CHAPTER XIII
THE FIRST WOMEN’S PARLIAMENT — CLOGS AND SHAWLS COME TO LONDON — ARISTOCRACY JOINS THE MOVEMENT — MY FIRST VISIT ABROAD
Nineteen hundred and seven was a red-letter year for me. In this year the first Women’s Parliament was held. We called it the Women’s Parliament, though the only thing discussed was Votes for Women, and the only thing demanded was Militancy.
Instead of having to repeat the same stale statements on every page, I should like to say that every year, sometimes more than once a year, individual members introduced a Bill, a Resolution, or an Amendment, on Votes for Women. The same play was enacted each time, the actors alone being changed. The same arguments were used by the 1907 politicians as those used by the 1883 politicians. The arguments were like the style of men’s clothes, practically unchangeable. One man said women ought not to have the Vote under the said Bill, Amendment, or Resolution, because the “cream of their sex would be left out,” the married women. Another Member said that women ought not to have the Vote as it would mean married women getting it. Whether the Member was a lawyer, a logician, or a philosopher, all his learning seemed to be forgotten once he entered the fray against women having votes. “Illogical” was the only word that could be used when the debate was over, and yet on meeting these same men in private life it was amazing how astute, logical, and philosophic they were when discussing other political questions.
These debates were useful to us. They kept the question before the public. This cleared the way for the Militants, being a constant proof that constitutional means were ignored.
The Women’s Parhament sat, and after many fiery speeches it was decided to march on Parliament. Mrs. Despard, a born democrat and a veteran of the Social Democratic Party, led the deputation. Arrests were many, but so successful was it from our point of view that another was arranged for March 20th.
The idea was to get the Lancashire and Yorkshire factory women to come to London in clogs and shawls and march on Parhament. We are all interested in the thing we do not possess! Mystery is always attractive. The West End is attracted by the customs of the East End, and the East End by the West End. The aristocrat delights in renting a small cottage, and the democrat in being possessed of a mansion. So clogs and shawl would attract not only the public but Parliamentarians, who, like all people, look forward to a change.
Adela Pankhurst and I were sent off as recruiting sergeants, our territory being Lancashire and Yorkshire. We had a wet, wild and stormy campaign. Not only was the weather stormy but the tempers of some of the men whose wives we had coaxed or convinced into giving in their names for the deputation were stormy too. We told them it meant arrest. I am afraid I was too frank and open about this, but I knew the lives of those hard-working Lancashire women, and I alone fully realized the great sacrifices we were asking them to make.
The wildest parts of the Yorkshire and Lancashire moorlands were the parts from which we received most recruits. This was owing to the women being versed in Labour politics. Many, many are the happy evenings I have spent in some lonely cottage on the edge of the moors, not many miles from the famous “Wuthering Heights.” The wife would have returned from her mill-work, having tramped miles during the day, the husband would also be at home. Tea would be served, hot muffins, tea-cake, sometimes cold ham, and a real good pot of tea. The fire would have been lit by a good-hearted neighbour, and the hearth cleaned. The lamp would be burning, and we would talk about politics. Labour questions, Emerson, Ruskin, Edward Carpenter, right into the night. None of these conversations ended without thanks for Blatchford and Hardie. The sense of companionship that creeps around one, sitting in front of a rosy fire with kind people; is beautiful. When I retired I would listen to the wind whistling and howling over the moorland, and live all over again that world-read romance Wuthering Heights. Many were the nights in prison when I would in imagination go to those moors, look up at an ever-floating, foamy, cloudy sky, and smell the rich earth, and the bracken and wild heather. Thoughts of the moorland always bring tranquillity to my mind, and it always means the regaining of faith to me. They fan dying hope back to a bright flame. Only those who have lived among the moors, tramped them in summer and tramped them in snow-storms and hurricanes of wind; can understand the solace the aching heart can gain by relaxing and stilling the mind, and listening to the faint breeze caressing each brittle stalk of heather.
No deputation that I helped to work up gave me such supreme joy, satisfaction and happiness as did the deputation of March 20th, 1907.
