I don’t even feel like writing because I feel so annoyed and disappointed, but I might as well tell you all my woes when they’re still fresh. Last night was a disaster. Not the meeting itself – that went quite well. At least, I presume it did, because Phyllis says so. But Nora and I didn’t get to see any of it AND we had a fight, and it’s all stupid Mabel’s fault. Oh, all right, she’s not stupid – she’s been very nice to us in the past. And the fight with Nora wasn’t her fault. But I really am very annoyed with her at the moment.
Yesterday seems like years ago now. I was looking forward so much to going to a proper meeting and being a real part of the movement at last that I was counting the minutes until it was time to go. Unfortunately Aunt Josephine came over for tea in the afternoon, and there was a terrible moment when Mother mentioned that Phyllis was taking me to a concert that night.
‘I don’t think Phyllis is old enough to look after Mollie at a public concert,’ Aunt Josephine sniffed.
I held my breath, terrified that Mother would say, ‘Actually, Josephine, you’re right, I shan’t let her go after all,’ but she just said, ‘Oh, don’t worry, Josephine, I trust my girls.’ Which was a relief but did make me feel a bit guilty because, after all, we had told Mother a lot of lies. But the bad feeling had vanished by the time I got ready to go out. I wore my best frock and my new summer coat, and Mother said I looked very smart though she didn’t know what on earth I do to my hat ribbons because they looked as if someone had been chewing them.
‘You’ll do, though,’ she said, and she was smiling so I knew she didn’t mind that much about the hat ribbons. They weren’t so terribly bad really, just a little bit frayed at the ends. And so Phyllis and I stepped out into the sunny evening.
‘We’ve done it!’ I said, as soon as the door had closed behind us.
But Phyllis hissed at me to shut up and practically dragged me down the front steps.
‘The window was open,’ she said, when we had made our way a few yards down the road. ‘Mother might have heard every word. You’ve got to be more careful.’
‘Sorry, Phyllis,’ I said soberly, but I couldn’t stay sombre for long. I almost felt like skipping as we walked along, but of course I’m far too grown-up to do anything like that. I did find myself walking very fast though, to the extent that Phyllis had to tell me to slow down.
‘We haven’t even got to Nora’s house yet,’ she said. ‘If you keep racing along at this rate, we’ll all be bright red and absolutely sodden with sweat by the time we get to the meeting.’
‘Phyllis!’ I said, shocked.
‘Perspiration, then,’ said Phyllis. ‘Anyway, slow down.’
I suppose I really didn’t want to turn up scarlet and smelly, so I did slow down a bit. But it was hard to walk along in a decorous and civilised fashion, especially when we collected Nora and she was practically bouncing with excitement too. Phyllis was not pleased.
‘Calm down, you girls,’ she said. ‘I said I’d take you to this meeting because I thought you could behave in a civilised fashion. Please don’t make me regret it.’
So we had to stop bouncing along. But it was difficult, especially when Phyllis started talking about all the speakers who were going to be there.
‘Countess Markevicz will be there – she’s terribly impressive, everyone says so,’ she said. ‘I heard that she turned up at a suffrage protest in England driving a coach and four. With white horses.’
I couldn’t help hoping she would do something like that this evening, though Phyllis said it was unlikely.
‘Do you really think there’ll be protests?’ said Nora, after we’d got on the tram and were speeding up Dorset Street. ‘Against the meeting, I mean.’
Phyllis shrugged her shoulders.
‘I don’t know if they’d dare,’ she said. ‘They tend to be there when we protest other things – like the Irish Party in the Mansion House. But this time, they’ll definitely be outnumbered. And remember, if there’s a single sign of trouble you’re to leave straight away.’
We got off the tram in College Green and made our way along the high wall of Trinity College towards Great Brunswick Street. The clock at the front of the college had showed us we were actually a bit late, so we probably should have hurried earlier, though I didn’t dare say anything about that to Phyllis in case she refused to give us our tickets when we arrived (I wouldn’t have put it past her). She was already looking a little harassed.
As we went along, I noticed a couple of women wearing suffrage badges on their coats, also making their way to the meeting. One even had a rosette in green, orange and white, the I.W. F. L. colours, attached to her coat with the words VOTES FOR WOMEN emblazoned across the middle. I wished I had one myself, though I knew I’d never have the nerve to wear it anywhere any of my family could see it. Not for the first time, I wondered if I’m being awfully cowardly being a secret suffragette (at home, anyway). But I reminded myself that if Mother and Father knew, then I’d never be allowed leave the house at all, which would rather defeat the purpose of being open about my views. Nora was clearly thinking along similar lines because she said, ‘I wish we could wear those rosettes’ in a rather wistful voice.
