• CHAPTER XXII

INTERNAL DISCORD — THE FIRST SEPARATION

From now until April 8th, 1913, when I was again arrested, my work lay chiefly in visiting Paris, reading proofs of the paper, making speeches, interviewing Militants, and in training Miss Grace Roe, who was to take my place in case of my arrest. My sister Jessie at the time had a slight breakdown, and Miss Barrett was sub-editing the paper.

I had to meet Militants at my private flat at midnight, to discuss future plans with organizers, and last but not least, to take the place of Mrs. Lawrence and become the money-raiser for the Union.

It was at this time that the burning of empty houses was resorted to. Both Christabel and her mother were against the taking of human life, but Christabel felt the times demanded sterner measures, and burning she knew would frighten both the public and Parliament. “But no life must be taken on our side,” she said, “we alone are the ones who are prepared to give our lives, if necessary.”

Those to whom this fiery method appealed came forth willingly. It demanded more than courage; it demanded pluck. It was dangerous to the burner, and awful punishment awaited those caught. They only carried amateur materials: a bit of cotton-wool, a small bottle of paraffin, a few shavings and a box of matches. The rest depended on themselves.

The sentences passed on those captured were very heavy. Five years were given to Mrs. Leigh and Miss Evans by the Irish Courts. Added to this, the long sentence meant a hunger-strike and, worse still, forcible feeding. The wonder was that we ever got any recruits after the first few had told of their experiences of prison-life as forcibly fed prisoners.

We did risk human life when we burnt houses, in spite of the care we took to see that all buildings were untenanted, but Providence protected us. No life was lost except on the Militants’ side. Many Militants are in fact to-day lying on sick-beds suffering from the after-effects of imprisonments and forcible feeding. What a reward for a brave fight on behalf of a great Movement!

Wars and revolutions have their tragic side, and our Revolution was no exception to the rule. There were those who worked unceasingly and in the end were forgotten, lost sight of amidst the toil and strife. Extreme Militancy brought with it tragedy and suffering, heartache and loneliness. It was too severe to carry with it the lightheartedness of other days.

Was it worth the trouble, the sacrifices made, the suffering endured? To me it was worth it all, as I believed extreme Militancy necessary. Whether it could have been run in a different way it is difficult to say. Wars and revolutions are made up of surprises, hasty retreats, quick marches. This naturally destroys order for the time being, and yet there is at the head one who sees order where those in the midst of the fight see but confusion. Was extreme Militancy right, even though it was apparently justified? That is a question again which raises deep unsolved problems of Ethics. Each person can only answer the question as he sees or understands it. The day will come when War and Revolution will not only be thought wrong, but will not be necessary. But that time is not now, and during the Militant fight we were living in years preceding a greater Revolution which has done wonders for the evolution of thought, — thought which is now being acknowledged and recognized by Science as one of the greatest forces in the world.

To give a fair and unbiased diagnosis of the Militant Movement, it would have to be divided up into two sections: Mild Militancy and Extreme Militancy. The character of the members who played a leading part in the first great episodes of Militancy were totally different to those who acted in the second scene. Mrs. Drummond, my sister Jessie, and I were in both acts, and saw the different stages of it and the changes the Movement had to imdergo. The first part of the Movement was the genuine constructive part, the real Women’s Movement. The structure was complete, but the tower was lacking. The tower was built by the extreme Militants. They had a building upon which to work, but their task was more dangerous than that of the hundreds of thousands of women who had been employed in making the structure grand and imposing. Each group played its part and played it nobly; they were complementary to each other. Without the first section the second could never have lived. Without the second section the first section’s work would never have seen the full completion of its labours.

In September, 1912, Christabel decided to make public her place of retreat. This was done for several reasons. She had been assured of protection by the French Government, and the best legal advice had been given her. She was absolutely safe, as her offence was political. Another reason was that a little cloud had appeared between the Lawrences and the Pankhursts. The Lawrences quite rightly wished to be convinced as to the wisdom of extreme Militancy. It was quite obvious to me that opinions were changing, that there was not the absolute implicit faith between the four that had existed in the earlier days. The breaking of friendship is just as mysterious a thing as the making of friendship. It invariably arises through misunderstanding. Thoughts which before were all openly expressed are locked tight in the mind and grow and grow until the whole idea of the person thought about becomes changed. Unexpressed feelings, if tinged with a grievance or a shade of hurt pride, grow as quickly as mushrooms, and before the aggrieved one knows what has happened the thoughts have been so fertilized that they find themselves encompassed. The person concerned no longer directs his thoughts or controls his feelings, he is controlled by them, and the result proves fatal to real friendship, whose every thought and action must be one of trust and love. Let trust depart and love will follow.

Threats were made by the Government to attack the private income of the Lawrences, as they were the only people among the leaders who could be financially attacked. Mrs. Pankhurst had no private meansthat it would have been worth the Government’s while to touch, but the Lawrences had.

Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence also questioned the wisdom of Militancy which might mean the loss of life.

To question policy with Christabel meant everything. Once people questioned policy her whole feeling changed towards them.

These little clouds all have their effect on big movements, especially when one of the heads, and that one the originator, is away. My life was far from happy at this period. I loved all of them: Mrs. Lawrence, who had sheltered, clothed, and loved me like a child; Mr. Lawrence, who had taken me to see countries that would have remained day-dreams but for his kindness (and these personal things play a big part in one’s life, though one has given oneself to a cause); Christabel, whom I worshipped, who had seen the good in me as well as the bad, the strong parts as well as the weak, whose first-born Militant and mascot I was and to whom she had looked for help in steering a ship that was to plough turbulent waters ; Mrs. Pankhurst, who had given up homely comforts, an income that had meant much to her, who had given her family to the Cause, the one who was admired by friend and foe, and who had loved me with a genuine sincerity.

Another big choice had to be made. How weary I was in body, how troubled in mind. I knew what I should do. I was quite awake as to my action, and yet I had a fear. I felt a little afraid of both sides. Both seemed to look to me. The difficulty lay in most of the underlying trouble being unspoken, the suppressed feelings being unexpressed. Two in each family and I between them. Others, of course, played a part, especially Mrs. Tuke, but my attitude seemed to be watched and analysed more than all the others together. Christabel never questioned what I should do, the part I should play, the side I should join.