The day arrived. There were some fiery speeches. The same indignation burned in our hearts. The fervour of Christabel was enough to consume us. I often thought of the scriptural teaching, “The zeal of Thy house hath eaten me up.”
The Viscountess Harberton led the deputation and it had not proceeded very far from Caxton Hall before a great body of police formed a barrier to prevent the women carrying their petition to the House of Commons. We had arranged that a number of the women from the Lancashire and Yorkshire cotton factories should make an effort to approach the House in a wagonette, pretending to be sight-seers, but, alas! on reaching the Strangers’ Entrance they were suspected by the police on duty and beaten back with the rest of the crowd.
The struggle went on during the whole afternoon and evening. Extra police were called up and the fight soon became a very grave one. Many of the women were seriously injured and arrests were far more numerous than on previous occasions. Many celebrated women were among those who found themselves in a prison cell before the day was over.
Soon afterwards I went on my first travels abroad. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence took Christabel, Mary Gawthorpe and me to Bordighera. My excitement was enough to put me to bed in a high fever. I was ready hours before I ought to have been.
The train to Folkestone alone was exciting. I enjoyed the boat. I did not feel a bit sick, and the journey from Boulogne to Paris I shall never forget. I was in France, in another country!
BRITAIN
must make no treaty with
ITALY
No Pact, agreement or ‘”accord”
Mussolini’s Italy cannot be trusted
Here are the treaties voluntarily signed by Italy and violated in the Abyssinian War 1935-1936 : —
- Treaty of 1906 between France, Italy and Britain guaranteeing the integrity of Abyssinia.
- The Covenant of the League of Nations (1919).
- Convention against the use of poison gas in warfare (1925).
- The Kellogg Pact (1928) renouncing war as an instrument of national policy.
- The Italo-Ethiopian Treaty of 1928, for establishing constant peace and perpetual friendship.
- The Convention of the American States (1933)
against the acquisition of territory by force, to which Italy adhered on the 14th March,
A pamphlet containing the above treaties is published by the Abyssinia Association, 144, Grand Buildings, Trafalgar Sq. W.C.2, price 3d. (post free 3id.) Telephone Whitehall 2201, Extension 8.
BRITAIN
must make no treaty with
ITALY
No Pact, agreement or “accord’*
Mussolini’s Italy cannot be trusted
Here are the treaties voluntarily signed by Italy and violated in the Abyssinian War 1935-1936 : —
- Treaty of 1906 between France, Italy and
Britain guaranteeing the integrity of Abyssinia. - The Covenant of the League of Nations (1919).
- Convention against the use of poison gas in
warfare (1925). - The Kellogg Pact (1928) renouncing war as an
instrument of national policy. - The Italo-Ethiopian Treaty of 1928, for
establishing constant peace and perpetual friendship. - The Convention of the American States (1933)
against the acquisition of territory by force, to which Italy adhered on the 14th March,
A pamphlet containing the above treaties is published by the Abyssinia Association, 144, Grand Buildings, Trafalgar Sq. W.C.2, price 3d. (post free 3^d.) Telephone Whitehall 2201, Extension 8.
We arrived in Paris Just before night came on. Then cabs were hailed, and we drove over the cobble-stones to the Continental Hotel. How large it looked, but a little factory-like. When we were inside I marvelled at the grandeur.
We saw Paris, all Paris, of that I felt sure. I must have been very disappointing at times. One day Mr. Lawrence gave us a special treat. He took us to a shop famous for making hot chocolate. It was delicious, and when asked if I had enjoyed it I replied that I had never tasted a better cup of cocoa, never!
Dear Mr. Lawrence, how good-natured he was, and how understanding, truly democratic in the highest sense of the word.
