CHAPTER VII
A GENERAL ELECTION — WE OPPOSE MR. WINSTON CHURCHILL — WE INTERVIEW MR BALFOUR — I LEAVE MANCHESTER TO ROUSE LONDON WITH £2 — I MEET MR. W. T. STEAD
Fortunately for the new Militant Party, there was a prospective Cabinet Minister who chose as his constituency North-West Manchester.
To us the whole Election revolved around Mr. Winston Churchill and North-West Manchester.
We opposed Mr. Churchill, not because we had anything against him personally, but because he was a proposed Cabinet Minister, and we only haunted, heckled, and worried those members who were to have seats in the Cabinet if elected.
Well do I remember one meeting Mr. Churchill spoke at, in a school in Cheetham Hill, NorthWest Manchester, to be correct. I should say, tried to speak at, for the Suffragettes did most of the talking. In the midst of the hubbub Mr. Churchill complained of the bad treatment we were giving him, and in a petulant tone exclaimed, “Nothing would induce me to vote for giving the women the Franchise, and I am not going to be henpecked into a question of such grave importance.”
The next day the papers were full of jokes about poor Mr. Churchill and the “henpecking” Suffragettes, and in a Manchester paper the following verse appeared with apologies to Lewis Carroll: —
“The price of bread,” the heckler said,
“Is what we have to note.”
Answer at once — ”Who caused the war?
And who made Joseph’s coat?”
But here the henpecker shrieked out,
“Will women have the Vote?”
“I weep for you,” the heckler said.
“I deeply sympathize.
We have asked a hundred questions.
And yet had no replies.”
But here the henpecker spread out
A flag of largest size.
His over-nervous temperament soon got upset at our constant questioning and interruption, and our speeches also seemed to trouble him. Mr. Joynson Hicks, who was Mr. Churchill’s opponent, quietly appreciated our work.
Mr. Balfour, who had resigned as Prime Minister, was to visit Manchester. A splendid opportunity for us. A letter was sent asking him to receive a deputation. He consented, I should think more for the sake of peace than for any political reason.
The day of the deputation arrived. We were shown into a room where Mr. Balfour was waiting to receive us. How tall he looked, and how thin! The interview was arranged with the object of persuading him to make Women’s Suffrage a plank in the Conservative programme.
But Mr. Balfour was not the statesman to jump at conclusions about the power or the force that any political party claimed, much less our small band of women, who had started their fight in prison, a place which is not liked by the constitutional, conservative minds of the Balfours of the world! His reply was very quiet, very dignified, but to me, decisive. It was summed up in one word: “No.” The impression he gave me was that he had never given himself away either by thought or word. His eyes impressed me. I felt he had seen things that the ordinary man and woman do not see. Since then I have met many people who have the same expression in their eyes, sometimes intensified, and they have always been people who have studied psychics, the mystics, or Occultism in some form. I have met Mr. Balfour since then, but have always come away with the same impression — that man has never given himself away, never made a fool of himself. If he was deceived he would know he was being deceived. Many parts of his mind can work at once. To me on this occasion he was the essence of culture. To him we were a small body of firebrands, who claimed to have the power to overthrow Governments. Nothing came of the deputation, and Mr. Churchill was returned.
Mr. Keir Hardie was still among our most genuine supporters at this time. He was a personal friend of Mrs. Pankhurst, and the only man we could rely upon to introduce our question in Parliament. It was most essential therefore that Mr. Keir Hardie should be returned at the General Election. He decided to stand for Merthyr Tydvil. Mrs. Pankhurst, who was looked upon as a great draw by the Labour Party, owing to her sympathy with Labour and her wonderful eloquence in speech, decided that it was most necessary that Mr. Hardie should get in. It was agreed that should he feel it was important for her to go and speak in his favour, she would do so.
