CHAPTER XIX

ALBERT HALL RALLY — £5,000 RAISED — LORD LYTTON SUPPORTS US — MR. ASQUITH BETRAYS US — HUNDREDS ARRESTED

Saturday, June 18th, 1910, was another great day for the Suffragettes. The Conciliation Bill was to be introduced. A procession was necessary, and more than a procession, an Albert Hall meeting. Never did a Parliamentary Committee get such a backing as did the Conciliation Committee.

The procession was six miles long and took three hours to pass a given point. We had every imprisonment represented. Hundreds of ex-prisoners in prison dress carried broad arrows mounted on sticks covered with silver paper. Representatives came from all over the world, the saying in other countries being: “Once British women have won, we also shall win.”

We had almost a thousand women graduates. Women graduates always, I noticed, awed the public. A woman in cap and gown roused great admiration. Forty bands played triumphant music. Banners made the procession gay and bright. Suffragettes were always happy, always laughing. We had a lot to laugh at!

It was at times like this that Mrs. Drummond’s qualities came to the front. The Press gave her the name of “General.” She was admired by Press reporters, police, and Scotland Yard men. Her geniality was catching. Her bright laughing eyes, her more than cheerful face, were like a ray of sunshine to processionists and people. She was a fine loyal figure in the Movement, appreciated by all.

Lord Lytton was the chief speaker at the meeting. We all liked him. He was the brother of Lady Constance, and had shown a genuine desire to get the problem which absorbed us really settled. £5,000 was raised. The truce was still on, but we were sowing good seed and reaping in so many ways rich harvests.

When the Bill was introduced in the House it received a majority greater than the Budget and Veto Resolutions, and yet instead of the Government adopting the Bill, thus making it a Government Measure, which would have been the genuine and honest course to take, it was referred to a Committee of the whole House.

When the news was announced we summed it up in one word — Failure. But the Militants were still loyal to the truce they had proclaimed.

At the end of July, the House, which was in reality responsible for the Measure, adjourned without making any promise that facilities should be given for the discussion of the Bill. It was a case of: “You shan’t have the Vote because you don’t want it; and if you want it, well, you shan’t have it! ”But still we kept the truce.

It was at big crises like these that Mrs. Pankhurst’s influence was felt. The truce would never have been kept by the more fiery Militants had it not been for her extraordinary powers of gentle persuasion. The most rebellious spirits grew calm in her presence, the most obstinate grew amenable. They adored her. There is no other word for it. Her calm, quiet, cultured manner appealed to us all, her gentle voice, which could become so passionate in speech, her understanding of human frailty.

She it was who led so many deputations, she it was who suffered imprisonment fourteen times with us, she it was who hungered and did the thirst-strike. Ever ready to do herself anything she had inflamed her devoted band to do, dramatic, dignified, loving, human, cultured, pretty, versatile, this was the Mrs. Pankhurst we knew in the fight. Her bigness came out when she publicly announced that Christabel had taught her how to get the Vote, and where policy was concerned she was prepared to follow as loyally as the humblest member of the Union. Mrs. Pankhurst was a living example of loyalty to her daughter, who was the statesman of the Movement.

At last things became desperate and we felt something must be done. Ever dramatic in our ideas, Mrs. Lawrence especially so, July 23rd was chosen for another Hyde Park meeting — the day our grandfathers had met and pulled down the railings of Hyde Park to demonstrate their right to free speech and to the immortal right of all Britishers, the Vote.

Two processions were organized, which marched, one from the East End and the other from the West. Every city, town, village, and hamlet had its representatives. Every profession, trade, or occupation of any description had its leader. A friend gave me £20 so that I could invite some of my old workmates from the factory to come down. Amongst them were my never-forgotten friend, Alice Hurst, my Sunday-School teacher. Miss Sarah Broadbent, and another companion and friend of my childhood, Lizzie Steel. I did not see one of them, the crowds were so dense. The Press admitted that a quarter of a million would not cover the number of people there.

I heard afterwards that Alice was lost from the moment she arrived in London to returning home at night. She forgot the name of the station. She said she knew it was something like “St. Pankhurst” ! Her ticket was in the possession of one of her friends. She gave shillings away to odd people to show her the way to the Park. At the end of the day she seemed to have seen more of London and to have heard more speeches than any provincial I have ever met. She asked every other policeman if he had seen a woman with a red rose in her hat. Red roses being the fashion — they had seen many. She mounted a ’bus and by a coincidence my brother was on it. The public were nothing to Alice. “Oh, I’m glad I’ve seen some one I know! Tell Annie I came up, but could not find her anywhere, and I have forgotten the station I have to go to!” She was taken to “St. Pankhurst” Station and met the woman with the red rose in her hat. She arrived home late at night, tired but full of all the sights she had seen on her first visit to London. The lost one had seen the most. Is it not the way with many people who seem lost in life?