The wordless fight was going on for months, and when the storm burst no one knew what was happening or what had happened until the news was announced from the Albert Hall platform. That action on both sides, I think, is a record of loyalty, especially on the side of the Lawrences. It stands out as a big thing in a terrible crisis.

Again everything but the truth was told, which was that Christabel was afraid of, or rather suspected interference with, policy.

The name I had given me by members, who were justly horrified at what had happened, was “Christabel’ s Blotting Paper.” The title neither flattered nor depressed me. I knew that blotters were useful things, and I had no ambition but to be of use to the only one I firmly believed could ever win the Vote. An incident happened very like the one which occurred when I was troubled about the Holy Ghost. One night before retiring I was sitting down in front of the fire in my new flat. In a sort of dream I found myself in one of the offices at Clement’s Inn, I had only been there for a few minutes when who should walk in but Miss Elizabeth Robbins and Miss Mary Neal, and afterwards Mrs. Pankhurst and Mrs. Tuke. We were all sitting round the table, when the door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence arrived. Mrs. Lawrence looked very sternly at me, and Mr. Lawrence looked troubled. The Committee, as it was called, commenced its business, which turned out to be nothing but the why and wherefore of the autocratic action of Christabel and her mother. The conversation was quite clear. When it was over Mrs. Lawrence saw me for a moment, and said she wished to speak to me.

This sentence brought me back, as it were, and I found myself sitting on the floor again in front of my own fire. I was puzzled. Was I really in the flat or was I dreaming I was there — was Mrs. Lawrence calling me? The following day I called at Mrs. Tuke’s flat on the way to the office and told her exactly what happened. She told me there was to be a Committee meeting. The day arrived, and everything happened, including the conversation, just as I had seen and heard it in front of my own fire. Mrs. Tuke looked at me and admitted it was strange and unaccountable.

The decision was a difficult one to have to make. Whichever side I took I knew I should bruise and hurt the side I had left. Had I thought they would Just be angry, I should not have cared half so much. I do not mind people being angry with me, but it makes my heart bleed if I think I have hurt them. The choice had to be made. The only thing I could do was to ask my higher self what it would do. The message was clear: “Follow Christabel.” Against this I could make no appeal. I had appealed to the highest tribunal and I was quite prepared to follow out any instructions it might give. It is the final tribunal for us all when faced with human problems, where decisions have to be made not between black and white, but between many shades of grey.

The old days were over. That was quite clear to me. Visits were made to Paris by Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, but still there was not the same trust on either side as before. And the end was inevitable. Again Christabel’s fears were those of a general on a battlefield. Sweeping tactics! Were they to be interfered with? That summed up the second split, the first and last serious separation. Christabel won, the fight continued, but the Movement, as a Movement, lost. The two had gone who had been the creative geniuses of the constructive side of a world-famed fight.

• CHAPTER XXIII

MR. LLOYD GEORGE AND SIR EDWARD GREY RECEIVE A PUBLIC DEPUTATION — FIREWORKS — A PRIVATE INTERVIEW WITH MR. LLOYD GEORGE

Ry the end of 1912 the work of the Union was done more and more in secret, and this had to be. Scotland Yard men watched our every move, and who could blame them, as our every move meant another fire, and what is Scotland Yard for but to dog law-breakers?

Another letter was sent to the Prime Minister, asking him to receive a deputation of working women. The reply was “No!” Mr. Lloyd George and Sir Edward Grey, however, consented to do so. Working women headed by Mrs. Drummond and myself were received. My instructions from Christabel were to cross-examine Mr. Lloyd George and to draw from him a reply as to his attitude and the attitude of the Government in connection with the Reform Bill and the Conciliation Bill. My position at these deputations was always the most difficult. Mrs. Drummond had to interest and amuse the men, I had to fight them. Miss Beatrice Harraden’s impression of this deputation, taken from our own Suffragette newspaper of that date, is a clear description of what happened :—

It was a delightful and thrilling experience to go with the Working Women’s Deputation to lay the Working Women’s case before Mr. Lloyd George. As we drove along in the omnibus, which was flying the W.S.P.U. colours with an access of triumph, I reflected that here was one of the many compensations which fall like blessings on the distraught authors taking part in this movement. Gone is the serenity of our spirit, and the seclusion of our studies seems like a dream of the dim past. But unexpected interests and adventures spring up to take the place of that lost solitude of soul and body; and as I sat with the bonnie fishwives from Newhaven, Scotland, and surveyed my company, I said to myself that I would not have exchanged these comrades for the most cultured scholars in the whole world, nor that omnibus for the quietest and most safely guarded temple of thought and imagination.

Quiet we certainly were not. We were merry and happy. I was particularly struck, from the very beginning, with the entire absence of all fear and self-consciousness in these hard-working women.

“Shall you be nervous?” I asked one of them.

“Nervous?” she answered. “And who’s Lloyd George that I should be frightened of him?”

And the pit-brow lassie said:

“I’m not frightened of any of them. They can’t be worse than some of the men I’ve had to reckon with.”

And the fishwife said complacently:

“If I feel comforted, I shall bo able to say straight out what I want. Plain and straight.”

And the East End woman said:

“Nervous. No, bless you. If I once get on my feet I shan’t be able to leave off telling him to do the right thing by us.”

And the bright little laundress said with a twinkle in her eyes:

“They’ll hear a thing or two from me! Never fear! I’m going to tell them they couldn’t do our work if they tried!”

And the General, beaming on them all, said:

“Say whatever you have to say. But let us all remember our dignity.”

Well, they did indeed remember it. I have never before seen anything approaching to the dignity with which those women, later, in the Treasury, stood up, one by one, and stated their cases, and their need of the vote with which to get their grievances remedied. I need not do more than just pick out a few points here and there, by chance, as it were; for really all the speeches, as Mr. Lloyd George himself said, were so admirable and concise, and so much to the point, that there was nothing to choose between them either in interest or importance.

And the effect they produced on Mr. Lloyd George and some of his colleagues present — Sir John Simon, Dr. Macnamara, and others — was cumulative. It could not have been otherwise. For even politicians are said to be intermittently human where other people’s welfare is concerned — we know, of course, that they are permanently human where their own welfare is concerned — and these gentlemen were having the privilege of listening to a continuous human record, given with dignity and fearlessness, in simple, direct language, without anger, or bitterness, and without any appeal of pathos except that of the bare stem facts of life. Of course, they were impressed. They would have been monsters if they were not.

