Monday, 8th July, 1912

Monday, 8^th July, 1912.

Dear Frances,

I am writing this sitting in the back garden, but right now you are in the United States of America! I got your letter this morning – it was so exciting to see an American stamp. I’ve only seen one or two before. It’s funny to think of you being so far away. I mean, I know we’ve hardly ever been in the same country since you went away to school, but somehow it makes a difference knowing you’re now thousands and thousands of miles away. (At least I think it’s thousands, I am not quite sure and it’s hard to tell from my atlas. I know London is four hundred miles away from Dublin, though, so Boston must be at least three times that.)

I am glad that the voyage went so well. (Of course I knew you hadn’t hit an iceberg, or anything, because it would have been in the papers.) I’m sorry you were so sick, though. I’m quite certain I’d have been sick too. I’m sure I’ve told you about the time the summer before last when we went out in a boat on one of our trips to Skerries and as soon as we were out of the harbour my tummy began to feel most peculiar. And even though Phyllis told me to stare very hard at the horizon it didn’t make any difference at all and I had to lean out of the boat and be sick when we were sailing around the cliff of Red Island. And then when we got back to blessed dry land I felt all dizzy, as if the ground were moving around like the sea. And that was after just an hour on the ocean waves! I can only imagine what I’d be like for a whole week. Though perhaps, like you, I’d start to get my sea legs after a few days. How very brave of you to eat a strawberry ice, I couldn’t eat anything but dry toast after my own bout of seasickness.

Anyway! You are on land for weeks and weeks now so I suppose you will have plenty of time to get your land legs back. And the rest of your voyage does sound like good fun. I can’t imagine what it must be like to play games and go to a dancing class on a ship in the middle of a gigantic ocean. Every time I think of it I feel a bit ill. I definitely couldn’t have done any dancing on that rowing boat (not that there’d have been any room).

I wonder if you’ve seen much of Boston yet? I am so excited that you are going to go to the town where Louisa May Alcott lived! I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it. I couldn’t quite picture the town in Little Women because I don’t really know what American towns look like. I just know that they must not look much like Irish ones because they have houses made entirely of wood, which sounds very odd to me and makes me think of garden sheds.

It all sounds thrilling, especially as you are going to ride some of the way there in a motor car. I have never been in a motor car but I long to have a go in one. I imagine that even familiar streets would look quite different if you were speeding through them in a motor. I mentioned this at home once and Harry, who always feels the need to act all superior even though I know for a fact that he has never been in a motor car and would love to have a go, informed me that it would only be the same as an express tram and I could travel in one of them any morning I liked. He is so annoying.

If I had any way of ensuring you’d actually get this letter, I’d send it just so I could urge you to read a wonderful, wonderful book called Anne of Green Gables (though you probably don’t need any entertainment with all those new and exciting things to see – and all those possums and bears to avoid). It’s the book that Mabel gave to me via Phyllis.

‘I had heard it was a kids’ book, but my cousin told me it was awfully good and it was,’ she wrote in her note. ‘And it’s been published over here now so I got you a copy.’

I woke up very early this morning (our room is always terribly sunny in the morning, I wish the curtains were thicker) and started reading it because I couldn’t get back to sleep. And it’s more than awfully good. It is magnificent! Honestly, Frances, I think it’s the best book I’ve ever read in my life, even better than E. Nesbit and Jane Eyre and the Sherlock Holmes stories. It’s about an orphan girl called Anne who has had a very hard life and then she goes to live with these old farming people who are brother and sister. And they don’t want her at first because they wanted a boy to work on the farm but then they start to like her. (I haven’t got very far yet so maybe they send her back to the orphanage in the end, but I really don’t think that will happen.)

It’s set in Canada (originally I thought it was America but it’s not) and it makes Canada sound very beautiful. But the best thing about the book is Anne herself. Oh Frances, I’ve never read a character who seems so like a real girl. Things go wrong for her sometimes and people around her often think she’s being ridiculous, but she doesn’t get too downhearted and she uses her imagination to make everything better. Which in a way is what we’re doing with the suffragette movement – we imagine that things can be better rather than the stupid way things are now.

Anyway, I absolutely love Anne Shirley of Green Gables and I take back everything I have ever said about Mabel. I totally and utterly forgive her for getting rid of our tickets. If you did happen to come across the book, I’m sure it would keep you amused when you’re riding the railroads (as I believe they say in America)! Or maybe you could read it in your cousin’s motor car, though Father, who once rode in a motor all the way from town to Rathmines, says that you can’t really read in one because you get sick.

I forgot to mention it before, but I got a letter from Stella on Friday. She is very bored all by herself in the middle of the countryside and says she is knitting a cardigan but even that isn’t enough to keep her entertained. (It certainly wouldn’t be enough to entertain me, and Stella likes knitting even more than I do. She can get strangely excited over new ways of knitting socks.) I wish she could stay in Dublin over the summer, but I suppose her parents don’t get to see her for most of the year when she’s at school. She wants to see them too, of course, and she does love her home (which sounds like it’s about twice the size of our house), but she says she wishes they lived a bit closer to school so she could come up to town for the day and see her chums.