Nothing happened to the Bill though the truce continued. The next diplomatic move was to get Resolutions passed by Councils throughout the country. This was done. Nothing happened, but the truce was still kept. Two more Albert Hall meetings were held. The speeches at the last meeting was a clear call to the Government. “Remove your opposition or we shall call an end to the truce and hostilities will commence!” The speeches could be summed up as follows: “The fight will be sterner. Measures will be more extreme. We have been patient; we have given you all the proof it is humanly possible to give. Hostility persisted in on your side will be taken as contempt for our repeated efforts to prove in a constitutional way women’s appeal for political justice.”

The Government’s position was very rocky on other issues besides the Suffrage, and the Premier on the 18th of November made the famous announcement that he had advised the Crown to dissolve Parliament — all the time that was left would be taken up by those Measures which the Grovemment were responsible for, in fact, party reforms. This alone ought to have made every one see the wisdom of the Militants’ policy at by-elections. But party politics blind one to many things which are obvious to others not so bound down by party prejudice.

It was quite clear from Mr. Asquith’s speech that if his Govermment were returned there would be no mention of the one burning question — Votes for Women. Before the announcement was made we were all ready for the fray in our Militant home, Caxton Hall. This always proved to be our best meeting-ground, as it was near Westminster.

When Mr. Asquith’s announcement was given out there was a great storm-burst. All the clouds that had been gathering for weeks suddenly broke, and the downpour was terrific. There was not one of us would not have gone to death at that moment, had Christabel so willed it. Mrs. Pankhurst, nearly always the leader at these times of crisis, and the late Dr. Garrett Anderson, ex-Mayor of Aldeburgh, followed by 300 women, were all prepared to be arrested in fighting their way to the House. This day was described in our paper as “Black Friday.” We had heard that the police instructions were, “Arrest as few as possible,” but in a few hours over one hundred women and four men were in the police station after some indescribably rough treatment had been meted out.

Mr. Asquith remained as hostile as ever. Within a few days another raid took place, and 160 arrests were made. Mr. Churchill, who at this time was Home Secretary, had given some facilities to Suffragette prisoners. They made good use of them and enjoyed themselves as much as possible, knowing that the future policy would mean extreme measures in prison.

Another Greneral Election came in December. We toured the country, doing our best to encourage the electors to vote against the Asquith party, but the electors voted for it and so the old Government was returned, and at its head was our avowed enemy and lifelong opponent, Mr. Asquith.

My life in 1911 was spent largely in repeating all I had done in 1910. That is the secret of a well-run revolution. The repetition is so frequent that you work almost automatically in the end. Parliament assembled. Mr. Asquith was at the head. We did not get the Vote.

It was the year of the Census. We held another Albert Hall meeting. We all refused to fill in our census papers, as a protest against our not being recognized as citizens. As the penalty was £5 or imprisonment, we hoped to see every prison in the country overcrowded. But there was not a single imprisonment. The City and Town Councils sent petitions to Parliament. The Conciliation Bill was read a second time. The majority was increased to 167, but again the Prime Minister referred the Bill to the whole House. The Lord Mayor of Dublin made an appeal at the Bar of the House for Women’s Suffrage. Our supporters in the House of Commons pressed Parliament for facilities. Sir Edward Grey made a definite promise in this respect at a dinner at the National Liberal Club, but dinners are never the best places at which to make promises.

Mr. Asquith supported the dinner promise in a letter sent to Lord Lytton. It read :—

“I have no hesitation in saying that the promise made by and on behalf of the Government, in regard to giving facilities for the Conciliation Bill, will be strictly adhered to both in the letter and in the spirit.” So the truce was kept.

It was the year of the Coronation, a year of rejoicing, and the Militants took advantage of this to organize another procession and still another Albert Hall meeting. Two things stood out on this occasion. One was a powerful speech delivered by Mrs. Annie Besant, and the other an announcement by Mrs. Pethick Lawrence that the limit of one hundred thousand pounds had been passed in collections. It was only five years since we had raised £2 to rouse London!

