CHAPTER XXVIII
THE WAR — MR. LLOYD GEORGE APPROACHES US — OUR MUNITION WORK — LORD NORTHCLIFFE — I VISIT AUSTRALIA
I cabled from the boat to Miss Roe : “Have to speak on Balkans. Get me all the books possible.” So on my arrival I found that Grace Roe had procured a library for me.
They could organize a meeting at which I would start our Balkan campaign, I said, but I must be allowed a full fortnight to study the maps I bought.
Anyone coming into my flat would have thought that Lord Kitchener had instructed me to plan out the Balkan side of the war. For ten days I read and studied maps. Fortunately for me and the work, I found the Balkan history and its baffling problem of territory greatly interesting. Names of mountains, rivers, shores, were impressed on my mind without effort.
I made my first speech on the seriousness of the Balkan situation in Huddersfield. The audience enjoyed the history of those unsettled lands, so that gave me encouragement. I prepared a map, and took it with me to all meetings.
I had not been at home many weeks before Mrs. Pankhurst came to see me. A messenger had come from Mr. Llpyd George asking her to meet him. I was to go with her.
We met Mr. Lloyd George, then Minister of Munitions; he told us he realized the extreme gravity of the munitions situation, that nothing would remedy it except the employment of millions of women, but he said: “I have such opposition to face among the Cabinet that some pressure outside is needed, and you are the only people who can bring that pressure to bear,”
Mrs. Pankhurst’ s reply was brief: “If you, Mr. Lloyd George, feel it necessary to convert men to the need of munitions, we will have a procession of women, but fully understand, this procession is to convert men to their country’s danger. Women are fully awake, fully aware of it already.”
It was decided that we would have a procession, his department defraying the cost. We worked again with zeal and vigour. The procession, as all the papers admitted, was a fine piece of organization, and a proof of British women’s loyalty. The deputation which accompanied it was received by Mr. Lloyd George and Mr. Winston Churchill.
This was the beginning of munition-work for women, and this is how the seed was sown which afterwards grew to be a tree whose fruit was Votes for Women. So Mr. Lloyd George turned out to be our best friend and also the friend of the country.
Not only did we rouse the country to the need of women making munitions, but we kept in close touch with the women once they were employed in the gigantic factories throughout the country. The thousands of munition women were a new element in industry, they were well paid, well looked after. Ranged against them we had pro-Grermans, Bolshevists, Pacifists. We knew that there would be repeated efforts by every section against the war to influence and coerce the women, who were showing themselves remarkably adaptable to every new scheme and device of munition work.
I spoke at practically all the large munition centres, and once they knew that I also had worked in a factory the women and I made good friends. It was acknowledged by friend and foe that our Movement had played a great part in maintaining unity among the new workers in what was practically a new industry.
Besides speaking at all the big works, we organized deputations of women, who were taken from our own factories to visit the French munition works, the French women in return visiting our country. Baroness de Brimont was one of the people who played a big part in making a success of the return visits. Either Mrs. Drummond or I were always chosen to organize and carry these schemes through. It was interesting work, and both countries admitted that the plan had been a helpful one.
Then I had once again to enter the fray on the Balkan question. Those who followed the war know only too well the history of that poor little troubled land — Serbia. This work brought me in close touch with the chief actors at home. Professor Masaryk, now Prime Minister at Prague, was one of the people I used to meet frequently. Bohemia should prosper under this clever, able, practical, philosophic statesman. Mr. Wickham Steed, Mr. Crawfurd Price, Mr. Seton Watson were three people with whom I discussed the Balkan question. Mr. Leo Maxse was a tremendous help. If naval questions were being discussed by Christabel, Mr. Gibson Bowles’ advice was asked. The cross-examination that I put some of these learned people under, well, it was a marvel they tolerated me in their houses! Had they put me under one quarter as strict an examination, the interview would have been quickly over. They realized I was only a student in foreign diplomacy, so they were patient and helped me in every way.
Mr. Leo Maxse appealed to me most of all. His candid sincerity, his simple earnestness, are rarely met with in diplomatic circles, especially among those who are so brilliant in intellect. Mr. Wickham Steed was a good friend while we stuck to the Balkan question. His advice was invaluable, as he was not a student only, but a famed writer on the Austrian question, his book on the Hapsburg Monarchy being recognized as a standard work. We seemed to be friendly with every one, and every one was friendly with us.
It was about this time that I met Lord Northcliffe. I can see him now. He sat in his big chair and looked at me very critically, and I sat opposite and looked at him with great interest. He was War Lord of the Press.
Lord Northcliffe did not strike me as being temperamental in the way that Mr. Lloyd George and Mr. Hughes of Australia were. I felt that if he lost himself it would be in a big scheme in connection with his work. His brain was the calculating type of brain which arrived at conclusions through deduction and keen analytical processes. One meets his type in the British Museum among the Greeks and Romans, and like the Greeks and Romans of other days, he recognized no equal. He ranged people into two classes — “superior” or “inferior.”
