Thank you so much for your letter. It is a great relief to know you really don’t mind me going on for pages and pages. I am sure that once this campaigning is all over and we’ve won the vote (that can’t possibly take too long, can it?) and my life goes back to its boring old self, then my letters will return to normal length.
I am very glad that your leg is on the mend and that rehearsals for the play have begun. How exciting that you are playing Polonius! That bit where he gets stabbed behind a curtain is awfully dramatic, you must tell me how you perform it. Will you have a false beard and everything?
I haven’t even bothered putting anything in my own letters about school recently because then the letters would be even longer. But you can take it for granted that while all this has been going on, we have been going to maths and Latin and stupid Drill and Dancing and all the usual boring school things. Oh, and the nuns have told Grace that if she keeps up her work and good behaviour then she has a very good chance of winning the stupid cup she’s so obsessed with.
‘I know they were just being kind,’ she told Gertie and May at the top of her voice, so that everyone in the refectory could hear her. ‘But it’s awfully encouraging to hear them say so. I just hope everyone else is concentrating on their work too and not getting distracted by nonsense.’ And she looked over at Nora and gave her one of her fake smiles.
But of course my most important news is all about the movement. There is going to be a big meeting soon, on the first of June. Lots and lots of suffrage campaigners from all over Ireland – unionists AND nationalists, according to Phyllis – are going to turn up. And the I.W.F.L. (the Irish Women’s Franchise League) – you know, Phyllis’s group – have launched a new magazine, which is terribly exciting. It’s called The Irish Citizen and we found out about it the other day thanks to Phyllis’s friend Mabel. We were all sitting around the drawing room reading and listening to Mother play the piano, when there was a ring at the door and a moment later, Maggie showed in Mabel, who was carrying a large bundle and looking very excited. Phyllis was very taken aback.
‘Mabel!’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. Mother, this is my friend Mabel Purcell.’
‘How do you do?’ said Mabel, still looking rather red in the face.
‘Very well, thank you, Mabel,’ said Mother. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
Because Mabel was still standing in the doorway clutching her parcel.
‘Actually,’ said Phyllis, ‘I think we’ll go to our room. Mabel is getting married soon and she’s …’ I could see Phyllis thinking fast. ‘She wants to show me her, um, trousseau.’
I could tell that Mother thought it was a bit odd of Mabel to carry over her new clothes in a parcel rather than inviting Phyllis over to see them hanging in her own wardrobe. And the bundle Mabel was carrying didn’t much look like clothes to me. But Mother didn’t seem to suspect anything untoward as she said, ‘How nice. Well, do come down for some tea afterwards.’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Carberry,’ said Mabel, and then Phyllis practically shoved her out of the room and closed the door behind them.
I was dying to know what was going on. I knew it had to have something to do with the I.W. F. L. But of course I had to just sit there and pretend to read my book as Julia asked Mother to play ‘Salve Regina’, which is a Latin prayer/hymn that we sing a lot at school. That’s Julia’s idea of a jolly song. Mother wasn’t very keen and said it was really designed to be sung on its own, not played on the piano, so I asked her to play ‘Daisy, Daisy’. But Mother doesn’t much like music hall songs either and played some more Mozart instead. Not that I was listening to her, I was just waiting for Phyllis and Mabel to come downstairs so I could find out what was going on. Eventually they appeared, and now Phyllis looked quite excited too, though she was trying to hide it as they sat down on the sofa.
‘So Mabel, tell us when you’re getting married,’ said Mother. ‘I presume you’re not going to university like Phyllis?’
‘Oh, I am,’ said Mabel, and then Phyllis glared at her and she said, ‘Um, my fiancé is a student there already. We shall study side by side after we get married. Which will be in, um, September.’
‘Yes,’ said Phyllis. ‘Just a few weeks before we start lectures.’
‘How very modern,’ said Mother, looking faintly astonished.
‘He’s an awfully nice boy, Mother,’ said Phyllis. ‘His father is a barrister.’
Mother looked very impressed by this and before she could ask any more questions about Mabel’s imaginary fiancé and his family, Phyllis distracted her by asking how the church sale of work was going. I had to wait until Mabel had had a cup of tea and two of the best biscuits before I could get Phyllis alone and find out what was going on.
‘What did Mabel want?’ I said. ‘And don’t tell me she wanted to show you her wedding clothes because I know perfectly well you were making all that up.’
‘Do you think Mother guessed?’ said Phyllis.
I shook my head.
‘Does Mabel even have a fiancé?’ I asked. ‘I bet she doesn’t.’
‘No,’ said Phyllis. ‘It was the first thing I could think of.’
‘I knew it,’ I said. ‘So what did she want?’ Phyllis hesitated. ‘Go on, Phyl, you have to tell me.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Come up here.’ We went up to her bedroom and she took down a pile of magazines from the top shelf of her wardrobe.
‘Behold!’ she said, handing me one. ‘I’m going to be out selling this tomorrow.’
‘Heavens!’ I said. The magazine was called The Irish Citizen, and in big letters on the front it said, ‘FOR MEN AND WOMEN EQUALLY, THE RIGHTS OF CITIZENSHIP. FROM MEN AND WOMEN EQUALLY, THE DUTIES OF CITIZENSHIP.’ Which is quite a long-winded way of saying that men and women need equal rights and then they can serve their country equally. Unlike now, when women have to obey laws and pay taxes to a government they can’t choose.
‘Mr. Sheehy-Skeffington is the editor,’ she said. ‘Well, one of them. Mrs. Cousins’s husband is the other one.’ Mrs. Cousins is another of the I.W.F.L. leaders.
‘Oh Phyl,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that this was coming out. You must have known.’
‘Well, yes, I did,’ said Phyllis. ‘But you and Nora already know far too much about all this League business. I need to put my foot down somewhere.’
‘Can I at least read it?’ I asked.
But Phyllis didn’t look enthusiastic about this prospect.
‘How do I know you won’t leave it lying on your bed or something?’ she said. ‘Or read it in front of the drawing room fire?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘I’ll only read it in my room when Julia’s not there, and I’ll hide it under my mattress. The only person who’s likely to look under there is Maggie when she’s changing the sheets, and she’s hardly going to say anything.’
‘Oh, all right,’ said Phyllis, as I knew she would. ‘But you have to pay for it.’
I thought this was a bit much, but I didn’t want to push her too far so I got a penny out of my money box and gave it to her. She handed me a copy of the magazine.
‘I shouldn’t really even sell it to you,’ she said. ‘It’s not officially on sale for a few days.’
‘Are you going to sell it at meetings and things?’ I asked.
Phyllis nodded. ‘And me and Mabel are going to sell it in town on Saturday,’ she said. And that was when I had a good idea which I will tell you about later in this letter. Then Phyllis said, ‘Now we’d better go back downstairs before Julia or Harry starts sniffing after us.’
So we did, but not before I ran into my room and slid the magazine under the mattress. It wasn’t until after supper, when Julia had finally persuaded Mother to sing Latin hymns with her, that I was able to sneak up and read it (it wasn’t a Peter Fitzgerald night so it didn’t matter that I wasn’t with the rest of the family). The magazine was awfully interesting. There was information about various suffrage groups. It said there were about 3,000 active suffragists in Ireland, which seems like a lot, and I bet that isn’t even counting girls like Nora and me who have just discovered the cause and haven’t been able to actually do much about it yet.
When I said this to Nora and Stella the next day, Nora strongly agreed with me.
‘And,’ she said, ‘I bet there are even more who would call themselves suffragettes if they really knew about it, and not just the nonsense they hear grown-ups saying when they read the papers.’
‘I think I might be one too,’ said Stella.
We both stared at her in surprise.