‘Here we are,’ said Phyllis. She glanced at her very pretty watch that was a present for her eighteenth birthday. ‘And just in time, it’s practically eight o’clock.’
We had arrived at the Concert Rooms. And that was when everything went wrong.
The green-coated woman I’d seen giving Phyllis the pamphlets (it seems like so long ago now) was waiting for us at the entrance, but she looked rather surprised to see us.
‘Hello, Phyllis,’ she said. ‘And … I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘This is my sister Mollie,’ said Phyllis. ‘And her friend Nora. Girls, this is Mrs. Duffy.’
‘They do know what’s on tonight, don’t they?’ said Mrs. Duffy. ‘It’s not a concert, girls.’
‘Of course we know,’ I said, indignantly. ‘We’re here to support the movement.’
Nora looked as if she were going to say something very rude, but luckily Mabel emerged from the vestibule of the Concert Rooms. Mrs. Duffy told her and Phyllis that she’d see them inside and headed into the building.
‘Have you got our tickets?’ Phyllis asked Mabel.
‘Do you mean tickets for the girls too?’ said Mabel.
‘Of course I do,’ said Phyllis. ‘I gave you the money.’
And that’s when everything started to go wrong. I realised Mabel was looking distinctly guilty.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t realise the tickets were for them. I thought they were for Kathleen and Margaret.’
‘Well, I’m sure those two can get their own tickets,’ said Phyllis.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Mabel. ‘I’ve already given them the two tickets you asked me to get. And they’re already inside. I suppose I made them think that you’d told me to hold tickets for them.’
‘Really, Mabel, it’s not like you to be so scatty,’ said Phyllis crossly. ‘Your imaginary fiancé is clearly a bad influence. Well, I suppose we’d better get two more tickets, then.’
But when she went to get us some tickets, she was told that there were none left!
‘There’s not a spare seat to be had,’ she said when she returned. ‘And there are already people standing at the back.’ And I must admit that she looked genuinely sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, especially when you consider that she hadn’t wanted to take us at all and that I had almost blackmailed her about it. Maybe she was wishing she’d followed my lead and walked faster.
‘So what can we do?’ asked Nora.
I think we were both expecting a seat to be produced from somewhere.
‘Well, you can’t go home on your own,’ said Phyllis. ‘I’m not having you roaming the streets at this time of the evening.’ A thought struck her. ‘I know, maybe you can wait in the vestibule. You might be able to hear the speeches there.’
We went into the vestibule, and through the open door that led into the hall I could see that the big concert space was decorated in wonderful banners and posters. Just then, there was an announcement that the meeting was about to begin and that everyone should take their seats.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Phyllis, ‘but I’ll have to go in. Excuse me, sir!’ An attendant hurried over to her. ‘Is it all right if my sister and her friend sit here while the meeting is going on?’
The man didn’t look pleased.
‘We’re not a public waiting room,’ he said.
‘Oh please, sir,’ said Phyllis, gazing at him with wide eyes. ‘They’ll be as good as gold.’
‘They’d better be,’ grunted the man, and left us.
‘There you go,’ said Phyllis. ‘I really am sorry.’
And off she went, closing the door behind us. There was nothing for us to do but sit in the boring old vestibule while the attendants looked at us suspiciously. I suppose we should have grateful there were chairs and we didn’t have to sit on the floor. A moment later, we could hear the rumbling of applause and a muffled sound that meant someone was speaking to the crowd, but we couldn’t make out what they were saying.
‘This is even worse than the last time,’ I said. ‘At least we got to hear some of the meeting when we were crawling around on the ground.’
‘And the park is slightly more interesting than this place,’ said Nora.
We did, of course, consider opening the door and sneaking in, or just leaving and strolling around town.
‘But knowing our luck,’ said Nora gloomily, ‘we’d get thrown out if we sneaked in, or get run over by a tram if we went out. And no matter what, our mothers and fathers would find out.’
She was probably right, unfortunately.
‘And after all we did for this meeting too!’ I said. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered chalking. I bet some of the people who saw those chalkings are sitting in there right now instead of us.’
‘Maybe the man who lectured us is there,’ said Nora. ‘Maybe we converted him.’
It was a nice idea, but I was fairly sure we hadn’t. I felt terribly bitter.