I always looked forward to seeing him, as the shape of his head was a great attraction to me, and as I was not afraid of him and he knew it, we were good friends after any interview. Like practically all the big men of the world throughout all time, there was a shade of ambition in his face. He seemed to me proud of his power, concious of his force. He at least had something to be proud of. He could uproot statesmen who were as mighty oaks. Parliaments could be carried away in the great surging stream of his united Press.
He was a born autocrat, who enjoyed being democratic among his chosen people. I liked him very much, and I realized the opportunities the heads of his offices had for development under his critical, observing, calculating, and detecting eye. He was a mighty force during the war, and had the Women’s Movement won his support in the early days of the fight, no Parliament could have withstood the combined strength of the Northcliffe Press and the highly organized Militant Society.
Fate ordained otherwise. If one of the new religious movements had won his support, that movement would have gained an adherent who would neither have slumbered nor slept in his efforts to popularize any reform which attracted and held him. Theosophy, Christian Science, Spiritualism, New Thought, might have appealed to his reason, yet I believe much would have depended on the personality of the individual who discussed these questions with him. The greatest men of all time, including Napoleon, have been swept away by an engaging, magnetic personality, where others far more able, more experienced, have failed to convince them.
During our Balkan campaign I do not think there was one London editor of any newspaper, periodical, or review, whom I was not sent to interview, and I met kindness and patience everywhere. I think our British editors do credit to their country.
I used to marvel that they ever saw me twice, I so young in foreign politics, my only learning being fourteen days’ hard reading — they with years of wide experience; and yet because they saw we were sincere, they were willing to help, willing to advise. Creditable qualities have we as a people, enviable manners towards those to whom we are sympathetic. These men will never know the pride that swept over me when I thought of the patience and the time they gave to one who was but a representative of a society whose fame was becoming a name and whose history was already belonging to the past.
When the news was announced that Mr. Hughes, Prime Minister of Australia, was to attend a Conference in London, Christabel decided that there must be a welcome.
Fortunately I had met that most able Australian representative, Mr. Keith Murdock, so I approached him and expressed our desire to show our appreciation of the work done by Mr. Hughes. Mr. Murdock thought the idea a good one.
Mr. Hughes was a man after Christabel’s own heart, outspoken, impulsive, daring. So a procession was organized, and we gave him a great welcome. Afterwards ‘ Christabel and I became close friends with both Mr. and Mrs. Hughes.
Mr. Hughes and I got on extraordinarily well. I had not seen much of him when I realized that he was a statesman who wanted very careful handling. I saw that he was hasty in speech, quick to take offence, and that owing to illness more than anything, he had a quick temper. I also detected just a shade of false pride. This weakness is found among so many Labour men; they become obsessed by an idea that people are not respectful enough to them, because they have risen from the ranks. Having met this weakness before, I recognized it in this giant intellect that has run, ruled, governed, protected, and saved Australia from the hands of every rebellious section that can be gathered together under the name of Revolution.
Sometimes Mr. Hughes would take me for long motor drives, then we would talk of the early days of the Labour Party. He was always at his best with one person. He and Christabel got on when discussing questions they agreed upon. They were too much alike for opposition. I found in Mr. Hughes a quality that lies in practically all the veterans of Labour except Robert Blatchford. They will not or cannot discuss a question; it always ends in heated argument.
This robs so many questions of their instructive value. Mr. Hughes and I were great friends, and I think he is one of the finest and most earnest characters of the age. The word “duty” is inscribed on his heart and is to be found in every cell of his brain.
Once the Conference was over there was a call for Mr. Hughes to return to his native land, but he had scarcely got there when Christabel felt that it was more than essential for him to be on the War Council, owing to his astuteness on the Near Eastern question, which was so dear to his heart.
So I was sent to Australia to persuade him to return. I caught the boat at Plymouth. There was a delay of a day owing to the war, but the time was not lost. I made friends with my old friends, the Scotland Yard men. They were courteous and helpful, and my having met them and their having taken care of me, altered the whole voyage. They introduced me to the captain, the doctor, and the purser, all the people who play a big part on a ship bound for a long voyage.
Captain Jenks was the real, genuine, sailing-vessel captain. He could not have been kinder had he been charged to look after my every comfort. He had a fine reputation in Australia, being a great reader; and like practically all good sea captains he was a man with a warm heart towards emigrants. He had become one of the most popular captains of the Orient Line. We talked politics day after day for weeks. I had dozens of books and maps, which amused some of the passengers and interested others.
I told the captain the object of my visit. He gave me letters of introduction to Editors, the head of the Australian Bank, Mr. Denison Miller, and to a few women who he thought would be interesting.