They heard the claims of the teachers so admirably advanced by Miss Bonwick, and the disabilities of the nurses clearly explained by Miss Townend, who spoke of the nursing profession as a dangerous one in which there was no compensation for illness, and for which there was no legislation against long hours. They heard the story of the tailoresses from Mrs. Cohen of Leeds, and learnt how the girls worked for 3¼d. an hour, whilst the men were paid 6½d. an hour for the same job. She told them how in the slack time the girls went day after day to the factory and got no work given them, and how the hunted look came over their faces as they realized they were being driven on to the streets.

”Roise their statvs, Mr. Lloyd Oeorge” she said. “Help them to get rid of the hunted look.”

Then Mrs. Bigwood spoke on behalf of the Sweated Workers of the East End, and told of her 6s. a week earnings in the making of pinafores, “and buy me own cotton and fire and gaslight.”

Then came the turn of the cheery little laundress, Mrs. Ward Brown, who got in what she wanted to say about the men not being able to do the laundry work properly, much to the amusement of the assembled statesmen!

”We ought to have the vote at once,” she said peremptorily. And in conclusion, “It’s a shame we’ve not got it already, Mr. Lloyd George.”

Soon the imposing and picturesque fishwife, Mrs. King, gave her testimony, and by reason of her great dignity looked as much in place in the Treasury as she would have done with her creel on her back in Newhaven.

“Give me my vote, Mr. Lloyd George,” she said “I’ve come four hundred mile to get it, and I want it before I go back.”

Then the pit-brow lassie spoke for her comrades, and as she stood there, in her quaint costume and clogs, I longed to tell those men how she was called the Florence Nightingale of the Hulton Mine, and how in that dreadful disaster, when 344 miners were killed, she had taken charge of the dead, and had worked for sixty hours on end, receiving them and rendering them the last services.

Nothing could have been better, either for effect or instruction, than the clever arrangement of the speakers, so that each personality should stand out clearly defined and contrasted. They were all deeply earnest, of course, but their temperaments were different. My only regret was that the deputation had been limited to twenty, and did not include the charwoman from Liverpool, who told me “that she was making history,” or the tinplate worker from Mr. Lloyd George’s own country who said she had come alone, and was determined to come whether “she got killed or what.” I was glad to know later that she had not “got killed or what,” for I think I saw her starting out with a gallant three hundred to the Drury Lane pantomime!

Well, to return to that Treasury, where at last Sir Edward Grey put in an appearance, belated and elusively apologetic. But before he arrived on the scenes, Miss Annie Kenney and the Chancellor had had their breeze, and I would like to say about this breeze that I respected more than ever that little brave woman who dared to introduce a note of discord into the harmony of the deputation because she felt it to be her duty to make certain remarks and to ask certain questions which had to be said and asked, and which have now been proved to be more than justified by this latest development of the Suffrage situation. Hers was, in fact, the hardest and most trying part of the drama of the morning, and she went through it with a calm courage which filled me with admiration, whilst at the same time it shattered what remains of my nervous system.

For the Chancellor’s brow grew “dark and ominous,” as we say, or used to say, in novels. Restive and indignant became the countenances of his supporters and colleagues. Phantoms of Liberal followers rushed in to uphold the honour of the Prime Minister and menace his accuser. With my mind’s eye I even saw the Liberal women joining in the phantom onslaught on that heroic figure. That was too much for any eye, whether of mind or the flesh. I closed it. And when I had the pluck to open it, I still saw Annie Kenney confronting the Chancellor, Annie Kenney who with body or brain would face without flinching the difficulties and perils of any situation.

And of Mrs. Drummond herself, what more need one say except that she was the General at the General’s very best? But I cannot leave it at that, because I am really haunted by her wonderful management of the deputation, her good-natured wit, her finesse, which many a statesman might well envy, and the genius of her temperament, which gives her a free pass into any camp, however hostile. Mr. Lloyd George in complimenting her and commenting on her was obviously using the language of sincerity. One could not help reflecting what a sad pity and a wasted chance it has been that he and his colleagues have not allowed themselves until now, at the eleventh hour, the opportunity of meeting face to face in frank but friendly council the women of the W.S.P.U., whose personalities have hitherto been unknown quantities to the members of the Government.

Well, these so-called statesmen have now shown that they prefer war to peace. But at least they know now, direct from this deputation, that the working women are determined to have their grievances remedied without delay, and have risen up in their numbers to form a solid phalanx against which all the opposing forces must inevitably hurl themselves in vain.

When the public deputation was over it was decided that we should ask Mr. Lloyd George to receive Mrs. Drummond. We knew he would not receive me if he could help it! Mr. Lloyd George consented to see her, but I went too, to act as spokeswoman, she supporting me.

I first went to Boulogne to get my instructions. Christabel I knew would go through the whole Parliamentary procedure and explain what the effect of the Government proposals would be. Then she would explain what they ought to do, following her arguments up with illustrations. She did, and when she had finished I had got a very clear idea of the conversation which would take place in Downing Street between Mr. Lloyd George and myself. I almost heard every word that would be uttered. In that way I got my replies ready before I started on my journey! The one point which I could not decide was this: Would it be wise to let Mr. Lloyd George say all he had to say first, or would it be wiser to say all I had to say and let him reply to me? The success of the whole deputation revolved round that point. My mind worked like this: “If I let Mr. Lloyd George have the first say he will commit himself before hearing what our point of view is.” This seemed to me to be unwise. I had heard of his pride; I had heard of his quickness in grasping any and every idea brought forward by others. I had been told that he was vain. I thought, “If all these things are true, why let him commit himself before knowing exactly where our party stands on this question?” The second course seemed the wisest to take. If I put forward our ideas, making clear our claims and proving the practicality of such claims, and the wisdom of our demands, I might bring forward ideas that he had never thought of in connection with the question of Woman’s Suffrage. These ideas that I always got before venturing on a new course Christabel always left me to work out for myself. I can see us now, Christabel and me, and the boat standing at the landing stage; my thoughts not on the arguments I had to use, but concentrated on a far more important point to me, which was, “Who shall enter the fray first?” I knew the decision when I arrived at Downing Street would rest with me. There are certain things in life one knows, and this was one of them.