‘I bet there are people in there who haven’t done half as much for the cause as we have,’ I said. ‘I bet there are people who haven’t done a thing.’
It was quite satisfying to grumble for a while, but the satisfaction didn’t last long. It felt like we were sitting in the vestibule for about five hours (even though it wasn’t nearly that long). Of course we couldn’t hear anything that the speakers were saying, but every so often we would hear an enormous cheer or a round of applause, which just served to taunt us. It was so unfair.
Normally Nora and I can talk to each other for hours and hours, but somehow the feeling of being shut out depressed both of us and after a while we didn’t really have much to say. And then eventually – I don’t know why – I said, ‘Do you like Frank?’
Nora stared at me in confusion. ‘Frank who?’ she said.
‘Frank Nugent,’ I said. ‘You know, Harry’s friend.’
‘Oh yes, him,’ said Nora. ‘I barely know him, though. I haven’t seen him for ages. I thought you barely knew him too.’
And I realised that even though I have been thinking about Frank quite a lot in recent weeks, I haven’t really said anything about him to Nora. Maybe it’s because I do rather – yes, I will admit it at last – like him, and I know that we’re not meant to think about boys like that yet. I know I’ve written to you about him, but it’s different telling someone face to face. It makes it all more real, somehow. And that’s why I hadn’t said anything to Nora. But I couldn’t go back now.
‘I’ve actually bumped into him a few times recently,’ I said cautiously. ‘And he really is awfully nice.’
‘You’re going bright red,’ said Nora. She stared at me. ‘Mollie! Are you in love with Frank Nugent?’
I could feel myself going even redder. It can’t be normal to blush like this, can it? Maybe I have a terrible disease. Like consumption. Does that make you blush or make you all pale? I can’t remember. I must ask Maggie tomorrow, I bet she’d know.
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘I’m only fourteen.’
‘Juliet was only fourteen when she met Romeo,’ said Nora. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were in love with him?’
‘I’m not!’ I said crossly. ‘I just like him, that’s all. He’s much nicer than you’d think any friend of Harry would be. AND he supports the cause.’
‘Really?’ said Nora, surprised.
‘Yes!’ I said. And I told her about meeting him when I was out with Barnaby, and about bumping into him on my second chalking outing. Nora looked rather hurt.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me any of this,’ she said. ‘We’re meant to be friends and you’ve been having a … a secret love affair.’
‘Nora!’ I said, horrified. ‘Don’t be so vile. You sound like one of those awful cheap romance serials. And I have NOT been having a secret anything.’
I was so angry with her for implying such a thing that I couldn’t even look at her. We sat next to each other in silence for a few moments. But gradually my rage started to calm down and I couldn’t help thinking that if Nora had been having all these meetings and conversations with a boy and hadn’t told me about it, I would have been quite hurt too. So even though I was still annoyed about her saying that nonsense about me being in love, I muttered, ‘Sorry for not telling you about meeting Frank.’
And Nora said, ‘Sorry I said you were in love with him.’
And then neither of us said anything for a bit.
‘I don’t know why I didn’t tell you,’ I said eventually. ‘I suppose I didn’t want you to think I was getting soppy over him. Or something. Because I don’t think I am.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Nora.
I sighed. ‘I do like him more than I’ve liked any other boy I met,’ I said. ‘But first of all, I’ve barely met any boys, and second of all, I know we’re far too young to think of boys at all. That’s what everyone says. And don’t go on about Juliet again because that was hundreds of years ago. You know things are different in the twentieth century.’ And I wondered what it would be like if everyone thought it was all right for a fourteen-year-old girl to be in love with someone, but I couldn’t really imagine what we’d do if they did.
There was another pause and Nora asked, ‘So, what was he like when he found you chalking?’
‘He kept watch for me,’ I said. ‘He really does support the cause.’
‘Hmm,’ said Nora. ‘Then I suppose I must approve of him.’ And she said it in such a funny, dramatic voice that I couldn’t help laughing.
Suddenly we could hear very loud cheering and applause coming from the hall, and what sounded like people stamping their feet. And then the doors opened and the crowd began to stream out of the hall. It was mostly women but there were quite a few men too, and most of them were talking enthusiastically to each other. They looked as if they’d enjoyed the meeting very much. Which was, of course, a good thing for the cause, though it did make me even more jealous. Finally, Phyllis appeared with Kathleen, Mabel and another girl who turned out to be Margaret. Their eyes were positively sparkling with excitement.