For the first two weeks I dozed. After that I became a full-blown passenger, no better, no worse than anyone else. We had the usual voyage with the usual gossip and the usual tournaments and such amusements which fill up your life when living on a boat for seven weeks. I made good friends with a Miss Spencer, daughter of Professor Spencer of Melbourne University, and we always went on shore together. When we left Cape Town our small company was increased by Sir John and Lady Forrest, who invited me to lunch with them at their delightful old house at Perth. I spent a pleasant day with these interesting people. Lady Forrest’s paintings of the wild flowers of Australia being an unexpected pleasure. In the afternoon Sir John took me motoring, so that I could see as much as possible before joining my boat.
We arrived in Melbourne. In the early morning the stewardess — I would insist on calling her “wardress” — called me. She brought a note from Mrs. Hughes, telling me not to leave the boat as she was meeting me in the absence of Mr. Hughes, who was touring Australia on a Referendum. It was good to see her with her homely face and kind, gentle ways. She took me to the Hotel Victoria, and there was the Australian morning tea waiting for me. It was arranged that Mrs. Hughes should look after me until Mr. Hughes returned. I made friends with the hotel staff, and the telephone-girl might have been receiving £5 a week for the work she did for me. She made my appointments, and cancelled those I could not keep. The staff at a big hotel can be a help or a hindrance. My lady telephonist was a godsend.
At last Mr. Hughes came. We had a long talk, but he laughed when I said that we wanted him back. He said, “We? Who are?” That caught me. “We,” I said, “is Christabel, and I feel sure the country would rejoice at the news of your return.”
We parted, I to go to Sydney, where we were to meet once again, and he to Adelaide for another big gathering. I arrived in Sydney and found the Socialists at every street corner passing resolutions expressing the hope that I would take Mr. Hughes back with me. “The sooner the better,” was the motto on a banner. One of the papers there had a caricature of Mr. Hughes and myself, he handcuffed, I dragging a most reluctant passenger to the boat.
Mr. Hughes came to Sydney, but he was completely occupied with the Referendum, knowing as he did that his defeat and the defeat of his supporters would mean the triumph of Bolshevism and all the reactionary forces of Australia. After a final talk I agreed with him that his place at that time was in Australia.
I liked Australia, I liked Australians. Courtesy, kindness, met me everywhere, and I did not feel as far away from home as I did when I looked on the lonely tracts of the American prairie.
Christabel was again in Paris. Christabel, who never touched a thing without it becoming red hot, studied every military move. As hers is the tactical and strategic brain, she saw moves on the part of our military strategists which she considered weak, unpolitic, which spelt failure. So we started a campaign of pros and cons of military strategy. The rights and wrongs of moves made would take too long for a book of this description.
Certain Generals were being criticized in our paper. This brought upon us once again the force of Scotland Yard, raids, and the seizure of the paper. Again we had to print underground.
It was at this time that the heaviest burden fell on Grace Roe. Passports were difficult to obtain. She had to visit Christabel each week as I had done, and retain all the instructions given in case of search. It was a weary fight. At last the situation became so grave I sent a letter to Christabel. Before she had finished reading it she said: “My place is in London.” She returned.
Two years before the Peace was signed there were symptoms of Bolshevism in all industry. A campaign was started by our small group. We called it “The Anti-Bolshevist Campaign.” Some parts of Scotland and Wales were affected, also Coventry. We had gigantic meetings all over the country. Both men and women munition workers were appealed to, and the dangers of a munition strike, a coal strike, and a dockyard strike were explained. In this work I met many of the veterans of Trade Unionism; they were as anxious as we to see our country safe from invasion. I also met most of the large employers, Christabel’s one idea being an amalgamation between’ captains of industry and the heads of the big Trade Unions.
Whichever side one met one found among them men of giant intellect, but there was one great barrier to real understanding between them, the same barrier which prevents each one of us at times from acting either wisely or justly — Fear. There is no sorrow, however deep, no joy, however great, but can be explained by two words — love or fear. Fear is ruling the industrial world to-day. Fear on the part of one man that the other may get the best of him. We have always been told that what Job feared came upon him. What we fear in our hearts for our nation will surely come upon us unless we turn our fear to genuine trust by giving the other man credit for at least doing his best. Our greatest sins are but our mistakes, and our individual suffering is but our past mistakes overtaking us. That is punishment. Punishment is always self-inflicted, and once we have really grasped that principle we shall not be so hard on the one who is down and out. It only means that he is catching up, and our turn may come any day. It is very unwise of us to get conceited because of our momentary prosperity or success, or to boast of our benevolence. Unless these victorious moments are rightly used, the fate of the unsuccessful one will overtake us. Whether we are masters or men, we both have faults, and we each have the great lesson to learn of tolerance. The course of human life is like the sweeping tide of a great sea.
Our war work never ceased until Peace was declared. And so we who fought the fight for Women’s Freedom stood together until we saw our country free from foreign oppressors.
We played our part and did our bit in the greatest war ever waged in human history.