The truce was continued and we went on doing the ordinary dull constitutional work that anybody could do. How long had we to wait? I do not believe one Militant had unswerving faith that the Bill would go through. It was just a breathing-space, and we had to prove that we were Militant only when all other measures had failed. Other measures did fail and the storm again broke.

Mr. Asquith announced that he meant to give more votes to men, the saving clause being that an amendment giving votes to women could be tacked on to the more-votes-for-men Bill — this would not be accepted by the Government but would be left to the whole House. So this was the result of Sir Edward Grey’s giving a promise in an after-dinner speech! Serious threats were made by the speakers, including myself, at an Albert Hall meeting. Mr. Asquith received a deputation of all societies, we, the Militant Party, being admitted on sufferance, as it were. We were the only people the Prime Minister feared.

I was present, though not as a speaker. Lady Constance Lytton and I were together. Mrs. Asquith stood behind us all the time. She seemed highly amused at the earnestness of all the speakers. When it was over I went to Mr. Asquith and asked him whether he considered himself a statesman. “Who are you?” he asked, looking angry and nervous. “I’m a Militant, and we all hate and distrust you. Do you call yourself a statesman?” The only reply I got was, “I am not prepared to discuss this question with you.“ “I am quite aware of that,” I said, “but the point is, I am going to discuss it with you at every public meeting you may hold!”

Christabel saw the two of us, myself and Mr. Asquith, mentally at daggers drawn. She came up to me and with one look of contempt at Mr. Asquith, said, “Don’t fret yourself about him, he is not worth it. Our fight will be on public ground.”

It is a strange feeling I have about Mr. Asquith. I have never liked him or forgiven him. I like most people in the world and there is not a soul to whom I bear malice, but I do not like Mr. Asquith. His cold, calculating manner leaves me chilled to the bone. The grand passions of life he cannot understand. He has human weaknesses, but not those big weaknesses which would make him risk losing his soul to satisfy a big desire. He was not a big opponent. Had he been we could at least have admired him, even though we opposed him.

The truce ended and with the end of the truce Militancy recommenced. The first arrests numbered 223 people, and the first act of extreme Militancy was committed at this time by Miss Emily Wilding Davison. She set fire to a pillar-box, an idea of her own, which afterwards became the policy of the party. It was her trial which marked the commencement of our many visits to the Old Bailey. Her sentence was six months’ imprisonment.

It was Emily Wilding Davison who made the supreme sacrifice for the Cause, on the memorable Derby Day when the King’s horse was the favourite. She went to the race alone.

No one had any knowledge of her intentions. Just as the King’s horse passed she flung herself in front of the horse. The jockey was thrown and she lay as one dead. The whole world was startled. The Queen inquired for her, but she never regained consciousness. She died as she had lived, for women’s freedom. The funeral procession was a procession like those given to crowned heads. She had won her crown of martyrdom. Peace was hers.

CHAPTER XX

EXTREME MILITANCY — CHRISTABEL PANKHURST ELUDES PRESS, POLICE, AND PARLIAMENT

The year 1912 was a year of great changes. Extreme Militancy had broken out. Infuriated at what we considered foul play, we all felt we did not care what happened to us provided we could force Parliament to give way. Nineteen hundred and twelve was the parting of the ways. Mild Militancy belonged to the past, extreme Militancy would belong to the future.

March 4th saw the stone-throwing policy in full swing. Women of note, including Dr. Ethel Smyth, Dr. Garrett Anderson, Miss Janie Allen, and Dr. Fraser Ede were among those arrested. We were no longer what the Press called in 1906 “The rag-tag and bobtail Union.”

Scotland Yard visited Headquarters and arrested Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence; Mrs. Pankhurst and Mrs. Tuke were already in prison. The warrant also included Christabel — but Christabel could not be found. She had disappeared.

After the arrests for window-breaking Christabel suspected the arrest of the leaders, and also the seizing of our paper. She had sent me to Manchester to make inquiries about buying a small printing-machine for printing our paper in case of suppression, which we had good reason to fear. I was returning to my hotel when I saw on the placards: “All Suffragette leaders arrested.”

I knew my place was in London. I rushed to the hotel, paid my bill, got my bag, and caught the night train. I went to my private flat, as I expected a message would be waiting there, giving me instructions. The message read: “All leaders in prison except Christabel, who has escaped, no one knows how, where, or why. Do not come to the office until dark. Detectives everywhere. — Jessie.”