‘Oh, there you are!’ said Phyllis, who had clearly forgotten all about me while the meeting was going on. She pointed towards a bearded man who was talking earnestly to a woman in an excellent hat. ‘That’s Mr. Sheehy-Skeffington. You know, the editor of the Citizen.’
‘How was it?’ I asked flatly.
‘It was marvellous,’ said Mabel. She had the good grace to look guilty. ‘Sorry about giving away your seats,’ she said.
‘It’s all right,’ said Nora, nobly, even though it clearly wasn’t. I knew I would find it very hard to forgive Mabel for her foolishness.
‘Some of us are going to Margaret’s house for tea,’ said Mabel. She looked at me and Nora. ‘Why don’t you all come? It won’t make up for missing the meeting, of course, but it could be rather fun. Kathleen’s aunt has made the most magnificent cake and she’s taking it along.’
Imagine, us going to a late-night suffragette party! Maybe I could forgive Mabel after all. But of course I should have known that Phyllis would have to do her responsible-big-sister act.
‘Sorry, Mabel, but Mother and Father would kill me if I kept these girls out late,’ she said. ‘I’d better get them home.’
So we missed the party too. And the worst thing was that when we came home, Mother and Father of course asked me how the concert was, and I had to smile and say it was wonderful.
‘It was very good of Phyllis to take you,’ said Mother.
‘Josephine certainly wouldn’t have taken me anywhere when I was your age,’ said Father, with a grin. And I had to grin back and say, ‘I suppose I’m lucky to have Phyllis.’ Which in a way is very true, because if it weren’t for her we’d never have found out about the movement at all, and she did take us to the meeting despite my almost-blackmail, but at the same time, I was still feeling terribly disappointed so it was very difficult to hide my gloomy mood. But I had to, until I got into bed (Julia was fast asleep) and then I must admit I cried. But only for a minute.
So there you have it. I went to the biggest, most important suffrage meeting of the year and I didn’t hear or see anyone. And me and Nora almost had a serious falling-out (though I suppose I am glad that my Frank meetings are out in the open). I can’t believe we didn’t get to see that glamorous countess (she didn’t come on a white horse – which at least we might have been able to see, seeing as we were right at the entrance – but Phyllis said she gave a good speech). I almost wish we hadn’t bothered chalking about the meeting now. Oh, all right, I don’t wish that, but it does seem rotten bad luck after all our work. And I feel terribly flat. Last night was such a grand affair that there might be no other big meetings or suffrage events for ages. I’m trying to tell myself that the most important thing is that the meeting was a big success and lots of people came AND the awful Ancient Hibernians didn’t show up and ruin it all by throwing eggs and lettuces and things, but I still feel very glum. Oh well. I will write more tomorrow, if I’m not too depressed.
Monday
Something rather dramatic happened today, though I’m not sure whether it will turn out to be good or not. Grace told our classmates that me and Nora are suffragettes. As you know, we hadn’t really planned to tell anyone else at school. I suppose the whole time we have been torn between wanting to stand up for our beliefs (new though they might be) in public and not wanting to get into trouble. But anyway, everyone in our class knows now.
It happened, like most vaguely interesting things at school, at break. We were in the refectory, and Nora, Stella and I were talking to Daisy Redmond and Johanna Doyle about what we might do when we leave school. Nora, Daisy and I want to go to university, but Stella and Johanna don’t.
‘So what will you do?’ asked Nora. ‘You’ll have to do something. You know what the staff always say. We can’t expect to just live at home doing nothing until we get married. If we get married,’ she added.
‘That’s just what I’m going to do,’ said Johanna, but she didn’t sound very happy about it. ‘Father doesn’t believe in women working. He doesn’t really think girls should be educated at all, to be honest. There were awful rows at home about me coming here.’
Of course, one knows that plenty of people don’t believe in educating girls. Look at Aunt Josephine. But our school has always been rather progressive in that regard, so it’s quite rare to find anyone here whose parents think that way.
‘I was thinking I might be a nurse,’ said Stella.
I wasn’t sure I could imagine Stella dealing with all the blood and such like. But if Nora thinks she can be a doctor, I suppose Stella can be a nurse.
‘You’d have to go to England,’ said Daisy. ‘That’s where the only Catholic training place is. Sister Augustine said so.’
But Stella didn’t like the sound of going that far.
‘Maybe I could be an instructress in poultry keeping,’ she said.
‘A what?’ I said.
