CHAPTER XVI
NEWTON ABBOT BY – ELECTION — MY FOURTH ARREST — A PRIVATE INTERVIEW WITH MR. BALFOUR
The next great event was the Newton Abbot By-election. This stands out in my memory because Mrs. Pankhurst was nearly killed by local Liberals when they heard that their candidate had been defeated. They were wild with Party rage. In a weak moment a few enthusiasts had given away a funeral card announcing the death of the Tory and Tariff Reformer, reading as follows:—
In Fond and Loving Memory
OF THE
TARIFF REFORMERS AND SUFFRAGETTES Who fell asleep at Mid-Devon on January 17th, 1908
The Suffragettes and Tariff Reformers are now very sore. And should see it’s no use contesting Mid-Devon any more. And the Hooligans of Shaldon you can send over and tell. That a strong and Buxton Liberal has broken their bell.
R.I.P.
It was they who died a political death, while the Tory survived! They blamed the women entirely for the defeat.
A most amusing incident also happened at this election. One day our group were sitting round the dining-table. One of the speakers, Mrs. Martel, of Australia, who did valiant work in the early part of the fight, had a habit, having no settled abode, of taking her luggage wherever she went, which meant that hotel porters had always to go to the station for her belongings. This day in the middle of lunch the porter, a foreigner, went to Mrs. Pankhurst, and in a stage whisper announced, “Mrs. Martel’s `drunk’ — from the station.”
There is an old saying, “What you think, that you become.” I must have thought prison, for a prisoner I seemed always to be. My fourth arrest happened in this way. There had been the usual opening of Parliament, and with the opening thereof the closing of all facilities for a Woman Suffrage Bill, and also the closing of the Lobby to women, and the blocking up of St. Stephen’s Square. A few women had outwitted Press, police, and public. A pantechnicon van had been hired. The furniture being stored turned out to be precious and unique bits of human furniture, in the form of twenty Suffragettes.
They drove leisurely along as if on business bent, until they arrived at the front entrance of the House of Commons. There was a sign given that all furniture must be deposited there. So, “accidentally on purpose,” a small accident to the shafts gave an opportunity of opening the doors and letting the “furniture ” place itself in the House with the quickest speed. Arrests were sure. So infuriated was Mr. Muskett, who prosecuted for the Crown, that he made a threat. The prisoners were reminded that there was still on the Statute Book an Act of Charles II which dealt with Tumultuous Petitions either to Parliament or to the Crown. I was chosen with Mrs. Pankhurst to put this threat to the test. So thirteen of us — thirteen being our lucky number — made our way to Parliament, and I along with the others was soon once again a prisoner. I had got so accustomed to the police court, cells, and prison life that I just went through the whole procedure as though it was part of my life’s work to live half the time in prison and half out. These arrests worked miracles for the Cause. They filled Albert Hall meetings, they raised £7,000 at one gathering, they inspired new recruits, and inflamed those older in the fight. They inspired deeds of daring, and created eloquence wonderful to listen to — in fact gaol-birds created gaol-birds. Halls were crowded, pockets emptied, prisons filled.
On my release the news awaiting me was that I had to speak at an Albert Hall meeting. Only those who attended those meetings can ever realize the burning enthusiasm that prevailed. They represented the soul of the Movement. We all seemed charged with Suffragette electricity. We were proving Emerson’s words, “They have more personal force than any other people.” No other body of women in the whole world could have done what British women did, and the Albert Hall rallies made one feel with Emerson once more that “the stability of England was the security of the modern world.” Had not the great American man of letters also written that we as a people set our mark on all we touched, and that ours was the race that had added new elements to humanity, and had a deeper root in the world than any other, that our history was but a living proof that we were unique in our passion for independence. And were we not British women, British born and bred? We loved our country with a steadfast passion, we had that which burns in the heart of every Britisher wherever his lot may be cast, our unique love of independence. We seemed to be among the people who “gained power in action, but did not expend it,” and when the meetings were over, we left, not exhausted, but re-charged, re-vitalized, ready for further action.