An urgent telegram came which made it quite clear that his position was in danger. Mrs. Pankhurst decided that should she find the position really serious, she would send for me also. It could not have been my eloquence that was the draw, for my speeches too often were incoherent. But I had worked in a factory! I had sat on a Trade Union Committee! I had also been to prison!
The telegram came: “Send Annie at once,” so at once I was sent. No time was lost in packing. I had nothing to pack, so that did not matter. My personal baggage consisted of a small brown-paper parcel; my public luggage of a larger parcel containing “Votes for Women” literature. Cabs, taxis, porters, were things for the future.
So I trundled along by tram, caught the train, and as I never had a good wrist for carrying things, was glad to get a seat. When I had bought my ticket I had only a few shillings left in my purse.
I wanted nothing in those days, the only thing I feared was that I might be lost in a beautiful day-dream that had reached the fifth instalment, and pass the station where I had to change; but I arrived quite safely.
I thoroughly enjoyed the Election. Besides Mrs. Pankhurst there was the late Mary McArthur, and Miss Margaret Bondfield, but we did not make good friends as they were adult suffragists, and we were what they called “limited suffragists.” I spoke at pit-brows chiefly, or at trade-union gatherings. Being a real lover of the wilds, the rainy, windy weather had no effect on me, and we had a fine campaign.
When the Election was over, Mr. Hardie asked Mrs. Pankhurst whether I might be left behind to work among the women. This was for two reasons: to keep them interested in Labour, and also to ensure his having sufficient backing for any stand he felt he could take on the Woman’s Question in the House of Commons. I stayed behind, planned a big campaign, and started organizing meetings all over the constituency.
I had just finished working out a programme for at least a month, when a telegram arrived: “Return at once, sending you to London.” I had once said that if they would raise £2 I would go and rouse that great city!
It was a case of “Fools step in where angels fear to tread.” My ignorance or innocence of political life in London was my best protection. Though I was twenty-six I knew very little of life. A city had no terrors for me. Opposition in London meant no more than opposition in a little Lancashire town. I was full of hope and of unquestioning faith that success would be ours.
I shall never forget my journey back to Manchester. I heard my still small voice. The few things that it told me to do were wise. The advice was: Work hard; be loyal; keep your mind concentrated on the work in hand. The sky, the foamy floating clouds, the waving trees, all seemed to understand and to speak words of hope and cheer.
There was great excitement among the members when I arrived in Manchester. London was to be roused, and I had been chosen by Christabel and Mrs. Pankhurst to rouse it. Some of the members envied me, others pitied me.
I packed my little wicker basket, put the £2 safely in my purse — it was the only money I possessed — and started my journey to London. When I had paid my fare I had £1 and a few shillings change. Where the next money would come from, and what I should live on were questions that never came into my mind. I was living once again in the “Eternal Now,” and when all is said and done none of us can live one second in the past or future except in thought.
On my arrival in London I was met by Miss Sylvia Pankhurst, who was the only representative the new Movement had in London. We went to her rooms, which were also to be my future home for many weeks. It was a small house, 45 Park Walk, Chelsea.
The following night she took me to speak at a meeting which was attended by the very poorest women in Canning Town. The Labour men had lent them the room. Sylvia and I told them all the wonderful things that would happen to them once women got the vote. Poverty would be practically swept away; washing would be done by municipal machinery! In fact, Paradise would be there once the Vote was won! I honestly believed every word I said. I had yet to learn that Nature’s works are very slow but very sure. Experience is indeed the best though the sternest teacher. Poor East End women, we gave them something to dream about, and a hope in the future, however distant that future might be. We returned home late at night and I slept soundly, believing that we had done a good piece of work towards winning the Vote.