CHAPTER XXIX
VICTORY — WOMEN VOTERS
In the year 1917 the question of granting the vote to women was discussed in Parliament. It was admitted by friend and foe that British women had played and were playing a unique part in the war. They had built up the Voluntary Home Army.
There was great rejoicing among all sections of women. What a relief to think that once Peace was declared abroad peace on a more modest scale would be declared at home. The agitation was at last drawing to a close.
Though very definite promises were given, Christabel felt we must be on the alert. There were two men, she declared, who could pilot the Bill safely through both Houses — Mr. Lloyd George, the Prime Minister, and Lord Northcliffe, head of a great Press. Mr. Lloyd George and Lord Northcliffe were not over friendly to each other just at this period, but that did not affect Christabel’s policy of making sure that there was to be fair play. The Prime Minister in Parliament, Lord Nortlcliffe for the platform of the Press, she felt were the captains needed to bring the ship into harbour. On February 6th, 1918, Royal assent was given to the “Representation of the People Act.” Women were voters.
Soon after the Vote was conferred on women in 1918 a General Election was mooted, and there was a question of Christabel standing for Parliament. Poor Mr. Lloyd George, poor Lord Northchffe! I was never off their doorsteps. By the time they had answered one question, Christabel thought of another. If Mr. Lloyd George was away at Walton Heath, resting quietly, I had to go and ask him about some problem in connection with the Vote or a Constituency. Strange to say, I was never turned away once, Christabel said that was the reason why she sent me! Mr. Lloyd George used to be very cross, then he would relax when he saw that I was really sorry to have to disturb him.
I remember venturing to see Lord Northchffe. He was in retreat at his beautiful home in Broadstairs. There was some important question of giving publicity to part of our election work. It had been announced in the Press that Lord Northchffe was not seeing anyone. That made no difference to Christabel. I had to go. I had a private car lent to me, so I asked my sister to join me for company. We arrived late owing to my calling at Walton Heath to see whether I could get the information required. Mr. Lloyd George saw me, but I came away dissatisfied.
When we arrived at Lord Northcliffe’s house at Broadstairs the driver could not find the entrance. We picked up a tradesman, who naturally took us to the entrance he knew the best. A maid came in answer to my ringing, and said that his Lordship was not seeing anyone. “But,” I said, “he will be very cross with you if you turn me away without first asking him to see me.” I scrawled a note telling him I had been on the road a long time and that I trusted he would break the rule and see me. The maid came and said I was to be allowed in. I was shown into a large room with a glorious fire; a fire always makes one feel at home and puts one at ease. I saw Lord Northcliffe looked a little stern. I did not like that, so I asked him not to be stern or cross, adding that I was very tired and I would not keep him long. He relented and asked if I were alone. I told him my sister was with me, but that she had a dog with her. He had no objection to the dog, so they joined us. He gave us tea, and once again I admired his homely and kind nature, which I admit was hidden away beneath a business-like manner which seemed to say: “Tell me all you have to say in five minutes. I am busy!”
I had another interview with Lord Northcliffe at The Times office. The question I had to put was; Would he give us his Press support. He promised to send one of his best lady journalists and to devote part of a column of the Daily Mail to news of Smethwick, the constituency Christabel had decided upon. ’He was splendid about these things, and I can honestly say that he never once failed in his promise, though at times we must have been very trying.
When we entered the field there were two candidates at Smethwick, a Conservative and a Labour man, but before many days were over the Conservative had withdrawn to make a clear fight between Labour and Christabel, who stood as an Independent candidate.
When the poll was declared, Christabel had polled the highest vote recorded for women candidates at the first General Election after women were enfranchised. She was disappointed that she had not been returned, but it was amazing that she did so well considering that so many of those who knew the whole field of electors were not free to be with her. I was occupied raising her election expenses, which I succeeded in doing.
It was not long after the election that I had a feeling of exhaustion creeping over me. I could scarcely drag my body along with my thoughts. I met Christabel. We had a long talk, and I was free. The something that means the personal me decided upon this course of action.
And so my Suffragette pilgrimage was ended.
The strange thing was that my warning had come long before. I felt as though a thousand unseen hands were holding me down, and my inner voice spoke to me, “Don’t fight. Relax. You have finished.” I wondered at first whether it was a premonition of death, but on reflection I knew that this was not the case, as my thoughts were always working on definite scenes, and I was part of the scene being secretly enacted. The whole truth is summed up in a sentence — I could work no longer. I was exhausted to death, my nervous system called for rest and recuperation. My spirit yearned for peace, and my eyes ached for Nature’s colours, which are healing and soothing. I had been on the social pilgrimage for fourteen years. In stony fields I had had to sow seed and plough rocks. Prison had been my home for so long; I had faced starvation, sleepless nights, heavy responsibilities, and I was tired. For the first time in my life I yearned for death. I felt no bodily life would give me the rest I needed. My heart ached for Christabel as I was leaving her in the midst of a difficult situation, and yet had I stayed I could not have helped.