‘You know, someone who teaches people how to look after chickens,’ said Stella.
‘But why on earth would you do that?’ said Nora. ‘You’re not interested in chickens, are you?’
‘There was a talk about jobs a few months ago for us boarders – remember, Daisy?’ said Stella. ‘And it was one of the things they mentioned. Like joining the civil service or the bank. Or teaching in a school. But I don’t think I’d be much good at those other ones.’
I wasn’t sure I could imagine Stella being much good teaching people about chickens either, but I wasn’t rude enough to tell her that. Besides, I had been struck by another thought.
‘It’s so unfair,’ I said.
‘What is?’ said Stella. ‘Do you mean unfair to the chickens?’
‘No, to girls,’ I said. ‘The idea that there are only about five jobs we can do. I mean, if we were boys, we wouldn’t just have teaching and nursing the bank and the civil service and, and … chickens. We could try being anything we liked and nobody would say we couldn’t.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Daisy.
‘I am right,’ I said. ‘And you know, if women had the vote, then maybe that would change. Eventually, at least.’
Grace, who was sitting at the next table with Gertie, stood up and went over to us.
‘Can you please keep the noise down over there?’ she said. ‘Some of us need peace and quiet in our lunchbreak.’
‘We weren’t being that loud,’ said Daisy.
‘You weren’t, Daisy,’ said Grace. ‘But I’m afraid Mollie was being very noisy. I’m sorry Mollie, but you were.’
‘It’s break,’ said Nora. ‘Not French class. We’re allowed to talk.’
‘You’re not allowed to scream and shout,’ said Grace primly. ‘Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at you pair.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I said sharply. ‘I wish you’d stop making these snide remarks. If you’ve got something to say, just say it properly, instead of pretending to be nice.’
Grace was so offended that she forgot to put on her nice voice.
‘Well, isn’t making a racket what you suffragettes do?’ she snapped.
‘You what?’ said Johanna.
‘They’re not suffragettes, you goose,’ said Daisy. She looked at me and Nora. ‘You’re not, are you?’
I caught Nora’s eye. What should we do? Should we deny it? But surely that’s wrong, if we really believe in the cause. And we do, we really do. So I said, ‘Yes, we are.’
Daisy and Johanna looked astonished.
‘Are you really?’ said Johanna. ‘What do you do?’
‘We’ll tell you,’ said Nora, ‘when certain sneaky tell-tales aren’t listening.’ And she gave Grace a very meaningful look.
The funny thing was, Grace didn’t look particularly pleased by her revelation. In fact, as soon as she said it, she looked as though she wished she hadn’t. I suppose she liked having something secret to hold over us. Anyway, she didn’t stick around. She tossed back her curls and said, ‘I’m sorry you think I’d do anything so low as tell tales. I thought you’d told your chums about your … activities. I didn’t realise you were ashamed of them.’ And before we could think of a reply to that, she had returned to her seat.
‘We’re not ashamed of them,’ I said.
‘Do tell us all about your suffragette business,’ begged Daisy.
‘Not here,’ said Nora. ‘Let’s go to the library.’
We didn’t have too much time before break finished so we scurried down the corridor to the library and found a quiet corner where no one could overhear us.
‘Go on then,’ said Daisy, when we were all settled at the round table.
‘We go to meetings,’ said Nora. ‘Suffrage meetings.’
She didn’t say that we’d only been to two. And that we hadn’t actually got into the last one.
‘And we helped sell a suffrage magazine in Sackville Street,’ I said, which was almost a lie but not quite. After all, we had looked after the bag, so we were helping Phyllis.
‘Goodness!’ said Daisy.
‘And you mustn’t tell a soul about this,’ said Nora, impressively, ‘but we chalked suffrage things on the pavement in town. Telling people about the meeting.’
Johanna and Daisy looked so astonished we might as well have told them that we’d set fire to a postbox.
‘Is that against the law?’ said Johanna.
‘No,’ said Nora, very confidently. ‘It just washes away.’
It did strike me again that we had been taking it for granted that it was all right to chalk.
I wasn’t sure whether Daisy or Johanna approved of all this or not. They just looked a bit stunned. And then the bell rang for class, and we didn’t really have a chance to talk to them for the rest of the day.
‘You don’t think Daisy or Johanna will side with Grace about all this, do you?’ I asked, when me and Nora were walking home.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Nora. She kicked a stone along the pavement. ‘But how unfair it all is, that we have to live in fear of Grace getting us into trouble just because we want to fight for our rights!’