‘Well, maybe not a proper suffragette,’ Stella added. ‘I don’t think I approve of breaking things and chaining yourself to things and going around wearing a big poster. I would never want to do anything like that.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said.
‘But I do think women should have the vote,’ said Stella. ‘I mean, it just makes sense, doesn’t it? When you look at people like Professor Shields or Mother Antoninas, they’re terribly clever. I mean, if anyone should have their say, they should.’
‘Quite right too,’ cried Nora. ‘Bravo, Stella.’
‘But I really, really mean it about not breaking things,’ said Stella nervously. She looked a bit as though she expected us to immediately drag her out to Dublin Castle and put a brick in her hand.
‘That’s quite all right,’ I said. ‘I mean, we haven’t any plans to break anything either.’ Yet, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud. Not that I really want to break any windows, but I do want to do something, and I told Nora and Stella what it was.
‘Phyllis is going to sell the magazine in town on Saturday,’ I said. ‘Somewhere around Sackville Street, she said. Why don’t we go in after school and see if we can help?’
‘Are you sure she’ll let us?’ Nora asked.
‘Well, not if we ask in advance,’ I said. ‘But if we just turn up I’m quite sure she wouldn’t turn down the help. After all, we did save her at the last meeting.’
‘I won’t be able to leave the school,’ said Stella, with obvious relief.
‘Don’t worry, Stella, I didn’t expect you to,’ I said.
‘I suppose we could both get away,’ said Nora. ‘All right, let’s do it!’
Anyway, both Mother and Mrs. Cantwell were quite happy to do without us for a few hours on Saturday afternoon, especially when we each told our mothers we were going to the other’s house. Which was why we were able to walk into town as soon as lessons finished.
‘Where do you think she’ll be?’ said Nora as we approached Rutland Square.
‘Well, it must be somewhere fairly prominent,’ I said. ‘She wouldn’t bother going down some side street. She could even be on the Square.’
We walked the whole way around Rutland Square and Phyllis was nowhere to be seen, although there was a boy selling newspapers, a man selling matches and another playing a barrel organ. But luckily we didn’t have to hunt too long, because just after we reached Sackville Street we saw her. She was on her own, standing outside the Gresham Hotel, holding up a copy of The Irish Citizen. She had a bag slung across her front with a strap, and I could see more copies of the magazine sticking out of the top of it.
‘Support votes for Irish women!’ Phyllis cried. ‘Buy The Irish Citizen!’ Then she glanced in our direction, and when I saw the expression on her face I started to wonder if my good idea had really been so good after all.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she said in a voice that was more like a hiss. ‘Sneaking after me yet again?’
I didn’t think this was very fair, especially after last week.
‘You told me you were selling magazines in town today!’ I said. ‘We’re hardly sneaking if we happen to find you. And besides, we want to help.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Phyllis.
‘Come on, Phyl,’ I said. ‘You must know by now that we really do want to help the League. And we stopped Mrs. Sheffield finding you last week. Can we, I don’t know, hold your bag or something?’
The bag really did look very heavy, which is probably why Phyllis started to look slightly less fierce.
‘What if someone we know sees you?’ she said. ‘Another friend of Mother and Father? Or even Aunt Josephine?’
‘You know Aunt Josephine never comes into town on Saturdays, she hates crowds,’ I said. ‘And besides, the same goes for you. You don’t want Mother and Father to know that you’re doing this, but you’re out here anyway.’
‘Well, I’ve told you, that’s a risk I’m prepared to take for myself,’ said Phyllis. ‘And it’s not that I don’t appreciate you helping me last week. But it was too close a call, and I’m not having you around if it happens again.’
‘Oh please, Phyllis,’ said Nora.
‘If anyone asks, we’ll say we forced you to give us the bag,’ I said. ‘Or that we stole it.’
Phyllis sighed. And then she took off her bag and put it at my feet.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘You can look after that while I go to the lav. But I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t really, really need to go.’ And she took a much-folded piece of paper out of her coat pocket and glanced at it for a moment.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘My lavatory list,’ said Phyllis. ‘Now, stay there and mind the bag. Do. Not. Sell. Anything. I’ll be back in about ten minutes.’
And before I could ask her what the lavatory list was, she was trotting down Sackville Street in the direction of the bridge. Nora and I stared at each other.
‘Now what?’ asked Nora.
‘I suppose we really do have to do what she said,’ I said, a little sadly. It did seem a bit of a shame that we were out with a bag full of suffrage magazines and couldn’t do anything. Though when I thought of actually holding out the magazine to strangers and asking them to buy it, I felt my stomach churn with nerves, so maybe it was all for the best.
‘Do you think you could actually bring yourself to sell it?’ said Nora, who was clearly thinking the same thing.
‘Well, if Phyllis can do it …’ I said. But I had to be honest with Nora. ‘Not really. Not yet. Maybe I could build myself up to it by handing out something free first. Like leaflets.’
We wondered if there were any leaflets in the bag, so we could have a go, but when we looked inside there weren’t any.
‘It’s probably a good thing there aren’t,’ I said. ‘Phyllis would be furious. Even though she didn’t specifically tell us not to give out leaflets.’
Nora glanced down at the bag at our feet.
‘Maybe we should hold on to the strap,’ she said. ‘In case someone tries to steal it.’
I didn’t think that was very likely but I haven’t really spent any time just hanging around the streets before, so for all I know there are bag-stealers everywhere who wouldn’t be put off by the fact that a bag was clearly full of magazines. Just to be on the safe side, I bent down and took hold of the bag’s sturdy leather strap, and I was just standing up again when a voice said, ‘Aren’t you Phyllis Carberry’s sister?’
It was Mabel, she of the pretend-fiancé. And she was looking at the bag of The Irish Citizens with a slightly concerned look on her face.
‘Um, yes,’ I said. ‘Phyllis left them with us.’ I wasn’t sure whether I should mention Phyllis going off to the lav to Mabel. ‘She’ll be back in a minute.
‘We didn’t steal them or anything, in case you were worried,’ said Nora. I kicked her to shut her up, though actually I had wondered if Mabel had been trying to work out how we’d got hold of them. I suppose it must have looked a bit odd, two fourteen-year-old non-League members lurking about the streets with a bag full of I.W.F. L. magazines.
‘Of course I wasn’t worried,’ said Mabel. ‘But she was meant to be selling them with Kathleen.’
I noticed that she was carrying a similar bag herself. ‘Have you been out selling them too?’ I asked.
Mabel nodded.
‘At the end of Westmoreland Street, near Trinity,’ she said. ‘Quite a few people bought them.’
‘Did you get any bother?’ said Nora. ‘From people who don’t, you know, support the cause?’
But Mabel hadn’t.
‘I got a few funny looks, but that was all,’ she said. ‘Oh, and one man who said we were setting back the cause of Home Rule, but his friend told him not to talk like that to a young lady.’
Really, I think Mabel and Phyllis are awfully brave. If I was selling magazines I’d spend the entire time worrying about strange men saying rude things to me. Even the funny looks didn’t sound very nice.
‘We do support the cause, you know,’ I told Mabel, just to make sure she knew that Phyllis hadn’t left her bag of Citizens with any old sister. ‘We just wish we could do more for it.’
‘I’m sure there are lots of things you can do,’ said Mabel.
‘Like what?’ asked Nora.
But Mabel wasn’t exactly sure.
‘Maybe you could make rosettes or something?’ she suggested.
I thought of Nora’s hatred of knitting and all things craft-related.
‘I don’t think that’s our, um, natural sphere,’ I said.
‘Well, I must say it’s good to see girls your age interested in the movement,’ said Mabel. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be able to think of something active to do. It will be the making of you both!’
Just then, Phyllis returned.
‘Sorry, Mabel,’ she said. ‘I left my post for a bit. These two weren’t causing any trouble, were they?’