It must have been about this time that Lady Betty Balfour took me to see Mr. Arthur Balfour, privately. Why I was chosen I don’t know. It must have been that Lady Betty liked me, and thought I should appeal to Mr. Balfour. It was not because I had worked in a factory. Mr. Balfour is not a sentimentalist by any means; whatever the reasons were, she thought if anyone would influence him I should be that one.
Mr. Balfour’s learning and philosophy did not disturb me in the least. Having seen him before, I knew the kind of person I was about to meet, and before I joined Lady Betty I crept away without telling anyone, to a big florist’s shop, and bought the neatest little piece of white heather I could find. I had heard that he had a place in Scotland, and being superstitious I thought it would bring luck. Lady Betty never guessed that I had this little gift hidden away.
When we arrived he asked me to tell him what I thought he could do for us. I had a long grandmotherly talk with him, and practically asked him to pull himself together and see us through our difficulty.
There he sat in a large arm-chair, his long spidery legs stretched out, and I thought what discomfort he must suffer when dining with people who had a narrow table. He constantly sniffed at a small bottle. I wondered what it contained and thought the conversation might be upsetting him.
It was time to go and he had not committed himself any more than I had expected he would, but I liked him and decided he should have the white heather, even if it did not bring luck to our cause. His one regret after my departure was lest I should have got the impression that he was a better friend to the Cause than he really was. I thought it nice of him to say this, just the opposite thought from that which so many of the other politicians would have had.
Lady Betty and I had a nice talk afterwards, but I never told her I had given the Leader of the Opposition a sprig of white heather just because I liked him.
CHAPTER XVII
THE HUNGER STRIKE — JANE WHARTON
Nineteen hundred and eight and 1909 were two quiet years for me. When I say quiet I mean I was only called upon to visit Holloway once. My work lay chiefly in starting new centres throughout the whole of the West of England, bringing out speakers, making Militants, getting others into prison, worrying Cabinet Ministers. It was in 1908 that startling things happened to the Movement. The recognized leaders were arrested, and during the famous trial Mr. Lloyd George and Mr. Herbert Gladstone (now Lord Gladstone) were called by Christabel as chief witnesses. Her cross-examination was admired by all on our side; what their side thought we never knew.
It was also in this year that we won the right of Trial by Jury. This had been our object from the beginning, and now it was won. Mr. Asquith was responsible for this action. He was so hated by the Suffragettes that they always had a serious struggle wherever he went. Mrs. Baines, one of the most kind-hearted, simple-hearted women one could meet, a born revolutionary, and as brave as a lioness defending her cubs, went to Leeds and led a crowd to raid Mr. Asquith’s meeting. She was arrested, and Mr. Pethick Lawrence defended her in her case, which was sent to the Assizes.
Just what we wanted. In a Militant Movement those who are the militant ones always regard any action on the part of their opponents as bad tactics from the opponents’ point of view. We gained power with each blow given. Cabinet Ministers got so harassed at these constant attacks and so nervous about the Suffragettes that a Bill was introduced called “The Public Meetings Bill,” which was to protect them against us. Bills are futile against Revolution.
Nineteen hundred and nine will always be remembered by me. It was in this year that Miss Wallace Dunlop, an artist, conceived the idea of the hunger-strike. This weapon, which was to play a great part in our policy, was not thought of by Christabel, but by one of her most ardent admirers. The case was this: we were getting more numerous, prisoners were on the increase, and each deputation to the House of Commons meant more people in Holloway. The Cabinet had no rest, either night or day. Their nerves were unstrung; they were getting timid.
Signs of timidity on their part meant greater determination on ours. Rich women were selling their Jewels, letting their houses, for the Cause.
Nervousness never acts firmly or with a decided move. In order to cope with our deputations, threats was made to continue trying us under the ancient statute of Charles II. We took this to mean that they did not know what to do with us, and that drastic and more serious punishments were to be meted out to see if that would act.