I was thinking of asking Mother and Father if Stella could visit us after Frank’s visit, but I might leave it for a bit as Mother is still annoyed with me for, as she puts it, ‘letting that dog jump all over you’. As if I had a choice! That Menace is haunting me. I walked past the Sheffields’ house on my way to see Nora yesterday morning after Mass and the dreadful creature was sitting in the bay window. When he saw me he jumped up and put his paws up on the glass and started barking his head off. He didn’t stop until I turned the corner at the end of the road. (He’s so loud you can hear him all the way down the street.) I don’t know how they put up with him, he must drive them demented with his noise.

When I arrived at the Cantwells’, Nora answered the door because Agnes had her day off today (and as Nora said later, Princess Grace will never lower herself to open a front door for anyone).

‘Where’s her majesty?’ I whispered.

Nora rolled her eyes.

‘In the back garden with George,’ she said. ‘Badgering him about the tennis club. The poor thing keeps trying to get away but she keeps stopping him with more stupid questions.’

‘What did your parents say? About her joining the club, I mean?’

Nora’s face brightened.

‘Oh, they love the idea,’ she said. ‘I knew they would. The only thing is that she can’t go until Tuesday. They’re having the grown-ups’ tournament today, remember? And then tomorrow we have to go to Bray to visit some cousin of Mother’s. So I’m afraid we’re saddled with her today.’

‘Maybe she’ll stick with George,’ I said hopefully, but Nora said there was no luck there.

‘He’s helping out at the grown-ups’ tournament later,’ she said. ‘Fetching people’s tennis balls or something, I don’t know. I’m never quite sure what tennis people get up to in that place. Anyway, Grace can’t tag along with him.’

‘So what’ll we do with her?’ I asked, and Nora was shrugging her shoulders when the Cantwells’ drawing-room door opened and Mrs. Cantwell came out.

‘Mollie!’ she said. ‘How nice to see you.’

She’s not usually so enthusiastic about my visits, but I suppose she hoped I’d be able to stand between Nora and Grace as a buffer if things got too tense.

‘Hello, Mrs. Cantwell,’ I said dutifully.

‘I was thinking,’ said Mrs. Cantwell, ‘why don’t the two of you take Grace to the Phoenix Park?’

‘On our own?’ Nora sounded surprised, and I didn’t blame her. We’re not usually allowed to go all the way to the park on our own, mostly because you have to take at least two trams or buses, so it’s quite a complicated journey.

‘I think I can trust you girls to look after yourselves,’ said Mrs. Cantwell. ‘And of course to look after Grace.’

I don’t know why she kept talking about Grace as if she were a delicate little baby who had to be looked after. Or rather, I do. It’s because Grace always acts like a delicate little baby and it’s very, very annoying. Nora told me that apparently she was quite delicate when she was an actual baby so people did fuss over her a lot, but she’s perfectly all right now.

‘Can we have some money for the tearoom?’ asked Nora hopefully.

‘You can have sixpence each spending money, and your fares,’ said Mrs. Cantwell. ‘You too, Mollie.’ Which was jolly generous considering I’m neither a daughter nor a niece. The weather was lovely today – less baking than yesterday, with a nice light breeze in the air – and the thought of wandering around the park was rather a nice one. Sometimes there’s a band playing during the summer, and lots of people playing games. Of course, Nora had to push her luck.

‘Can we go to the zoo, too?’ she asked.

Mrs. Cantwell just ignored her and went back into the drawing room, saying, ‘Go and get your cousin.’

‘It was worth a try,’ said Nora, and we went out to the back garden, where George was saying, ‘Well, I’m not sure if there are any professional lady tennis players.’ He looked very happy to see us.

‘Hello, Mollie!’ he said. ‘Sorry to rush off, but I’m late for the tournament. Bye, Grace.’ And without another word, he practically ran back into the house. Grace didn’t seem to realise he’d been trying to get away from her.

‘I can’t wait to go to the club on Tuesday,’ she said, as she and Nora gathered together their hats and outdoor shoes. ‘George was saying he’s sure I’ll fit in beautifully.’

Nora rolled her eyes. As we made our way towards the tram stop, Grace kept going on and on about how wonderful at tennis she was going to be and how she would soon be the junior star of the tennis club.

‘I hope that O’Reilly girl who beat you yesterday doesn’t show up,’ said Nora innocently.

Grace’s face darkened. ‘I hope she does,’ she said. ‘I’ll show her how to play tennis.’

I was going to say it looked to me as if she already knew, but I kept my mouth shut. The tram was surprisingly crowded and we couldn’t get seats together; I ended up squashed next to a woman carrying a large basket that I suspect had a dog in it even though she said it didn’t when I asked. She looked quite annoyed at me for even asking so I looked away from her and out of the window and tried to think of interesting ways to protest Mr. Asquith’s visit. I remembered what Phyllis had said last month about the Countess Markievicz turning up at a political meeting in England, driving a coach with four white horses. We couldn’t exactly do that – for one, we don’t have a coach or horses, and we couldn’t drive them even if we had them. But we could do something dramatic. Apparently Mr. Asquith is going to the Theatre Royal during his visit. Perhaps, I thought, as Dorset Street sped by outside the windows, we could somehow work our way into the good graces of the theatre company and then, when we had got ourselves on stage (I am not sure how we would do this), we could leap out in front of the footlights and unfurl a giant banner saying VOTES FOR IRISH WOMEN. I mean, we could easily make one out of an old sheet and a bit of paint.