‘Of course not,’ said Mabel. I beamed at her. She was much nicer than some of Phyllis’s friends. Kathleen always seems to find me and Nora rather irritating. ‘Where’s Kathleen?’
‘She had to help her mother buy a hat in Switzers’,’ said Phyllis. ‘I only hope her mother didn’t see me from the tram on their way home. It goes right past here.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said Mabel. ‘Kathleen knows your patch and I’m sure she could keep her mother distracted while the tram goes by. Besides, they’d have been on the other side of the road. When are you finished for the day?’
Phyllis sighed. ‘I might as well finish now,’ she said. ‘I sold quite a few at first but it’s sort of tailed off. And besides, I’m boiling hot AND starving.’
‘Tell you what,’ said Mabel. ‘Why don’t we go to the Farm Produce? It’s only around the corner.’ She looked at me and Nora. ‘We could invite these young recruits.’
I didn’t dare beg Phyllis to let us go in case it annoyed her and she told us to go home, but I couldn’t help staring at her pleadingly. Nora was gazing at her in much the same way. She rolled her eyes and said, ‘Oh, why not. It’ll be an adventure for them. And I suppose they deserve a treat after helping me out in the Park’
Nora and I thanked her as enthusiastically as possible and then we followed them down Sackville Street. I wondered what the Farm Produce might be. There certainly wasn’t any farm around Sackville Street, unless they meant one of those awful little city dairies that keep cows in a tiny shed behind a house. But the Farm Produce wasn’t an actual farm. It was a shop about a hundred yards down Henry Street called the Irish Farm Produce Company, with a restaurant in it where Phyllis and Mabel were greeted with warmth and recognition by some of the staff.
‘We go here quite a bit,’ said Phyllis by way of explanation, when we’d taken a table. ‘They’re very suffrage-friendly. They’ve got an advertisement in The Irish Citizen.’
‘And they’re on the lav list,’ said Mabel.
‘What is this list?’ asked Nora.
Phyllis and Mabel smiled at each other.
‘It’s what Phyllis and Kathleen and I call our list of all the places in town that let you use their lavatory when you’re out leafleting or chalking or what have you,’ said Mabel. ‘Shops and cafés and things.’
‘There are quite a lot of them,’ said Phyllis. ‘You’d be surprised.’
‘And you’d also be surprised,’ said Mabel, ‘at how often you need to go when you’re out for the whole day. Even if you’ve barely drunk a drop.’
A waitress arrived at our table, and Phyllis ordered tea and cakes for everyone. I was pleasantly surprised when she got me and Nora a little cake each. Not just because I wanted a cake to myself (though I did), but because on the rare occasions that Mother takes me and Julia into town to buy new hats or underwear or winter coats, she always takes us to Bewley’s for tea and then buys one tiny cake for both of us and cuts it into bits for us to share. I’m sure that everyone is staring at her and marvelling at her miserly ways, but she says that this is nonsense and that everyone else is concerned with their own cakes. But I bet they’re not.
Anyway, maybe it was because Phyllis too has experienced Mother’s stingy approach to cakes over the years, but it was very generous of her to buy us some (not least because Nora and I only had enough money for our tram fare home so we wouldn’t have been able to buy even a stale bun on our own).
‘So, are you girls coming to the big meeting on the first?’ Mabel asked, when we were all drinking our tea and eating our (delicious) cake.
‘They certainly are not,’ said Phyllis.
‘You can’t stop us,’ I said indignantly. ‘We can buy tickets like any member of the public.’
‘I can refuse to take you,’ said Phyllis. ‘Which I will. And good luck coming up with an excuse for going out alone on a Saturday evening.’
I didn’t want to have a fight with Phyllis in front of Mabel, especially as they’d both been quite decent with us so far, so I said, ‘Maybe we can discuss this later,’ in a very grown-up voice that Phyllis and Mabel seemed to find very amusing.
‘Well, I’m sure Phyllis will tell you all about the meeting,’ said Mabel. ‘It should be very impressive.’
‘If we fill the hall,’ said Phyllis. ‘Kathleen and I are going to try and do some chalking tomorrow. Just to make sure people know.’
‘We’d better fill it,’ said Mabel. ‘Lots of very important people are sending messages of support. And there’ll be some excellent speeches.’
‘And maybe trouble,’ said Phyllis. ‘If those Ancient Hibernians show up.’ She looked at us sternly. ‘Which is why I’m not taking you pair.’
It was a very nice afternoon, even though Phyllis was determined not to take us to the meeting. She and Mabel talked about the League and a lot of important people involved with the movement, some of whom we’d heard when we went to the Meeting in the Phoenix Park. And Mabel asked us both lots of questions and was very impressed by Nora’s plan to become a lady doctor (oh yes, Nora has gone back to the doctor plan after a few weeks of wanting to be a veterinarian, I can’t remember if I told you. Trying to keep up with her plans can be very confusing). I did remind her that she nearly fainted last week when Agnes O’Hara cut herself on a broken glass during break, but she kicked me under the table and told Mabel and Phyllis that she was training herself to overcome her fear of blood, which they also seemed to find quite funny. I don’t understand girls their age sometimes.
Eventually Phyllis realised that we’d finished our cakes and tea nearly an hour ago and that even a suffrage-friendly place like this one probably didn’t want people taking up tables for hours on end without buying anything else, so she and Mabel paid, and we all left. As we walked up Henry Street towards Sackville Street, I said, ‘Thanks, both of you, for taking us to tea. It was lovely.’
‘Well, I’m not going to make a habit of it,’ said Phyllis, drily. ‘And you’d better not make a habit of sneaking after me. This is the second time.’
‘Oh Phyllis, I only sneaked once, and that was ages ago,’ I protested.
‘That’s as may be,’ said Phyllis. ‘But next time, I won’t buy you tea.’
Which was fair enough. We bid Mabel a friendly farewell on Sackville Street – she had to get her tram home to Clontarf – and then we jumped on a tram ourselves. I wanted to go upstairs but Phyllis said the wind on the top deck always does terrible things to her hats (this is unsurprising, given all the ridiculous trimmings Kathleen puts on them) so we sat in the boring downstairs bit.
Actually Phyllis was in quite a good mood, and when we’d got off the tram and reached the turn for Nora’s road she said, ‘My pleasure,’ when Nora thanked her for the tea and cake. But she probably shouldn’t have worried about the top deck damaging her hat because, thanks to the hot weather and the dust and the general mugginess, the trimmings were all started to droop anyway by the time we reached home. We were both quite hot and red and dusty when Phyllis let us in the front door with her latch key (she is the only one of us who has her own key). We trooped into the drawing room, where we could hear Mother playing the piano, and Phyllis was just saying, ‘Look who I found on my way home,’ when I realised that we had a visitor.
Frank was standing by the piano, where he’d obviously been turning the pages of Mother’s music, while Harry was lolling (as usual) in the most comfortable arm chair. And suddenly I was very conscious of just how red and hot and dusty I was, and how my stockings had gone baggy around the shins so my legs looked like an elephant’s knees, and how the muggy weather had made my hair fluff up even more than usual, and not in a good way like the pretty actresses you sometimes see on postcards. The fact that Harry sniggered horribly when he saw us and said, ‘Look at the state of you! Have you been running?’ certainly didn’t help. Nor did Mother saying, ‘Mollie! What have you been up to? Go and wash your face’, as if I were five years old. And I knew that if I started to argue with her I would end up looking even more childish, so I had to go upstairs and wash my face and hands. Luckily, the cold water made me less red, but I still looked rather shiny and even after I’d pulled a comb through my hair it still looked absolutely dreadful. But there was nothing I could do about that in this humid weather. I decided to change my stockings, so at least I didn’t look quite so baggy and scruffy. But it all took so long that by the time I got back to the drawing room, looking at least slightly presentable, Frank was putting on his jacket.