The following night found us in the express for Bordighera. It was on this journey that I met the late Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman. My lucky star must have been in the ascendant. Our party had just got comfortably seated at the luncheon table, and we were discussing the scenery, politics being tabooed at the table on holidays, which was wise, when I looked up, and who should be coming towards our table but the Prime Minister. My heart bumped, and I wondered what Christabel would expect of me. A look was enough : it meant “Do nothing.” This seemed to me almost like treachery. “ Do nothing,” four Suffragettes, all ex-prisoners, and the Prime Minister alone! The meal passed rather silently. We returned to our compartment and on returning I asked whether we ought not to address him on the question. It was decided that should he return when we were having tea, Mary and I could speak to him, but no fuss must be made.
Feverishly I waited for tea. We went to the same table, and we had not been there many minutes when Sir Henry himself came to the table next to ours. This was a sign from heaven itself to me.
Mary and I were left alone, for which we were glad. As soon as he had finished his tea we leaned forward and said how glad we were to see him: that though he did not know us we had met him many times at his big meetings. He asked us to go over to his table and I told him who we were. He said he was very tired and overworked and was going away for a rest, and he did trust we would make no fuss. We told him we would not, but that we were puzzled at his placid attitude. He replied as usual that the majority of his Cabinet were against women having the Vote. I confided in him that I had never been abroad before, and we had a nice homely chat. When he alighted a few stations before ours he stood on the platform, waved his hat, and wished us a happy journey and a pleasant holiday. He always spoke of me to his friends in Bristol as, “My little friend, Annie Kenney,” and he defended me at every dinner-party where the conversation turned on Militancy. I always warned Christabel never to let me get into too close touch with my opponents, or I should see all the goodness in them, a thing which would make it difficult to put up a fight against them. They must have guessed this, for they were always kind and courteous towards me if the occasion permitted.
We arrived at Bordighera at midnight. There was a full moon, which made the white houses of Monte Carlo and Mentone look ghost-like. The sea was shimmery, and lovely in its tranquil beauty. Those who have been to the Riviera and seen its glory under a high moon will understand the sensation I experienced on the first night of my arrival.
No holiday ever came up to that one. My first holiday abroad will remain with me to the end of my days, and the perfume from the flowers under my bedroom window still lingers with me. I have called it forth on many occasions in prison, when I have been bodily tired and mentally overworked.
Like all things, the holiday came to an end and I returned once more to the busy life of a Militant Suffragette. It was in this year that I was made Bristol Organizer. I had not been in Bristol long when I took on the whole of the West of England, also Devonshire and Cornwall. There is not a city and scarcely a town that I have not spoken in, from Bath to Land’s End. The happiest days of organizing were those I spent in the West of England.
Bristol and Bath stand out most. The members in these two cities were wonderful workers; they worked night and day. I had not one voluntary worker, I had scores. I trained speaker after speaker. We were all such good friends and they knew that my life was my work; and nothing but work was my life. We raised £800 in the West of England alone, in the first year of our campaign. I was fortunate in having among my members or sympathizers the veterans of Woman Suffrage, Miss Priestman and Miss Colby, women who had grown grey in the fight. They were very good to me, and this made my work lighter and gave me encouragement. It would be futile to mention other names, they were all wonderful to me. There is Just one I should like to mention, that of the late Colonel Blathwayt. He and Mrs. Blathwayt; of Eagle House, Batheaston, treated me as though I were one of their own family. All my week-ends I spent under their hospitable roof. They also gave hospitality to the numerous speakers who came to the centre.
The question of hospitality was a serious one with organizers. It saved hotel bills. The West of England was unique in the number of large country houses that were open to us at all times.
CHAPTER XIV
MY VISIT TO GERMANY — GERMAN SUFFRAGISTS — WE START A PAPER
I had not been settled in the West of England very long when a letter of introduction came from the German Women’s Society asking whether Mrs. Lawrence and I would visit Germany and speak at a conference they were holding.
The invitation was looked upon as a victory, and we accepted. Mr. Lawrence came with us as far as Coblenz. We stayed with friends at an old house on the island, which had once been a convent. The grounds were charming, the house rather weird, especially at night, when lit with oil lamps. Lamps always give the appearance of either homely comfort or of the Middle Ages.
We had a glorious holiday on the Rhine, and we arrived at Frankfort-on-Main on the day preceding the meeting.