Another point in my favour was that we understood Mr. Lloyd George’s strength and also his weakness.

Mr. Lloyd George did not know anything whatever of my make-up, as he had never met me, and I had no political past on which he could meditate and form conclusions. My instinct or intuition said, “Give him a chance to listen to your claims,” and my reason then explained to me the wisdom of this action.

I met Mrs. Drummond, and we went to Downing Street together. My word of advice to her was, “Say nothing until the end of the interview, as we shall want all our wits about us to compete with the quick-witted, intuitive person we have to meet.” I was interested in the interview and looked forward to meeting Mr. Lloyd George.

When we arrived we were greeted with amiability. We had tea with the family. Mrs. Lloyd George was kind and courteous, but very much against the Militants. I was glad when the tea was over. I felt I was playing a part, and I did not wish to give anything away at the tea-table. My ammunition was for the real fight. I saw in Mr. Lloyd George a man I had to be on my guard against until our position was made clear. Once acquainted, the more honest, the more straight, the more downright, the better.

After tea, Mr. Lloyd George, Mrs. Drummond and I adjourned to another room. The one thing I remember about this room was a big roaring fire. I sat in a chair for a few minutes, but I was not comfortable. This put me at a disadvantage in argument, so I sat on a stool and felt very comfortable and cosy.

I can always argue better and also listen with more deep attention when I am wearing neither hat nor gloves. This free-and-easy way did not offend Mr. Lloyd George, and he asked me to have a cigarette, which I refused.

Once I felt firmly seated in my saddle, as it were, I started the conversation by asking him if I might be allowed to state our case and explain the reason of our distrust and dissatisfaction with the public interview. His reply was, “ Decidedly.” I went into the whole details of the dangers of a private Member’s Bill, a private Member’s Amendment, in fact all the paraphernalia of Parliamentary procedure, and told him why the Government ought to take responsibility for the Bill. He understood as well as we did the necessity of the course we wished to adopt to ensure success.

When I had spoken my Brief, making it as short as possible, it was summed up in two sentences :—

A Government Bill, which meant security.

A Private Bill, which meant delay, and finally defeat.

His reply from beginning to end was an evasion of these two points.

The interview ended in our standing by the fire, hurling questions at each other with hashing eyes and hot cheeks. I asked if he would leave an “open door,” so that we could return after having reported to Christabel his points against our demands, and he promised that he would see us again. We rushed to the station, caught the night train and boat, saw Christabel, talked all night, caught the early boat and train to London the following day, and put in another appearance at Downing Street.

We had only been in the hall a few minutes when we saw him come rushing down the stairs. He gave us a hearty welcome. “Guess who is upstairs?” he said. We could not. “Mrs. Fawcett,” he replied, and I saw the twinkle in his eye which said, “I’ve convinced her all right.” “Look here,” I said, “you may have talked Mrs. Fawcett over, don’t try those tricks on us, please. We shall see through the whole thing too clearly.” That sentence brought about a lower vibration between us immediately, and we were more formal than on the first occasion. From the first we argued and accused, and accused and denied, and denied and challenged, and we ended up by letting off mental fireworks that almost blew the roof off our heads. When we left we had arrived nowhere, but both parties knew that neither would meet the other again on such heated ground.

In spite of our useless interview, I liked Mr. Lloyd George. I could not help it. He seemed to me to be a man with two distinct personalities. Primarily, he is a born modern statesman, a lawyer and a man of the people. He has the keen, penetrating eye that reads the unexpressed thoughts of others; he understands the weakness of human nature and manipulates it to his own ends. His keen sense of humour sidetracks many a serious situation. He understands politics so well that political problems are solved almost instinctively by him. He has a way of picking the essentials from an argument and never burdening his brain with superfluities. He is democratic in so far that he is not snobbish. In such a wily way does his brain work that he sees not one way, but hundreds of ways, of getting out of a tangle. Politics as run to-day tend to develop a subtle deceptiveness and evasion, and blur the vision. Keen, quick-witted, free and easy with opponents, vital, enthusiastic and ambitious, these qualities placed Mr. Lloyd George at the head of the Mother Government of our Great Empire. His tenacity gave him the power to hold on where Clemenceau, Venizelos, and others were over-thrown. One great point that kept him enthroned was his love of simple pleasures and recreations. He was surrounded by people who did not take life too seriously, who loved fun and could enjoy a bit of gossip and laugh at other fools in the world. His simple home-life saved him, in spite of all political intrigues, deception, and struggle for supremacy that was part of political life.

There is another Mr. Lloyd George, another man who is an artist in so far that he at times reaches the heavens and responds to the soul of Nature. He can respond to the vital soul of life. At brief periods he understands the meaning of the words — Immortal, Eternal.

Mr. Lloyd George, I felt, had at some time experienced a communion with his higher self, and I said on my return, “That man could rise to any height in heaven or fall to the lowest depths of hell — ^he marvel is that he keeps a fine balance.” I am sure that if he were talking confidentially he could give one a good description of both places, having mentally gone through purgatory and consciously experienced the joys of the Celestial City.

I saw quite a lot of Mr. Lloyd George during the war, but my first impressions have remained unchanged.

If I had not met the Ministers privately I should have met them publicly. There is scarcely a politician on the Liberal side whose meetings I have not broken up. The way we broke up meetings was quite clever. We secured tickets, and when the speaker arrived at a sentence beginning with “Liberty,” “Freedom,” “Equality,” “Fraternity ” — all Liberal catchwords — we rose in a body and made some such remark as, “Liberty for women, please! ”The word “Liberty” pleased the audience, but the word “women ” seldom did. The Liberal stewards very soon showed us how they interpreted the word “ Freedom.” I admit there was no other way of securing a quiet meeting.

If we could secure fifty tickets, all the better. We waited our turn. The result was that the speaker’s turn to speak was rare. As we were noted for our eloquence we made little short speeches in the time allowed before we felt the cool fresh air once more.