‘The music was lovely, Mrs. Carberry,’ he was saying politely. ‘And thank you for tea.’
‘You’re always welcome, Frank,’ said Mother, fondly. ‘Thank you for turning my music for me.’ She was probably wishing her own horrible son were half as polite and friendly as Frank always is. I bet she asked Harry to turn the music first and he refused.
‘Come on, Nugent,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll see you out.’
He strolled out to the hall, with Frank following him. But as Frank passed me by, he paused.
‘Sorry I have to go just as you arrive,’ he said. And he smiled in a very nice way before he went out to Harry. But it didn’t stop me feeling hot and embarrassed. Then Mother started asking me about tea in Nora’s house and I had to make something up so I didn’t have time to think about Frank and my red face after that.
Anyway, that was a few days ago and ever since, Nora and I have been thinking about what we can really do to help the movement, but we’re not quite sure yet. After all, we can’t go out and sell magazines like Phyllis and Mabel or wear posters or speak at meetings because we’re too young, but surely there must be something. Actually, I have been thinking a lot about the whole business of tying oneself to some railings. I know a rope is no use but was wondering how exactly the women in England did it. Did they use the sort of chains that people put over gates? And what bit of themselves did they put chains around? So I asked Phyllis.
‘Some women get leather belts with chains attached,’ she said. ‘They get them made specially.’
Well, there’s no way we can do that. Unfortunately. But there must be something we can do on our own. We just have to think of something.
Wednesday
Nora and I have taken to the streets at last! Yes, we finally took action and went chalking. As the English suffragettes say, ‘Deeds not Words’. And we really needed to do some deeds after talking about it for so long (do you ‘do’ deeds? Or commit them? I suppose that’s not very important right now). We had a very good reason to go chalking because, as I said before, there is going to be a huge meeting this Saturday and we knew from what Phyllis and Mabel said that they wanted as many members of the public as possible to come along to it. It’s not free – entrance is one shilling and sixpence – so they need to do lots of advertising because unlike the outdoor meetings they can’t rely on passersby. Which all meant that it was the perfect opportunity for me and Nora to stand up for the cause (or rather kneel down).
We made the decision at school yesterday. And actually, Stella helped us make it, when we were telling her about this meeting.
‘Are you going to go?’ she asked.
‘If we can,’ I said. ‘I’ve got just enough money.’
‘Me too,’ said Nora. ‘It’s definitely worth one and six to see all those speakers and really feel like we’re, you know, part of the movement.’
Stella didn’t look convinced but she was too polite to say anything.
‘The only problem is,’ I said, ‘that we’ll have to persuade Phyllis to take us. And you know what she’s like. Mercurial moods. Especially after we turned up on Saturday.’
‘Imagine if we could go on stage and speak at it,’ said Nora dreamily. ‘The young politicians of the future.’
‘I can’t imagine anything worse,’ said Stella, alarmed. ‘The thought of standing up there in front of all those people.’
‘Well, they’re going to have lots of important speakers,’ said Nora. ‘I do hope enough people turn up. It’ll be a terrible waste if the hall is half empty.’
‘How do they spread the word about these meetings?’ asked Stella. ‘I mean, do they have advertisements and things?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But they do other things too, like the posters. You know, women going around with poster-boards hung over their shoulders. And then other girls go out chalking the details on the pavement.’
As soon as I said those words, the idea struck me. I could see that Nora was thinking the same thing.
‘Could we?’ she said, her eyes wide.
For a split second I hesitated. I know we’d been dreaming of chaining ourselves to things and speaking on platforms, but this wasn’t just a dream. Did I really want to do something so public as kneel down in the street and chalk slogans? What would people say? Would they stop us? Then I chided myself for my own cowardice. It was time to stop imagining things and actually do them. The English suffragettes are definitely right about ‘deeds not words’. Well, maybe not right about setting fire to postboxes (imagine if one of your letters to me got burned up) but right about lots of other things.
‘I don’t see why not,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘I mean, all we need is chalk.’
And that was that. As there was no time to waste, we decided to go out the next day after school.
Finding chalk wasn’t very difficult. There was some in the bureau drawers in the dining room, along with scraps of string and spare pen nibs and a forgotten half empty bottle of ink that looked as if it had turned into tar. This morning I slipped in there before breakfast and wrapped a few sticks of chalk in my handkerchief and put them in my pocket. There was no point in getting totally covered in chalk dust before we went on our mission, though I was slightly nervous that I might sit on them at the breakfast table and end up with a pocketful of chalk crumbs.
‘You haven’t forgotten I’m going to tea at Nora’s house after school today, have you?’ I said. Nora and I had decided that this would be our cover – she would tell her mother that she was coming here. It’s quite usual for one of us to invite the other to visit at short notice, so our parents shouldn’t get suspicious.
‘No,’ said Mother. And then, just as I was starting to feel a bit worried at how easy it had been recently to get our mothers to agree to let us go to tea in each other’s houses (it’s almost as though they WANT to get rid of us for a while), she said something that made my blood run cold. ‘But I do feel we’ve been imposing on Mrs. Cantwell by letting you go over there so much. Maybe I should send her a note and tell her that Nora is always more than welcome in our house too.’
My stomach lurched. The last thing Nora and I want is our parents realising that sometimes when we say we are going to the other one’s house, we are actually roaming the streets getting up to goodness knows what. We’ve always been grateful that our mothers don’t really know each other very well. And I certainly didn’t want that to change.
‘Oh, you don’t need to do that,’ I said. ‘She always says the house is very quiet with George away at school. She likes having me around the place.’
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ said Harry, who was sitting next to me.
‘Stop that, Harry,’ said Father.
‘I bet the last thing the Cantwells want is another girl in the house squealing and shrieking,’ said Harry, but he said it to me in a sort of mutter so our parents couldn’t hear exactly what he’d said. Which of course allowed them to pretend he hadn’t said anything. He always gets away with things like that.
Anyway, Mother and Father didn’t say anything else about writing to the Cantwells, and I managed to get myself and the chalk to school without incident. I showed the chalk to Nora and Stella at lunchtime. We were in the music corridor, and for once, hardly anyone was around.
‘Excellent,’ said Nora, taking a piece of chalk.
‘I got three sticks, so we have one each and then a spare in case one of us loses one,’ I said.
‘I do wish I could go with you,’ said Stella. ‘Not to do actual chalking. Just to keep sketch in case anyone came along who might want to stop you.’
Poor Stella, it is hard lines on her being a boarder, no matter how many plays they put on and how much dressing up they do (though all of that does, as I’ve said before, look like jolly good fun).
‘Couldn’t you say you were going out to tea with one of us?’ said Nora.
But Stella shook her head. ‘I’d need to give more notice,’ she said. ‘You know the nuns don’t just let us go off like that without checking exactly where we’re going. They are responsible for us, after all.’
‘I wish you could come,’ I said, and meant it. Though a part of me thought that Stella might funk it at the last minute. She can still be a bit white-mouse-ish at times. Maybe it was for the best that she was staying at home with her knitting.
‘What exactly are you making?’ asked Nora, peering into the embroidered bag full of wool and needles that Stella often carries around so she can knit a few rows between classes. I could see some rather nice soft moss green yarn and a bundle of something knitted in garter stitch.
‘Oh, just a scarf,’ said Stella. ‘Well, two scarves, actually. They’re going to be presents.’
‘Scarves?’ I was surprised to hear this. ‘I thought you’d be doing something more complicated.’
Stella looked slightly affronted.
‘You know perfectly well that scarves can be complicated too,’ she said. ‘It just depends what stitches you use. And these ones are especially fancy.’
I supposed we’d have to take her word for it. It didn’t sound very interesting for an expert knitter like Stella, though.
