by Maggie Ford
‘I’m sorry,’ Connie cut in, sensing one of his lengthy speeches. ‘I refuse to promise any such thing.’
She was about to say, ‘Do what you like,’ but that would be going too far. He was her father. He’d spent time, money and patience in bringing her up correctly as he saw it. She couldn’t insult him. On the other hand, she couldn’t forgive what he had done today, paying her fine in full view of her friends, all of whom were ready to suffer for their cause. Now he was trying to force her to swear that she would give them up entirely.
‘You will swear to me that you will stop this nonsense or you will no longer be welcome in this house. It is up to you.’
Her heart seemed to be turning over, but Connie stood her ground. ‘If that’s an ultimatum, Father, I will pack my things immediately.’
She saw him blink. She had called his bluff.
‘This is ridiculous! Why are you so intent on hurting me, Constance, and upsetting your mother, especially your mother? Devastating enough for her to have you refuse every suitor I have gone to great lengths to secure for you. We gave you choices and yet you threw our good intentions in our faces.’
He got up from behind his desk and began pacing the room, turning every now and again to look towards her.
‘Why am I so surprised by this present attitude? What have I done to kindle it? I have given you a good home, a good education, both you and Verity, as fine as that for your brothers where many a father would not have taken such trouble over mere daughters. Yet you repay me by refusing every eligible young man I have introduced you to. And now this.’
Watching him pace, Connie was aware that cracks had begun to show in his armour. She waited and before long was rewarded.
‘For your mother’s sake I will not ask you to leave this house. But I tell you this, Constance, I am not prepared to see a daughter of mine turn herself into a common criminal. You may attend your lectures or whatever it is you do in London, but at the first sign of misconduct, that privilege will cease and I will go to any length to stop you. Do you understand me?’
She wanted so much to say, ‘How will you stop me – lock me in my room, chain me to the bedpost?’ But a voice in her head warned against imprudence. Although she didn’t nod consent, he seemed willing now to take it as agreed and she breathed a silent sigh of relief as he gave a curt nod for her to take her leave.
Chapter Ten
It took six days refusing food for them to be set free, their sentence abruptly cut. It was a triumph. They emerged to a small celebratory deputation, and each freed prisoner got presented with the now-traditional badge of honour, a white brooch in the shape of the arrows stamped on the prison dresses. Eveline had never felt so proud; she firmly resolved to put her dreadful experiences behind her.
After the third day it had become harder to turn her back on the tray brought into her cell and left beside her on her bed. Prison food had been bland and unappetising: breakfast of porridge, with salt, the Scottish way, and weak tea; dinner overcooked vegetables and some sort of stringy meat with stodgy suet pudding and thin custard to follow and more weak tea; for supper bread, jam and a small piece of often stale cake and cocoa. Yet as the days of not eating continued, even the sight of it had made her mouth water and her stomach twist with a need to be filled. She hadn’t felt physically weak, which was a blessing, and knowing that food was being refused to a man, or in their case a woman, gave her the will-power to ignore what became for her an almost succulent aroma as time went on.
‘They’ll give up, you’ll see,’ came a whisper as they walked in single line in a circle around the exercise yard. ‘But we never will.’ And after being reprimanded by a wardress, the speaker, undaunted, went on to hiss, ‘They daren’t let us die. They’ll have to let us out.’
She gathered this was normal. But there’d been talk of more drastic measures beginning to be used. On day four she found out just what they meant, something she’d never wish to go through ever again. Her throat was feeling red raw.
On that fourth day she had become aware of a disturbance different to those she’d grown to recognise with a prisoner’s ear, a subtle change to the normal, as if the very air had grown alert.
Moments later had come footsteps, a grating of keys, a cell door being opened and people trooping inside.
The cell door closed, muffling the sound of voices. A cry of protest that grew more urgent was abruptly cut off in a strangled gurgling. Not knowing what was happening, it had sent chills rippling along Eveline’s spine.
For a moment there was silence, then someone choking and gagging followed by weeping. The cell door opened. A man said, ‘It’s done,’ to be followed by a loud and reproving female voice.
‘Foolish girl! There’s nothing to cry about.’
‘It’s violation!’ The words came between broken sobs. ‘A violation of my person.’