One of the most successful meetings, from our point of view, was the Colston Hall meeting in Bristol. Mr. Birrell was to address a great meeting. We decided to hide in the famous organ. There was a concert the night previous. Two Suffragettes not known in Bristol attended the concert, and when it was over went to the ladies’ cloakroom and hid themselves. The watchman came on his round but discovered no one. Then the Suffragettes did their rounds with the aid of a flash lamp. The only suitable hiding-place near the platform they could find was inside the organ! They discovered a splendid seat on some scaffolding, and so they prepared. They slept by turns during the night, and when dawn came they breakfasted on a bar of chocolate, an apple, and a roll. Morning arrived, and with it the charwomen all joking about the Suffragettes. They searched every crevice, except of course the one where the Suffragettes were hidden. Then there was a real search by men in the afternoon, and they heard the sigh of relief, “No Suffragettes.”

The great hall soon filled. The organ started.

The noise, the wind, the vibration nearly knocked the Suffragettes off their high perch.

Louder the organ pealed, greater became the excitement of the two extra human pipes attached to it. The vast audience cheered as leading politicians came on the platform.

At last the Minister started his oration. He was getting on famously and was in the middle of one of his most telling sentences when suddenly there resounded through the hall a shrill voice, “Votes for Women! Give women their political freedom.”

You can picture the consternation! Where in the world were those women? The audience looked to the ceiling as though they thought anything was possible. Stewards scampered here, there, and everywhere. The Suffragettes from their hiding-place watched and enjoyed the scene through chinks in the organ. Things settled down. No Suffragette could be found anywhere and the Minister resumed. He was labouring a point about “Liberty.” “Why don’t you give women liberty, then?” suddenly came the same shrill voice. Then there was a scuffle. The audience was convulsed at the predicament of the stewards. The Suffragettes were in the organ.

But how could they reach them? The hall was in an uproar. Everybody suggested ways and means to everybody else. They got a ladder. but by the time they got the ladder to one place the Suffragettes had scrambled to the other side, making speeches all the time.

After long and strenuous efforts they were captured and cast into the street. The night and day spent in the organ had, however, served its purpose.

We repeated the organ episode on the occasion of Mr. Hobhouse’s visit to Bristol. Incredible as it may seem, the women succeeded once again in getting into the hall. There was a gathering of women in the afternoon, employed cutting up sandwiches for a party that was to be held the night previous to the meeting. Two of our women, one of them being the same that got into the organ on the first occasion, went as friends of one of the local women and helped in cutting up sandwiches.

They concealed themselves in the hall, and when night came went to their place of hiding. This time they found the door of the organ locked, a special lock and key having been put on. They climbed over the top and soon found themselves in the old nest. On looking round they found that electric globes had been put inside, so that the whole organ could be lit up if required.

The meeting started. Mr. Hobhouse spoke for a few minutes, then the clarion voice rang out, “Votes for Women!”

The stewards rushed to the organ door, but the women had manipulated the catch inside to keep the intruders out!

Much to the amusement of the audience, the poor stewards couldn’t climb over the top very easily, and the audience literally shook with laughter at their efforts. At last ladders were brought. The stewards climbed up and turned on the lights of the organ and saw the hidden ones. But, alas! the organ door was found too firmly fastened.

It was like a game of hide-and-seek. The Suffragettes were like eels. At last, after numerous stewards had gone boldly over the top, they caught the two rebels, and hauled them up one ladder inside and down another ladder outside on to the stage, the women talking all the time.

The shouts and cheering and laughter of the audience were enough to break up any meeting. There were the stewards with white suits and black shirts! The dust had played havoc with their clothes. The Suffragettes, shoeless, with hair down, elated with their success, looking merry and bright; they had had a good innings and made a fiasco of the meeting for the poor Minister.

The Government made the next move. They prevented women going to meetings unless they were accompanied by two men, not as a protection to the women but to the Cabinet Minister!

Our next move was made in the middle of the night. If humanly possible, we climbed to the roof of the building where the meeting was to be held next day. We occupied positions that the cleverest cat climber in the country would envy. How we did it, it is now impossible to say. From the roof we made our protest. It created such a stir outside the hall that the people inside were disturbed by the whisthng, the booing, the cheers and counter-cheers of the great assembly collected below, watching the performance of the agile Suffragettes, who at any moment might be dashed to the ground. But we were secure in our heights.

The next move was to track Cabinet Ministers to their private homes. We succeeded in capturing them nine times out of ten. Poor Cabinet Ministers, what they suffered through false pride!

It was rumoured that the Prime Minister was going to Clovelly, and rumour was right. He motored half the way to escape Suffragettes, but, alas! on the Sunday when he got safely seated in the church, he saw three women facing him, and who of course could have such looks of determination but Suffragettes.

To the Suffragettes the Psalms seemed so appropriate, as there were Suffragette women in prison. One line in the Psalm ran, “He bringeth the prisoners out of captivity.” Mrs. Asquith saw them first and passed a note to Mr. Asquith. Immediately the service was over he hurried, very flustered and nervous, out of the side door, but the Suffragettes just caught him neatly before he got to the small path leading towards Clovelly Court. They asked for a short interview. “Not a second will I give you,” repHed the Minister. The Suffragettes said : “If you won’t listen willhigly, we shall have to force you.” He said: “I will not listen to yoU.” He hurried along, the women with him. Once at home, he hastened inside and closed the door quickly.

The following day the three women renewed their attack. They went back to Clovelly Court and hid among the bushes and trees. The detectives and police found them and moved them on. But they meant to again capture Mr. Asquith and not be beaten by his detectives, so they escaped by climbing over rocks and scrambling over cliffs. They emerged in about an hour and made for the golf course before anyone could get at them. They tried to get to Mr. Asquith and called out to him not to be a coward, but he called for the police and ordered them to be sent away. He was so unstrung and nervy that afterwards the ball always went in the wrong direction, which was a pity when he had gone to have a fine game of golf.

The Suffragettes were still unsatisfied. They found that wherever they went they were followed by detectives, so they hit on a fine plan. They packed their luggage and drove away to Bideford, twelve miles distant. They deposited their luggage at the station and immediately started to walk back the twelve miles, and arrived at Clovelly Court in the small horns of the morning. They had got the whole plan of the grounds and Court. They took with them hundreds of small discs of paper with “Votes for Women” written on them. It was about 2 a.m. when they arrived at the Court. The rhododendron and other bushes were all decorated with “Votes for Women” mottoes, and the front page of the Suffragette paper Votes for Women. They made a little banner from all their handkerchiefs and painted it from a small box of paints bought in the village. When their work was finished they started their twelve miles tramp back, as other work was awaiting them in another part of the country. The following appeared in a London paper :—

    In church he sat with contrite air And sweet stained-glass emotions, And chastened mood ; A halo fluttered o’er his hair And lightened his devotions.  He felt quite good.