Or if that didn’t work (and I have a feeling that getting ourselves onto the Theatre Royal stage is easier said than done), maybe we could try and catch Mr. Asquith when he arrives in the country? We could find out what boat he is arriving at – apparently it’s going to be at Kingstown – and we could easily get a train out there from Amiens Street station. Then perhaps we could hire a rowing boat and row out into the bay, holding the banner. I know I always get seasick even in a rowing boat, but I’m prepared to make a sacrifice for the cause. I was wondering if it would do more harm than good to the movement if I actually did get sick in the boat while holding the banner, when the woman sitting next to me got off the tram with her basket and Nora ran over and took her place. I told Nora about my ideas and she was particularly impressed by the last one, which she said was a stroke of genius.

‘Especially because I know what a terrible sacrifice it will be for you to set foot in a boat,’ she said. ‘It is a very noble gesture. I wonder how much it costs to hire a rowing boat.’

‘It was only a couple of shillings when we hired one in Skerries,’ I said. ‘I bet we could get that much money together in a couple of weeks.’ I thought of the sixpences Mrs. Cantwell had given us just half an hour earlier. Nora must have been thinking the same thing because she said, ‘We definitely can. Some things are more important than buns,’ in a very noble voice. And then I realised we had reached the point where we have to change trams so there was a bit of a scurry to grab Grace and get off in time. Luckily we didn’t have to wait long for the next tram, but unluckily we all got seats together and Grace started talking very loudly about the strange smells one always encountered on trams.

‘This is why Father is definitely going to buy a motor car,’ she said in a voice so piercing it must have been heard upstairs on the tram. Many of the smells were clearly coming from our fellow passengers, some of whom looked very unimpressed by Grace’s speech. I was relieved when we finally reached the gates of the park and joined the crowds making their way down the road that leads to the zoo as well as the playing fields.

‘Gosh, it really is crowded,’ said Nora. And I was about to suggest leaving the main path and cutting across the grass when I saw a very familiar figure walking on the pavement on the other side of the road, dressed in grass-stained cricket whites.

‘Frank!’ cried Nora, waving frantically in his direction. Frank’s face broke into a wide smile when he saw her, and I found myself wishing I’d worn my blue cotton blouse with the little stars embroidered on the yoke instead of the slightly scruffy old linen one I was wearing. I always seem to meet Frank when I’m looking particularly grubby. Of course, I thought, as he worked his way through the crowds towards us, Frank was looking quite scruffy himself, but I didn’t mind about that, so maybe he wasn’t too horrified by my scruffy appearance either. I am probably thinking too much about the state of my clothes. Although I really don’t want him to think I go around in filthy rags all the time. All right, I really am thinking about it too much. I’ll stop now.

‘Hello, girls,’ he said, shaking first my hand and then Nora’s. He turned to Grace, because I suppose he couldn’t ignore her. He’s always so polite. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced …’

Grace, of course, simpered at him. And there was something about her smirking expression that made me feel strangely uneasy.

‘I’m Grace Molyneaux,’ she said. For a terrible moment I thought she was going to curtsey, but she just shook his hand instead. ‘Nora’s cousin.’

I remembered that I had told Frank quite a lot about Grace and I hoped that he wouldn’t say anything about having heard all about her because she would guess that he hadn’t heard anything good from me or Nora. But he just said, ‘How do you do? I’m Frank Nugent,’ and I thought Grace was going to pull a muscle in her face, she was smirking so much.

‘Frank is a friend of my brother Harry,’ I said.

‘I’m a friend of the entire Carberry family,’ said Frank. And he smiled at me in a very nice way.

‘Have you been playing cricket?’ I asked, and no sooner were the words out of my mouth than Grace let out an extremely irritating peal of laughter.

‘Oh Mollie!’ she cried. ‘What a question. What else do you think he was doing dressed like that? Putting up wallpaper?’ And she laughed again at her supposed wit. I felt like kicking her but managed to restrain myself. I was pleased to note, however, that Frank didn’t seem particularly amused by her bon mots (that’s French of course. It literally means good words, in case you don’t know).

‘A few chaps from school decided to organise a match,’ he said. ‘Cricket’s not my game, really, but it’s good fun. Especially when they hand out the lemonade afterwards.’

Sports groups seem very keen on giving people lemonade. I suppose I can’t blame them. I imagine it’s the only way they can get lots of people to take part. It would take a lot more than a glass of lemonade to make me run around a field and try to hit balls with what is essentially a narrow stick (this is also why I have not been tempted by the girls at school who want to try hurling). Though of course maybe if I were any good at sports, apart from drill and dancing (which doesn’t really count) and running quite fast for short distances, I might feel differently.

‘Do you play tennis, Frank?’ asked Grace in her sweetest voice. ‘I’ve just joined the club.’