I left the Movement, financially, as I joined it, penniless. Though I had no money I had reaped a rich harvest of joy, laughter, romance, companionship, and experience that no money can ever buy. I wrote to a good friend who had been like a guardian angel to me for years. We met and had a talk. I told her what my desire was; to go abroad. Within a few weeks I was speeding towards Rome. Before a fortnight the Eternal Alps called me. I went to the beautiful mountain village of Orselina, above Locarno, and close to the ancient church, Madonna del Sasso. Here I could see the towering peaks that pointed heavenward and gaze at the still Lake of Maggiore, that spoke of peace and tranquillity. I went to the church of the Madonna and prayed that I might be guided in the future as I had been in the past, and that I should be forgiven for all past mistakes:
“From the unreal lead me to the real. From darkness lead me to Light. From death lead me to Immortality.”
After I left, what happened is not part of my life. There is a cord between Christabel and me that nothing can break — the cord of love. Distance or absence makes no difference. We started Militancy side by side and we stood together until Victory was won, and as Christabel says in one of her letters to me, dated “April 19th, 1922, British Columbia”:
“We accomplished what we set out for, and to move on was the only thing. To have had a great interest and inspiration was a happiness that lasted many years. It would not have lasted for ever, and mercifully our task was fulfilled and we were set free. You, my true friend and helper of past years, I send my thanks and love.”
What finer words could a follower receive from her leader? Christabel on penning these words had not the remotest idea that I was writing this book. They seem so much part of it, however, that I take the liberty of making public a letter which was meant to be private.
Women are now voters. Have they shown insight and sagacity in using the Vote? I think they have. The first election after women became enfranchised was an important one. The question before the electors was — Bolshevism or Patriotism?” They chose the British side, and many Bolshevist candidates who had thought their seats were secure found that the new element in politics had undermined their power and had helped through their votes to defeat them. The defeated side will always blame the Women’s Vote.
For a long, long time the Women’s Vote will be the Mystery Vote. Women are as yet an unknown factor in politics. They are not so pro-party as men. One thing is certain, that should a big crisis arise, provided the truth is told in good plain English, the Country will get their vote, whether the representative is a Duke or the Pearly King of donkey fame.
Women are by nature Conservative. They could not be otherwise; if they were constituted differently there would be bankruptcy in most households. The handling of the weekly money makes them look before they leap. Whether the money handled is gold coin or the paper “Bradbury,” there are more worries attached to the spending than to the earning of it.
Strikes, out-of-work days, unemployment, are not lightly discussed by the working man’s wife. They want their husbands to work during the day and be “out of work” at night, but should a great danger threaten either their homes or their country, then the strong, emotional, romantic side of women is awakened, and all is forgotten save the one thing — Security.
It is a strange thing, and to some people an unaccountable one, that of those women who played a prominent part in winning the Vote not one of them sits in Parliament, and most of them are out of the political world altogether. Why is this? I think on a final analysis it will be found that most of them gave all they had to give in winning the Vote. The others, who kept themselves free from the political turmoil, were more ready to enter into the new realm of politics. Both Suffragist and Suffragette leaders had spent their vital force working for Women’s independence, but once that freedom was theirs it was necessary for them to withdraw to recuperate and revitalize themselves for the next piece of work in hand. Personally, I think it better that it should be so.
Practically all leaders of big movements, revolutions, or revivals become too autocratic. This is very natural. For years they have governed; their very power gives them prestige. Their every word is law and their every command obeyed. They almost develop a sixth sense. They sense a thing before it happens. They are so much above the average person in intelligence, wisdom, general knowledge, special knowledge, that the average person seems but a babe to them. If they continued leadership once their original object were gained it would stultify the spirit of independence in others.
Rarely are such leaders good at executive work, neither is it fully valued or appreciated by them. Their impatience for results would be bad for the ordinary slow, everyday, practical world.
To be autocratic, self-assertive, dictatorial, is necessary on the battlefield, whether the fight be waged in Parliament Square or in Flanders, but once Peace is signed each soldier must be free to act as he thinks best and to judge for himself. During battle the Chief in Command has to fight and plan with enthusiasm, inspiration, emotion, and force, but the fight over, should they continue to act as though they were still in command? The fate of the great Napoleon invariably awaits such people; their St. Helena may be found in the very city which has bowed in worship before them. Such is life, with its rugged path which all leaders must climb. Fortunate are those leaders like Christabel Pankhurst, who have found, after well- earned rest, another mission which brings with it peace of mind and rest for the body.
Christabel Pankhurst taught her followers great dexterity in manipulating the political kite. Her sweeping tactics, her skill in political strategy, were such a good school for apt pupils that all in turn felt capable of flying their own kites once the Vote was won. Those with ambitions now had an opportunity of fulfilling them.