We were met by Dr. Anita Augsberg and Fraulein Heyman. I liked them very much, especially Dr. Augsberg.
The following night we spoke in Jungestrasse Hall, which holds over 2,000 people. The meeting reminded me of one of our own Suffragette rallies at the Royal Albert Hall. Enthusiasm, unbounded cheers; and counter-cheers greeted us on arrival. I made my speech in English, explaining the needs of working women having the Vote, and why we had adopted Militancy. Then I had to tell about prison life. The gathering was a genuine success. The following day a banquet was given in our honour, but I did not feel happy at this. It was too much like the kind of tea-party indulged in by a section of the Social Democrats of our own country. I liked a few of the German Suffragists, the rest gave me the impression of being too quarrelsome, too much like the Social Democrats, who consider it clever, able; and smart to debate every point for the sake of debate, to distrust everybody, and to show contempt for free speech unless they happen to be the speakers. The Social Democrats never appealed to me. I did not like the majority of the German Suffrage Women for these very reasons.
Just before our departure Mrs. Lawrence was presented with a bust of Goethe, and I with an engraving of the figure of a woman who had burst her chains. Over her head the sun rose in glorious splendour.
Dr. Anita Augsberg and Dr. Heyman came to London at a later period, and spoke for the Militant Movement at one of the Royal Albert Hall meetings.
On my return from Germany I went back to Bristol and plunged into the work of organizing centres in every city and town in the West of England.
It was in October, 1907, that Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence started a paper called Votes for Women, with the following dedication:—
“To the brave women who to-day are fighting for freedom: to the noble women who all down the ages kept the flag flying and looked forward to this day without seeing it: to all women all over the world of whatever race, or creed, or calling, whether they be with us or against us in this fight, we dedicate this paper.”
Practically the whole of the expense of running the paper was borne by them individually, though Mrs. Lawrence was still Treasurer of Union funds. Contributions raised by her in 1907 amounted to over £2,600. The figures speak for themselves, and explain whether women had been roused, and whether they were anxious to win the Vote.
The programme of events makes me exhausted when I read it. Besides the thousands of meetings, and the word “thousands ” is no exaggeration, there was the smashing of Cabinet Ministers’ meetings and dogging them in their country homes. The life of a W.S.P.U. organizer was one of constant hard work.
When I went to Bristol I had only the names of the veteran ladies mentioned, and they were too old to take part in the fray, as well as the name of one sympathizer who did not want the Vote but was keen on prison reform. She and I made good friends on that question.
I was expected to hold meetings quite alone, to canvass, and to hold small “At Homes.” I had to raise the money, book the halls, draw up and distribute handbills, cut the bread and butter on “At Home ” day, make the tea, and pray that a few people would be sent to at least eat up what I had bought. When all was ready I opened the doors and waited for the audience, whether it consisted of one or many. I had to deliver the speech, make appeals for members, take names of sympathizers, and finally take up a collection. If I were lucky during those first days I would get two names and a few shillings in the collection-box. My salary was £2 a week, and I had to pay everything out of the £2 — rooms, food, clothes. Petty cash was given out £1 at a time, and that was sufficient to last for weeks unless there was the rent of a hall to pay for. Besides all this work I had to keep an eye on the local Press, that no Cabinet Minister’s visit should be overlooked, however private the visit might be. I was supposed to meet him at the station, follow him to his hotel, break up his meeting and see him off upon his departure. In spite of the work that this organizing entailed, I had within a very short time a fine band of educated and working women around me, who in their turn had hard work given to them day by day.
I had not been in Bristol many weeks when I booked a room for a large “At Home.” The rent alone was £30. We had no fears: we always saw success ahead of us. Sometimes I overreached myself, but no one but I suffered through the mistake. How different was the life of a Militant Organizer to the life of a Political Party Organizer or a Political Agent. To us they were fabulously rich, with not half the responsibility that we had, and yet we never envied them, and wo would not have exchanged our position of hard work and our small salary of £2, for their easy life and high income. We were happy and contented, and only too proud to be members of the Militant Party. Most of the work done in the Militant Movement was done by voluntary labour. Once women had been convinced that the Militants would win the Vote, they threw themselves wholeheartedly into the fight.