Every new move of Parliament was met by a counter-move. We had discovered that according to an ancient Bill of Rights we were perfectly entitled to petition the King or his proxies, so Miss Dunlop, ever original in thought and action, made a large block and on it was wrritten: “It is the right of the subject to petition the King, and all commitments and prosecutions for such petitioning are illegal.”
She printed these words on the wall of the Outer Lobby. An act of defiance such as this meant imprisonment. Miss Wallace Dunlop went to prison, and defied the long sentences that were being given by adopting the hunger-strike. “Release or death ” was her motto. When asked by the prison authorities what she would have for dinner, her reply was, “My own determin-ation!” From that day, July 5th, 1909, the hunger-strike was the greatest weapon we possessed against the Government.
Within a few days of Miss Dunlop’s arrest, over one hundred other women were arrested for going on a deputation to the House. Mrs. Pankhurst and the Hon. Mrs. Haverfield led them, and it was this same Mrs. Haverfield who died a valiant death in the cause of Serbia soon after Peace was declared.
Before long all Suffragette prisoners were on hunger-strike, so the threat to pass long sentences on us had failed. Sentences grew shorter. The Government had not had experience of hunger-strikes then, and the Cabinet, being far more afraid of death than any Suffragette, let them out once the doctor’s report was unsatisfactory.
On September 19th, Mr. Asquith was to visit Birmingham. Mrs. Leigh, one of the extreme Militants, and one who, like that noted leader of the French Revolution, “never forgot faces,” was chosen the leader of the group of Militants who also went there. This meeting was quite the stormiest Mr. Asquith ever had to face, and so scared was he at the prospect of what lay before him that he actually took to underground passages to enter the building. Wooden barriers were erected at the station and in the streets, but in spite of this women got on to a roof opposite the hall, and made their protest from there. Before the meeting drew to a close Miss Charlotte Marsh and Mrs. Leigh were under arrest.
All those imprisoned in Birmingham adopted the hunger-strike, and within a few days the Government’s orders were “forcible feeding.” Our extreme move had been counter-moved.
This was long before the Irish difficulties, which arose later.
Many leading medical men were aroused to indignation at forcible feeding being resorted to, and it was a gigantic protest that was sent to the Commons over this extreme and dangerous weapon that the Government were using to parry an extreme weapon that the women had chosen.
There were interesting episodes in connection with forcible feeding. It occurred to Lady Constance Lytton one day to see whether the authorities would forcibly feed her if she were plain Jane Wharton. As Lady Constance she had been considered too delicate. The Government fell into the trap. Jane Wharton was forcibly fed, whereas Lady Constance Lytton had always been released. Her most interesting book, Prison and Prisoners, gives a detailed account of this more than brave action.
Our policy at every meeting was “Educate the public on why we are embarrassing the Government, and explain the need of the Vote at the same time.” The strange thing with the public was that they did not like to see or read about Militancy, but they loved being told about it. I suppose there is an element of romance in repeating some startling event, or illustrating some deed of daring, or depicting extreme suffering. This is what I always found with audiences. Two questions would hold them spellbound for two hours — history and militancy. Why women wanted the Vote was tame, dull, uninteresting. How women would get it was exciting, romantic, and amusing.
The Albert Hall rallies, the gigantic processions, the Hyde Park demonstrations, that London will never forget, were chiefly worked up by the hundreds of voluntary speakers and workers, who knew the public, and knew what they wanted. We were like one of the big stores, if one thing did not suit (and the audiences soon told us) we would take them into another department, that of extreme Militancy; if Militancy was not quite what they wanted, we would tell them about the laws affecting women in different countries and our own ancient law; if neither suited, prison experiences always brought harmony into the mixed crowds which gathered around us at these times. Prison is a place interesting to all those who are out of it.