‘Well, have fun,’ said Nora.
‘I’d tell you to have fun too but it doesn’t sound right when you’re doing something so serious,’ said Stella. ‘You don’t think you’ll get arrested, do you?’
‘We can’t get arrested,’ I said. ‘Chalk washes away, so it’s not like paint. It’s not illegal.’ I glanced at Nora nervously. ‘Is it?’
‘I’m quite sure it’s not,’ said Nora, confidently. ‘We have nothing to fear.’ But when Grace, Gertie, and poor May Sullivan, who still hasn’t escaped their clutches, walked by, she quickly shoved the chalk into her pocket. Not before Grace noticed, of course.
‘What are you messing about with over there?’ said Grace. ‘There’s something white coming out of your pocket.’
Nora had somehow crushed part of the chalk and released a lot of chalk dust.
‘None of your business,’ said Nora, brushing her skirt clean.
‘There’s no need to be so rude, Nora,’ said Grace, sounding hurt. ‘I didn’t want you to get your skirt all dusty.’
‘Well, it’s not,’ said Nora. ‘But thank you.’
The trio walked on, and I turned to Nora.
‘You really must stop antagonising Grace,’ I said. ‘She’ll be looking out for an excuse to tell on you.’
‘I’m just hoping I’ll trick her into showing her true colours in front of May,’ said Nora sheepishly.
‘Well don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s not worth it, especially if she tells your mother about this and you’re not allowed to leave the house for months.’
By the time lessons finished for the day, we were all feeling a little nervous. Especially Stella, even though she wasn’t going.
‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ she asked, as she walked us out to the school entrance.
‘Was it safe when Mrs. Pankhurst was clapped in irons?’ said Nora grandly. But I could tell she was being dramatic to cover up her fear. Besides, neither of us actually wanted to be clapped in irons.
‘Right-ho,’ I said, as briskly as I could. ‘Let’s go and do it, then.’
We said goodbye to Stella, who trotted back into the school with her knitting, and set off towards town. It was only then that we realised that we hadn’t chosen the exact location of our first chalked message. Nora suggested Sackville Street, but I said there were too many flower sellers and other people hanging around and it would be hard to find a clear space to chalk. I thought Stephen’s Green would be better, but Nora said that was too far to go because we didn’t have any tram fare to get home and it would all take too long (I still think she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t that far and I’m sure we could have been home by six. Anyway, there was no reasoning with her).
In the end, we decided we’d start a place in between those two locations: a corner of Westmoreland Street, near College Green. It was just across from the place where Mabel told us she always sold suffrage magazines, though when we eventually got there after a rather hot and dusty walk, there was no sign of her. Which was probably for the best. I wasn’t sure I was going to tell Phyllis about this.
‘This will do,’ I said when we reached the corner. The street was busy enough. Some clerks and bank workers were already making their way home, and the road was full of lorries, delivery vans, bicycles and quite a few motor cars.
‘All right,’ said Nora. ‘Who’ll go first?’
I took a piece of chalk out of my pocket and unwrapped it from the now very dusty handkerchief.
‘Me,’ I said.
We both knelt down on the ground and I wrote in large letters:
VOTES FOR WOMEN!
GRAND MEETING AT ANTIENT CONCERT ROOMS
1ST JUNE, 8PM
ADMISSION 1/6
We looked at it for a minute and then scrambled to our feet. Passersby were already looking at us, curious to see what we were writing.
‘Come on,’ said Nora. ‘Let’s go and do the next one before anyone says anything to us.’
And we scampered across the road to the front of Trinity College, dodging a laundry van as we went. We stopped before we reached Trinity’s gates. The pavement was more narrow than the one where we’d chalked the last message, but there weren’t too many people as we knelt down, facing the railings. Nora took out her chalk. As she wrote the same message that I’d chalked a few minutes earlier, I could hear a pedestrian pause behind us.
‘Look at those admirable young girls,’ he said in a very respectable voice. ‘Praying in the street! For the souls of those Trinity College heathens, I have no doubt.’
That was when Nora and I got to our feet, dusted off our knees and turned to move on.
‘I must say how nice it is,’ began the man, who was an elderly gentleman in a very neat suit, accompanied by a well-dressed lady of similar age whom I presume was his wife, ‘to see such devout…’
But he didn’t finish his sentence because now he had seen exactly what we’d been doing down on our knees.
‘Lord bless us and save us!’ he cried. ‘Those shameless hussies have got children out now, have they? You should be ashamed of yourselves!’
‘I’m afraid we’re not,’ said Nora. ‘Come on, Mollie.’
‘You seemed like such good little girls,’ said the woman. She almost looked like she was about to cry, she was so horrified.
‘We’re not very little, but we are good,’ I said. ‘So are the women speaking at the meeting. You should come along and see.’
The man and his wife were lost for words.
‘Let’s go, Mollie!’ said Nora, and we walked as fast as we could past Trinity’s front gate. As we went off, the woman regained the power of speech and cried, ‘I never thought I’d see this day! Irish girls behaving like little hooligans!’
As soon as we were out of sight, we both started to laugh.
‘Praying!’ said Nora.
‘Well in a way we are,’ I said, daringly. ‘Praying that people will turn up at this meeting.’
‘I’m not sure anyone at school would see it like that,’ said Nora. ‘Or our parents, come to think of it. They’re more likely to agree with those two.’
‘Will we do one more?’ I said, glancing up Grafton Street, which was full of people and horses and vehicles both motor- and horse-powered. The pavements were far too narrow and it looked far too crowded to attempt a chalking, unless we did it on the wall of one of the shops, and I was quite sure that would get us into trouble.
‘Let’s just do a general Votes for Women one,’ said Nora. ‘It’s quicker.’
So we did. I knelt down on the pavement and wrote VOTES FOR IRISH WOMEN in big letters. And when I’d dusted down my frock (avoiding the curious and, I must admit, amused glances of the passersby), even I had to admit that the time really was getting on, so we set off for home.
Mother and Father would be very angry if they knew I was roaming around town like this, but it’s quite safe really. They always say the city is dangerous, but I’m not sure what they think might happen to us. Nobody would bother robbing us because we never have any money. I said this to Nora and she said, ‘What about Florence Dombey in Dombey and Son? She gets lured away to a side street by a horrible old lady who steals all her good clothes to sell them.’
I had read the book but I couldn’t think this was very likely to happen to us.
‘Florence was only about six,’ I said. ‘I’m sure Dickens didn’t think fourteen-year-olds would be lured away by thieving old ladies.’
Nobody tried to lure us anywhere, but some rather frightening-looking men did call things at us that we couldn’t understand but which they clearly thought were very amusing. After we turned on to Dorset Street, some ragged children started to follow us asking for pennies.
‘Go on, missus,’ said one girl with flaming hair the colour of Nora’s. ‘Give us a ha’penny.’
‘We don’t even have a farthing,’ said Nora.
‘Sorry,’ I said, as politely as I could. But I still felt bad.
They were very thin and dirty. I remembered Maggie’s sister once telling me that there are tenements near that part of town where dozens of people live in houses not much bigger than ours, with only one lavatory shared between hundreds of people. I wished I had some pennies to give them, even though a few pennies wouldn’t really make much of a difference. But I didn’t know how to say that I wished I could give them something without sounding like I was taunting them, or looking down on them. And, although I was ashamed of feeling like this, I was also a little bit afraid of them because they were so loud and dirty. Which I know was very snobbish and foolish of me. I would be dirty, and probably loud too, if I was cramped into a tiny space with lots of other people.
