Sunday, 14th July, 1912.
Dear Frances,
I have been thinking about the suffrage movement in America. I wonder if it is popular. I realise that I don’t really know anything about it at all. If I could afford to send you a telegram, I would ask you to get me an American suffrage magazine. I wonder what their meetings are like, because Nora and I went to the Phoenix Park Meeting yesterday and unfortunately it didn’t go that well. For us, anyway.
I had thought it was better not to give Phyllis any hint that we were going to the meeting, but I didn’t see much of her anyway because she left the house soon after breakfast. She said she was going to help Mabel try on her wedding dress so of course I knew she was off on suffrage business. I do think this fictional cover story about Mabel getting married has become very impractical. What is Phyllis going to do in a few months? Tell my Mother about an imaginary wedding? Start referring to Mabel as Mrs. Pretend-Surname? It’s quite ridiculous. Though really, I’m hardly one to talk, given all the lies I’ve told over the past few months.
It was strange having Frank at the breakfast table. He seemed to find it a little strange too and was a bit quiet at first, though of course Harry made enough noise for the pair of them. But Mother and Father talked to him very nicely and soon he was laughing with the rest of us over a funny story about Father’s office.
‘I hope you’ll be joining us to hear the next installment of my novel,’ said Father. ‘The Adventures of Peter Fitzgerald.’
Harry looked a bit embarrassed and said, ‘Frank’s too old for storytelling.’ But Father said, ‘Nonsense! Even Phyllis likes to listen to Peter’s adventures.’ And Phyllis laughed and said, ‘I certainly do.’
‘I look forward to it,’ said Frank, who really is a very decent guest. But I didn’t speak much to him after breakfast, because he and Harry were going off to the house of one of their many friends who don’t seem to have first names – at least, they never refer to them by their first names. It’s always Harrington and Sheridan and Murphy. Today it was Harrington and, as they were going, Frank grinned at me and said, ‘See you later, Mollie.’
I felt strangely cheerful as I bounced down the road to meet Nora. I had told Mother we had met Mary Cummins in the Gardens the day before (which was true) and were going to her house for tea (which of course was not, but I thanked heaven that we had bumped into Mary because it gave me the idea for a fresh excuse. Although I am not sure I should be thanking heaven for something that inspired me to tell a lie). I had had to raid my moneybox to get enough money for the tram fare to the park. I only just had enough; we wouldn’t be getting any buns in the tea-room that afternoon.
‘Being a campaigner is jolly expensive,’ said Nora, as we paid our fare on the second tram.
‘If only we had bicycles,’ I said, ‘we could just pedal there and back.’
I longed for bicycles even more as we trudged through the heat to the site of the meetings. I wish it were nearer the gates. The park was full of people and when we arrived at the spot where the usual platform was arranged, there was quite a large crowd. My heart sank as I realised that a few of them were already yelling insults. But there were a fair few people, men and women, who were clearly there to listen. I caught sight of Mabel, Kathleen and Phyllis standing near the platform with their bags of Irish Citizens and pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes. A woman mounted the platform to the applause and jeers of the crowd.
‘Now,’ said Nora, ‘let’s hope they tell us what they’re planning for Thursday.’
But alas the speakers didn’t reveal any such thing. The speeches were jolly good, and very inspiring (even though sometimes the speakers’ words were drowned out by the vulgar insults of the rowdies, in which the words ‘You belong in Mountjoy!’ featured prominently), but we didn’t learn anything about Asquith’s visit that we hadn’t known already.
When the speeches were over, Nora sighed. ‘Well, it was worth a try,’ she said. ‘What will we do now?’
I looked towards the platform, where Phyllis, Kathleen and Mabel were deep in conversation.
‘Go home before they see us,’ I said. But alas, just at that moment Phyllis glanced up and I knew from the expression on her face that she had spotted us. Before we could make a run for it (which we wouldn’t have done anyway, it would be far too undignified), she strode across the grass to us, followed by Mabel and Kathleen. There was no escape.
‘Hello, Phyllis,’ I said, as brightly as I could.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake.’ Phyllis’s face was grim. ‘What are you two doing here?’
‘We’re attending a public meeting,’ I said. ‘As we have every right to do.’
‘You really should stay out of this.’ Kathleen could barely conceal her contempt. ‘It’s not suitable for kids.’
I don’t know why Kathleen has to be so superior all the time. She’s even worse than Phyllis. Thank heaven for Mabel, who actually remembers what it was like to be young (you’d think the other two were a hundred years old, the way they carry on).