The things that impressed me most when I first came to London were Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament viewed in the twilight, also the Thames when there was a high moon. If I wanted to let my imagination have a field-day, I crossed Westminster Bridge, turned down the steps at the end of the bridge, and looked at Parliament Buildings. Here I could dream of wealth and the Court. My day-dream at this time was all about Court life. King Edward and I were good friends, in fact he was more like an uncle to me in my day-dreams. Had I been asked to go and see him in Buckingham Palace it would not have surprised me, and I should not have been in the least afraid. This fear which creeps over people when they are to meet some person in an exalted position or highly placed in the social world, has always been to me a source of wonderment and surprise. I always say to myself — Why be afraid? There is nothing to be afraid of. Supposing I make a mistake and shake hands when I should not, or take my companion’s arm in the street when I have only Just been introduced, or fold my table-napkin at the wrong moment, or sit on the floor because I am the most comfortable there, or go without gloves, having lost them on the Underground, well, if they are thoroughbreds they will understand, and if they are trying to be something they are not, they will be ashamed of me, and never ask me again, and that will be the end of it. But as my mother always said, “They won’t eat you!”
Trafalgar Square also impressed me, as did the hawkers at Ludgate Circus. I went to look at Watts’s pictures in the Tate Gallery day after day. I was not yet ready to appreciate works in the British Museum or the National Gallery.
Among the things that gave me great pleasure was buying a bag of hot chestnuts as I had on my first visit to London, and if I could afford it, taking the front seat on one of the old horse-buses and going from terminus to terminus. I toured London in this way, but not possessing a good bump of locality, I traversed the same ground many times over. Sometimes if there were no meetings I would go on to the Embankment and make friends with some woman derelict. I chose a woman because Mrs. Pankhurst had warned me before leaving for London, not to speak to any man in the street but a policeman! I was a most obedient follower, and I religiously kept my promise.
The tramp women and I made great friends.
One of these tramps had for her object viewing the Cathedrals and ancient Abbeys of the country. She told me she found this was the only way she could ever fulfil her ambition! She was very religious, and a great admirer of the Court. She said she felt herself to be a tramp reformer, as she always discussed life from an artistic stand-point! Her passion was to visit Russia, and go on one of the pilgrimages she had read about.
Among these tramps were poets and writers, though their poetry is unsung, and their writings are not in books.
Some of the women were human tragedies, others human comedies; some were ignorant, others learned, but all were greatly interesting, and to me human souls, each learning her lesson, but living inwardly at different stages of development. Later, when, to gain experience, I slept in Salvation Army shelters and other places of refuge, I did not find these places quite so strange as I might have done had not these tramp friends of mine told me all about them in our nightly talks, watching the silent barges taking their cargoes up and down the old river.
A field-day I loved was taking the omnibus to Uxbridge. I used to wander miles, and there was an ancient tree that proved the best friend I shall ever meet. Sometimes I would finish the day at Lockhart’s in the Strand. I never chose eggs, tomatoes or lentils, as these were our chief food at Park Road. One day it would be lentils with an egg perched on the top; the following day tomatoes with an egg perched on the top; the day after that, as a change, lentils and tomatoes with an egg perched on the top; and the following day again, to make our meals varied, an egg with fried tomatoes perched upon it and cocoa or a glass of milk.
I used to read the menu at Lockhart’s as though it were a new novel. It took me quite a long time to get through it; then I would start all over again, to decide what my evening meal should be, and in the middle of choosing I would suddenly realize that it had to be paid for, and it would take quite a little time to decide how much I could spend if I wanted to take the bus home. The waitress used to get cross, but being of a conservative temperament I always went to the same Lockhart’s and chose the same table if it was free, so in time she got to know me. I gave her Suffragette literature, and like all Lancashire people, I confided to her our family history, and what had happened at the Free Trade Hall. So we became good friends, and she was never again cross with me, and allowed me to read the menu through as many times as I liked without hurrying me. I always left her a penny to show my appreciation of her kindness to me.
I had not been long in London before Miss Theresa Billington joined us, and Mrs. Pankhurst came to see what progress we were making, and also to make arrangements for the new Party’s first public meeting. My instructions were to write to Mr. W. T. Stead and ask him to see me. He consented and I went to his office off the Strand.