Frank asked if she meant the club near our house and Grace confirmed that she did.

‘You should join too,’ she said.

‘I haven’t played it much,’ said Frank. ‘Though it is fun. Maybe I could give it a try.’

‘What an excellent idea,’ she said. ‘The more the merrier!’

I doubt she’d say that if me and Nora wanted to join.

‘But I must get going now,’ said Frank. ‘Very nice to meet you, Grace.’

Grace simpered again. It really is the only way to describe the expression she makes every time she wants to impress someone. I hoped Frank remembered everything I’d said about what an awful, mean glory-hunter she is and wasn’t taken in by her smirks.

‘And I’m sure I’ll see you all soon.’ Frank turned to me. ‘Not long now before I trespass on your family’s hospitality.’

‘Everyone’s looking forward to it,’ I said. Which is actually true. The whole family likes Frank. I’m probably not even the only one of us counting the days until he arrives (four, as it happens).

With a cheery wave, he bade us farewell.

‘What a nice boy,’ said Grace. ‘I hope he does join the tennis club.’

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go to the tearoom.’

We set off across the grass, Grace still jabbering on about how George had given her his second-best tennis racket and what fun she was going to have at the club. She was halfway through some boring story about the time she beat her other cousin at some sort of family tournament in her grandmother’s house when I saw another familiar figure making its way towards us.

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Not again!’

‘Is that the dog who jumped on you yesterday?’ Grace peered in the direction of the Menace, who was straining at his harness in his eagerness to harass me again.

I nodded grimly. ‘I’m afraid it is.’ I can’t get away from the dreadful little monster at the moment.

‘Mollie!’ cried Mrs. Sheffield. ‘How nice to see you. And your friends too.’

‘I see Barnaby’s wearing his harness,’ I said.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. ‘I collected it from the cobbler yesterday afternoon. That lead really wasn’t strong enough for him.’

Barnaby sniffed my skirt, as if considering another attempt to ruin my clothes. I quickly stepped back.

‘By the way, Mrs. Sheffield,’ said Grace brightly, ‘I’m definitely joining the club. My aunt and uncle are going to put my name down.’

‘That’s wonderful.’ Mrs. Sheffield beamed. ‘I do like to see more girls joining. Oh, Barnaby, stop that!’ For Barnaby had turned his snuffling attention to Grace. But instead of leaping back from the Menace, as any sane person would surely do, Grace leaned over and patted his woolly head.

‘What a lovely doggie,’ she said.

Mrs. Sheffield’s smile grew even wider, which was, I am sure, just the reaction that Grace had been hoping for.

‘He is, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘Though he can be quite a handful.’

And that was when something very peculiar happened. The Menace, who had been sniffing away at Grace’s hand, stared at her very hard with his button eyes. This is not unusual for the Menace, of course. But then, still staring her straight in the face, he sat down and offered her his woolly paw.

Grace gave another dreadful tinkling laugh and shook it. ‘I think he likes me!’ she cried.

‘You’re very honoured,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. ‘He hardly does that with anybody.’

That’s certainly true. I didn’t think the Menace was even capable of shaking paws. He’s more likely to snarl at someone’s hand than shake it.

‘The only explanation I can think of,’ I told Nora later, ‘is that he recognised Grace as a kindred spirit.’ And Nora agreed that it was the only thing that made sense. Especially as Grace clearly felt the same way about him, because she rubbed his head again and said, ‘I wish I had a dog like this.’ And for once, she actually sounded sincere.

‘Well,’ said Mrs. Sheffield, ‘you can take Barnaby for a walk whenever you like. He’s a lively little companion, isn’t he, Mollie?’

I remembered the last time I took the Menace for a walk. If you recall, he escaped from my clutches and ran away, and if Frank hadn’t happened to be passing and grabbed hold of him, he might never have been seen again. And even though the Menace is the bane of my existence (well, one of the banes, along with Harry and Grace and the anti-suffragists and Ancient Order of Hooligans), I didn’t want him to be lost forever. Of course, I had never told Mrs. Sheffield about the Menace getting away from me so I just said, ‘Yes, he’s very strong.’

‘I’m sure I’d be able to handle him.’ Grace gave me a disdainful look. And the Menace looked up at her with what almost looked like … respect. If those button eyes were capable of showing such an emotion, of course.

To my astonishment, Grace clearly meant what she said and wasn’t just saying what she thought a grown-up wanted to hear. In fact, she actually arranged to call to Mrs. Sheffield’s house and take the Menace for an outing in a few days’ time. After we’d bid farewell to both Barnaby and his owner (Grace had rubbed his head again when she said goodbye to him, and he’d closed his eyes in what looked like pleasure), Nora said, ‘You do realise that that dog is an absolute savage and a menace to civilised society, don’t you? We won’t be able to come with you if you walk him.’

‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ said Grace. ‘I can look after him perfectly well on my own. I don’t need the pair of you getting in the way.’

