Crooked Pieces (25 page)

But there is a smell to a music hall. It is of warmth and beer and tobacco and spiced apples. There were no spiced apples that night, only sick, cold hatred between men and the women who might have been their wives if they only listened to them for half a moment. And from a music hall it grew very soon to a battleground, with the monstrous scurvy stewards hauling those women out by their hair, striking them about the head, ripping their clothes… And all for asking for justice.
How, how, HOW
have these animals got control of us? They are fit for nothing but to be thrown in the Thames and let them sink to the bottom and drown.

What is happening to me, that I wish death on people I have never known? Reverend Beckett would be proud of me. ‘Their sins shall be visited upon them, even unto the third and fourth generation.’ Do Reverends have sins? Or do they lay them off on those who are bound for hell anyway?

The press has not been kind to us of late. Seemingly the reporters think it our fault that men are driven to violence when we only ask for what should be ours of right. A number of women have formed themselves into a group to oppose the Cause. Naturally, they, none of them, have to earn a living or keep a family in boots and victuals, so I suppose they have no
need to think of those that do. How Christian! But they have taken on a very powerful army and will learn to be sorry for their actions.

I fear sometimes I am not very Christian either.

Mrs Pethick Lawrence came rushing into the office two days before Miss Christabel was due to be released from Holloway. ‘The most dreadful thing! Oh, ladies, I really don’t know what to do about this one.’ We gathered round.

A great procession had been organised to greet Miss Christabel and my first thought was that she was not to be set free after all.

‘They are out.’ Mrs Pethick Lawrence flapped her arms. ‘They are out. Released early. I don’t know what to do. Mrs Pankhurst as well. Both of them. Out. And no procession to greet them. Oh, what a mess.’

Mrs Drummond burst out laughing. ‘But this is marvellous. Wonderful news. Better out without a greeting, than in and waiting for one, would you not say, dear lady?’

Mrs Pethick Lawrence immediately calmed down. ‘Yes, of course. What am I at? Of course. Thank goodness for someone with a bit of sense, Flora. Sometimes I swear I am losing my mind entirely. I shall just have to cancel the procession. Are we too late to get word out, do you think, or shall I have to send them home as they arrive?’

‘No need to send them home at all,’ declared Mrs Drummond. ‘Why don’t we move the whole shebang to a hotel and instead of a march, have a meal? I’m sure I know which I’d prefer.’

Mrs Pethick Lawrence positively glowed with relief. ‘That’s
a brilliant suggestion, Flora. I shall set about it at once.’

I could have kissed Mrs Drummond, although I greatly wished Mrs Pethick Lawrence had not left her in charge of the menu for, her being expecting, there were a deal of pickled walnuts and curried mutton faggots to be got through before the pudding, and that, semolina with dried figs, which is not a favourite of mine.

When we had done eating, Mrs Pethick Lawrence rose to say how happy we were to have our leaders back amongst us and how deeply we had missed them during their absence.

Mrs Pankhurst stood up to reply and we all cheered, expecting her to urge us on to greater acts of defiance, whatever the ordeals awaiting us. Instead, she said nothing of the fight ahead but, speaking in a low still voice, recounted how, once you had been in prison it was like being two people. One for outside, who was brave and fiery and made bold speeches at great gatherings, and another for inside – alone, silent, deserted.

Everyone clapped when she had finished, but I could see, looking along the tables, that only those who had been through it had any idea of what she really meant. Just for one tiny second I felt that I was her true comrade at last and not just an ignorant working girl from Stepney.

Scarce a day goes by now without some article or report about the movement in the papers, even the ones the nobs read. Several groups of professional people have formed their own branches. There is The Artists’ League with many of Miss Sylvia’s friends in, The Women Writers’ League, and my favourite, for they are so funny and pretty and generous
beyond all reason, The Actresses’ Franchise League. They have actors in it, too, and sometimes the men make speeches which are quite wonderful to hear because they boom and fling their arms about and really it is just like watching a proper play – better, sometimes. Everything they do is so full of colour and noise and excitement and they do not stand on ceremony, but talk to us office girls quite as if they had known us all their lives.