‘Come on, Kathleen,’ Mabel said. ‘They’re not doing any harm. I think it’s rather impressive, how committed they are to the cause.’
‘Mabel!’ said Kathleen. ‘Don’t encourage them!’
‘We can’t afford to turn away any supporters,’ argued Mabel.
‘Kids don’t count,’ said Kathleen, brushing back a feather which had fallen over her face. I may be a kid in your eyes, I thought, but at least I’m not wearing a hat that looks like a bomb went off in a hen house. I didn’t say that out loud, though.
‘We want to protest the Prime Minister’s visit,’ I said.
‘Out of the question.’ Phyllis was firm.
‘I don’t see why they shouldn’t do something,’ said Mabel.
‘They’re too young!’ cried Phyllis. ‘And you’re just giving them ideas.’
‘I just think that if they want to join us in the Nassau Street house after the poster parade,’ Mabel began, but Phyllis cut her off with a furious whisper.
‘Shut up!’ she hissed, just as I said, ‘What Nassau Street house?’
‘Don’t tell her,’ said Phyllis, but Mabel ignored her.
‘Some people in the IWFL have rented an upstairs room in a house on Nassau Street,’ said Mabel. ‘And a group of us are going to go there and hang flags and things out of the window as Mr. Asquith goes by.’
What a wonderful idea! And it would solve all my and Nora’s problems about being too short to be seen by the Prime Minister.
‘Oh Phyllis!’ I cried. ‘We have to go.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Phyllis glared at Mabel. ‘And you shouldn’t have mentioned it to them. Now they won’t give me any peace.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that,’ said Mabel. ‘But really, it shouldn’t be a secret. It’s not like the window smashing. We’re not doing anything wrong or dangerous. Anyone can rent some rooms and wave some posters and flags and things. And it’s even safer than the poster parade because we won’t be out in the street.’
‘We don’t want children getting in the way,’ said Kathleen, in her superior tone. I felt like knocking her stupid feathery hat right off her head.
‘We wouldn’t get in the way!’ I cried.
‘We’re quite small,’ Nora pointed out. ‘We wouldn’t even take up much room.’
‘That’s enough!’ Phyllis snapped. ‘We are not discussing this, and certainly not here. Go home, the pair of you.’
‘But Phyllis …’ I began.
‘Go home!’ Phyllis looked really angry now. Maybe we finally had pushed her to her limits.
‘All right then.’ I sounded as dignified as I possibly could. ‘Come on, Nora.’
As soon as we were out of earshot Nora said, ‘We’re going to get to that house, aren’t we?’
‘Of course we are,’ I said firmly. Though by the time we got home we hadn’t thought of a way of doing so. And I still haven’t. But we will definitely think of something. If Phyllis won’t give way, maybe we should try getting Mabel to plead our case? Although if that ploy didn’t work, it would only harden Phyllis’s heart further against us.
Oh, it is all very complicated. And there are only a few days left to sort something out. It was quite a relief to spend most of today on a trip to the beach at Dollymount Strand. We went out on the tram after Mass and had a picnic lunch. Then we all ran around on the beach (even Phyllis) and played beach cricket. Frank and I were on the same side with Phyllis, playing against Father, Harry and Julia (Mother was looking after the picnic and watched the game from a rug) I wasn’t very good, but it was so much fun I didn’t really care, and Frank didn’t seem to mind even when I failed to catch what Harry rudely told me was ‘the sort of throw a baby could have caught’.
If Frank hadn’t been there, I might have taken my shoes and stockings off, to make it easier to run around on the sand, but I felt a bit odd about doing that in front of him so I kept mine on. So did Phyllis and Mother, of course, though Julia took hers off to have a paddle.
I didn’t bother mentioning any suffrage stuff to Phyllis while we were on the beach. And although she was a bit funny with me in the morning she seemed to thaw as the day progressed. So you never know; maybe she will give in.
Anyway, I am not going to think about it now. I am going to read Anne of Avonlea instead. Speaking of books, I had a very good chat about books on the beach with Frank this afternoon while we were eating the picnic. He told me he has been reading an exciting book by H. G. Wells called War of the Worlds, all about terrifying creatures from Mars who take over earth. It sounds very thrilling and he says he will lend it to me when he is finished, if I like. What a generous and sensible boy he is.
Best love and votes for women,
Mollie