    He passed outside with stately stride.  When (exit exaltation) Those women stood, Importunate!  The sanctifled are burned with indignation, They were so rude.




    “My breakfast, lunch, and dinner too,” He said, “bring indigestion.  I cannot sleep.  In fact, life wears a sultry hue Since first this deuced question Made my flesh creep.

    “My nerves, thanks to your most abrupt Unwomanly gyrations, Are far from strong.  Women, how dare you interrupt My pious meditations?  It’s wrong.”

The poetry was never good poetry, but it all brought the question home and kept the Press occupied (to us) with something worth recording.

It was discovered that Mr. Asquith would be going to Lympne. The three Suffragettes that had caught him at Clovelly were chosen to track him to Lympne. One of them disguised as a nurse. Knowing that Mr. Asquith would attend church, they decided to wait until church service was over before approaching him. When he came from the church he was making his way to a small door that led to Lympne Castle. He just missed slipping through the door in time, for the Suffragettes had caught him. He struggled and the door was narrow; he got wedged in. There was quite a struggle, his hat got knocked off in the fray, and he looked afraid and most disturbed. Both his dignity and his hat disappeared at the same time. Some one came to his rescue and dragged him through, and the door was shut.

The Suffragettes, more by instinct than any information they had received, decided to walk to a small seaside village, Littlestone-on-Sea. They arrived at the golf links and stationed themselves near the entrance, so that they could watch the people leaving. Among the last to go were Mr. Asquith and Mr. Gladstone. Mr. Asquith’s car was near, and when they saw him making his way down the path one of the Suffragettes make a dart ; he saw her and tried to run, but he was not so nimble as his opponents, and she caught him. He threatened to have her locked up; his hat was knocked off again and he cried for help. Lord Herbert Gladstone (then Mr. Gladstone) came to the rescue, the two Ministers trying to push the Suffragettes down the steps of the clubhouse where the struggle was then taking place, and the Suffragettes push- ing back as hard as possible. Two other men came and rescued the Minister, who fled in the car.

In the evening the three women made a further attack on the Castle. They managed by much climbing and crawling and scrambling to get right up to the Castle, under the window where Mr. Asquith and the party at Lympne Castle were at dinner. One woman was hoisted on to the window-sill and reported that all was serene. Every one inside was happy and laughing. She was hoisted up a second time. She put her head through the half-open window and shouted.

“Mr. Asquith, when are you going to give us the Vote?” They then threw some gravel on the windows, which sounded like stones. They heard feet approaching and they scampered away and gradually climbed down to the place where they had a boat waiting, and rowed away as fast as they could. The police station was rung up; every one was in search. No Suffragettes could be found. The people never suspected a nurse and two quiet, studious-looking young ladies to be Suffragettes, and when the Suffragettes heard that Mr. Asquith had left Lympne, they left the district also.

The following verse appeared in the Press : —

    Mr. Asquith reposing at Lympne Runs risks that are ghastly and grympne, But he hears not the din Of remote Clement’s Inn, Suffragettes have no terrors for Hympne!

None of these methods being extreme enough decided the Suffragettes to adopt more militant ones and see whether by more extreme militancy Ministers would listen to our cry and grant us the Vote.

When things became more serious and extreme methods were adopted, we collected stores of combustibles on the quiet and hid them until the day arrived when they could be put to further use. I was thankful when the burning days were over. I felt they were necessary, but I was never quite happy about them, and I do not think Mrs. Pankhurst ever felt so comfortable about this phase of militancy as she did about the milder forms.

The Militant Movement was a sign, if a sign was necessary, that we as a people are not of a revolutionary nature. The majority of the people of the country did not believe in militant methods, and as these were the only methods to which the Press gave prominence, who can blame the constitutionally constructed mentality of the British public for expressing its hostility to the Militant Suffragettes? The marvel is that we won the people over as we did at all our meetings.

We had many men supporters, men of fine character, whose devotion was admirable. The real militants among them formed a “Men’s Political Union” and went with us through storm and calm. They were thrown out of meetings, went to prison, some of them were forcibly fed; they helped in our processions, spoke at meetings, worked in our secret organization, and all of them sacrificed their business or professions for us.

Among men who played a prominent part in our fight were Mr. Victor Duval, Mr. Frank Rutter (the art critic), Mr. Hugh Franklin, Mr. E. G. Clayton, Mr. Herbert Goulden, Mr. Charles Pantlin. Captain Gonne. They risked their all in the Women’s Cause; they were sincere and honest and would have given their lives, if need be.

There was another section, among whom were Mr. George Lansbury and Mr. Henry Harben, and yet another, comprising men who spoke for us at any time, at all times, and were a great asset to the Movement — Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, Lord Lytton, Mr. Israel Zangwill, Mr. Henry Nevinson, Mr. Brailsford (the leader-writer), Mr. Sydney Valentine, Mr. John Masefield, Mr. Laurence Housman, Professor H. W. Bickerton, Mr. Baillie Weaver, and many others. Then we had two doctors who saved our lives time after time, and who charged nothing for so doing — Dr. Hugh Fenton and Dr. Moxon.

• CHAPTER XXIV

THE REFORM BILL — THE WOMEN TRICKED — CAT AND MOUSE ACT — ALBERT HALL MEETING — £16,000 RAISED — ARRESTED — MAIDSTONE PRISON

The Reform Bill, which was to have a Suffrage Amendment tacked on to it, and which we had been told would decidedly give us the vote, was withdrawn. So once again Parliament failed in its promise. From this day, January 27th, 1913, increased arson was the policy of the Union. Fires everywhere, long sentences, hunger-strikes, forcible feeding. We were no longer the happy, joking crowd we had been in earlier days. I felt the responsibilities far more heavily every day, and my visits to Paris were no longer a joy but a drag and a dread. On each journey I expected arrest, and on each return I expected a raid. Mrs. Pankhurst in her speeches accepted all responsibility for Militancy except the taking of life. She was arrested on February 24th.