As soon as I entered the room we gave a good long silent look at each other, and in a second we were firm friends.
Friendship is a mysterious thing. It is something that comes unannounced and uninvited. You work and live with people for years, and yet a bridge divides you. You meet a person casually, and in a minute something stirs within you. The secret springs of your nature fly open, the treasures of your heart are exposed.
Mr. Stead asked me to tell him about my life. I sat on the arm of his big chair, and told him all I could remember. Before leaving he asked me to promise that I would go to him if I felt lonely or in trouble, or if I was tired. “London,” he said, “is not quite the city you think it is, and all people are not quite what your imagination pictures them. You are young in experience, but your optimism will carry you past many dangers. You have a far bigger work to do than you yet realize. I want to feel that you will come to me should you ever need help.”
I felt quite solemn when I left. I was stirred and deeply moved by his kindness and thoughtfulness about my welfare.
Mr. Stead proved to be almost a father to me. Feeling as he did that I was in need of rest and change, he approached Mrs. Pankhurst and asked her permission to take me to his delightful homely house on Hayling Island. He used to read to me in the evenings but he never discussed his Religion or Spiritualism with me, which was far-seeing of him. His books on these subjects were brought to my notice long afterwards by others who were also interested in the Spiritualistic Movement.
The following letter is one among many that I received from him. It was written at a later period — in December, 1906 — but I shall insert it here: —
My dear Granddaughter, —
Don’t you think you are a little monster? I do. I had got permission to come and see you in Gaol, and then immediately you come out, and though you must have been just across the street ever so many times, you have never looked me up, or given me a chance of seeing you. Do you think this is behaving in a granddaughterly manner? Pray understand this is only a good-humoured way of expressing my desire to see you and to hear how you are getting on.
With best wishes and heartfelt congratulations,
I am, Yours sincerely.
In the ordinary way he ended his letters, “Your affectionate Granddad,” but this time evidently he meant to show he was a little hurt!
For weeks, in those early days I was speaking of, he lent me a room at his house in Smith’s Square, where I could retire for a rest after a day’s lobbying in the House of Commons. There is nothing so exhausting in this world as lobbying Members in our British Parliament. Your head aches with the stuffy atmosphere; your legs feel they will drop off with the constant standing up to see whether the Member who has condescended to see some unfortunate lobbier is the Member you have sent for. Your eyes ache, staring at nothing, after you have stared at the policemen until you can stare no longer. I should think there are more back-aches, head-aches, chest-aches, arising in that outer lobby than in any other building in London.
Mrs. Drummond and I used to amuse ourselves watching the walk of the Members, and critically examining the features of those who managed to come out to see some poor creature as deluded about lobbying as we were. When we did this we were less bored, and in fact often highly amused. If any reader has the misfortune to be placed in the lobby of the House of Commons waiting for some poor over-driven Member, my advice is, don’t sit shivering; just study their faces, and you will be surprised how quickly the time flies. I have laughed more at the sights we saw in the House of Commons than I have ever laughed at the artistes at a music-hall.
New Members, especially, were most amusing. They were so conscious of having the letters “ MP.” behind their names that they nearly tripped over themselves sometimes. I hoped women would not become so self-conscious.
CHAPTER VIII
OUR FIRST PUBLIC MEETING — CAXTON HALL — MR. AND MRS. PETHICK LAWRENCE JOIN THE MOVEMENT
When it was decided that we must have a public meeting on the same day as that on which the newly elected Liberal Party was to meet, the question that faced us was finance. Mrs. Pankhurst had given all she had to give, and a big meeting like a Caxton Hall meeting needed money.
So Mrs. Pankhurst and I went to see Mr. W. T. Stead and Miss Isabel Ford, a veteran of Labour, a big-natured woman, and a generous giver. Each gave us a loan of £25. We were indeed rich.