I waited until dark and then went to the office. On entering I knew that my life was once again changing. I had real responsibility to face and genuine burdens to bear.

The following day, no news of Christabel. The message from prison was: Would I go to the court and persuade the magistrate to give me permission to visit the cells after the trial? I went and succeeded with much coaxing to get him to give me a permit to visit the leaders. When they saw me I had scores of questions put to me, scores of instructions given me, scores of messages sent by me to the lost one. I was told that the first campaign must be to get first-class treatment for leaders. It would then be given to the rest. This in itself meant a campaign throughout the country. I was told I must find Christabel. The one thing I yearned for was news of her.

Two days went past. No news worth having. We had visits from many mystifying people who said they knew where she was or who suspected others were sheltering her. On the third day a mysterious woman came to my office. “I have a letter for you from Christabel.” She guessed my thoughts. “I know you don’t believe me, but I left her safe, and she wants you to join her with the greatest speed.” I opened the letter. It read :—

“Beloved Annie, — The bearer of this note is a good friend of the Cause. She, with another friend, helped me to escape. She will tell you where I am and give you an address that will find me. Keep this a secret. I ask it for reasons I will explain when we meet. I write this in case you cannot get away at once (but do so if you can, as I have much to tell you). I want you to take supreme charge of the whole Movement during my absence, and while Mother and Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence are in prison. There may be people who consider that they have far more political experience than you, but ignore this. I absolutely trust your simple way of looking at things and arriving at the right answer to all questions. Your keen intuition has always appealed to me.

I know that no member or members of the Cabinet would swerve you an inch from the policy laid down. Be brave under your great responsibilities. Be firm under the many pressing arguments that will be brought to bear on you, in the hope of weakening you in your work. I trust you implicitly and I give you complete control over the whole Movement until the leaders are released and we are all once again united. Come quickly, and bring with you a member who understands the language of the country that I am sheltering in. Disguise yourself, and watch closely for Scotland Yard men. Let your friend do all the talking, as you are so well known. I have good reason for mystifying the authorities. What a day when women win the Vote! Press on and give all our loyal ones my love and my faith that each one will obey orders that will be sent through you by me, and by unity we shall win through. Come to me at the first possible moment. — Christabel.”

My one thought was whom to take with me. I chose a Bristol member, a Miss James, who spoke several languages, and I was very fond of her. I disguised myself as a widow. We caught the Southampton boat-train to Havre and travelled via Rouen to Paris, but I saw and heard nothing. I was making notes of all the things that had happened since Christabel left.

We arrived, and after much wandering found that she had gone to Princesse de Polignac’s house. I went there and Miss James left me once she had seen me safely inside. I was shown into the largest room I have ever seen in a private house. I felt so tiny! There were beautiful books everywhere. I picked one up and found it to be a translation of Sappho’s poetry, so pretty, so simple, and yet so profound. The colour of the leather binding was the shade of a ripe pink cherry.

Chrisatabel had gone for a walk. Would I wait? I sat down and started reading the book of poetry, but I was tired to exhaustion, so I sat on the most comfortable seat of all, the floor, leaned my head against a large cushioned chair and fell into a deep slumber. I was in this sleeping state when discovered by Christabel. Then I woke up and we talked for hours and hours. She took me to the hotel where Miss James had secured rooms and we talked there until midnight. We met the following day and discussed and planned until the last minute arrived before leaving once more for my new life, which was to be a life of service and responsibility which I knew would end only when the Vote was won.

I just returned in time. Had I delayed, I should have found a small Committee who were going to decide policy by separating the funds which were to be used for constitutional and for Militant work. A small sum only was to be set aside for Militancy. Thanks to Miss Barrett and a few others, we made the small enthusiastic group realize that no step could be taken until I had seen the leaders in prison, and visited Paris once more to put their ideas before the one who was still the originator of policy, though that policy was conceived under the blue sky of Paris and not underneath the green trees of Leith Hill.

Needless to say, there was no Committee. It proved to me how careful one has to be when left in charge of a big movement. The people whose idea it was to have one honestly thought it was in the best interests of the work. They overlooked a vital fact, that we were still a revolutionary party, that it would take a few weeks to settle down in the absence of the recognized leaders ; that though they might be very clever, they could not suddenly become creative geniuses and decide policy round a Committee table.