‘Including,’ I said, ‘the right to do more jobs than just teach people about chickens.’
I was still thinking about the unfairness of the world when I arrived home from school. Maggie let me in and told me she’d made another lemon cake.
‘And Jenny is here,’ she said. ‘If you’d like to come down and say hello.’
‘Of course I would!’ I said. Jenny is Maggie’s sister – her name is Jane really. She and Maggie are orphans, which I think is very sad, though Maggie says she is used to it now as their parents died a long time ago when they were quite young. That’s when Maggie first went into service and came to live with us, and Jenny went to work in a biscuit factory. Jenny comes and visits Maggie regularly, and sometimes Maggie goes to visit her on her afternoon off. I’ve always liked Jenny, and not just because sometimes she gives me a broken or misshapen biscuit (they get them at the factory and sometimes they taste even nicer than the perfect biscuits). So I was very pleased to see her when I followed Maggie down the steps and into the kitchen.
‘Hello Jenny!’ I said.
‘Hello there, young Mollie,’ said Jenny, smiling back at me and holding out a plate. ‘Have some cake.’
Maggie poured me some tea, and soon I was sitting at the table with the two Murphy sisters. Their surname is Murphy, did I ever tell you that? I suppose I never think about it because we always call them by their Christian names. It’s funny that I call some grown-ups, like Mother’s friends and Nora’s mother, Mr. and Mrs. whatever their surname is. But Jenny and Maggie and servants in general are always just called by their first names. It seems a bit rude to them, now that I think of it. Imagine if I suddenly called Mrs. Sheffield ‘Maria’. She’d never let me take out The Menace again. Actually, maybe I should try it the next time she’s here …
But I’m getting distracted (again). We were at the kitchen table, and I was drinking tea and eating the extremely delicious lemon cake, which was possibly as good as Nellie’s mother’s cake. I asked Jenny about the biscuit factory and she said that she and the other women who work there weren’t happy at the moment.
‘Because we’ve found out that we’re going to be expected to cover the men’s lunch breaks,’ she said. ‘But we won’t be paid for it.’
I remembered what Phyllis had said about Jenny the other week.
‘Aren’t you a trade unionist?’ I said.
‘I certainly am,’ said Jenny happily.
Maggie shot her a warning look. ‘We’ll have none of that talk in this kitchen,’ she said.
‘Oh come on, Maggie,’ said Jenny. ‘We were talking about it here just before Mollie came in.’
‘That,’ said Maggie, ‘was when we were among ourselves.’ She looked at me. ‘And, Mollie, before you say anything about not minding, we’ve been through this before. I’m not going to be responsible for you hearing all sorts of radical talk.’
‘That’s what happens when you have your feet under another man’s table,’ said Jenny. ‘You think it’s a good thing, bed and board and all that, but once you’re there you can’t call your soul your own. No offence meant to your mother and father, Mollie.’
‘That’s all right,’ I said.
‘I might have to slave away in that factory,’ said Jenny. ‘But as soon as I walk out through those gates, I can do what I like and say what I like.’
‘Well, isn’t that nice for you?’ said Maggie. ‘Not everyone can have a wonderful job in a factory. In case you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t that many jobs for girls like us.’
‘Well, if you had a union job, at least you’d be able to fight for your rights,’ said Jenny. ‘And at least you’d actually have rights. The things you hear about some generals! They’re made to do the work of ten maids all on their own.’
And even though we don’t make our general-servant – Maggie, of course – do all that work, I knew Jenny was right. Just think of how Aunt Josephine treats her servants!
‘Jenny!’ said Maggie, with a pointed look at me.
‘Actually,’ I said, hoping it would calm things down a bit, ‘my friends and I were just talking today about how boys can work at anything but there are only a few jobs that girls can do. I mean, the only jobs they say we can do are teaching, being a nurse, the bank, and the civil service. Or telling people how to keep chickens, of all things. Only five jobs!’
‘Only five jobs for girls like you,’ said Jenny. ‘Girls like us don’t have a chance of working in a bank. Just service or the factory, or farms if you’re in the country and, well, you don’t want to know about some of the other jobs.’
I felt myself go red AGAIN. I hadn’t even thought about that until now. Of course, girls from families like Maggie and Jenny had other jobs they could do. But they were generally much nastier, and always much worse paid, than the jobs the nuns encouraged us to try.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
Jenny looked as though she were regretting her sharp tone. She put her arm around me.
‘And neither did I,’ she said. ‘It’s not your fault things aren’t fair.’