It didn’t take long before they realised we really didn’t have any money. The red-haired girl said, ‘We should do a collection ourselves and give you a few bob if you’re that hard up.’ And with a laugh, they turned and went back towards the streets where they lived. Maybe if women had the vote, things would get better for children like that, I thought. But then I thought of Aunt Josephine, who was fond of saying that poor people were just lazy and that she couldn’t understand why they didn’t make more of an effort to wash their clothes. She would never vote to improve things for them.
I wondered how Aunt Josephine would manage washing her clothes if she lived in a cramped house with no indoor water and no money. Of course, she’s never washed an item of clothing in her life; she sends everything to the same laundry we use. And she gets her housemaid to wash all her lace by hand. So it’s a bit rich of her to criticise anyone for their own washing skills.
‘You’re very quiet,’ said Nora, as we approached the turn for her road.
‘I was just thinking of Aunt Josephine,’ I said absently.
‘Well, don’t,’ said Nora. ‘Think of how we’re going to get away to the big meeting.’
‘I already have,’ I said. ‘I’m going to get Phyllis to take us.’
Nora didn’t seem very impressed by my excellent scheme.
‘What makes you think she will?” she said. ‘She’s already said no. And I know she thinks we’re getting too interested. It’s obvious she thinks that if we get involved your parents will find out. So why should she take us?’
‘Blackmail,’ I said smugly.
Yes, it’s an ugly word, but it works.
That evening, after Father had read us the latest extremely exciting installment of Peter Fitzgerald’s adventures (he has escaped the gang by climbing up a chimney and hiding there, but now the housemaid, unaware of Peter’s hiding place, is starting to lay a fire beneath him), I cornered Phyllis in the hall.
‘I need to talk to you,’ I said.
‘Do you really?’ said Phyllis wearily.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I want you to take me and Nora to the meeting on Saturday.’
‘No,’ said Phyllis. ‘How many times do I need to tell you this? I am not taking either of you anywhere again. It’s too risky.’
‘But why?’ I said indignantly. ‘We’re supporters of the cause.’
‘You’re fourteen,’ said Phyllis.
‘So?’ I said. ‘We’re still supporters. And after all, if we win, we’ll be able to vote in seven years.’
‘What a hideous thought,’ said Phyllis. ‘The prospect of you voting is enough to turn me off the cause altogether. Anyway, you may well be right …’
‘I am,’ I said.
‘But I don’t want the responsibility of looking after the pair of you,’ said Phyllis. ‘There might be trouble at the meeting. Those awful Hibernians might turn up.’
I hadn’t really thought of that. But even if they did, I still wanted to be there.
‘You won’t have to look after us,’ I said. ‘We’re quite capable of looking after ourselves.’
‘I’ll be the one our parents will blame if you get taken off to hospital in an ambulance,’ said Phyllis, who was surely exaggerating. No suffragette had ever needed an ambulance after the protests (as far as I knew). ‘It’s bad enough that I took you to that park meeting, and to the Farm Produce restaurant,’ Phyllis went on, ‘but if they find out about all this, they might even stop me going to College in October.’
I had had a feeling she would say something like this. So I took a deep breath and drew myself up to my full height (which is still three inches shorter than Phyllis).
‘Then you leave me no choice,’ I said dramatically. ‘If you don’t take me and Nora, I will tell our aged parents everything.’
Phyllis looked horrified.
‘You wouldn’t,’ she said.
‘I definitely would,’ I said. Even though actually, I wouldn’t. It would be far too low and sneakish and cruel. I just had to hope Phyllis would believe my threat and wouldn’t call my bluff. ‘Oh go on, Phyllis. We won’t get you into trouble. Honour bright, we won’t.’
‘You’re an absolute monster,’ said Phyllis.
‘Please, Phyllis,’ I said. ‘It’s just one meeting. And if there’s even a hint of trouble, we’ll sneak out and run home. You know those awful old Hibernians wouldn’t hit a girl my age, anyway.’ At least, I hoped that was true.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Phyllis. ‘You sneaky little beasts.’
But I am pretty sure she will take us. I’m going to bed now and I do feel a bit bad about this blackmailing business, but surely it is worth it for such a good cause? I will ask God about it when I say my prayers.
Later
I woke up at four o’clock in the morning (I know because I could see the clock on the mantelpiece in the light shining in from the street), and I couldn’t get back to sleep again because I felt so guilty about blackmailing Phyllis. I know ‘thou shalt not blackmail’ is not one of the ten commandments, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything about it in the Catechism, but maybe that’s because it’s so bad God didn’t think He had to tell you not to do it (although I suppose you could say the same about killing people, which is definitely worse than blackmail). Anyway, whether it’s in the Bible and the Catechism or not (and it might be in the Bible somewhere. I haven’t read all of it), I do know God wouldn’t approve of what I said to Phyllis last night. I know in my heart of hearts that it is a terrible sin.
I wouldn’t feel right going to such a good and important meeting through such nefarious means, so at breakfast this morning, around the time everyone had finished their toast and Mother was reminding us that she was going to Mrs. Sheffield’s this afternoon to talk about church fundraising things, I made my best Significant Face at Phyllis to indicate that I wanted to talk to her. So she waited for me in the hall when everyone was leaving the breakfast table.
‘What do you want?’ she said. ‘More blackmail?’
I took a deep breath. No one likes admitting that they’re wrong, even when you know that it is absolutely the right thing to do.
‘The opposite,’ I said. ‘I feel awful about saying that I’d tell on you. You must know I wouldn’t ever really do that.’
Phyllis raised an eyebrow. Just one. I don’t know how she does it. I’ve tried it myself because it does look so wonderfully supercilious, and I’d love to be able to do it at Grace, but every time I make an attempt both my eyebrows go up and I just look surprised. Though Phyllis definitely couldn’t do it a year ago, so maybe by the time I’m her age I’ll be able to do it too.
‘Really?’ said Phyllis.
‘Honestly, Phyl, I really wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘I just said it because we really, really want to go to the meeting. But I’d rather not get there under false pretences. Or,’ I added, ‘blackmailing pretences.’
Phyllis looked unmoved.
‘So why should I help you then?’ she asked. ‘You’re certainly not behaving in a way worthy of the cause.’
I knew she was right.
‘I can’t think of a reason,’ I said honestly. ‘Only that we really do believe in the cause, and we really would like to go. And in fifty years I want to be able to tell my descendants that I was at the most important suffrage meeting Ireland had ever seen.’
‘Your descendants,’ said Phyllis. ‘What a horrible thought.’
‘I do understand why you wouldn’t want to take me,’ I said. ‘But surely it’s important to encourage the new generation of fighters for the cause! That’s me and Nora,’ I added, lest Phyllis be confused. ‘And we’ve both got money for the tickets.’
‘You’re not going to give me any rest about this, are you?’ said Phyllis.
I shook my head.
Phyllis sighed. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I’m giving in to your nonsense, but I’ll tell Mabel to keep tickets for both of you. But only because I believe hearing all the speakers will be good for you. It might build your character, which is clearly sorely in need of building. And you’ll have to pay me for the tickets in advance, because you’ve proven that you can’t be trusted.’
‘Thank you,’ I said humbly. ‘I really am sorry about, you know, the blackmailing.’
‘You’d make a terrible criminal,’ said Phyllis. ‘You confess all far too easily. And right now, you’d better go to school.’
And so that was how Phyllis agreed to take me and Nora to the meeting. I knew she’d give in eventually – she always does. That afternoon, after I’d handed over money for my ticket (she said Nora could pay on the day), she got Mabel to reserve tickets for all four of us. Afterwards, she told Mother and Father she was taking us to a recital on Westland Row. Luckily, she’d made sure that Mother was otherwise engaged – she and Father were going to visit Father’s old school friend Mr. Campion in Clontarf – so there was no chance of Mother inviting herself along to the show. I still feel guilty about even mentioning blackmail, though. Sometimes I wonder if politics is good for one’s soul. It does seem to have made me terribly ruthless. Though I comfort myself with the knowledge that I would never have told on Phyllis, really. I hope you know that, Frances, because I can’t imagine you’d approve of blackmail, even for a good cause.