The work we gave them as new-comers! A Girton girl or a charwoman, it made no difference. A piece of chalk was given to them with a paper giving the names of the streets in which they must chalk notices of meetings to be held, or we would give them a bell and tell them where and how to ring it, what to say and how to say it, and gradually we would give them final responsibility for any work in hand. This throwing them on themselves brought them out as it brought me out, when I had an orange-box and a bell given to me, and when I was told to hold three meetings every night in different parts of the town or city where we were stationed. In the early days I thought nothing of having a hard morning’s work sending out handbills and chalking pavements, of speaking at a factory at twelve o’clock, of speaking at the docks at 1.30, of holding a women’s meeting at three, and a large open-air one at seven, and when it was over I would address envelopes for letters which I sent out to the sympathizers or members in the district.
We were what are known as fanatics, people who really want to see a thing carried through — perhaps too quickly.
What a school for experience, what opportunities for the active temperaments, what a chance for those who loved adventure, speculation. Growth was certain, whether good or bad. One grew richer in experience and far more able to accept responsibilities, and shoulder burdens. If experience expands consciousness, no wonder we all felt conscious of our ability to serve once war was declared. Our powers of expression were increased. We were educated in the school of necessity, to meet any new situation, face and overcome it, and we were expected to come out with flying colours and be a credit to the Cause. We were taught to become masters of ourselves. No matter what our beliefs were on any subject, religious, social, or political, we were taught never to give vent to our desires, feelings, or ideas, but to stand firm on one question, which was: “Will you give women the Vote?”
I remember Christabel’s righteous indignation at my joining the Theosophical Movement. She had a most serious talk with me, and told me I was doing harm to the Movement, and others would follow where I led. I resigned from the Theosophical Movement for the time being, as my one passion in life was the Vote. It was the one time Christabel grew stern with me; had I continued in my independent action and had others followed me, I should have had to choose between the two. Had Christabel been a queen in the Middle Ages, heads would have been lost if the offending ones had baulked her in what she considered a just cause.
It was in the year 1907 that I had to take part in what was called a split. It was really a separation between the small group which had sat on a Committee. Mrs. Despard and Miss Billington demanded democratic control. Their demand was that the Committee should be elected by all members, the policy of the Union to be decided by the Committee chosen. Christabel, Mrs. Pankhurst, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence and I all realized the futility of such action in a revolutionary movement, a movement whose actions were decided not after hours of debate, but were acted upon the moment the idea presented itself. Besides, the very Committee chosen might be arrested the next day, and what then? No Committee, as I said before, has ever run a revolution.
The words of Nelson during a great sea fight could be used when explaining Christabel’s ideas on Committee rule during a revolution:—
“I hope all is right,” said he, writing to our Ambassador in Berlin, “but seamen are but bad negotiators, for we put to issues in five minutes what diplomatic forms would be five months doing.”
Separations are always unpleasant; heated words are said on both sides; false reports get spread abroad, which are accepted as facts, disharmony reigns. I hated the splits. Everything but the real cause was explained to those who asked the why and wherefore of the separation. All movements suffer from internal discord at some period. We were fortunate in only having to face it twice throughout the whole history of the fight for Women’s Votes.
The first split, between Mrs. Despard, Miss Billington, and the rest of the Committee, soon settled itself. Those who seceded formed a new society which did useful and invaluable work. I was always sorry for the rank and file who had not the same settled convictions as I had about Christabel’s autocratic moves.
CHAPTER XV
I VISIT SWITZERLAND — THE PIT-BROW WOMEN COME TO LONDON AND VISIT PARLIAMENT
Christmas, 1907; and the New Year, 1908, will ever stand out in my memory. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence took me to spend Christmas and the New Year at Montana in Switzerland.