I should so like to have been an actress. Fred says I am one, for he never knows which me I will be when he next sees me. I love him so much it hurts. Yet still I cannot let him… He is so kind and patient, says we have all the time in the world and he can wait, but I can see that he is made unhappy by it. We have been walking out for over a year now. In my street there would be at least one baby on the way by then, married or not.

One night when I was sitting on his knee in Mrs Garrud’s parlour he reached around and tried to undo the buttons on my blouse. I was off his knee faster than a lightning bolt. He just sat there staring at me, a look of such confusion in his eyes.

‘Why do you do this, Maggie?’

‘What?’

‘You know what. Why will you not let me love you as I long to? What is it that you fear so? Do you think I would hurt you? How could you believe such a thing?’

‘I… I do not know. I know you would not mean to hurt me but…’

He held out his hand. ‘Come back, Maggie. Sit on my knee. I swear I will not touch you if you do not want it. See.’ He
spread his arms wide. ‘I shall not move.’ I crept back and he was true to his word, sitting with his arms stuck out like a scarecrow’s. Just then Mrs Garrud’s girl came in to put some more coals on the fire. She stared at us like we were fresh from Bedlam. When she had gone we fell into fits of laughter. I flung my arms round his neck and buried my face against his shoulder. ‘Can I put my arms down now?’ he begged.

‘I think so.’

He folded them round me and just cradled me like I was a little hurt child. ‘Oh, Maggie.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And now you’re crying. I’ve made you cry with all my clumsiness.’

I wiped my eyes. ‘You’re not clumsy. You’re…not… You’re…not like other men. That’s all.’

Fred gave a sort of sigh. ‘No wonder you’re crying then. But I fear you’re wrong on that count. I’m just like other men.’

‘Then it is me that’s different.’

He kissed my ear. ‘Yes, you are different. Different from every woman who ever lived. That is why I love you. Everything about you. Every part of you. Every hair on your head. And if I have to, I will wait forever till you love me the same way.’

I cried some more.

When he had gone home to his cold narrow room (he says he thinks it was once the meat pantry) I went upstairs to my warm soft bed. I took my clothes off and hung them on their hangers. Then I went to the mirror. I am not at all beautiful without my clothes. Indeed, if there is nothing blue or green near to my eyes I look like a boiled crab, so pink is my face. But the rest of me is not pink. It is pale – like cream – and soft
and round. I have seen pictures of ladies in the galleries, some without their clothes on. I swear Fred takes me there on purpose. I hate it, for they never have hair where I have got it. I do not know if it is a disease that I have hair in all the wrong places and so much of it. I would ask Miss Annie but then she would know I have been looking at rude pictures and would never speak to me again. How could I let Fred see me, even if I wanted it, for he would think me an ape or very close?

I hate my body. I hate it. Every part of it. It is cursed. I will not think about it any more. My eyes are closed.

So on with my work.

Mrs Pethick Lawrence became nervous that there were so many new branches of the Women’s Freedom League starting up, the WSPU would lose members to them. She put out a call in
Votes For Women
for new leaders to come forward and be trained because, as she said, there were so many young women in England who had more time on their hands than they knew what to do with. She gave me a copy and asked me to read it first and tell her how it struck me. I said it was very fine and would surely inspire all manner of ladies to apply.

‘But… Maggie?’

‘Excuse me, ma’am?’

‘There is a huge “But” in your reply. Tell me where it leads.’

I have worked at Lincoln’s Inn for nigh on two years now and I know who to trust and who not. Mrs Pethick Lawrence, I trust.

‘You are right, ma’am, to say that there are ladies without occupation who would willingly step forward to become leaders…’

‘But…’

‘But you will find no one from the working classes because they cannot afford to leave their jobs.’

Mrs Pethick Lawrence became very thoughtful. ‘Give me that back, Maggie.’

Half an hour later she handed me the new script. It was the same as before but added at the bottom: ‘It may be some girl will read this and say: “Oh, I wish I were fortunate enough to be in an independent position – but I must work for my living.”

‘Well, if you feel like that, write, or better still, come and see me or some other member of the committee. Every would-be organiser has to undergo a training and testing of three months and during that time a sum to cover board and lodging expenses is paid to her.’