Many were the objects we had in view in working up for Albert Hall meetings, processions, Hyde Park demonstrations. It all helped in rousing the public. It succeeded in keeping members active and their thoughts on one idea. It gave us an opportunity of interesting the Press. The work, the tireless energy, the speaking, the organizing that went to making these gatherings the huge success that they were, was a marvel to all unprejudiced observers. When any meeting was being closed there was always, as the last announcement, “ The next big piece of work on hand.” This was kept to the last. We had been fired into greater enthusiasm, and revitalized during the meeting, so when the announcement was made we were ready to receive it. Had it been made at the beginning we should have literally fallen off our seats at the very idea of repeating all that we had just finished. This in itself is a proof of the powers of suggestion. The speakers had been repeating all through their speeches that nothing could tire us, nothing overcome us, nothing daunt us. Positive all through, nothing negative. What different tactics and how contrary to the diplomacy of Members of Parliament once Peace was signed, but Christabel was always a past master in the art of diplomacy.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CONCILIATION BILL — THE OBERAMMERGAU PASSION PLAY
The General Election of 1910 brought with it an unwritten promise from friends of the Cause that, provided Militancy ceased, women could expect the Vote to be granted when Parliament met.
On the assembly of the new Parliament we waited breathlessly for the news, but, alas! there was no mention of Votes for Women in the King’s Speech, and further, no sympathetic Member had secured a place in the Ballot. Something must be done, thought the men Suffragists who had foreseen success, so the old Committee which had been in existence since 1887 was revived by Lord Lytton and Mr. Brailsford.
The Committee decided finally to draft a Bill which they considered would be acceptable to all parties and to all suffragists. The name given to the Bill was “The Conciliation Bill.” A truce was proclaimed by the Militants, which lasted nine months, I must admit things seemed tame during that time. The public were not half so interested in us when we went back to constitutional methods, and the Conciliation Bill roused just as much opposition as did the original Bill, which claimed equal rights for tax-paying women.
It was a mercy for the Militant Movement when the truce was broken. The Conciliation Bill did nothing but convert certain sympathetic Members of Parliament into being more ardent supporters. Once the burden was transferred from the women’s shoulders to those of Members of Parliament, however, they had to begin explaining their methods to other Members, looking up past history, inquiring whether the Vote had been beneficial in those countries where Woman Suffrage had been adopted. It was a fine education for them. The public suffered, but the politicians gained in historical knowledge.
The year which marked the Conciliation Bill also marked the death of King Edward VII. The news of the death of one of my day-dream characters came quite as a shock. Throughout all my years of Militancy I never lost my respect for the Crown, or my understanding of the great responsibility Sovereigns have to bear. I should hate the life, never being free to do exactly as I liked.
The news of the death of the King reached me while touring in the Austrian Tyrol as the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence. So 1910 stands out as one of the large signposts which act as my guides when recalling my life.
Mrs. Lawrence’s religious temperament had called her to the Oberammergau Passion Play, which is held every ten years in the village of Oberammergau, in Bavaria. It was one of the most pleasant and inspiring of holidays that I had with these good, generous people. We motored from Innsbruck to the pretty village in Bavaria. During the war I often pictured to myself those simple religious people being called upon to fight in a world’s battle. It is a beautiful country, and on reaching the pass which leads to the famous village, one sees ahead, high up on the highest peak, the Cross. To me the Cross is symbolic of man’s destiny. Each human person with arms outstretched makes a cross. Our limitations, our selfishness, greed, false ambition, false pride, all those negative qualities that keep us from entering into the peace that passcth understanding, make the cross carried by each human wanderer.
We were the guests of Anton Lang, who acted the part of Jesus — the Christ. How glad I was that it was Whitsuntide, a season I held in loving remembrance owing to the happy time I had in my childhood. Whitsuntide speaks of hope, of beauty, of eternal youth.
We attended the Roman Catholic church on the Sunday, and I prayed with genuine devotion. On the following Monday at five o’clock in the morning the bells told the guests and inhabitants that the greatest epic of the world was about to be enacted once more, and by, so doing the village people would be keeping their promise given in some far-away time that they should publicly worship every ten years as a sign of thankfulness to God for ridding them of a plague.