She’s probably right. Based on previous experience, I wouldn’t be much use if he misbehaved. By that stage we had reached the tearoom, and the next few minutes were spent finding a table, ordering cakes (I got a Mary Cake all to myself. When we go to Bewley’s Mother always insists on cutting even the tiniest cakes in two and sharing them between us). For a while we ate our cakes in what was almost a companionable silence.

‘This is jolly good,’ said Grace, swallowing a mouthful of chocolate cake.

‘So’s this scone,’ said Nora. She had a smudge of jam and cream on her chin. ‘You know, Grace, I bet Agnes would make a chocolate cake if you asked her to. She makes pretty decent ones.’

‘I’ll ask her then,’ said Grace.

It was all remarkably civilised. Maybe cakes and scones and buns are the key to social harmony? People seem to behave much more nicely when they’re sitting around eating together, I thought. Then I remembered how awfully Grace has behaved in the past in the refectory at school. So buns weren’t the answer. Maybe, I thought, she’d just be nicer if she wasn’t trying to be better than other girls all the time. I was pondering this question (and eating my cake) when a voice behind me said, ‘Mollie! Nora! What are you doing here?’

Was every single person I knew in the park today? I suppose it was a sunny July Sunday, but still! I turned around to see Mabel’s friendly face smiling at me. She was carrying a bag that, I could see, contained some copies of the Irish Citizen, the official publication of the Irish Women’s Franchise League.

‘There isn’t a meeting on today, is there?’ I said, forgetting all about Grace’s presence.

‘No, it was yesterday,’ said Mabel. ‘But I thought I’d take advantage of the fact that everyone goes to the park when the weather’s like this. I’ve sold quite a few Citizens already.’ She looked at Grace and smiled. ‘Hello there. I haven’t met you before, have I?’

‘No,’ said Grace. ‘I’m Grace Molyneaux. Nora’s cousin.’

‘This is my sister’s friend, Miss Purcell,’ I said. I didn’t see why Grace should be on first name terms with Mabel.

‘Are you a young suffragette too?’ said Mabel. ‘Nora and Mollie are excellent supporters of the cause.’

And for once, Grace didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, she’s been nothing but contemptuous of me and Nora for being involved in the Movement, but on the other hand, she always sucks up to grown-up people. And Mabel, though she’s only about nineteen, definitely counts as a grown-up. She wears long skirts and she’s put up her hair (and unlike Phyllis’s wild locks, it actually seems to stay up once she puts it there). It was actually rather funny, watching Grace decide whether it was more important to make a grown-up like her or to show us that she despised our cause. But Grace is nothing if she’s not clever. She smiled sweetly at Mabel and said, ‘I don’t know much about political things.’

‘Neither did I when I was your age,’ said Mabel. ‘But I’m sure Nora and Mollie can set you right, can’t you, girls?’

This was another unusual situation. Grace is definitely not used to a grown-up telling her she could learn anything from either me or Nora, and she didn’t look particularly happy about it. Usually the situation is the other way around.

‘Of course we can,’ said Nora, cheerfully. ‘I say, Mabel, can I buy a Citizen? I’ve got the money on me.’

‘I’ll buy it for you.’ Mabel took a magazine out of her bag. ‘To make up for getting rid of your ticket to the meeting. After all, I got Mollie a book, I should give you a treat too.’

‘Thanks awfully,’ said Nora, as Mabel handed her a magazine. Mabel took a penny out of a very pretty embroidered purse and put it into a larger brown one.

‘This is my business purse.’ She held up the large brown receptacle. ‘I can’t mix up my own pennies and my Citizen money.’

‘I meant to tell you, thanks for the book too,’ I said. ‘It’s absolutely wonderful.’

Mabel smiled.

‘I thought you’d like it,’ she said. ‘I’ll lend you the sequel after you finish it. Now, will you be joining us to protest Mr. Asquith’s visit next week?’

That’s what I like about Mabel. She has accepted that we have a right to take an active part in the suffrage cause, unlike some people I could mention (Phyllis) who behave as though we’re just doing it to annoy them. But I knew it wasn’t safe to say much about us wanting to attend the protests in front of Grace. Grace is quite capable of finally saying something to Nora’s parents, especially since she didn’t win the cup. Now she has nothing to lose. So far, all she has known about me and Nora is that we support the cause and have considered taking militant action. But she doesn’t know quite how far we’ve gone. Then again, neither does Mabel.

So I just said, ‘We will definitely be there in spirit.’ Which is of course true. Though hopefully we will be there in person too.

‘Excellent,’ said Mabel. ‘You’re a credit to the cause, girls.’

If Grace hadn’t been there, I’d have taken advantage of the fact that Phyllis wasn’t around to ask Mabel exactly what protests have been planned (Phyllis still hasn’t told me anything, of course) and maybe even tell her about our boat idea, just to see what she thought. But even though I desperately wanted to know all the details, I could only hope that Mabel wouldn’t volunteer a word. Imagine if she revealed something secret, believing we were all trustworthy, and then Grace told the police!

‘Right,’ said Mabel. ‘I’d better go and catch all the people who come in here after twelve o’clock Mass and sell them some magazines. Goodbye, young suffragettes. Lovely to meet you, Grace.’ And off she went.