Leaders can no more prevent their followers from growing in independence than I can prevent the wild bluebells, the golden gorse, the curly bracken, the daisies, and the buttercups from growing, or the stately old oak from throwing its branches towards my window, in the little Wendy house near the Sussex Wolds where I am writing the story of my life. Spring will have her resurrection, summer arrive, autumn come, and winter will return, whether we wish it or not, and human beings will evolve and grow into a deeper and more awakened consciousness as one age succeeds another.
CHAPTER XXX
CONCLUSION
No Suffrage book would be complete without the name of Mrs. Fawcett, the leader of the Constitutional Movement.
Mrs. Fawcett’s life has been one of devotion and service on behalf of women. Without the patient, persistent, plodding labour of the old Suffrage Society, the Militants would not have had an argument on which to base their claim that “other methods had failed.” For over forty years the Constitutional Suffragists pleaded, they entreated, they persuaded, and then were told to wait until the time was ripe when there was a sign that women really wanted the Vote.
Mrs. Fawcett’s name is world renowned as one of the pioneers and leaders in the Women’s Movement.
Why were women Militant? What was the attraction which swept the cultured and highly educated women into the ranks of the fighting section? What was the secret of the success of the Militant Party when the party was at the height of its power? What inspired women to suffer imprisonment, to lose friends, and to be exiled from family and home? What impulse was it that made women leave a life of ease and luxury and take up one which had nothing to offer but hard, unpopular, and apparently unprofitable labour? What made the school-teacher, the nurse, the factory-girl, the shop-assistant, the clerk, the doctor, the scientist, the novelist, the housewife give all their spare time and hard-earned money to a cause that was creating unrest in the land? These are questions that will be asked by future students of past movements.
Coming generations will naturally be anxious to know why women were militant. The police courts, the prisons. Parliament, the British Museum, contain records in which all future generations may read, mark, and learn what the Militants did, and many most exciting things that they did not do!
The first question the inquiring student of the future will ask is: Why did Christabel Pankhurst choose militant methods to win a constitutional reform? The records of the Women’s Constitutional Movement partly answer the question. Because all other methods had failed. But what gave her the idea, or how did the idea come to her? The germ of rebellion against the apathy and hostility of politicians was lying dormant. The germ became a living thought. Christabel’s thoughts had wings. Once the idea was conceived, the battle was won in her mind. She was fearless and confident.
The success of the Movement lay primarily in the highly individualized and magnetic personality of Christabel Pankhurst, secondly in the sensitive, temperamental, cultured and gifted personality of Mrs. Pankhurst. These two women were the guiding spirits who influenced every action, every thought, of their followers. Devotion such as theirs wins devotion; love such as theirs attracts and draws towards the givers a veritable cordon of protection and love that only a few characters in the history of ages can claim.
It was also a psychological moment to strike. An old party was resigning, a new party was taking its place. There had been the South African War, and a war always means progress in thought, if in nothing else. Women were restless, though they could not have explained why they had become so. The new era was about to dawn, and with each new era new methods are adopted to meet the requirements of the struggling souls who are consciously or unconsciously awaiting their freedom. History does but repeat itself; its garb may be changed, but the principle actuating the change is ever the same, which is Freedom. The Movement was fortunate in having among its leaders and firmest supporters women who were highly evolved, whose private lives were open books for all to read.
Women were ready for the Militant battle. Had they not been ready they would never have joined us. Qualities that were counted most essential in their make-up were courage, earnestness, loyalty, and keen intuition. Christabel was never impressed by the highly intellectual woman who did not also possess these other qualities. Her theory was that without courage and loyalty, cleverness could be a source of danger.
The unswerving zeal of the hundreds of thousands of women who laboured in their solitary fields alone and unsupported was one of the hidden causes of the success of the Movement. All women owe a debt of gratitude to those women who worked in silence, suffered in silence, unknown to any save the odd speakers who visited their tiny hamlets or villages. How different was their life as Suffragettes to ours whose lot was cast among the multitude. Such courage as theirs was the cement which bound together the great structure called the Militant Movement. The women who came from the hills of the North Country or some little hamlet of the South to join our deputations and face arrest and imprisonment, returned not to city life where one is lost among many, but to their cottages or to the Manor House, as the case might be. There was no one there to show appreciation of their deed or to bid them welcome. They were met with ridicule and scorn, and yet they continued their work as though the whole village had erected a tablet in their honour. How anxiously did these women await the day when a speaker would visit their part of the country to explain to the villagers the whys and wherefores of the Militant fight. Once again the old saying proved true; “A prophet is without honour in his own country.”