Mrs. Drummond left Manchester to join our small enthusiastic group in London. She and I had happy times together, as our natures blended, and she enjoyed a good joke, a holiday, and a good meal. Both having a keen sense of humour, our very lack of funds amused us, especially when we had been quite solemnly discussing the great things we would do to rouse the people.
Looking back, they were the happiest days of aU. It was the childhood of the Movement.
The London Movement at that time was composed of Sylvia Pankhurst, Teresa Billington, Mrs. Drummond, myself, and our landlady.
Caxton Hall was booked, leaflets were printed; the only work was to secure an audience. We realized the necessity of having a full meeting, for this would impress the public.
It was finally decided that the only people we could really count on as audience were the unemployed Labour women from Canning Town, Poplar, and Limehouse.
I was sent to work in these parts, and it was heart-breaking work. How I had the courage and audacity to talk Votes for Women to those thin, sallow, pinched, pain-stricken, poverty-lined faces I do not know. I only know that I could not do it now.
We were able to meet them in groups, thanks to the local Labour men, who called them together chiefly to rouse them about unemployed men, or to walk in processions, or to persuade them to vote Labour at the Municipal Elections. Poor oppressed, unawakened East-Enders — every reformer using them for his own ends, and we were doing just the same! though the Vote would ultimately be of use to them.
I grew to love them; their quick tongues, their big hearts, their little prying gossips, their love of company, all explained to me the secret of the success of every public-house and bar in the East End of London. To give no offence I had to drink a cup of tea with every woman I called to see, and it was a marvel how much I managed to consume.
I had not worked there very long when I felt that one thing was essential for the success of the Caxton Hall meeting, and that was that all the East-End people must have their fares paid, and more than that, that they must have a hot drink and food on arrival. I now realize why this brilliant idea came to me; it was because “an army marches on its stomach,” and the East-Enders were the only army that had signed on for the first battle in London.
The day of the meeting arrived. The East-End women walked in procession from the various Tube stations, and the flags they carried were the Red Flags of the Labour Party.
On arriving in Caxton Hall they were taken into a large back room, and served with tea and buns. They were a happy joking crowd.
Afterwards we stage-managed them in various parts of the hall, and they waved the Red Flag and sang the “Red Flag” so loudly that the strangers present must have thought they had made a mistake and that it was a meeting prepared for Tom Mann!
There was a good sprinkling of strangers, all looking shy and self-conscious. Two West-End ladies came in their maids’ attire, as they were curious to see what the Suffragettes were like, and among the women of title was Lady Carlisle.
We made our speeches. Anyone who has ever heard Mrs. Pankhurst speak has heard one of the finest orators of the day. The whole atmosphere became electric directly she started.
When the meeting was over Lady Carlisle asked to speak to me. She said how much she had enjoyed the meeting, and put a five-pound note into my hand towards the expenses. She also asked me to go and see her, so that we could have a talk on the question. I lunched at her house soon afterwards, but there were no more five-pound notes forthcoming, and very little sympathy. The child of her heart was not Votes for Women, but Temperance, and I was not to be weaned away from Votes for Women to any other reform.
There was another lady at the meeting who sent £20 towards expenses. That was Miss Mordan. I went to see her afterwards, and she became one of our most loyal members and most generous subscribers. We raised, I should think, £50 in all, and the Caxton Hall meeting had been a success. Fortunately for us, Mr. Stead and Miss Ford gave us the money they had lent, and so we went ahead.
After my work in the East End I came to this conclusion. That those who have a real desire to help the suffering, expressionless masses in the East End, should not live there. I refer to the individual, not to those Sisters and Brothers of Missions who open their doors to the weak, the outcast, and the oppressed of all classes. I starved myself to be more one of them, to understand them, and merge myself in their existence.
I have travelled through all the great European cities, but I have never seen such drabness, such hopeless despair, such agonizing poverty, as I saw in the East End of London. I felt it was like one big long funeral, but the dead who were being buried were not the human dead — they were the dead of lost endeavour, of lost hopes, aspirations, faith, courage, and of all the qualities that go to make a consciously free man.