And off I must go too, for a while at least – Mother has just called me and asked me to help her sort out some old clothes of Phyllis’s to see if any of them will ‘do’ for me now I’ve grown a bit. Phyllis was taller than me when she was my age and rather larger in the chest so I’m not sure any of these things will fit but Mother says I won’t know until I try all of them on. What fun. I will return to continue my tale later.

Later

It is a sign of how seriously I take my mission to keep you informed of all my activities that I have taken up my pen despite the fact that I am now utterly exhausted. Mother kept me in her room for what felt like hours and hours, making me take off clothes and put other clothes on, over and over again. As I suspected, none of Phyllis’s old things fitted me particularly, but that didn’t stop Mother insisting that they’d all ‘do very well’.

‘How?’ I demanded, looking down at the printed dress that had looked rather nice on fifteen-year-old Phyllis, but which looked like a floral sack on me.

‘We can take this up a bit,’ said Mother, holding up the hem.

‘But it’s too wide!’ I said.

‘We can take it in here,’ said Mother, pulling in the fabric around my chest. It was all very humiliating really, being reminded how short and scrawny I am. And none of this would be happening if my family ever bought me new clothes, instead of expecting me to wear my sister’s cast-offs. The only new thing I ever get are hats because even my Mother doesn’t expect me to wear a ragged old boater with tatty ribbons that had spent a summer on Phyllis’s head three years ago. Oh, and stockings and underthings too. But nothing actually interesting that is seen by the rest of the world. It’s so unfair. You’re so lucky, being an only child. Actually, when it comes to clothes Nora might as well be an only child too, because of only having a brother. The most unfair thing of all is that Julia, of all people, gets quite a lot of new things because by the time both Phyllis and I have worn something for ages even Mother agrees that it’s too worn out to be given to Julia. Middle children never get anything nice.

Anyway! I will stop complaining about my ragged wardrobe and continue my story. When I stopped writing earlier, Mabel had just left the tearoom. Grace looked after her suspiciously.

‘What’s all this about Mr. Asquith’s visit?’ she said.

‘Didn’t you know?’ said Nora innocently. ‘He’s coming to Dublin next week.’

Grace scrunched up her nose in irritation.

‘Of course I knew that,’ she said. ‘But what did that girl mean when she asked if you were going to protest?’

‘She’s a suffragette,’ said Nora.

‘Yes, I did guess that,’ snapped Grace. ‘But what protest is she talking about? I hope there’s not going to be any more window smashing.’

‘I’m sure there won’t be,’ I said, though I wasn’t totally sure. After all, no one has given me any details of the protests yet. And I don’t think Mabel would have mentioned the protests to us at all if anything illegal were planned. ‘But you must have known the suffrage campaigners would do something when Mr. Asquith was here. After all, they’ve protested against Mr. Redmond often enough.’

Grace sniffed. ‘And made a disgrace of themselves too,’ she said. ‘My father read in the paper that they were brawling in the street.’

‘They certainly were not,’ I said hotly. ‘That was just the Ancient Order of Hibernians causing trouble.’

‘The Ancient Order of Hibernians would do no such thing,’ said Grace. ‘My Uncle Thomas is a member.’

I might have known Grace would be related to one of those dreadful Hibernians. Though as soon as I thought this I felt a little guilty, because of course she’s related to Nora too.

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Nora.

‘Well, he’s not your uncle, is he?’ said Grace. ‘He’s Father’s brother. Anyway, he and Father told Mother that the suffragettes were asking for trouble, making shows of themselves like that, and she quite agreed with them. And so do I.’

I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t set off a row, and right now we can’t afford to fight with Grace, not with her staying in Nora’s house. So I said, ‘Good for you, Grace. Now, I feel like some fresh air.’

‘We’ve only just got here,’ said Grace. ‘I haven’t even finished my buns.’

‘All right,’ said Nora. ‘You can stay here and we’ll get some fresh air. We’ll walk around the tearoom.’

‘Fine,’ said Grace. She and Nora glared at each other, and for a moment I could actually see a family resemblance between them. They’re both very good at looking fierce. Then Nora turned on her heel and marched out of the tearoom.

‘We’ll just walk around the trees outside,’ I said to Grace, and hurried after Nora. I found her kicking a stone along the gravel path.

‘I can’t bear her!’ said Nora. ‘All that guff about her stupid uncle.’

‘Did you know he was an Ancient Hooligan?’ I said. But Nora hadn’t known anything of the kind.

‘I’ve hardly ever met him,’ she said. ‘I think the last time I saw him was at Christmas when we visited their house, and he wasn’t talking about anything political then.’

‘We’ve got to be careful what we say in front of Grace, you know,’ I said.

Nora sighed. ‘I know.’ She sat down on a bench and kicked another stone. ‘But it’s so difficult when she starts saying things like that.’

I sat beside her.

‘We must rise above her,’ I said. ‘I know that’s easier said than done.’

‘It certainly is,’ said Nora. ‘You should have heard her last night after supper. Boasting about how good at lessons she was.’

‘But you know,’ I went on, ‘maybe … maybe we could just try to be nice to each other.’