The journey brought on the usual attack of excitement. The changing at Basle, the hot coffee, rolls, and butter awaiting the arrival of all travellers, the sleighs — real ones — no longer part of a day-dream, the climbing of steep Alpine tracks, the Alps that spoke of glory which seemed everlasting, the pine forests in their snowy beauty, the after-glow lighting the woods with a mystical rosy hue that must resemble in some small degree the light seen by those mystics and seers who have experienced conscious communion with the very heart of creation, the falling of the snow, resembling tiny birds with soft white downy wings, and at night stars which seemed so much larger and brighter than they did at home I Now I realized why my hero, Voltaire, had chosen Switzerland as his retreat. Here indeed one could rest after being racked and storm-tossed by city life. The Alps had the appearance of sentinels giving hope and consolation to those souls who ever strive to reach the unattainable in this world. For is it not admitted by all dreamers and thinkers throughout time, that no human companionship, however complete, can fully satisfy that indefinable yearning to come into close touch with the Eternal One, which lies hidden within each one of us and within Nature herself?
My memory was kind to me. Often would sayings of Voltaire come to me while in this Alpine land. Voltaire once said; “England is a country where thought is noble and free, unrestrained by any slavish fear. If I followed my own inclination I would take up my abode there with no other ideal than to learn to think.” “They (Englishmen) are not only jealous of their own liberty, but even of that of other nations.”
These sayings come to me again while casting my mind over the long vista of the past. That is why I mention them.
I have visited Switzerland many times since 1908, but its beauty is such that “age cannot wither nor custom stale.”
The year 1908 was a memorable one in the annals of the Party, therefore a memorable one in the annals of my life. Threats were made by Mr. John Bums to abolish married women’s labour at the pit-brow. He had no sooner made his speech than I was called from Bristol and sent to Wigan, the home of the pit-brow lassie. Mrs. Archdale, who was a staunch supporter and an unceasing voluntary worker, came with me.
The first thing we did was to secure rooms with a homely Lancashire housewife; the next to write a letter to Mr. Stephen Walsh, M.P., whose home was in Wigan. I well remember my first meeting him at his home. We discussed the position of the pit women, the effect Mr. Burns’ Bill would have on them, and what ought to be done. He consented to take the chair at a meeting I decided to hold. The discussion ended by each quoting Shakespeare, both trying to prove their case about women by using verses written by one of the world’s masters of philosophy and poetry.
Lancashire people are a homely people. Their one delight lies in cleaning their hearths, washing their bed-linen and whitening the window-sill, doorstep, and flags outside the house. If they dared or had the time, they would scrub and whiten the pavement also! The sure sign of a birth, wedding, or funeral in the cotton districts of Lancashire, is the constant cleaning that goes on for days preceding the arrival or the departure of a member of the family. The ambitions of a newly married Lancashire working man are to see his wife wearing a clean apron, awaiting his arrival from the factory, with a red fire roaring in the grate and a neatly spread table.
Lancashire people are very proud. You can “take it or leave it,” whatever it is to be taken or left. Mrs. Archdale and I were told by the mother of two pit-brow girls that if we had not eaten up the tea-cakes that had been bought for our tea we should never have entered her house again! A willing people, they look after every one. I have travelled with a Lancashire man from London to Manchester and he has worked hard all the way, helping people with their luggage, placing it in an orderly and methodical manner on the rack, opening or closing the window, telling them about changes, getting cups of tea, advising them about herbs for coughs, colds, hiccoughs; etc.
To give profuse thanks is not one of the outward qualities of Lancashire people. You can give them £1,000 or a rose, the thanks will be very much the same. “Well, if you want me to have it, I don’t mind. Thanks.” Yet at the same time they will be offering up silent prayers of genuine gratefulness to the giver. Snobs are hated in Lancashire, Just as they are hated among all independent people. They are always summed up in one sentence: “Oh, we know all about them: they don’t want people to know their grandfather wore clogs!” A world of feeling and suggestion lies in that short sentence, which is thrown at people whom they consider “too large for their boots.”