Movements are built up by silent followers, and few realize the sacrifices they make, the secret suffering they endure, in their effort to be true to a great principle which has stirred their hearts. For the first few years the Militant Movement was more like a religious revival than a political movement. It stirred the emotions, it aroused passions, it awakened the human chord which responds to the battle-call of Freedom. It was a genuine reform for emancipation, led by earnest, unselfish, self-sacrificing women. A cause that works for emancipation must always draw to itself those who feel the need of freedom, and those who consciously feel their position rouse in others the same desire for liberty. The call was universal. All women were appealed to. Class barriers were broken down ; political distinctions swept away; religious differences forgotten. All women were as one. The fight was “Women versus Parliament.” The one thing demanded was loyalty to policy and unselfish devotion to the Cause.
The Movement represented the pent-up indignation and tightly suppressed anger or grief of highly individualized women, capable, clever, and learned. Their hearts in many cases had been scarred at the constant barriers that faced them in their walk in life. The life of Queen Elizabeth had been proof to them that women could understand the science of Government. The works and life of the first pioneer of women’s economic independence, Mary Wollstonecraft, had been studied and re-studied by those advanced souls who could find no outlet for their desires and capabilities.
There arose a woman, young in years, charming in appearance, cultured in manner, brilliant in learning, masterly in political strategy, fearless in action, courageous in danger, unflinching before opponents, speaking women’s thoughts, expressing their ideas, but expressing them with passion, fervour, and determination. She was the idol, the loved and honoured one, who gained their hearts as well as their heads in a big fight. All petty ideals and feelings were forgotten with the arrival of a big person with big ideas who had faith in them and implicit trust in the wisdom, the courage, of those who followed her.
Harmony vibrated through Christabel’s whole body. The one thing she dreamt about was women’s immortal birthright. We were conscious that she was the woman of the age, and that she alone could lead us to the land of political freedom. Followers have rarely such a leader, but few leaders in the history of humanity have had such unselfish, unquestioning followers as those who followed the one who had come forth to “plough the rock until it bore.”
Evolution is but a growing or extending of consciousness. Many men thought women should have the Vote, but they were not conscious of the need and justice of such a principle being made law. To be conscious of the whys and wherefores of desires, which are but promptings to action, is a sign of progress. It is people of this type whose works in life stand out clear-cut, finely defined, whether the self-conseious one be a Northcliffe, a Lloyd George, or a Christabel Pankhurst. It is they who make a plan of action and faithfully adhere to it, come what may. They are ever ready to adapt their schemes to some new, therefore unforeseen, situation which may arise.
If Voltaire did more than any other Frenchman to make the people think, Christabel Pankhurst has done more than any other woman to make British women not only think, but act. Without her there would have been no real Women’s Movement. She has never believed in the exceptional woman. She has always lived in the hope of seeing all women endowed with intelligence and an awakened consciousness of their place in the scheme of life. She is a born leader, possessing the creative gifts which belong to genius. It is easy to copy, to follow, but the real leader is the one who can create. There is a saying, “When the disciple is ready, the master is waiting.” So it seemed with the women and Christabel Pankhurst. The women were ready and the leader was there,
Mazzini, writing on the minor works of Dante, said: “Great men are the landmarks of humanity, they measure its course along the past and point the path of the future, alike historians and prophets. God has endowed them with the faculty of feeling more largely and intensely, and as it were, of absorbing more than their fellows of that universal life which pervades and interpenetrates all things. Their words are frequently unintelligible to their contemporaries, and their thoughts appear at times to vanish, submerged beneath the waves of the present; but God watches its passage beneath the abyss until it again emerges in a new splendour fertile of benefits to posterity.”
These words could have been written about Christabel Pankhurst as I know her. As the creative leader of the Women’s Movement she seemed to interpenetrate all things. Faith? One had to be in close touch with her during the first years of the Movement to realize what the word Faith meant. Christian Scientists, Apostles of New Thought, Theosophists, have been struck with amazement at her absolutely unquestioning Faith about everything in connection with the child of her brain — the Militant Movement. The only thing that touched it was our sublime faith in her. Fear, doubt, uncertainty, were words that never crossed her brain. She saw in British women a free, a proud, and a brave womanhood. She knew in her heart that no power on earth could withstand the united forces of such a glorious combination. She united thousands upon thousands of women in a bond of fellowship, and turned them from a life of enforced idleness into the path that led to service.
The Militant Movement as an organization was a great success. It was one of the most highly organized movements we shall ever see. The success lay in the concentration, not only of the creative leader, but also of thousands of other women on one object. The whole Movement became so highly vitalized that we seemed to speak the word, and lo ! the thing was done.
No small body of people ever had more obstacles to overcome than had the militant section when they first entered the political field on behalf of women. There had been the concentrated thought of generations ever revolving round the fixed point: “Woman’s place is the home.”
Therefore concentration had to break through concentration and dissolve until the opposition of ages gradually crumbled away through sheer inability to overcome a great mental and moral force.
Our forces were united. We were pledged to join no other party or work for any other society, or subscribe to any movement save the Militant Movement. The thought, the energies, the vital force of thousands was kept in one straight channel and concentrated on one thought, and that was “Votes for Women.”