To make up for my wickedness, I decided to do some more chalking. After all, there are still a few days until the meeting, and Mother wasn’t going to be at home that afternoon. But when I suggested doing it to Nora and Stella they both thought we might be pushing our luck.
‘I know that man on College Green was quite amusing,’ said Nora, ‘but imagine if he’d dragged us off to the police or written to our parents or something. Maybe we should wait a while before we try it again.’
‘Are you a girl or a mouse?’ I said. ‘Besides, the meeting’s on Saturday. We won’t get another chance to chalk about it.’
‘I am most definitely not a mouse,’ said Nora. ‘As I think you know. But I can’t tell my mother I’ve gone to your house for two days in a row.’
She had a point. I would only have to make excuses to Julia and Harry. And while both of them would probably tell Mother and Father if they actually knew I was out doing suffragette things, they wouldn’t bother telling Mother and Father if I was a little bit late home. Mostly because they knew I could tell on them for doing the same thing. Even Julia dawdles with Christina some days.
‘Well, I’ll do it by myself,’ I said. I felt I owed it to the cause. ‘And I don’t need to go as far across town this time. I can just do it in Rutland Square.’
So that’s where I went. I still had some chalk in my coat pocket from the day before. I did feel a bit nervous walking into town on my own. I tried not to think about the dreadful old lady stealing all Florence Dombey’s expensive clothes, and comforted myself with the thought that none of my clothes looked particularly expensive. Not expensive enough to tempt a mad thief, anyway.
It didn’t take long to reach Rutland Square, which was fairly quiet, to my great relief.
I got out my chalk and found a nice prominent spot outside Charlemont House. I was kneeling on the ground writing VOTES FOR WOMEN! COME TO THE MEETING IN ANTIENT CONCERT ROOMS 1ST JUNE, 8PM. ADMISSION 1/6 in nice large letters when a voice somewhere behind me called, ‘Mollie?’
I scrambled to my feet and whirled around to see a boy walking towards me.
It was Frank. He was carrying a paper parcel and staring at me in a baffled sort of way.
‘What are you doing on the ground? Did you fall?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, as Frank’s glance fell on the chalked letters. His greeny-blue eyes widened. They are rather a nice colour. I mean, you notice it, unlike the colour of my own eyes, which are a sort of nondescript grey (as you have probably forgotten – that’s how unexciting they are).
‘Did you write this?’ he said.
‘Of course,’ I said. I tried to sound defiant, but all I could think of was what would happen if Frank told Harry about this. Harry would definitely not keep it to himself. And I could only imagine what Mother and Father would say if they knew I was crawling around on the ground chalking suffragette messages for all the world to see. I felt sick at the thought.
‘What are you doing in town?’ I said, in a rather accusatory fashion. I hoped my haughty tone would distract him from thinking about what I’d just written.
‘My school’s around the corner, you know,’ said Frank. He held up his parcel. ‘And my rugger boots were being repaired in a place down the road. I just collected them.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Look here,’ said Frank. ‘If you think I’m going to tell, well, anyone about all this, then you needn’t worry. I promise I won’t say a word.’
I felt a flood of gratitude as I gazed up at him (he really is a lot taller than I am), but then I had to remind myself that no matter how nice he may seem, Frank is a friend of Harry. So I tried to sound very stern as I said, ‘Good. Because this is terribly important and if anyone found out about it, I’d get into awful trouble.’
‘I know it’s important,’ said Frank. ‘I do think women should have a say, remember?’
I thought of that conversation when he helped me catch Barnaby The Menace. He had been awfully nice that day. And I know he hadn’t told Harry about me losing The Menace, because if Harry knew about that he would have had plenty of rude things to say about me being a feeble girl who couldn’t even hold onto a small fluffy dog (even though Harry knows perfectly well that the dreadful Menace has the strength of a dog three times his size).
‘I remember,’ I said.
Frank looked down at the chalk.
‘I didn’t realise you were really, you know, an active suffragette,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you awfully young?’
‘I’m only a year younger than you,’ I said indignantly.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Frank. ‘I just meant, well, I knew you agreed with their ideas. But I thought all the women who went to meetings and wore posters and all that were grown-ups.’
‘Well, they are,’ I said. ‘Nora and I have just been doing this chalking on our own. I mean, we haven’t got any official connections with any of the suffrage societies and leagues.’
I didn’t tell him that Phyllis did. I might not mind Frank knowing about my activities (such as they are), but I knew Phyllis wouldn’t want me to tell anybody about her own involvement without her permission.
To my surprise, Frank looked impressed by my revelation. It was rather nice to see him look at me with something a bit like admiration. He’s the only boy who ever does, after all. Not that I really see any boys besides Harry. I might as well be in a boarding school like you for all the contact I have with the opposite sex.
‘Have you done lots of this chalk business?’ he asked then.
For a wild moment, I considered telling him that yes, we went out five times a week and gave speeches on Saturdays too. I bet he’d have been impressed by that. But I couldn’t bring myself to lie.
‘Well, this is only the second time,’ I admitted. ‘We were out yesterday.’ And I told him about the man that thought we were praying.
He laughed. He has an awfully nice laugh, the sort that makes you want to laugh too.
‘I wish I’d seen that,’ he said, smiling.
‘His face was a picture,’ I said, smiling back at him.
‘What do they think about all this at your school?’ asked Frank.
‘Well, our teachers don’t know about it,’ I said. ‘As far as I know. But I don’t think all of them would be against it. I mean,’ I added, ‘I don’t think they’d be against women getting the vote, but they probably wouldn’t want any of us girls going around, well, doing things like this.’
‘Especially in that hat,’ said Frank.
We don’t have a uniform in our school (though there is talk of bringing one in next year) but I did have a brooch with the school crest pinned to my hat ribbon. It’s been rather a craze in the Middle Grade this year.
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ I said. ‘Oh dear, do you think someone might tell them? The school, I mean?’ I had a horrible thought of that man turning up at the school and telling Mother Antoninas all.
‘Oh, I doubt it,’ said Frank. ‘It sounds like he was too shocked by your daring deeds to notice things like hats.’
‘Oh, good,’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to, you know, stand up for my beliefs. But I’m not keen on getting into trouble if I don’t have to.’
‘That sounds like a very sensible attitude to me,’ said Frank. He looked down at the chalked slogan again. ‘Are you going to do any more chalking? I can keep sketch for you if you like.’
I stared at him.
‘Would you really?’ I said. A rather low suspicion came into my head that Frank was somehow being put up to all this niceness by Harry as some sort of trick. They are friends, after all. And Harry is definitely the sort of boy who would pretend to keep sketch and then run away just when a policeman walked by – at least if he was meant to be keeping watch for me. He probably wouldn’t do it to his actual friends.
But Frank seemed to be genuinely sincere.
‘Well, yes,’ said Frank. ‘I think what you’re doing is marvellous. None of the boys at school are brave enough to do something like this.’
Well, I hadn’t intended to chalk any more, but really, Frances, how could I just go home after he’d said something like that?
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Let’s go round the corner, the Frederick Street side. It’s on the way home.’
We walked around the corner in companionable silence. He is very easy to be around, for some reason. When we were at the side of the church, I said, ‘All right, I’ll do it here. Watch out for policemen.’ Of course, I still had no idea whether policemen would mind chalking or not, but it made it all sound much more dangerous and exciting. I got down and used the last of my chalk to write VOTES FOR WOMEN MEETING! ANTIENT CONCERT ROOMS SATURDAY 8PM. TICKETS 1/6 as quickly as I could.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’ll do.’ I sounded very brisk and businesslike, even though I felt all wobbly and excited inside. I know I keep saying this, but I really think I must be a good actor. I should try taking part in the next school production if they ever actually let us day girls do something again.