This was a sign to me to be ready. The Government were at their wits’ end as to what to do. Women who had been sentenced to five years’ imprisonment were being released in five days.

Mr. McKenna, the Home Secretary, brought in a Bill, the “Prisoners Temporary Discharge for Ill Health Bill,” which we named the “Cat and Mouse Bill.” The Government was the Cat, we were the Mice. The time spent by the Commons discussing the Bill, should have been given to discussing a Bill to enfranchise women. Why was this not done? Many are the reasons underlying the opposition. It could not be because we were militant, as we had lived under a truce for months, which was a proof that we only reverted to Militancy when all else failed. If Lord Northcliffe had removed the opposition of his press, and Mr. Lloyd George had threatened resignation, I think those two men could have won the vote for women. But we had fought Mr. Lloyd George and he was angry with us. We had never met Lord Northcliffe, and he did not understand us.

So the fight had to continue. The “Cat and Mouse Act” was passed. In less than one month Parliament had found time to pass it; it had received the Royal Assent and had become an Act of Parliament.

From that time to the declaration of War we were evading Scotland Yard detectives, and Cabinet Ministers were evading us. Mrs. Pankhurst’s trial at the Old Bailey hurried the Bill through. The counts against her were many, the chief one being that of inciting people to bum Mr. Lloyd George’s house at Walton Heath. The sentence passed was three years’ penal servitude. She resorted to the hunger strike, and, later on, to a thirst strike. She was kept in prison nine days, when the authorities had to release her. Mrs. Pankhurst was not forcibly fed because she had not only private friends to plead her case, but the whole Movement would have been one flame had the authorities resorted to forcible feeding. The “Cat and Mouse Act” had not at that time received Royal Assent, but they let her out on a ticket-of-leave and it is interesting to note that the Act received Royal Assent three days before her licence expired.

I was the first to come under the Bill. We had worked hard to raise a good round sum as a proof of our determination, and also to show that we were as strong as ever financially if not in other ways. I had got a promise of £2,000 from one person, £1,000 from another, and of £500 from many more. I never saw people who gave less than £100, as I felt others could do that work. I got a good reputation for money-raising.

The Albert Hall meeting was advertised for the 10th of July, but on April 8th, while busy at work, the door of my office opened and two Scotland Yard men were before me with a warrant for my arrest. I must admit that if anyone had asked for arrest I had, with my inflammatory speeches and my visits to Paris to discuss work, which was composed at that time chiefly of Militancy and the raising of money to carry on the Militant fight.

I was taken to Bow Street and had to answer a charge of inciting to riot, etc. I was allowed bail as I promised to be good until my trial.

I attended the Albert Hall meeting, sitting in the dress circle. I enjoyed being one of the spectators immensely. Mrs. Drummond took the chair. Mr. Lansbury spoke. The money raised was £15,000. A record. What did I care about Bow Street, or magistrates, or prosecuting council or prison? Was not Grace Roe ready to step into my shoes? Were not the staff loyal and was there not £15,000 in the bank?

Mr. Lansbury had been swept away with righteous indignation at our treatment, and Mrs. Drummond had indulged in some good plain talk, so within a week they also had writs served on them, though they were allowed out on bail.

I sped to Paris to see Christabel and to get my instructions for the trial. Before leaving her I had a very strong presentiment that I should be again captured on my way home. I was taking all instructions to Grace Roe, and enough work, as usual, to last a year, but which of course had to be got through in a week. A friend happened to be in Paris who was returning by the same train. She kindly promised to take charge of my dispatch-case all the way. Should she scent danger, she said, she would deliver it into the hands of Grace Roe without fail. Fortunately for me this was arranged. I disguised myself and went by the midnight boat, hoping not to be so easily detected by the sharp piercing eyes of Scotland Yard. To my horror when I arrived at the gangway I saw that each passenger was being questioned. When it came to my turn I was asked one question, “First or Third?” My reply gave me away. I saw one of the detectives give the faintest glance at the other.

I was travelling as Miss James. When we arrived at Folkestone I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Well, Miss James, how are you?” I turned round, knowing who was speaking. So I laughed. “We know you as Miss Kenney. We have a second warrant.”

We had a nice journey, and chatted quite freely all the way. I arrived at the police-station and tea was found me, and every possible comfort. I was searched, but not so much as an address was on me — they were all safely lodged at Lincoln’s Inn with Miss Roe, so that was all right.

When I arrived at the court I found not only Mrs. Drummond, but Miss Kerr, Mrs. Sanders, Miss Rachel Barrett, Miss Lennox. Fortunately for us, neither Grace Roe nor my sister Jessie were caught. The printers were raided, our paper. The Suffragette, captured. Every one who printed The Suffragette for months afterwards was arrested. It became so grave that no printer would accept the responsibility, so the printing, the type, etc., had to be used in a cellar belonging to one of our most faithful members. We became printers as well as fighters.

Mr. Lansbury’s trial was taken quite separately to ours. He was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. He adopted the hunger-strike, but owing to the great support he received among his friends in the House, was not tracked by the Cat as I was, when it became my turn to visit gaol once more.

The following day another arrest was made, that of Mr. Clayton. My sister Jessie and I always felt very sad about this. Some papers he had sent to her were laid aside in a moment of illness. They were found at our private flat and were the cause of his arrest. Let me say here that to me Mr. Clayton stands out before all men for loyalty, chivalry, faithfulness, and abounding generosity of action. He never uttered one word of reproach, nor one word of condemnation. These are the fine spirits of the world, whose nobility of character is so little understood, and so undervalued.

The trial at Bow Street was most amusing. We laughed all the time. If we had not something funny to say to each other, the evidence brought against us gave us cause for merriment. Christabel’s letters, which could not be read because of the tumbling of one word over another, were a constant source of amusement to me, who knew every letter and understood the meaning of every dash. Mr. Arthur Marshall, that faithful friend of ours, was our counsel. Mr. Bodkin (now Sir Archibald Bodkin), prosecuted.

Heads have always interested me, and those who have seen Mr. Bodkin’s will have noticed that his head is exactly the shape of an egg, large part upward. At times I was quite lost as to what was going on around me, I was so taken up with the shape of Mr. Bodkin’s head, noticing how his eyes were placed, and whether his ears were low down or high up. I have a bad habit of getting fixed as it were. I do not intend to be rude, but I seem to see right inside a person and almost watch their thoughts forming. I cannot quite explain this process, and yet it is quite clear to me what they are made up of. I mean their chief characteristics. It is quite spontaneous — if I try to do it something closes and all is sealed.