‘Stop bleating!’ replied the previous voice. ‘If you persist in foolishly starving yourself, you must expect to be dealt with as the doctor sees fit.’
‘It’s over now.’ The man’s voice had sounded a little more kindly. ‘It’s for your own good.’
‘And perhaps you’ll think twice about refusing decent food.’
The woman’s voice rose to address all those who had been listening in their cells. ‘And every one of you will be treated exactly the same way if you persist in this idiotic hunger strike.’
It had dawned on Eveline what had been going on. Forced feeding. They would not be set free just as simply as that. She had tried to calm her heavily beating heart as she had made herself ready to continue the strike and suffer the consequences.
They came the same day soon after she had aimed her dinner at the wardress who had entered to put it in front of her, purely as a reaction to what had happened earlier that morning, and out of sheer anger. The woman had hastily withdrawn, leaving the upturned tin plate on the floor.
Moments later came the purposeful footsteps. Eveline had felt herself stiffen. She couldn’t remember feeling fear, just a tautness that seemed to take over her whole body as if she were someone else looking on.
From then on it had been a blur. She remembered four wardresses and a doctor, remembered being pushed down into a chair, ankles secured to the front legs by pieces of cloth, her head held back by, someone from behind. She would never forget the awful feeling of that rubber tube being slid down her throat, past the gag inserted to stop her clenching her teeth and into her throat, the evil smell of rubber, and pain as the tube scraped the flesh on its way into the oesophagus. She couldn’t taste the substance they’d poured into a funnel attached to the tube, but the sensation of it running directly into her stomach caused her to heave. More pain ensued when the tube was withdrawn far too quickly as she vomited.
How many times it was repeated before she kept it down, she could not remember, maybe twice, though it felt more than that. Left sobbing and feeling defiled, unable to believe it was her this was happening to, all she could remember was the nightmare of it.
Thankfully, it hadn’t been repeated. Now, after six days, she and the others were free, walking out of the gates in triumph to a warm welcome from waiting colleagues. She had been one of four who had been force-fed. She would never forget it.
To push away the memory, she concentrated her mind on the brooch she’d soon be wearing, the Holloway medal, a badge of honour designed for women who had been to prison for the cause. She would march proudly beside other suffragettes who knew that imprisonment was not a shame to be purged. She would hold her head high while less fortunate suffragettes would look on with awe and even envy. Yet she felt sad Connie would not have a badge and how would that make her feel? She just hoped Connie would not feel jealous and let it break up their friendship. She’d have to tread carefully when she next saw her – try to play down all she’d gone through. Poor Connie; her father paying her fine, escorting her off like some wayward child. Now that he knew about her, would he stop her coming to meetings? The thoug
ht made Eveline sadder than ever.
And how was she going to face her own father? She prepared herself to meet his wrath as she said her goodbyes and made her way homeward.
‘So, they let yer out then!’ This from her dad.
Other than that, when Eveline entered her parents’ corner shop, where they’d been serving a couple of women customers, she was met with a sudden silence. Mum refused to look at her after that first surprised glance. Neither of them had suspected she’d be released from prison so soon, and these were Dad’s first words as the first of his two customers left with her goods. But she hadn’t expected words of welcome. He’d made that quite clear with his message to the court.
The second customer looked up from paying her bill, her elderly eyes curious, but seeing the set faces around her, she had hurriedly stuffed her few purchases into her shopping back and hobbled out, eager to escape this icy fog that had descended over a previously cheerful atmosphere.
Eveline stood still as her father came round the end of the counter, lifting the flap to let himself out. Brushing past without a glance at her, he went to the door and turned the sign to CLOSED. Leaving it unlocked, he stood with his back against its frosted panes and glared full in her face.
‘I don’t know why yer thought yer should come back ’ere. There ain’t no room in my family fer convicts.’
‘I’m not a convict, Dad.’ She knew immediately that this was the wrong tone to use. He lunged forward to stop inches from her.
‘What else are yer? They convicted yer. So what else would yer be?’
‘It was only because I refused to pay the fine, like we all did.’
‘I ain’t arguing with yer. All I’m saying is you ain’t no daughter of mine. Lying, getting up ter mischief what me and yer mum don’t approve of, making a spectacle of yerself and keeping us in the dark all this time. That’s what I can’t get over, keeping us in the dark.’