Not many weeks after the Caxton Hall meeting Mrs. Pankhurst had the good fortune to meet Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence. She was deeply impressed by their earnest desire to hear the truth about the arrests in Manchester, and to meet two people who showed such human and sympathetic interest was a great surprise to us all.
She was asked to lunch with them in their home in Clement’s Inn, and I was to join her afterwards. They wanted to meet some one who had been in prison.
I went, and from the first moment there sprang up a deep friendship between us which has never really been broken, in spite of the severance which took place much later, owing to policy, I was more like an adopted daughter than a friend, and many comforts and a few luxuries were very soon mine that had not been mine before meeting the two new friends who were to play such a leading part in the Militant Movement.
Only a few people had shown interest in the Caxton Hall meeting, but before many weeks had elapsed it was decided to form a London Committee. Miss Sylvia Pankhurst was made hon. secretary, and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence, the greatly appreciated new recruit, was asked to be hon. treasurer. Though we had nothing to treasure, we never doubted that the day would come when we should have that most necessary material — money.
To put me on a committee was like putting a doll or a dummy there. I had never any suggestions to offer or any ideas to contribute. After the meeting was over my head was hot with scores of ideas all tumbling over each other, and when I retired at night I could have made suggestions which would have startled the other members, even had they been of no use. My grandmother always hinted that I should be one of those people who are troubled with “after wit.”
An autocracy suits my conservative, liberty- loving nature. I either like to be told what to do, provided I have a deep admiration and profound respect for the one advising me, or I like to be left absolutely alone to act in my own way. The Committee was necessary, however, besides, we had won a recruit worth having. We could have headed notepaper, and we could ask sympathizers to come to Headquarters and join us in our work. Mrs. Lawrence is not a woman who will play at work, or work without method, or from pure inspiration. She must see where she is going, where the road will lead, and what the obstacles may be to block the path. She was the person we needed. Christabel, Mrs. Pankhurst, and I, were too temperamental and purely intuitive. So Providence sent the right woman at the right time to help in turning the tiny little vessel into a great liner.
Before many weeks, offices were taken at 4 Clement’s Inn.
This was the real home of the Militant Movement.
It was at this period that Mr. Lawrence threw himself into the work heart and soul. Mrs. Pankhurst and Christabel decided that they would break up their home in Manchester. This meant a wandering life for both of them. Renouncing their pretty artistic home life, with their homely housekeeper, Helen, who loved them all as though they were children, they secured rooms just where they could. How uncomplaining, how simple, how good they were! Mrs. Pankhurst must have silently suffered many times, for hers is a nature which loves comfort and the pretty things of life.
Christabel had the most aesthetic nature. The only thing her mind ever dwelt upon was the Movement. When we took walks together in the country we always carried with us a notebook, pencils and a knife to sharpen them with. If we were sitting up late at night enjoying the warm crackling wood fire, when we were week-end guests at the Lawrence’s country home, pencil and paper would be there, so that no idea was lost, no conversation which turned on the work forgotten. Apart from the original thoughts which seemed to just drop from Christabel’s brain, exactly as a seed falls into the ground, practically all the work, the tremendous organization, the terrific schemes that came in later days were thought out in this way.
The Committee grew larger, but only for a short time — Christabel found it a stumbling-block to her swift brain — so, like all autocrats, she swept it away. It was keeping her back from swift action. No general on a battlefield would have tolerated interference with sweeping tactics, and why should she?
Processions, Albert Hall meetings, raids on Parliament, tactics in prison, smashing of Cabinet Ministers’ meetings, the varied forms of advertisement (of which we were admitted to be past masters), all were decided, debated, discussed, analysed, and counter-discussed round the breakfast, lunch, or dinner-table at the Lawrence’s home, in the old courts around the Strand, round the fire at Holmwood or in the woods around Leith Hill. If the beautiful woods there could have spoken, Scotland Yard would have forestalled many a Militant attack.