A hardy people, the wild winds of the North rock them to sleep, and the wintry storm calls them to labour. They lise early and retire late. Hard work, hard thinking, homely comforts and a firm belief in the Church and Sunday School, these have been the backbone of this strong, proud, homely people.
The pit-brow women and I made good friends. Neither of us were afraid of the world knowing whether our grandfathers had worn clogs or no. I was allowed to go over the mines and see women at work, and as one who had worked in a cotton-factory I had candidly to admit that the women’s work at the pit-brow was not so hard or so unhealthy as the work done by women in the terribly overheated factories of the North, especially in those which spin Egyptian cotton.
I decided that the best thing would be to persuade the women themselves to be speakers at the meeting. Having got twenty of them to promise to speak, I wired the Press the full news of our programme. London, interested in Lancashire, especially in clogs and shawl, came to report in full force.
The night of the Wigan meeting arrived, and the pit-brow women also came in great force. Rousing speeches were made, and every woman there seemed to be a born orator, which shows that if one feels deeply enough one can express one’s thoughts clearly. The meeting was such a success that nothing could satisfy Headquarters but that the twenty newly found speakers should visit London, and that their great day should be a visit to Parliament in clogs and shawl. They were also to make an effort to speak to Mr. John Burns.
The meeting was held; the pit-brow women came; we all marched to Parliament. The Bill concerning them was not introduced. So the pit-brow women had done their bit in postponing the day when labour would be refused them. They enjoyed themselves; so did I. London was new to them. We gave them a good time. They did us and themselves a good turn. They advertised the Suffragettes. Without this constant publicity we should, like our grandmothers, have grown grey in the Cause.
We were now a genuine movement. Thousands upon thousands had joined us. Women of every profession and trade and occupation had thrown in their lot with ours. Science was represented by Mrs. Hertha Ayrton; music by Dame Ethel Smyth, whose song “The March of the Women” is one that will live in the hearts of women; literature had many representatives, among those who took a prominent part being Miss Elizabeth Robbins, Miss Beatrice Harraden, and Miss Evelyn Sharp ; medicine was represented by the late Dr. Flora Murray and Dr. Garrett Anderson; art by Miss Sylvia Pankhurst, the Misses Brackenbury, Miss Naylor, Miss Florence Haig, and Miss Wallace Dunlop; sculpture by Miss Downing; the stage had as its representatives many famous actresses, but among those who were most prominent were Decima Moore, Gertrude Elliott (now Lady Forbes Robertson), Lena Ashwell, and Edith Craig. The teachers were represented by Miss Billington and Miss Mary Gawthorpe; the nursing profession had as its loyal adherents Sister Pine and Sister Townsend; the shop assistants had representatives; the secretarial world sent Mrs. Flora Drummond; factory women were represented by myself; the housewives had in Mrs. Bartlett one of the best and most faithful of women; the social workers had Mrs. Pankhurst and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence; aristocracy was represented by Lady Constance Lytton; poor democracy by Mrs. Sparborough; the West End was represented by many rich women, one of the most popular was Mrs. D. A. Thomas (now Viscountess Rhondda); the East End was represented by the poorest, their finest and bravest leader being that beautiful Saviour-like character, Mrs. Baldock; law was represented by Miss Christabel Pankhurst.
North, South, East, and West, rich and poor, Christian and Agnostic, Theosophist and Christian Scientist, New Thought advocates and Spiritualists, Liberal and Conservative, all were drawn into the Militant whirlpool.
This book not being a record of dates and names but simply an account of events that are engraved on my heart, it would be futile to attempt to mention individually all the women who played an important part in the Suffrage Movement. When I did attempt to study books and newspapers on the subject my words became stiff and mental paralysis overtook me, it prevented clear thought from flowing freely. This I took as a sign that the only book I must refer to was the imperishable record of my own soul, and this rule I have strictly followed except in a few cases where dates, which I never liked, have bewildered me. I can only say that what I have written in connection with the Women’s Campaign is truth to me. It may not be truth to any other individual, but one can only speak or write as one feels, sees, or reasons for oneself.