‘We’d better go before we get arrested, for defacing public property’ said Frank, but not in a serious way. He looked as if he was enjoying himself tremendously as we walked quickly towards Dorset Street.
‘To be honest,’ I said,’ as we crossed the road, ‘I’m not entirely sure you really need to watch out for policemen. I think chalking is all right. It’s just paint that they object to. Legally, I mean.’
But this didn’t seem to bother Frank.
‘Oh well,’ he said cheerfully, ‘it still felt like we were breaking the law. Quite thrilling, really. I only wish I could tell the boys at school about it.’
I looked at him anxiously.
‘You won’t, though, will you?’ I said. ‘You promised.’
Frank looked affronted.
‘Of course I won’t,’ he said. ‘My word is my bond. Or something like that. You needn’t worry.’
I was glad to hear it.
‘You know what Harry’s like,’ I said. ‘If he found about this he’d go straight to my parents. And then I wouldn’t be allowed out of the house for months.’
‘You know, Harry’s not that bad really,’ said Frank. ‘I bet he wouldn’t tell on you.’
‘You don’t know what he’s like at home,’ I said. ‘No, actually, you do. You’ve seen him throw socks at me.’
‘I’ll admit he can be a bit … boorish,’ said Frank.
‘A bit?’ I said.
‘All right, then, very,’ said Frank. ‘But well, he’s a lot nicer about all of you when you’re not there.’
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ I said.
‘The other day Murphy – he’s a chap in our class – said something about it being hard lines on Carberry having a house full of girls,’ said Frank. ‘He knows Harry has three sisters.’
‘Well, I can only imagine that Harry agreed with him,’ I said. ‘He tells us how awful it is for him often enough.’
‘To tell you the truth,’ said Frank, ‘he defended you. And your sisters. He said that you were all “decent sorts”.’
I couldn’t believe my ears.
‘You’re making that up,’ I said.
‘I’m honestly not,’ said Frank. ‘He really did. He said he’d rather have sisters than a brother who was always going to be better at rugby than you. Murphy’s brother,’ he added, ‘is on the first XV and Murphy isn’t even in the junior team with me and Harry.’
I honestly couldn’t think of anything to say. I was so surprised.
‘I know he can be very annoying,’ said Frank. ‘And I won’t pretend he isn’t a rude beast to you. But you know, he might grow out of it.’
And for the first time, I actually wondered if that could be true.
After that, we didn’t talk about Harry. We mostly talked about books (we both love Three Men in a Boat and the Sherlock Holmes stories. I told him that my favourite book when I was younger was Five Children and It, and he said his was The Story of the Treasure Seekers).
‘I do like that one,’ I said. ‘But I rather like books where magic things happen. They make you feel as though everything could change all of a sudden, and be more interesting than it used to be.’
‘But I suppose things can change,’ said Frank. ‘I mean, a few months ago I bet you never thought you’d be chalking political slogans on pavements.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ I said. It was rather a nice thought. Although not as magical as actually finding an ancient Psammead creature that granted wishes, like in Five Children and It.
We had turned onto Dorset Street now, which is not a very magical place (though I remembered the bit in The Story of the Amulet when the children find the magical Psammead in a dingy pet shop on a street rather like it).
‘Do the boys at school ever say anything about suffragettes?’ I said. I was curious to know what boys around my age thought of it, and I couldn’t ask Harry without rousing his suspicions. Frank looked a little awkward.
‘I don’t think I should really tell you,’ he said.
‘It’ll be nothing I haven’t heard from Aunt Josephine and Grace Molyneaux,’ I said. ‘She’s an awful girl in my class.’
‘I’m pretty sure they say worse things than even Grace Molyneaux,’ said Frank. ‘However bad she might be.’
‘Oh, go on,’ I said. ‘I might as well know.’
‘If you insist,’ said Frank with a sigh. ‘All right. They say that suffragettes are just frustrated spinsters who want a vote because they can’t get husbands.’
‘Well, that’s not true,’ I said. ‘Lots of the leaders are married. And by the way, that’s exactly the sort of thing Grace would say. ’
‘And,’ Frank went on, ‘they say that London will never give us Home Rule if suffragettes keep demanding the vote. That they’ll use it as an excuse not to pass a Home Rule bill in parliament.’
‘I don’t see what the point of Home Rule would be if only men had a say in it,’ I said crossly as we crossed Dorset Street.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Frank. ‘But I don’t think the fellows at school would agree. Hey, watch out.’
I was so cross I hadn’t noticed a large coal van coming towards us. Frank grabbed my arm and pulled me out of its path.
‘You can’t fight the good fight if you’re run over by a coal van,’ he said, smiling. He does have an awfully nice smile. Did I tell you that already? I realised he was still holding my arm. It was rather a nice feeling, but then he let go and we scampered across to the opposite pavement.
After that, we went back to talking about books. It was so much fun that when we reached the corner where we had to go our separate ways I felt quite disappointed.
‘Thanks for keeping watch for me,’ I said.
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Frank. ‘I hope the meeting goes well. You are going, I presume?’
‘Of course,’ I said proudly.
‘Well, I hope it goes marvellously,’ said Frank. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.’
I watched him head down the road and then sighed and walked the rest of the way home. Maggie let me in when I got there.
‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘Your mother didn’t tell me you were going out.’
‘Oh, I just called in to Nora’s house,’ I said. This was yet another of my worryingly easy lies. ‘You don’t have to mention that to Mother, do you? I didn’t tell her I was going there.’
‘I suppose I won’t have cause to mention it,’ said Maggie with a smile. She glanced down at my skirt and her smile disappeared.
‘What on earth is that?’ she said. ‘That skirt only came back from the laundry last week.’
I glanced down and saw that there were white chalk marks where I’d been kneeling. I hadn’t brushed myself off when I chalked the second message.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘Just some chalk. We were, um, playing hopscotch.’
‘Aren’t you a little old for hopscotch?’ said Maggie.
And there was something about the way she said it that made me think she knew that I was lying. And that it was something to do with the movement. But she wasn’t going to ask too many questions.
‘It’s awfully good exercise,’ I said. Father’s clothes brush was sitting on the hall stand and I grabbed it. ‘I’ll just go out in the back garden and brush this off. I don’t want chalk dust flying everywhere.’
And before Maggie could say anything else, I trotted down to the kitchen and out the back door. The chalk brushed off my skirt easily enough, but I realised I had to be more careful in future. I know Maggie is on my side really – or at least the side of the cause – but I can’t forget what she said about how my parents would react if they knew that she knew about my activities. And I probably won’t go out chalking on my own again. I feel utterly exhausted from all the worrying about being caught. It is very hard being a secret suffragette sometimes. Still, I’m glad I did it. And I’m glad I met Frank. I can’t believe Harry has said nice things about us in school. Life really is full of surprises.
I will finish this letter now. Good luck with your play’s first night. I’m sure you’ll be marvellous. I hope someone takes photographs of you all in your costumes, then you can show them to me when you’re over here in the holidays. I can’t imagine what you’ll look like in your false beard. I wish we were doing some acting this year but the only middle-school girls who have been allowed put on a play are the boarders. Nora and I agree that this is extremely unfair. Some of the older day girls were in a production of Twelfth Night before Christmas, though, and Phyllis was surprisingly good as Juliet in her last year, so maybe we will get our chance to shine. Anyway, I hope you all shine this week - do write and tell me all. And the next time I write, I’ll have been to the big meeting. Let’s hope all our chalking has paid off and the hall is packed to the rafters!
Best love and VOTES FOR WOMEN!
Mollie