‘I do want to change things,’ I said. ‘My friend Nora and I …’ And then I remembered what Maggie had said about not wanting to know about our activities. It wasn’t fair of me to say anything in front of her. So I just said, ‘We support the suffrage cause.’
‘Good for you,’ said Jenny. ‘Maybe I’ll make a trade unionist out of you too.’
‘Jenny!’ said Maggie again. ‘I think it’s time you went home.’
‘I’m only codding you,’ said Jenny. She stood up and reached for her coat, which was hanging on the back of a chair. I realised with a start that it was an old one of Mother’s. I remember the distinctive cuffs. Mother always gives her old coats to Maggie, and Maggie must have passed this one on to Jenny. Jenny must have noticed me staring because she said, ‘Nice coat, isn’t it? I’m not too proud to accept anyone’s hand-me-downs, especially when it’s such a fine garment as this.’ She gave Maggie a kiss on the cheek.
‘Bye now, Maggie,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in better humour the next time I see you.’
‘Bye,’ said Maggie, a little stiffly, but then she hugged her sister firmly. ‘What would I do,’ she said into Jenny’s shoulder, ‘without you to keep me on my toes?’
‘Ah, you’d be all right,’ said Jenny. ‘You’d rise up on your own eventually.’
She released herself gently from Maggie’s embrace and patted me on the shoulder.
‘Goodbye, young Mollie,’ she said. ‘Keep fighting the good fight.’ And then she let herself out of the back door and went out the back gate.
‘That girl,’ said Maggie, with feeling, ‘will get me sacked one of these days.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ I said. Even though I knew that if Mother and Father really did decide to let Maggie go, I wouldn’t have much say in the matter.
Maggie knew this too, of course, but she smiled.
‘Off you go, now,’ she said. She gestured towards a soft bundle wrapped in brown paper that was sitting on the kitchen cabinet. ‘I’ve got to run around to the laundry with this in a minute. Your mother forgot to send some of your father’s shirts.’
So I went upstairs to write this letter. Which I will finally finish writing now. I do hope you are well and that you aren’t studying too hard. After all, even if you do go to Oxford, you’ve got a few years to prepare for it. I should probably be studying a bit harder myself, but sometimes it’s very difficult when so many exciting and dramatic things are happening ….
Best love,
Mollie
Tuesday
I meant to send this letter this morning on my way to school, but I forgot, so I am opening up the envelope (I will have to gum it down afterwards with glue) because I need to tell you that Nora and I have made a big decision. We are going to take militant action! We’re not going to set off a bomb or chain ourselves to the railings of Dublin Castle, or anything like that. But we are going to do something that is almost certainly breaking the law. And we’re going to do it soon.
We made the decision this afternoon at the end of break. Nora, Stella and I were sitting out in the garden, as were most of the school because the weather was so nice. But we had found a quiet corner where we could talk about secret suffragette things in peace. We needed to do this because of course Johanna and Daisy told other people about our suffrage leanings (‘Well, you did say you weren’t ashamed of it,’ said Johanna, which was fair enough), and now everyone knows. At the first break today we were besieged by classmates asking questions. First of all, they all asked if we did things like the suffragettes in England.
‘Did you set fire to anything?’ asked Nellie Whelan, hopefully.
‘No,’ said Nora. ‘We keep telling you, we haven’t done anything like that.’
‘But you might,’ said Mary Cummins.
‘Probably not,’ I said.
‘I don’t really see why it’s all so important,’ said Maisie Murray. ‘I mean, our mothers don’t seem to need the vote. Mine doesn’t, anyway.’
I sighed. I didn’t want to get into a fight with Maisie, who’s quite a nice girl really, and I certainly didn’t want to insult her mother, but really, I had to say something.
‘It’s about fairness,’ I said. ‘Women have to stick to the laws, but they don’t have a say in making them. It’s not fair. Same as it’s not fair that our brothers are allowed to do whatever they like – well, practically – and we’re not.’
‘I don’t have any brothers,’ said Maisie.
‘Well, boys in general, then,’ I said. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Not really,’ said Maisie.
‘I do,’ said Mary. ‘Why shouldn’t our mothers have their say? And our aunts.’ Mary’s parents died a few years ago, and she and her sister live with their Aunt Margaret. I’ve met her and she’s much nicer than Aunt Josephine.
‘It seems a bit silly to me,’ said Maisie. ‘I don’t mean to offend you.’