Was it not concentration that made Lord NorthclifEe one of the greatest press organizers the world has ever known? Concentration on politics decidedly kept Mr. Lloyd Gleorge at the head of a Peace Government as well as at the head of a War Government. What created the war? Concentration by hundreds of thousands of Germans on warfare and world supremacy. What keeps the Vatican intact? The religious concentration of Jesuits and orthodox priests. What is the miraculous cement which binds all Jews together from generation to generation? Concentration on the God of their fathers. Take the greatest geniuses in science, art, music, poetry, and you will lind that they have all possessed the gift of concentration. All great people are past masters in this respect; concentration is the base upon which true genius is built. Was it not Queen Elizabeth’s concentration on a fixed idea (England’s greatness) that laid the foundations of a world Empire?
People, movements, governments, countries, seem to be divided into two sections. These sections of course coTild be again divided and subdivided according to capacity, intelligence, and so forth, but broadly speaking, humanity seems to be composed of Vitalizers and Energizers.
Our Movement was no exception to this rule. We had in our ranks both among organizers, among volimtary workers and among members, women who came under both of these heads. In one section we got the energizers, those organizers whose gifts lay in pure action; work was their life, but they lacked creative power of any kind. They were like electric clocks run by one master clock. They found it impossible to run for a second without the guidance of the larger one. In the other section there were the vitalizers. They worked because it was necessary to work in that particular way, not merely for the sake of work itself, and they fed the energizers of the Movement with ideas and enthusiasm. They were creative, intuitive, and profoundly earnest.
Looking back on the workers as I knew them, it seems to me on a final analysis that the energizers drew their inspiration from the human beings abound them. The vitalizers, besides being inspired by others, also possessed an inward inspiration. The energizers drew vitality from others; the vitalizers from life itself. The energizers were over-nervous, self-conscious; the vitalizers were super-sensitive. The energizers found their building fallen when the individual inspiring them withdrew. The vitalizers’ work seemed to flourish in their absence. The energizers believed in what they saw, the vitalizers knew in what they believed.
Both had their uses in the construction of a big movement. They were complementary, but they viewed results with a different eye. The energizers saw the result of their particular piece of work; the vitalizers saw the result of the work done collectively. The energizers raised tremendous admiration for their activity and capacity for work: the vitalizers inspired and roused others to self-sacrifice. The Vitalizer who possesses the gift of organization should never be put to work under an energizer; the strain becomes too great and the final results are fatal for both. I saw this happen many times in our Movement. It was never quite understood, as outward appearances are at times deceptive, even to the most intuitive brain.
Unseen forces must have been at work, seeing into futurity and realizing the necessity of uniting women and rousing within them a desire to serve, thus preparing their mentality and making them ready for the Great War. “No country can rise above its women,” is a statement based on a great truth; and it is acknowledged by all that the war would never have been won without the liberal, concentrated, harmonious labour contributed by freedom-loving, consciously awakened British womanhood. The Militant agitation worked miracles. This fact will be accepted by future generations. It quickened the mentality of women and inspired them to action. It awakened within them a consciousness of their individual entity in life, and gave them a confidence which women as a body had never possessed before. It was a stage women had to pass through to prepare them for more useful fields of action.
The country has been the gainer. When war broke out women who had never done organizing before suddenly found themselves at the head of thousands of women and girls in the large munition works, and it was discovered that in some of them the country possessed born organizers of human material. It rests with the women, who are now voters, to see that women’s capabilities are utilized to the fullest extent.
The granting of the Parliamentary vote to women and the passing into law of Bills allowing them to sit in the House of Commons, has given them absolute equality of poUtical rights. Much depends on the labour and patriotism of women, whether we shall keep our plaee as the first Great Power of the world and the Guardian of the Seven Seas, whether the Union Jack shall be looked upon as the flag of justice and the symbol of human liberty.
The greatest teacher of all time, Jesus, taught the people of His day the absolute need of the moral and spiritual independence of women. Two women chosen by Him to be His intimate and chosen friends were Mary and Martha, two maiden ladies of Bethany.
“Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her.” This message, which Jesus left for all mankind to read, was a testimony of the admiration and love in which He held Mary, and through her all women.
Our country is the land of heroes, the land of the immortal Shakespeare, the land which bore Nelson, the land of Drake, Bacon, Hawkins, Raleigh; the land of Beatty and his world-famed Navy, of Kitchener and his noble Army, of Queen Elizabeth, Grace Darling, Mary Wollstone-craft, Florence Nightingale, and the immortalized Edith Cavell….
Great Spirit, who has illuminated all our history, watch over us in these troubled times, guide us in this hour of our country’s destiny. Protect us from our own folly, our weakness and our failings. Teach us anew the lesson of self-abnegation for country. Lead us to greatness of purpose, strength, and liberty, until we in our turn pass the gates which lead to the Beyond. May we pass out of this life having played our part and added our bit to the shining structure of this our illustrious and beloved Empire.
THE END