CHAPTER XXI

GREATER RESPONSIBILITIES

Then started my life of real responsibility; Mrs. Pankhurst, Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence in prison; Christabel in Paris. The editors of the paper, the most eloquent speakers and the creative leader, all swept away. Christabel, as I have said, had thought out her plan of action, that there must be one head to whom all instructions must go, making it necessary for every one to go to the one chosen by her for their instructions to carry on the work. Her letter, which I have already given, speaks for itself. I understood her well enough to know that she expected me to read between each line what she had left unsaid. Her one fear was that, in the absence of recognized leaders, certain astute members of the Cabinet would approach those who they thought had a little influence in the Movement, and weaken their determination to carry on the Militant flght, which was embarrassing them. She was also afraid that the old idea of Committee rule would creep in, and her fears were justified. She knew me well enough to know that I should be no use on a Committee except to dissolve it, or if it refused to be dissolved, to break it. Her fear of intellectualism was still there. Her anxiety lay in thinking that book-learning and knowledge of party politics would overcome me, that my intuition, which she solely depended on, would not be understood or appreciated by the more learned ones, who had also done valiant work in the fight.

What a responsibility for me, I who had always shown a passionate fervour for my work, but who had been quite willing, yea thankful, on the great day itself, to hand over the whole piece of work in hand to another. To move on and labour in new fields was my ambition. Once the work was a success I felt my time had come to depart. New ground wanted ploughing, untouched fields were waiting the sowing of seed.

Christabel knew me like a book. If the emergency was great I should gather together all the forces of strength, courage, determination, and unceasing labour. Then no influence could touch me. The whole Cabinet might have come to interview me; they would have left me unmoved, unafraid, and undaunted.

When asked by Christabel whom I desired to work under me, I asked that I might have Miss Rachel Barrett. Miss Barrett was an exceptionally clever and highly educated woman. She was a devoted worker and had tremendous admiration for Christabel. She was learned, and I liked her.

Not only did Christabel give me complete control over the work, but she made me finally responsible for everything which appeared in the paper Votes for Women. This action roused comment among those who had been representatives on leading papers, and who were sub-editing the women’s paper. Here was I, with no experience of newspaper work, placed as censor, yet I detected in a moment if an article or sentence, even a word, was weakening to the policy or would give the Cabinet the impression of fear. I sensed everything that suggested weakness, but when asked to explain why, I just answered, “I know it is!” Very exasperating to real learning! There was I, head of a great Militant Movement, having final responsibility for a paper, I who could not have reasoned the point of why a cat drank milk, jumping at conclusions about words, actions, speeches. I chose Rachel Barrett, who reasoned out everything, and analysed every point, and drew her conclusions carefully and with extreme caution. Was it any wonder that my preserving angel shouted her name?

Rachel alone knows what we went through during those first few months.

Christabel asked me to burn the letter she had sent me, but I thought the wisest thing was to let at least one person read it before carrying out her instructions. A witness was necessary who could support my claim that the responsibility had been passed on to me by Christabel, and that it was not I who had taken unto myself such a stupendous task. The person I asked to read the letter was Miss Elizabeth Robins, the famous Ibsen actress, and widely read authoress. Miss Robins had always been very kind to me, and understood my way of doing things. She gave me a mascot, which I kept for years until it was lost in some raid or burglary.

Loyalty is a strange thing. Analyse it deeply enough and you will find at the root the word “personality.”

When the heads were gone the Movement for a short period languished and became sick. Those who had vitalized it, had given it their life-force, were withdrawn. The followers felt the effect. They were for a time mentally, morally, and spiritually underfed. I saw that if I was not careful the morale would be weakened. How to get the leaders out of prison was the first step in my diplomacy, how to keep in close touch with Christabel, who was a day’s journey from me, and yet keep my hands steady at the reins, and watch every move with a detective eye.

Christabel’ s weekly articles were absolutely essential, a weekly visit to Paris was also necessary. I decided to leave London by the boat-train and take boat to Havre on Fridays, and come back by the quickest route on the following Sunday. This would give us a full day to discuss the work in, and I should only be out of the office on Saturday morning. This I did for months. Sleep and food were almost unknown things to me for the first few weeks. There was no time to eat, no time to sleep, the work had to be done, and had I not been chosen to do it? Without Rachel Barrett I should have broken down, though I must not forget my Suffragette house-keeper, friend and companion, Mrs. Louie Hatfield, who had been with me ever since my early Militant days. She loved me like a mother, cared for me like a nurse and protected me like an angel.