I shall never forget the play. The one thing that stood out quite vividly was the Jesus, the Personal Man; and the Christ, the Risen Spirit, the Eternal One, which guides us throughout all time. The whole of life being testimony to the fact that each human frame has within it the dual principle, the Jesus, the Christ, there to me lay the whole scriptural teaching of the great truth of eternal hope. Eternal punishment is but our mistakes tumbling upon us, making us unhappy and miserable. The Bible is so simple that the learned have almost compelled us to look upon it as complex. Though symbolic and esoteric in some parts, it is worded in such a way that the student can fathom it and the unlearned can understand it.
My holiday in Austria and Bavaria will never be forgotten, the deep blue lakes, the mountains, the peasants, their cloaks, their hats, the cockades they wore, the comforts of hotel life while I was the guest of these two hospitable people.
I now realize what a tremendous amount I have to be thankful for. Sometimes I look back and I can scarcely believe all that has happened. all that I have seen, all that I have done since I first met Christabel Pankhurst. I am learning a lesson that is sinking deeper every day and at last solving the problem that vexed my mind before being confirmed, the question of the Three in One.
We are composed of three principles or parts, in fact of a trinity, body, soul, spirit, the body being the vehicle, the soul the formative principle, and the spirit the giver and the receiver, the spirit of divinity that is eternal. I am but on the threshold of what to me is an illumination, an explanation of all life’s problems, good or bad. I can honestly say that up to the moment of penning these lines, nothing has ever happened to me that has not been for my good both in small and large things. Suffering and joy, tears and laughter, poverty and luxury, all the phases that I have gone through, have come to me as a lesson that I had to learn at that particular period.
On my return from Bavaria I went back to my centre, and the next big event was another Albert Hall meeting. The advertisement side to these rallies was interesting and amusing. Having no Public Press to boom us, we had to boom ourselves. The first thing that was done by Headquarters was to send out letters to all organizers, members, and sympathizers. Each member and sympathizer was asked to call at Headquarters, where work would be given her. We had rooms set apart and an organizer who was responsible for keeping members and sympathizers busy, interested, and happy.
Happiness played a great part in keeping members together. Each prominent member was put in just the position which suited her temperament. If she was a great optimist she had all the pessimists put under her; if she was cheery she had the grumblers to look after; if extremely energetic she had those who liked to lounge; if extreme discretion was part of her character we put all the talkers under her. Every quality, good, bad, and indifferent, was studied and the person placed in a position that would bring out the best in her, and so the worst was forgotten. No gossip was allowed, no tale-bearing, no idle chatter. These strict regulations protected us from a small part of humanity which has nothing to do, and lives on picking, not the pockets of other people, but their characters. We were free from those human parasites, who are more to be pitied than blamed. There was no loophole anywhere for the enemy to creep through. We were as safely guarded as though we were in a fortress, surrounded by the walls of Chester and the King’s own army.
The Suffragette Movement was an example to all other movements, and no woman who worked with us can ever say that the discipline, the absence of the usual weakness of individuals when collected together, had not been one of the greatest and finest lessons she has ever learnt. Throughout the war the discipline gained in the Militant Movement was a greater asset than has yet been recognized.
Our optimism was a somce of annoyance to our opponents. Our discretion and secrecy were looked upon as cunning. Our loyalty was spoken of as slavish, our devotion was called fanaticism, and yet we remained unmoved, and went on as though our ears needed the attention of a Harley Street specialist. The standard set was high, and we lived up to it. The discipline stern: we accepted it. The work hard: we did it. Opposition fierce: we overcame it. Dangers were many: we faced them. And in the end we won.
A few incidents that happened during the working up of these rallies are interesting to recall. We had a friend in London, a business man, who made my sister Jessie and Mrs. Drummond a promise that he would provide anything they asked for in the advertising line, from a prison van to an elephant. We asked for all the things he had mentioned except the elephant. Had the fight continued, no doubt we should have called for it.