It was a splendid way of organizing a Movement, and it will explain to the public why it was that no plans were ever given away. Faithfulness, unity, and harmony were the spirits that hovered over us.
CHAPTER IX
AN EMPTY EXCHEQUER
Our success as an organization commenced when Mr. andl Mrs. Pethick Lawrence joined our small band of workers in the spring of 1906. They brought to the Movement qualities that are the basis of a firm and lasting foundation.
Mrs. Lawrence had only been with us for a week or so when she put the Committee on a proper financial and business-like basis. Her position as hon. treasurer was at first difficult. She started with an empty exchequer, but before five years had elapsed she had raised over one hundred thousand pounds!
Most of the spectacular side of the Movement was conceived in Mrs. Lawrence’s brain; she understood her public. Her love of pageantry, her passion for colour and music introduced into the Movement a lighter, freer, and gayer side. The pageantry of the Movement played a great part, not only in popularizing it, but also in making popular the people who were the builders.
As a treasurer Mrs. Lawrence had the most wonderful gift of appeal, not only in speech but in the written word. Quotations that are now famous were introduced by her either in letters, or were inscribed on banners: “Thoughts have gone forth whose powers can sleep no more” was one that she introduced and which became so popular among the people.
Her interest in the life of the people made her very understanding about holidays and pleasures for the workers; we had not a day for play until Mrs. Lawrence made the rule.
Christabel Pankhurst always said that the Lawrences were the people who first of all made her really enjoy a holiday.
Mrs. Pethick Lawrence was born for national executive work. As the home life of people always appeals and impresses me, I must say I have never enjoyed home life as I did when I visited her country home in Surrey; it was a privilege and a deep pleasure.
Staying with Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence in the country, one had a sense of freedom and of rest, of perfect tranquillity and of the harmony that country life gives. Culture permeated the whole place, and this is helpful to those whose work has always been hard, and whose financial means are small.
Mrs. Lawrence’s powers of deep reflection and of vivid imagination helped Mrs. Pankhurst and Christabel in building up a gigantic work that will leave its effects on generations yet to come.
Mr. Lawrence was the only man who played a part in the inner working of the Militant Movement. We owe him a tremendous debt for the stupendous work he did in helping to build up the Society. The well-run and highly organized staff and office were the work of his brain. However good the workers were, they could never have done such perfect work without the perfect conditions which he created. Regularity, order, method, were the rules laid down.
The organization which the tremendous demonstrations involved was the work of one person, who mapped out the plans, who planned the innumerable details, who saw the effect of the scheme before it was finished, and that person was Mr. Lawrence. His clear-cut, finely defined ideas on the scheme in hand helped to ensure its success. He saw everything that might happen, and worked accordingly. His capacity for detail in big schemes made it possible for the Movement to venture on gigantic plans which would never have been thought of, or if thought of never ventured upon, if he had not been behind the scenes, working, planning, scheming to make success doubly sure. On the great day he appeared to be one of the crowd, but he watched with a critical eye for the places which must be repaired as occasion arose.
The paper, which played a great part in the work, was conceived by Mr. Lawrence. He, with his practical experience of politics and of public life, saw the necessity of the Movement having an organ which would voice its demands and give some account of its work. This in itself meant much labour and added responsibility.
They were happy days, and as I look back I can honestly say that it was not until Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence left the Movement that I ever experienced a sense of real responsibility.
Apart from policy, which was always decided upon by Christabel, Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence accepted practically all final responsibility for the success of the Movement.
While they were with us we were one of the most highly organized societies this country will ever see; after they left we were a fine body of militant women in a revolutionary work, but the Movement as a movement grew smaller. It lacked the method, the order, that the Lawrences brought to the work.
It may be that many people will not agree with this, but it is nevertheless a fact.
Now the reader will ask:“ Who conceived ideas, who laid the plots, who organized them, who carried them out?”
