Read Online Suffragette by Carol Drinkwater - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carol Drinkwater
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I’m not sure I’d dare go that far.
1st September 1909
Flora is back, looking radiant. It was wonderful to see her.
“How’s your mother?” she asked me during dinner.
“They say she’ll be coming out of hospital very soon,” I replied.
“That’s wonderful news, but you don’t look very happy about it, Dollie.”
“I don’t want her to go back to our old home,” I said. “She’ll only get sick again.” But I refused to discuss the subject further. I fear Flora will think
that I am angling for more assistance, which I am not.
2nd September 1909
Miss Baker was taking me through her corrections on a Charles Dickens essay she had set when Flora came bursting into the living room waving a letter.
“Forgive me for butting in, but this was among my pile of post. It is from St Paul’s. You’ve been granted a place. Well done! Their new year begins on 10th September, which
means that we have a mountain of things to organize.”
Gosh, school. I have enjoyed all these free days and was beginning to hope that it would never happen.
10th September 1909
It feels so strange to be back in a classroom. I have grown used to a life in London that does not include uniforms, morning assemblies, chapel and structured timetables and I
don’t like being back in the system one bit. I would far rather Miss Baker continued to tutor me, but I daren’t say so to Flora who has gone to such lengths to get me here. We seem to
have done nothing but traipse round the shops buying clothes and sportswear and pens and books.
I am one of two new girls. The others in my class have all been here for several years. I am reminded of my first days at Cheltenham Ladies’ College and how out of place I felt. Once
again, I appear to be the only girl from a working-class background. Of course, no one knows my history because my address is Flora’s and my school records are from Cheltenham, but it still
makes me feel awkward.
I really MUST NOT be so negative. I dream of being a journalist and of helping my mother. Without a decent education I will have no chance, so I’d better make the best of it. And once I
have made some friends, it will be different.
18th September 1909
I was going through my things last night and came across my suffrage scrapbook. I haven’t looked at it since moving to London. It seems sort of quaint to me now that I
actually know some of the women involved in the struggle. I shall take it to school and work on it as a modern history project – it will help me feel less distanced from the movement.
Asquith was speaking in Birmingham last night. Some regional WSPU members climbed up on to the roof of a neighbouring building, lifted off some slates and hurled them at his car as it drew up.
Windows and lamps were smashed, but they were careful to avoid hitting the Prime Minister himself. Their intention was to be heard, not to cause physical violence. They yelled out to him that we
won’t give up until we have the vote. The police were called and hosepipes were turned on the women, who were driven down by the force of the water and by stones thrown at them. They were led
away to prison, soaked to the skin, having lost their shoes in the struggle. One of them was injured, but the article didn’t report the seriousness of the injury.
I almost wish that I had been there. I can’t imagine myself smashing windows, throwing slates at cars or being arrested, but anything is better than sitting in a classroom all day. School
is so lady-like.
21st September 1909
The Birmingham demonstrators have been arrested and have received sentences of three and, in Mary-Leigh’s case, four months. They are now in Winson Green prison in
Birmingham, on hunger strike. The authorities are refusing to release them. Instead they have begun the unthinkable: they are force-feeding our women!
Flora and I talked about the matter over breakfast after she had read out a letter in this morning’s
Times
written by
1st September 1909
Flora is back, looking radiant. It was wonderful to see her.
“How’s your mother?” she asked me during dinner.
“They say she’ll be coming out of hospital very soon,” I replied.
“That’s wonderful news, but you don’t look very happy about it, Dollie.”
“I don’t want her to go back to our old home,” I said. “She’ll only get sick again.” But I refused to discuss the subject further. I fear Flora will think
that I am angling for more assistance, which I am not.
2nd September 1909
Miss Baker was taking me through her corrections on a Charles Dickens essay she had set when Flora came bursting into the living room waving a letter.
“Forgive me for butting in, but this was among my pile of post. It is from St Paul’s. You’ve been granted a place. Well done! Their new year begins on 10th September, which
means that we have a mountain of things to organize.”
Gosh, school. I have enjoyed all these free days and was beginning to hope that it would never happen.
10th September 1909
It feels so strange to be back in a classroom. I have grown used to a life in London that does not include uniforms, morning assemblies, chapel and structured timetables and I
don’t like being back in the system one bit. I would far rather Miss Baker continued to tutor me, but I daren’t say so to Flora who has gone to such lengths to get me here. We seem to
have done nothing but traipse round the shops buying clothes and sportswear and pens and books.
I am one of two new girls. The others in my class have all been here for several years. I am reminded of my first days at Cheltenham Ladies’ College and how out of place I felt. Once
again, I appear to be the only girl from a working-class background. Of course, no one knows my history because my address is Flora’s and my school records are from Cheltenham, but it still
makes me feel awkward.
I really MUST NOT be so negative. I dream of being a journalist and of helping my mother. Without a decent education I will have no chance, so I’d better make the best of it. And once I
have made some friends, it will be different.
18th September 1909
I was going through my things last night and came across my suffrage scrapbook. I haven’t looked at it since moving to London. It seems sort of quaint to me now that I
actually know some of the women involved in the struggle. I shall take it to school and work on it as a modern history project – it will help me feel less distanced from the movement.
Asquith was speaking in Birmingham last night. Some regional WSPU members climbed up on to the roof of a neighbouring building, lifted off some slates and hurled them at his car as it drew up.
Windows and lamps were smashed, but they were careful to avoid hitting the Prime Minister himself. Their intention was to be heard, not to cause physical violence. They yelled out to him that we
won’t give up until we have the vote. The police were called and hosepipes were turned on the women, who were driven down by the force of the water and by stones thrown at them. They were led
away to prison, soaked to the skin, having lost their shoes in the struggle. One of them was injured, but the article didn’t report the seriousness of the injury.
I almost wish that I had been there. I can’t imagine myself smashing windows, throwing slates at cars or being arrested, but anything is better than sitting in a classroom all day. School
is so lady-like.
21st September 1909
The Birmingham demonstrators have been arrested and have received sentences of three and, in Mary-Leigh’s case, four months. They are now in Winson Green prison in
Birmingham, on hunger strike. The authorities are refusing to release them. Instead they have begun the unthinkable: they are force-feeding our women!
Flora and I talked about the matter over breakfast after she had read out a letter in this morning’s
Times
written by
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