During one of the big processions the idea was to have a white horse for a special feature. The day of the great event arrived. Only those behind the scenes saw anxious looks on the faces of Miss Dunlop, Miss Hambling, and my sister Jessie, who was one of the hardest workers at these times. She and Mr. Lawrence seemed to me to have the greatest responsibility on these occasions. The news was whispered to me, the white horse had not appeared, and we were to start in fifteen minutes. We were noted for promptness. This reputation we were proud of, as few processionists ever get a good name in this respect. What was to be done? Miss Dunlop rushed off to our friend of elephant fame, and asked the reason for the appearance of a brown horse instead of a white one. Profuse apologies from our friend, and a definite promise that a white horse should be round in a few minutes. Five minutes passed. Another taxi was hailed. Miss Dunlop, very angry at the mistake, rushed into the stables, and there was the brown horse practically finished. He was being whitewashed!
The tickets for one of the large gatherings were not going as quickly as Headquarters wished. Something must be done. Clarkson’s was visited. A Queen Elizabeth robe was secured. One of our daring members, and one of the best, Miss Vera Holme, a great rider, fortunately for us, unfortunately for her, came into the office. Just the person wanted. No one was ever asked whether she had time to give. “Come along, we want you to dress up as Queen Elizabeth and ride round London to advertise the meeting.”
A group of voluntary workers were gathered together and rigged up in some of the clothes we kept. They were her retinue, and their work was to distribute leaflets. The Queen was but an attraction. It was found that the boots were missing from the costume. Vera’s boots were good stout brown country boots. “Oh well, never mind, people won’t look at your boots, they will look at your face!” was all the sympathy she got. “But my hair!” “Oh, that’s all right!” “I look the funny woman at the play!” “Never mind!”
The horse came. Elizabeth was mounted. Her retinue were all good workers in the fight. Before long there was a hold-up by the police to let the great Queen pass, and as a practical joke they allowed the traffic to make headway before her retinue had passed also. Elizabeth wandered alone for a long time. She sat in stately fashion on her horse, thinking the advertising retinue was behind her. She was turning down one of the streets that lead to the Embankment, when two Cockneys saw her. “Gawd strike me, what’s this?”
Banners always played a part in the processions. They lent colour and always proved to be a source of interest to the spectators. We had had our own colours, devised by Mrs. Lawrence, long before this — purple, white, and green; purple for loyalty, white for purity, and green for hope.
One Lancashire banner in the procession met with an accident. When the Lancashire people left their own county their banner had as its motto: “Lancashire Lassies Want the Vote.”
It was found that as soon as the section arrived there were roars of laughter. This puzzled the factory girls, but on reading the banner at the end of the march they discovered that the “l” had been cut away from the word “lassies.”
Sometimes sympathetic men would help to carry the heavier banners. Two new recruits, both aesthetic and anaemic-looking, came forward and offered their help. A heavy banner was given them, under which they frequently stumbled. All along the route the spectators laughed when the section arrived with these two men as banner-bearers. We thought it was because they were not strong, and the banner was overcoming them, but we found the motto had created the amusement. It read “Men Vote, why can’t we?”
In the offices at these hustling, rushing, rousing; racing times, the little mistakes made were many. A letter was sent out to sympathizers asking for hospitality for country members. It was a short business-like one, which was duplicated by the hundred. The only thing to be put in was “Mrs. So-and-so,” the word “Dear ——, having been typed.
One letter read : “Dear ——, Would you be kind enough to provide hospitality for one or more of the country delegates for a few nights? Please reply by return. Yours, etc., Mabel Tuke.”
One reply came to Mrs. Tuke: “Dear ——, I address you as you address me. Sorry I cannot give hospitahty as you ask. I am a bachelor living in rooms! Yours, etc.”
Whether it was the Conciliation Bill that we supported or a Bill that we opposed, the Albert Hall was always taken to do the supporting or the opposing in. If we did not have the Albert Hall, we had a meeting in Hyde Park, and processions that marched to the Park. If one scheme was a success, it was repeated. If one procession had been successful, nothing less than seven processions would satisfy Christabel and Mrs. Lawrence. If one Albert Hall meeting was a success, we must have two or three a year. If we could raise £20,000, why not £100,000? If two women could go to prison, why not two hundred? If a few women could speak, why not all? It was ever “Excelsior.”