‘Nice!’ said Nora. ‘She’s not being very nice to me. Or you, for that matter.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But we can’t risk her saying something to anyone, not when Mr. Asquith’s visit is so close. And,’ I added, ‘it might make things easier all round.’

‘Easier how?’ Nora looked sceptical.

‘Well … this bickering and fighting,’ I said. ‘It’s all very well when it’s just lunchtime at school. But it’s quite exhausting when it’s happening all the time.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Nora.

‘So why don’t we … I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Offer a peace treaty, like they do in wars.’

‘I doubt she’d sign it,’ said Nora.

‘Mollie! I say, Mollie!’

It was Mabel’s voice. I turned around to see her hurrying across the grass towards us. She was quite out of breath when she reached the bench.

‘Is everything all right?’ said Nora.

‘I hope so,’ said Mabel. ‘Did I leave my big leather purse at your table in the tearoom when you bought your Citizen? I just tried to give someone change for a shilling and I realised I didn’t have it with me.’

‘I didn’t notice it,’ I said, glancing at Nora.

‘Neither did I,’ said Nora. ‘But we can go back and check.’

‘Where’s your friend?’ said Mabel, as we started walking towards the tearoom entrance.

‘She’s not our friend, exactly,’ I said.

‘She’s not our friend at all,’ said Nora. ‘She’s my cousin. And I hate her.’

Mabel looked taken aback.

‘Goodness, Nora, you sound quite fierce,’ she said.

‘Actually, Mabel,’ I said. ‘When we go back in, maybe don’t say too much about any suffrage activities. I mean, I don’t know why you would, but just in case you felt like saying anything about the protests …’

Mabel grinned. ‘This cousin is not a supporter of the cause, I take it?’

‘Quite the opposite,’ said Nora.

‘Ah,’ said Mabel. ‘I see. And I suppose that’s why you were quite vague about your own protesting plans?’

‘Exactly,’ I said. I glanced at Nora. ‘Actually, we did have a plan but we’re not quite sure how practical it is …’

And I told her about the rowing boat scheme.

‘Goodness,’ said Mabel. ‘That’s not a bad idea, you know.’

‘Really?’ I said. I’m not used to any grown-up (or sort of grown-up) approving of my ideas. Even Mabel, who is more sympathetic than a lot of almost-grown-ups I can think of (Phyllis and Kathleen).

‘But I’m not sure you and Nora are the best women for the job,’ said Mabel. ‘Not that I don’t think you’re brave enough,’ she added hastily. ‘But I’d hazard a guess that you’re not exactly experienced oarswomen.’

‘Well, no,’ I said.

‘And Mollie gets terribly seasick,’ said Nora, unnecessarily. ‘But she is willing to sacrifice her tummy for the cause.’

‘And her breakfast, probably,’ said Mabel with a smile. ‘I’m not much good on the water myself. It’s a grand scheme, girls. But I think you could serve the cause just as well with something a little more, well, landlocked. Think about it.’

I was quite relieved to hear this. I must admit that the more I thought about trying to hold up a banner while rowing out to sea (and possibly being swept away towards Wales), the more unwell I had felt. So it was good to know that if we decided not to embark on an aquatic protest, Mabel wouldn’t consider us cowards.

By now we had reached the entrance of the tearoom, where Grace was waiting for us. To my surprise, she was flicking through the pages of the Irish Citizen when we walked in, though as soon as she saw us she quickly put the magazine back where Nora had been sitting.

‘Where have you been?’ she snapped.

Then she saw Mabel and her expression changed. ‘Oh, hello, Miss Purcell.’

‘Hello there,’ said Mabel, in her usual friendly fashion. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen an impractically large leather purse anywhere about the place, have you?’

‘I have, actually,’ said Grace. She held up the purse. ‘You left it on that chair.’

‘Grace, you angel!’ cried Mabel, who may not be as good a judge of character as I thought. She grabbed the purse and put it carefully back in her bag. ‘There’s a whole pound in it. If you hadn’t found it, I’d have had to pay it all back out of my own money.’

‘It’s nothing,’ said Grace. ‘It was just sitting there.’ But she looked quite pleased.

‘Right, I must fly,’ said Mabel. ‘I’ve got to meet my Mother in Switzer’s at two and I want to get as many of these Citizens sold as I can before then. Bye, girls!’

And she ran off again, leaving me and Grace and Nora alone. There was a slightly awkward silence. All at once the idea of us trudging around the park being rude to each other for hours seemed utterly unbearable. Whatever Nora thought, I was going to try and make peace with Grace. At least, temporarily.

‘Sorry we were gone for so long,’ I said, awkwardly. Grace sniffed in that irritating way of hers, but I tried not to be annoyed by it.

‘I don’t expect better manners from a pair of suffragettes,’ she said. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go for a walk down to the Nine Acres.’

And after that I really couldn’t bring myself to offer the sign of peace. Mocking the cause, just after Mabel had been so nice to her! I decided that I wouldn’t say anything to antagonise her. But I jolly well wasn’t going to say anything particularly friendly either.