The very thought of my journeys to Christabel made me feel seasick. How I hated being on the water! Each Friday I wished it was Saturday, and each Sunday I yearned for Monday. Saturday was spent talking and walking. I ate as much as I could, and, like the camel, stored it away somewhere, as it had to last a week. Policy was discussed, future tactics, articles for the papers, meetings. Cabinet Ministers and what we should do with them, how to gain release for those in prison, provincial work, how and where to place organizers, the daily Press, what to prepare in case of my arrest, circular letters, the raising of money, lobbying Members. Before I left, my head would be so full that I had to beg Christabel to give me no more instructions for another week. But by the time I arrived in London there would be a letter on its way, bulky in appearance. It would contain all the things thought of after my departure. Rough notes were all I was allowed to make in case of arrest, and these notes had to be cryptic so that no one but myself or those in close touch with me could read them. One vow I made: I would never colour any event when describing it to Christabel; I would close my imagination department, and stick to unadulterated facts. This was the only way to give her an accurate idea of the genuine progress or retardation of the work. I was thankful afterwards that I had done so, for on her return, when war broke out, she found a dwindling Movement.

Great responsibility was mine, and I was not prepared to make it greater by exaggerating the enthusiasm or the growth of the Movement. To have done so would have seemed to me a great act of disloyalty.

Christabel’ s vitality was good for me. She was fresh, virile, energetic. I would arrive sick, tired to exhaustion, and yet on Sunday morning I felt refreshed and ready for the labour awaiting me. She has the most vitalizing personality that I have ever met. She revitalized all she came into touch with. Her strength was wonderful. The Saturdays in Paris were a joy. We would walk along the river or go into the Bois, or visit the gardens. Whoever saw us would also see stacks of newspapers, pockets stuffed with pencils, and always a knife to sharpen them. To her aristocratic and literary French friends we were a source of amusement, wandering through Paris, I in travelling clothes — I could not be troubled with luggage, — arm in arm, talking incessantly or wandering so far away that the only café available was one that catered for cabbies or taxi-men. For our lunch we would have horse-beef and dandelion salad, and cheese that you asked to come, and it came! Food never troubled Christabel. A cup of Horlick’s or a pheasant were just the same to her.

I grew to love Paris. Like the moorlands, I dare not think of this lovely city at certain seasons. In September I have a real heart-ache to visit the moors, and if I hear the wind howling I could cry with the longing that creeps over me for a smell and a sight of the purple-covered, restless moorlands of the north. At Easter I have the same desire to be in Paris. I dream of the flower-stalls and the cheery market-women. I can smell the ever-steaming coffee and newly baked rolls and see the gay crowds. Then I visit the Madeleine and look on the Cross, made not with thorns but with fresh bedewed flowers, symbolic of all that is good, pure, and beautiful. It has never been a surprise to me that those children who are taught and brought up in agnosticism fly to the Church for refuge in later years, just as those who have been brought up in the stern dogmatic religious homes invariably fly to agnosticism, and when they have worked through that stage or phase of life, find themselves being drawn to what are called new movements, which really contain the seeds of the old ancient religions, philosophies, and wisdom of all the ages, right back to the dawn of humanity.

When the leaders were released after having done a hunger-strike my work seemed to grow and not diminish. Each had instructions to give, each had messages to send to Paris. They were ill and needed rest and change. Scores of the rank and file were still in prison and had to be got out. Had it not been for Mrs. Drummond, my sister Jessie, Margaret Cameron, Mrs. Sanders, Miss Kerr, Mrs. Archdale, and that splendid Mr. Arthur Marshall, the Movement would have been weakened and discredited. We survived the storm.

Christabel’s place of refuge had been kept secret for many reasons, one being that we had a strong presentiment that certain Parliamentary enemies would approach the French Government and make an appeal for her extradition. Christabel and I had interviewed one of the leading legal men on the question and had approached many French people who had influence in the Chamber. We had a definite pledge that such a course would not be adopted, and though later an appeal was made in our British Parliament for her deportation, no notice was taken of it. The record in Hansard will explain the form in which it was made. Christabel’s French friends kept their promise.

About this time I recalled Grace Roe from the provinces. Grace Roe had played a unique part in the fight. Her power of tenacity, her love and loyalty to her chosen leader, will never be equalled. Charming in appearance, soft in speech, gracious in manner, no wonder she got passports and passed barriers whilst others were waiting, stool in hand and lunch in pocket. Her daring was a marvel.