United We Stand

In tribute to the suffragettes

PC Morgan’s door rap reverberated along the row of terraced houses. Esme was aware of the twitching of curtains.

The policeman put his arm on her shoulder and flashed a taut smile that managed to convey disapproval without unkindness. Esme looked down at the step which, judging by its clean cream colour, had recently received the attentions of her mother’s donkey stone.

From beyond the door she heard the fumbling of bolts being drawn back and her stomach swirled into little nauseous spirals.

The policeman’s uniform elicited a sharp intake of breath – as Esme had known it would – and then in spite of her defiance she was sorry to have brought trouble to her mother’s door.

“She’s little more than a child, so just a caution this time,” PC Morgan said, concluding the summary of her offences. “I’ll, er… leave it to you to discipline your daughter.”

“Yes, Constable.” Mam’s face was almost puce with discomfort. “And, er… thank you.”

“Whatever did you think you were playing at?” she scowled, slamming the front door shut behind them with a frame-rattling force. “Good job your dad’s not still with us to witness this shame: his own daughter handing out suffragette nonsense on the street like a common hawker!”

“It’s not nonsense, Mam. It’s about giving women a voice.”

“Hark at you, spouting like a speaker at the hustings. There’s only one voice you need be worrying about, lass – and that belongs to Mrs Havers. I don’t know what she’ll say when she hears her apprentice has been… has been arrested!” Mam placed a palm against her chest at the word. “And escorted home by a police constable for all to see. Who’d have thought a daughter of mine would ever break the law?”

“It wasn’t much, Mam. Handing out a few leaflets about a meeting in the Assembly Rooms. I don’t see how that’s a crime.” “Don’t you indeed?” “The WSPU – they’re just trying to help people like us.” “By getting us arrested?” “Nobody cares about women like us, Mam, because we can’t vote for them. But what about what it was like for you working in the mill ’ till your breathing got too bad? About people like Aunty Hilda whose arm was took by the machines and has to live on charity?”

“We do our best, is all. That’s why I wanted you to have a respectable trade, an apprenticeship with a proper ladies’ milliner. So proud I was, when you landed it – not for my girl a life at the looms. And now you’ve thrown it all away by bringing such disgrace on us. You’ll just have to beg Mrs Havers’ pardon and pray she’s prepared to forgive your foolishness.” “The WSPU cares.” “Nay, lass. The only true words that have come out of your mouth this last hour is that nobody cares.”

All night Esme stared in sleepless anguish at cracks on her bedroom ceiling, listening to the snuffling of her younger sisters.

She felt such a failure, an insignificant little girl who had achieved nothing for The Cause. Mrs Pankhurst and the others led heroic marches and went to prison for their principles; all she’d done was hand out a few pieces of paper. She hadn’t even done that properly before PC Morgan had carted her off to the police station. All she’d done was upset Mam and probably lost her position.

Now that there was a possibility of losing her place she was suddenly flooded with fondness for the

milliner’s workshop with its laces, threads and felts. It was there, only a few weeks ago, that she had first come into contact with The Cause…

Pardon me, Miss, but you’ll need to put your magazine down while I measure. It won’t take but a minute.” “Of course, Esme. I’m sorry.” Miss Arabella Smeaton had smiled in a way that made her sapphire eyes sparkle. Esme liked Miss Arabella. Not just because she was pretty and cheerful but because even though her father was a factory owner and she was one of Mrs Havers’ best customers, you would never know it. She never dropped things and just expected you to pick them up and she always looked at you when she spoke – and remembered your name.

“Have you ever read a copy of The Suffragette, Esme?” “No, Miss,” she’d said, shocked. “Heavens! Don’t look so scared. It’s not heretical, you know. It’s a splendid cause I wholeheartedly support. Here –” She’d proffered the magazine. “You can borrow it. I have plenty more at home.” “Oh, I – er…” “Oh, Esme.” Miss Arabella’s cheeks had blushed a bit pink. “I never thought! You can read, can’t you?”

“Yes, Miss.” Esme had felt her chin tilting. “And write my letters.”

“Well, then, take it.” Miss Arabella had beamed. “It can be our little secret.”

I had felt nice – her and Miss Arabella sharing a secret.

Some of the words had been a bit long but Esme had devoured The Suffragette late at night while her sisters slept. She’d been enthralled by stories of the movement’s heroines; moved that strangers could care for the plight of women they would never meet. More than that – she’d been inspired.

“What did you think?” Miss Arabella had whispered to Esme on her next visit.

“Oh, Miss –” Esme struggled to find words for the depth of her feelings. “I’ve never read such – sense – in all my life.”

“Excellent.” Miss Arabella had clapped her hands. “I was hoping you’d see. I knew you would. So –” She’d withdrawn a wad of leaflets from her bag. “Perhaps you could… do you think you could hand these out to publicise the meeting next week? I’d do it myself but Papa is taking me away to town. You will help us, won’t you, Esme?”

It was that “us” that had done it. Reading the magazine had made Esme long to be part of this women’s army trying to change the world. They would be a heroic sisterhood fighting together: her, Miss Arabella and Mrs Pankhurst.

So that was how she’d ended up pounding the High Street handing out leaflets on her precious day off. Until PC Morgan had caught her. She had failed The Cause and now she would fail her mother too by losing her job.

Esme entered the milliners’ workshop by the back door and went straight to her bench. Mrs Havers, she knew, would still be upstairs tending to her elderly father. Esme sorted felts and bandings for the day’s work into piles; steadying her hands, trying to think of a way to begin her explanation. “Good Morning, Esme.” “Good Morning, Mrs Havers.” She worked on, not raising her head, her hands moving swiftly but shaking, her stomach shivering.

“Esme?” Mrs Havers’ voice was crisp in the silence. “I think, perhaps, you have something to tell me?”

“Oh, Mrs Havers. I’m sorry you found out from somebody else. I was going to tell you but –”

“What on earth were you doing handing out suffragette leaflets on the pavement of the High Street?” “Oh, Mrs Havers – I’m sorry, I –” “Don’t you know you have to walk in the roadway instead? They can’t arrest you for obstruction if you’re not on the pavement.” “I… what…?” Mrs Havers’ eyes twinkled with mischief so that she suddenly looked much younger than her years.

“If you’re going to help, Esme, you have to learn to play the game.” “I don’t understand.” “Come,” her employer beckoned. “I have something to show you.”

There were boxes and boxes of them. They were hidden away under the back room’s workbenches and concealed behind false panels in cupboards. Resplendent in their green, white and purple stripes were suffragette banners, flags, and sashes. Esme felt her mouth making an “O” shape.

“I cannot openly support,” Mrs Havers was saying. “My father is an elderly and sick man and the shock would be too much. Besides, who would care for him if I were sent to prison? But we can all do our bit.”

“By handing out leaflets?” Esme said. “I wasn’t much good at it.”

“Nonsense, you mustn’t feel you’ve failed. Remember, an army needs only a few generals but it needs many foot soldiers, Esme. The likes of Miss Arabella Smeaton may speak up boldly in public but they also serve who only stitch in secret.”

Esme beamed. Maybe one day she might even win her mam round…

Esme LONGED to be in this heroic SISTERHOOD, to CHANGE the world