One morning I got fixed on Mr. Bodkin; something that I saw unexpressed in him amused me. I gazed and gazed, and I suppose I must have been smiling at him as though he were my best friend and not prosecuting counsel for the Crown. I was lost in a dream, when suddenly I heard Mr. Marshall’s voice: “Miss Kenney, Mr. Bodkin asks me to inform you that he does not appreciate your constant stare!”

I looked at Mr. Bodkin, his face was hot and red, and he and the magistrate were having words about me. I grew indignant. The Suffragette prisoners grew more hilarious every moment. They enjoyed the joke immensely. The court broke up soon after for the day, Mr. Bodkin to get over my stare, and I to solve my problem about his head.

At the end of the Bow Street proceedings we were all committed for trial at the Old Bailey, and on June 9th, 1913, I became a lawyer. I conducted my own defence, not because I wanted to, but because Christabel said it was necessary for one of us to defend herself. I knew what her idea was. I had to insist on practically all political articles in the paper being read, to convert the jury, to cross-examine on those points only which would give a hit at the Government, and, in fact, to make myself a nuisance to prosecuting counsel, in which, as they would admit, I did my best. Then I had to make a long speech, lasting for hours maybe, and at the end, a protest. That summed up my trial.

We never, never, took these trials seriously. They were just part of our propaganda.

After my speech, the Solicitor-General, in summing up his case to the jury, spoke of it as being “powerful and inspired by deep feeling.” I did not feel he really meant that, but he gave me the impression that he felt the jury had been impressed, and that he did not wish them to think him prejudiced, but rather to think that he was one of those who “give credit where credit is due.”

All through the trial I had to make the greatest effort not to dissect the heads of those against us.

We were all found guilty. My guilt lay chiefly in making inflammatory speeches, which I had decidedly done, but the interesting and rather amusing thing about them was that they were copies of speeches made by Lord Willoughby de Broke and Sir Edward Carson, only I had changed “Irish ” to “Women,” etc. I cross-examined the detective with great gusto over one speech that was read out, asking him if he considered such a speech merited arrest. “ Certainly,” was the reply. “ Then,” I said, “issue a warrant for the arrest of Sir Edward Carson, for the speech is his, the alterations alone being mine!”

I was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. It would have taken me three years of my life to complete it if I had stayed there. Judge Phillimore, when giving the sentence, remarked that if we went on hunger-strike and the Home Office appealed to him, he should refuse facilities for release. My last speech was, “You have sentenced me to three years. I promise you I shall be out in three days!”

Prison! It was not prison for me. Hunger strikes! They had no fears for me. Cat and Mouse Act! I could have laughed. Could I not rest there and be at peace? A prison cell was quiet — no telephone, no paper, no speeches, no sea-sickness, no sleepless nights. I could lie on my plank bed all day and all night and return once more to my day-dreams. These would lead me to other countries and give me all the joys, pleasures, and excitement that any human person could ask or pray for. I rather looked forward to this brief three days that I should spend in prison.

When I arrived downstairs where the cells were, I noticed the Governor from Holloway. I always did forget that people were enemies, so I rushed up to him. “Good morning. Governor! What are you doing here ?” “Oh, I have

brought your favourite wardress to look after you.” “Thanks. I have always wanted to experience being a lady with a maid!” I told him I had got three years, as though he would be interested in the news. But he seemed to have heard it already.

I was then shut in the cell, and I sang all the old hymns that we used to sing at the Sunday School. I felt as though instead of having sentenced me to imprisonment the judge had given me my release from the burdens that had nearly snapped my body. So I sang as though I had gained ray liberty.

After a short time the cell door was unlocked and there I saw my favourite wardress. I wanted to hug her, but I knew she would be censured for my rash act, so I refrained. Another wardress, unknown to me, was with her. I was put in a taxi. I noticed a man in plain clothes sitting beside the driver. We had been going a long way when I realized that we were not in London. I demanded to know where we were. So the sealed papers were broken and it was discovered that our destination was Maidstone Prison. It was a glorious night, there was a high moon, and I saw fields and fields of ripe corn. The breeze was faint and the whole earth seemed beautiful. Had I been going on a holiday I could not have felt a greater relief. I could sit down and not have to think of anything. I have a habit of closing down certain sections of my brain when other sections are open. I had done all I could! I had done my best, the only thing was the work in hand, which seemed play to me after the strenuous times I had had.

The taxi broke down, for which I was thankful, and we only arrived at the picturesque Maidstone Prison at midnight. Every one had retired. We nearly pulled the old rusty bell down with our vigorous ringing. We were a merry little group and looked more like trippers going home after a good day at Brighton or Blackpool than two wardresses with a prisoner under a heavy sentence.

The matron opened the door and tried to look matronly, but I shook hands with her and told her not to be frightened, that I was only small and not at all bad once she knew me. I was shown into my cell and supper was brought, but there was to be no supper for me. For one thing I had insisted on having a feed during the breakdown. I told the wardresses they were my maids and that they must do as they were told or I would dismiss them. So for peace’ sake we had dined.

The following day I had as my visitors the matron, the Governor, the doctor, the clergyman, and a visiting magistrate. They all asked me to eat or drink, but nothing would tempt me. The matron, the doctor and I became good friends. We had a lot of fun, and I told them all about the fight. The doctor was ever so kind and did his best to persuade me to have fruit, but fruit was no use to me. “I must be out in three days, doctor, or I’ll die on your hands!” And the good doctor did not want a death.

In three days the gates were opened. The prisoner sat in her carriage. Another carriage passed at the same moment and who should be sitting in it but Judge Phillimore. So the promise I gave the judge was fulfilled. I was a little feverish. I stayed one day in the hotel at Maidstone and then returned to London by ambulance. The local doctor demanded this. I may have been more ill than I thought. I was still very tired. Mrs. Brackenbury, that beautiful character, who went to prison at seventy years of age, the wife of the late General Brackenbury, lent us her house at 2 Campden Hill Square. We called it “Mouse Castle.” All the Mice went there from all prisons and were nursed back to health and prepared for further danger work. This was to be my home for quite a long time.