockbridge where she planned to enrol for the typewriting class.

  Heavens, though, the large hall – with its distinctive school smell of chalk, worn shoes, damp clothes and pupils – was crowded out! She’d never thought so many people would be as keen to learn as she was herself. Nothing for it, then, but to join the queue at the desk, where a young woman was booking folk in for the typewriting course, and hope she wouldn’t be too long away from the club. In fact, the waiting crowd seemed to melt away just as she reached the desk, and she was about to heave a sigh of relief, when the young woman who’d been taking names rapped out, ‘Typewriting is fully booked. This position is closed.’

  ‘Fully booked?’ Again, Elinor was taken completely by surprise. ‘What do you mean? You can’t take me?’

  ‘Of course I can’t take you!’ the girl cried scornfully, her small blue eyes flashing. ‘There are only a limited number of typewriters for the students, and it’s first come, first served. You should have got here earlier.’

  As she began to gather up papers from her desk and Elinor stood disconsolately watching her, a tall, fair-haired man in a tweed suit came across to the desk.

  ‘What’s the trouble, Miss Reynolds?’

  ‘No trouble, Mr Muirhead. This person wanted to take the typewriting class and I’ve told her it’s fully booked. What else can I do?’

  The tall man, looking at Elinor, gave her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about that. I’m afraid the typewriting class is very popular and quickly fills up. Perhaps something else might be of interest? I’m taking another class myself on office management and procedures. How about that?’

  ‘That’s got no typewriting,’ Miss Reynolds said at once. ‘It wouldn’t be the same at all.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is a very useful course,’ he retorted, his voice edged enough to make her flush a little.
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br />   ‘Sorry, Mr Muirhead, I’m sure it is. Shall I take this lady across to book in, then? If it’s not full?’

  ‘No, I’ll take her myself. This way, Miss . . .?’

  ‘Rae,’ Elinor answered. ‘And thank you.’

  How kind he was, she thought, as he shepherded her through the crowd, his grey eyes so sympathetic. But who was he? He was very well dressed, seemed to be in charge somehow, and the snappy Miss Reynolds had caved in pretty quickly when he’d rebuked her. Why not take his office course, then? It might be just as good as the typewriting.

  ‘My name’s Stephen Muirhead,’ he told her. ‘I’m a course organizer for the WEA, and also a tutor. It’s part of my policy to try to find the right course for everyone who wants to learn, which is why I hope my course will be of interest to you.’

  ‘Oh, it is!’ she said eagerly. ‘I think it might suit me very well. But it might be booked up.’

  ‘Not yet.’ He smiled. ‘The numbers are good, but it’s not quite as popular as typewriting. Mind if I ask, are you an office worker at present, Miss Rae?’

  Her colour rose. ‘No. I’d like to be, but I’m . . . I’m in service. At the Primrose Club.’

  ‘I see. Nice place, I believe.’ His expression was the same: he was continuing to smile. ‘But you’d like a change?’

  ‘That’s right. A change.’

  ‘Well, before you book in, I’ll just tell you briefly that the course is designed for people seeking jobs in offices, not necessarily in offices already. So, it will give an idea of the sort of thing they’ll need to know, and practice at the different procedures – filing, simple bookkeeping, record keeping and so on.’

  Mr Muirhead smiled a little. ‘I’m hoping it will help with interviews – everyone’s worry.’

  ‘And women are being taken on in offices now?’ Elinor asked. ‘There are still more men than women in your queue.’

  ‘True, but the fact is single women are being employed more and more.’ Mr Muirhead gave a small shrug. ‘Although I’m afraid they do earn less than the men.’