‘Fine,’ I said. And off we went. The weather was perfect – there was a nice light breeze so it wasn’t too hot. But nobody said very much, and I don’t think any of us were having a good time. Including Grace. It struck me, not for the first time, that lording it over everyone and sucking up to adults instead of just having a decent time with girls your own age can’t be all that fun.

We trudged down through the trees without talking. The park is lovely, but it got rather dull after a while. I thought of E. Nesbit books and how the children in them are often bored during the summer, but then they find an enchanted castle or a magical Psammead or something like that, and I wished (even though of course I am far too old to believe in such things) that something similar would happen to us. But the most exciting thing that happened was when we saw some rabbits. They were very sweet. But it was cold comfort. Besides, as soon as they saw us they ran away at amazing speed. (They were even faster than the Menace, who I’m sure would have tried menacing them if he’d been anywhere in the vicinity.)

If Stella had been there instead of Grace – or if things were different with Grace – we could have had a jolly afternoon. We could have bought some oranges from one of the sellers and climbed a tree and stayed up there talking about all sorts of things. But of course that wasn’t possible. Finally, just as the pleasant weather was starting to feel uncomfortably muggy, even under the shady trees, Nora said, ‘We should probably turn back now. It’ll take simply ages to get back to the gates.’ I half expected Grace to object out of spite (I wouldn’t have put it past Nora to do the same thing if their positions had been reversed), but she must have been feeling too hot and tired to fight with anyone because she just said, ‘All right.’

And so we trudged back again. The weather was definitely muggy now, and by the time we reached the tram stop we were all hot and a bit smelly. I realised that I had been bitten by midges (and whenever I am bitten by midges the bites always swell up so I look as if I am covered in hideous boils – Mother put some calamine lotion on them when I got home but they still look absolutely awful). The tram was very crowded and stuffy, but Nora and I managed to squeeze into a seat together.

‘Well!’ said Nora. ‘What an utter waste of a trip to the park.’

‘It was, a bit,’ I said. ‘Though I couldn’t help thinking that maybe …’ I trailed off.

‘Maybe what?’ said Nora.

‘Maybe if we really did make peace with Grace, these outings wouldn’t be so bad. They might even be fun.’ Even as I said the last words I knew they didn’t sound very convincing.

‘Mollie Catherine Carberry!’ Nora’s face was a picture of shock. ‘A truce before the visit is all very well. But are you actually suggesting we make friends with that monster?’

‘Well, not when you put it like that …’ I said.

‘Have you forgotten how awful she was to Daisy when she won the Cup?’ said Nora. ‘And how she threatened to tell on us until Stella stopped her? Have you forgotten how beastly she’s been about the cause?’

I had actually briefly forgotten about how dreadfully she’d behaved to Daisy. But even so.

‘Maybe she can be reformed!’ I said. ‘Oh Nora, you can’t pretend that fighting with her all the time is making you very happy.’

‘I’d rather be miserable than suck up to Grace,’ said Nora. She folded her arms and glared at me in her fiercest fashion. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Mollie.’ And she turned away from me and stared out the window, even though there was nothing to see out there but a filthy old coal van.

It was bad enough squabbling with Grace, but the thought of being at odds with Nora too was simply too much for me.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘No overtures of friendship. I promise’

‘Good,’ said Nora, in a less fierce voice. I glanced at the far end of the tram, where Grace was squashed in between a sturdy man in a flannel suit and a tired-looking young woman with ink-stained fingers. Without an audience to simper or growl at, Grace just looked tired and a bit sad. Against my better judgment, I found myself wishing I hadn’t made that promise to Nora.

By the time we got off the second tram we were all too hot and tired to say very much as we trudged along Drumcondra Road. When we reached the corner where our routes separated, I decided that it wouldn’t count as an overture of friendship if I just asked Grace when she was going to the club on Tuesday.

‘In the afternoon,’ she said. She was clearly too exhausted to say anything snooty.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, good luck. Will I see you on Tuesday, Nora?’

For a moment I thought Nora was going to tell me not to, but she just said, ‘All right.’ But she said it in such a flat way I felt rotten. Nora and I hardly ever fall out. But she was clearly still annoyed with me for suggesting a truce.

‘Bye then,’ I said.

‘Bye,’ said Nora. And she and Grace headed off in the direction of her house. I looked after them for a moment and slowly made my way down the road that leads to my road. I hadn’t gone more than ten yards when I heard rushing footsteps behind me. It was Nora, and as soon as I turned around she flung herself into my arms.

‘Steady!’ I cried.

‘I’m sorry!’ said Nora, breathlessly. ‘I’ve been a beast ever since we left the tearoom. Can you forgive me?’

‘Of course I can,’ I said. ‘I blame the heat.’

‘Call around on Tuesday morning as early as you can,’ said Nora. ‘Hopefully I will have survived our family outing tomorrow.’

‘Good luck,’ I said.

‘I’ll need it,’ said Nora, but she did look happier now we had made peace. ‘Now I’d better get back to Grace.’

I waved her farewell, feeling a lot more cheerful. Tomorrow is another day! And maybe I can use it to persuade Nora that we’ll be better off if we try to get along with Grace. Wish me luck …

Best love and votes for women,
Mollie