She smiled at me. ‘Will that do, do you think?’ I felt truly startled to be asked and then listened to in this way.

‘I’m sure it will, ma’am. I hope you did not mind me saying?’

Mrs Pethick Lawrence shook her head like a wet dog. ‘I certainly do not, Maggie. I am most grateful. Just one more thing I would ask of you.’

‘Anything, ma’am,’ I said, relieved to be let off so lightly.

‘You do promise me that you will apply, don’t you?’

Ma could hardly believe it when I told her I am to train to be a leader. She kept starting to speak then stopping again till in the end I said, ‘Ma, are you pleased or displeased? Just nod your head or shake it for I see you will never form a sentence again in your lifetime at this rate.’

She smiled and then suddenly she broke out laughing. I can’t remember when I last saw her do that. Not since I was very little. Before Samuel… She laughed and laughed, and poor Will who was in the middle of trying to pull her hair out just sat there and stared as though he’d been struck by lightning. At last she stopped.

‘Oh, Maggie. It’s more than I ever dreamt. I am so proud of you,’ and she sort of flapped her hands around as though she did not know what to do with them.

‘And I am to keep my wages while I train so you need not fear for that.’

‘It would not matter,’ but I could tell she was relieved.

It was a Thursday when I called and the house empty but for the little ones. Even Evelyn was off at the Poor School. Ma says she is doing really well and has twice gone out the front to say a psalm. I said if she carried on that way I should soon be enrolling her as a speaker.

I heated us a pie for dinner. Little Ann has two teeth and though they looked sore to me, she makes no fuss. I fed her so Ma could eat in peace, if you don’t count Will snivelling for he had burnt his mouth on a potato. When we had done I brewed some tea and we sat by the hearth talking. I asked about Alfie. Ma says he is still at his job and is sweet on a girl in the bakery. He goes in every day to buy a bun and she gives him the one with most sugar on it. She says it is a good thing he has such a hard job or he would be fatter than a Christmas hog by now.

Lucy has started work cleaning at the alehouse. I said I hoped she kept it cleaner than she does her own room or she would be out of the job pretty fast.

Ma sighed. ‘She likes it there. I wish she could find something else, for to tell the truth, there are some rough types drink there.’ I wondered if she meant Pa! Though he is a lot softer than some of the men in this street.

When it was time to go Ma came to the door with me. She had that look of wanting to say something but not being able to. Usually I would have gone not knowing, but since we had been so warm together that day I said, ‘What is it, Ma?’

She fumbled with her shawl. ‘Nothing. Only I just wanted to… Frank did not mean to be cold to you that day in the park, you know. He was very sorry for it after.’

‘It was nothing, Ma. He was disappointed I could not go out with him, that’s all.’

‘Yes, of course. That’s all it was.’ Suddenly she threw her arms round me and hugged me to her. ‘Thank you, Maggie.’ I could think of no reply since I did not know for what I was being thanked.

‘Bye, Ma. I will come again soon.’

She smiled and turned to go back in. On the back of her neck, just below her ear I saw a shiny white lump.

Part of my duties in my training is to organise ‘knocking at the door’. This means sending people to call on the politicians at home. Mrs Pankhurst’s sister, Mrs Clarke, went to the Prime Minister’s house itself. She was arrested for her pains. It seems strange to me that a person can be charged for knocking at a door. Soon they will be arresting the delivery men, I daresay, and then the postman. I said as much to Mrs Pethick Lawrence and next I know she has got her faraway look. ‘I think you have given me an idea, Maggie. Yes, a very good idea.’

Me and my ideas! I am only to be delivered to the Asquith man as a human letter! Fortunately I am to have a companion for I really think I should die of fright on my own.

Miss Annie’s sister, Jessie, was put in charge of us. At ten o’clock the three of us went down to the post office and Miss Jessie marched straight up to the counter, bold as brass. ‘I want to send a human letter.’ The poor man behind the counter looked mighty confused. He went away to ask his superior and we could hear a load of laughing from the back room. When he came back he brought a form which Miss Jessie had to fill in and then, after she had paid the threepence, we set off with a telegraph boy – a jolly lad who said it was the best job he’d been given since he started.