‘Well, it’s not silly at all,’ said Nora, who did look quite offended. That was when the bell rang, which was probably a good thing because Nora looked as if she were going to start yelling at Maisie. But for the rest of the morning more people kept coming up and asking questions, and when the big break came along we were so tired of saying the same things over and over again that we hid in the most secluded bit of the garden we could find.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘Even if I didn’t think it was necessary to promote the cause before today, I certainly do now. When I was coming out of the lav, Cissie Casey asked me if it was true that I wanted women to rule the world!’
‘You don’t, do you?’ said Stella.
‘Of course not,’ I said.
‘We just want fairness,’ said Nora. ‘And the chalking is all very well. But I can’t help feeling we should do something else. Something bigger.’
I knew exactly what she meant.
‘The thing about chalk,’ I said, ‘is that people just walk over it and smudge it, or it gets washed away the next time it rains. Which is usually about five minutes after you’ve chalked something.’
‘Exactly,’ said Nora. ‘And I don’t think people take it seriously. I mean, they think it’s silly, or funny.’
‘Well, some of them take it seriously,’ I said, remembering the man who had thought we were praying. ‘But you’re probably right.’
‘So why don’t we do it properly?’ said Nora. ‘Why don’t we use paint?’
If you had asked me to think about it logically, I could have given plenty of reasons why we shouldn’t use paint. For one, I knew that painting on something without permission was illegal. But then, so was breaking government windows, and the women in London were doing that all the time.
‘We could,’ I said cautiously. ‘That would definitely cause a stir.’
‘Oh, I’m really not sure this is a good idea,’ said Stella, nervously.
‘But where should we do it?’ said Nora.
‘Well, I suppose it should really be government property,’ I said. ‘I mean, that’s meant to be the point.’
‘If only your father’s office was closer to our houses,’ said Nora.
I was quite glad it wasn’t. I was fully prepared to paint something on a government building, but not the one Father worked in. Then I thought of something.
‘What about a postbox?’ I said. ‘Like the one on Eccles Street, at the Nelson Street corner. Lots of people walk past that one.’
‘A postbox?’ said Stella.
‘It’s government property,’ I said.
‘That,’ said Nora, ‘is an excellent idea.’
‘I don’t think it is,’ said Stella.
‘And all we need,’ I continued, ignoring Stella’s foolish objections, ‘is some paint and a brush. We can find them easily.’
‘I know for a fact,’ said Nora, ‘that there’s some in our shed.’
Apparently Mr. O’ Shaughnessy, who does their garden every week, had recently painted their back gate.
‘Oh please don’t,’ said Stella unhappily.
‘But when will we do it?’ I said. ‘We can’t just pop into town after school and start painting like we did with the chalk. I mean, we don’t actually want to be caught.’
‘Well, it would make quite a statement if we were arrested,’ said Nora. ‘I bet it would make all the papers.’
‘Oh Nora, no!’ cried Stella.
And I had to agree with Stella. I know I was the one who got Nora involved in all this, but when she’s involved in something, she does sometimes go a little too far. Still, maybe her attitude is what I need to keep myself going.
‘We are absolutely NOT getting arrested,’ I said. ‘At least I hope not. Why don’t we get up really, really early? At four or five in the morning? Hardly anyone will be around then, not even policemen.’
‘But how would we do that?’ said Nora. ‘I don’t have my own alarm clock. And neither do you.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But Harry does.’ He got one for his birthday last year and it is awfully impressive. It even has numbers that glow in the dark. ‘And I bet I could muffle it up so it didn’t wake the entire house.’ Luckily, Julia is quite a sound sleeper so I should be able to muffle it from her too.
Nora nodded.
‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ she said.
‘The only thing is,’ I said, ‘that it won’t be easy to get the clock from Harry. I mean, he’ll definitely notice if it disappears. He’s frightfully proud of it. He doesn’t even need it because Father knocks on our doors to wake us up, but he sets it to go off anyway.’
‘I don’t suppose he’s going away on holiday any time soon,’ said Nora, hopefully.
‘He’s going away for a rugby match next week,’ I said. ‘But only for the day.’
‘We’ll just have to watch out for an opportunity,’ said Nora. ‘I mean, all sorts of things might happen.’
‘One of us might be given an alarm clock as a present,’ I said. (Well, it is possible.)
‘Exactly,’ said Nora. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see. I’m sure something will turn up.’
So that’s what we are hoping. I will write very soon and let you know if something does. Though knowing our luck recently, it could take months and months.