The true and inner secret of the Militant Movement was that we were an autocracy. No committee ever has, or ever will, run a revolution. Whether that revolution be bloodless like the women’s, or dripping with tears and blood like the Russian, they may say a committee runs it, but probe deeply enough and you will find one head that towers above all others, one brain that is aflame with ideas, a pair of hands which guides the team, and a pair of bright impenetrable eyes that see, search, know, and understand the where and whither of every move that is made on the Revolutionary chess board.
That was so with the Women’s Bloodless Revolution, and the name of the autocrat was Christabel Pankhurst.
But paradoxical as it may seem, though we were an acknowledged autocracy, never did members have greater liberty of action, provided they kept strictly to the main policy laid down. The discipline the new members had to undergo was good for character building, but once they were proved to be “true blue” they had militant materials given to them to utilize as they thought best. Kitchener and Haig, Scotland Yard and the Secret Service Department lost good stuff owing to some women being women and not men. And yet if they had gained, our Movement would have lost some of its best material.
Christabel’s reserve, her instinct, would have been appreciated by Talleyrand, the “Politic Man” as Bulwer Lytton called him. Talleyrand in a speech delivered at the French “Institute” said: “A Minister of Foreign Affairs ought to be gifted with a sort of instinct which should always be prompting him, and thus guarding him. when entering into any discussion, from the danger of committing himself…. Diplomacy is not a science of craft and duplicity. If sincerity be anywhere requisite it is especially so in political transactions, for it is that which makes them solid and durable. It has pleased people to confound reserve with cunning. Sincerity never authorizes cunning, but it admits of reserve, and reserve has this peculiarity, that it increases confidence.”
Next to Christabel came Mrs. Pankhurst. Then I myself, as I was the first to join and remained to the end. I was not only a member and organizer, I was the closest friend and companion to the one whose brain had conceived the idea of militancy. Then came Mr. and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence, Flora Drummond, Jessie Kenney, and after 1912, Grace Roe. Hundreds of others played a big and important part in the work, but these people played the leading roles and bore the great responsibility in the Suffragette drama.
What won was good organization, stamina, morale, good fellowship, loyalty, burning zeal, co-operation, and correlation of ideas in all departments.
The Movement was divided up into two parts, although they were as one from a strategical point of view. The two parts were (1) Constitutional, and (2) Militant. Militancy was divided up into many parts.
Mrs. Tuke was one of the most valuable people who ever joined us. She possessed those qualities so needed in a movement — wisdom and good plain common sense. Parents who came to see whether their daughters could be entrusted to us always found in Mrs. Tuke the born hostess. Patient, understanding, full of human kindness, never evading the points raised as to the dangers of joining such an organization, she was also clear in her explanations as to the knowledge and experience which would be gained by girls of character in our ranks. Mrs. Tuke was born with truth and faithfulness written on her heart. She was one of the big characters that the Movement had the good fortune to attract.
To Miss Kerr, who was Manageress of our new offices, we owe much. She was a born business woman, the right person in the right place at Headquarters. In Mrs. Sanders we had the astute financier. The organizers with their petty cash books had to be careful of every penny entered, the right discipline for us who were here, there, and everywhere in our labours. Mrs. Lawrence found in her an admirable understudy. If we were out in our petty cash book, it had to come out of our own pockets. We never thought of making an excuse. There was a mistake, and who could we expect to rectify it save ourselves? Money was scrupulously valued by Mrs. Lawrence. This was a good point, as money meant nothing to a few of us who were pioneers of the Movement. I always admired, and still admire, the careful and methodical way in which the money was spent. That is why we did so much more with our money than Party politicians. Where hard work would tell, no money was spent on advertising. If a chair would be suitable as a platform, why pay a few shillings for a trolley? If the weather was fine, why hire a hall? If the pavements were dry, why not chalk advertisements of the meeting instead of paying printers’ bills? If a tram would take us, why hire a taxi? This went on for years.