For someone who’d just vowed not to talk to her, he was making a lengthy job of it, but Eveline didn’t smile. She felt sick. He’d never spoken to her this way before. He’d ranted at her in the past for something she’d done wrong, mostly when she’d been a child, but this low, grating tone, full of hurt, was something she had never had directed at her before. Still, what had she expected? That he’d hold out his arms out to her? She supposed she was getting what she deserved. She’d kept him in the dark and Dad seldom forgave those who lied to him and as a result made him feel small and cheated, even ridiculed. It injured his pride, and it was his pride that spoke now.
‘I don’t want no more ter do with yer.’
‘Leonard!’ Whipping off her pinafore, her mother lifted the flap of the counter to let her through. ‘That’s a bit strong, love.’
He turned on her. ‘She ain’t no daughter of mine – going off with the likes of them, breaking winders and fighting the police. I don’t want no more ter do with ’er. She can get out! She can go!’
‘Go where?’
‘Ter blazes fer all I care!’
Mum had turned to her, trying to pour oil. ‘He don’t mean it. He’s just upset, and angry. And so am I. I think yer’d best go. Just fer a while. Go and see yer gran. Stay there a few hours. Maybe yer dad’ll be calmed down by then.’
‘I’ll never be calmed down,’ came the bellow. ‘Not after the disgrace she’s brought us. She’s lied, made fools of us – made a fool of me, going be’ind me back to ’ang about with that lot!’
‘She won’t any more,’ Mum said hopefully. ‘Now she knows ’ow you feel about it.’ But he wasn’t listening.
‘Yer know what people call ’em? The Screaming Sisterhood. That’s ’ow people look on ’em. And ter find me own daughter’s one of ’em. It’s brought shame on me! I won’t be able ter look people in the eye. I’ll tell yer one thing, though, if she comes near me I’ll put me ’ands round ’er throat and bloody choke ’er before I see ’er with that lot again.’
Mum looked shocked. He never swore in front of women, even mildly. But she didn’t reprimand, seeing how deep this had gone with him. When she turned to Eveline there was no kindness in her eyes, just anger that she had caused him to lose his dignity enough to curse. ‘Yer’d best go,’ she said quietly ‘Yer only making things worse by staying.’
For a moment Eveline stared from one parent to the other but saw no sign of relenting in either face; her mum was looking only to pacify her husband, not to concede to her daughter.
She felt suddenly isolated, as much alone as in that prison cell. But as in prison there came a need to combat this with all the pride she could muster. She pulled herself upright and, turning from the parents she loved so dearly, went to the shop door and let herself out. Only then did the tears spill over as she turned the corner into Finnis Street and crossed the road towards the entrance to Gran’s letting, mounting the two short flights of cold, stone stairs to lift the black iron knocker set high on the door.
It opened at the very first rap as though Gran had been watching her from the window. She would have been told about the arrest.
Her elderly face was filled with concern. ‘I knew the moment I ’eard what you did that you’d be over ’ere before long. They was upset at you being arrested, and I suppose they’ve told you to pack your bags.’
‘Dad just told me to hop it, so I did.’
‘And I suppose you expect to go back as soon as he calms down.’
Eveline nodded and Gran heaved a deep sigh. ‘Well, you’d best come in. I think you’re going to be ’ere a bit longer than you think. Once your dad gets a bee in ’is bonnet it takes a while for it to leave.’
Standing back for Eveline to enter, she closed the door quietly. ‘Go on into the kitchen,’ she ordered. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ’ad anything to eat yet. I’ve got some stew, you’d best ’ave some of that. I’ll make up the old bed in me spare room for you tonight.’
The old double bed had been there for as long as Eveline could remember even though no one had used it for years.
Feeling better after the substantial stew, although there had been food handed out by the wonderful welcoming committee as she left prison, she bathed as best she could in Gran’s old tin bath with three large saucepans of water that took ages to heat. But her clothes, put in a cupboard during those six days in prison, still stank of the place, making her ashamed of them. She should never have stalked out of her home like she had but at least paused long enough to collect a few clean things for herself. She would go early tomorrow and collect them. By that time her parents might have mellowed.
They hadn’t. In response to her request her mother wordlessly let her in, not going up the stairs with her but waiting until she came down again with a case filled with all she thought she might need. The door remained held open for her to leave.
Eveline faced her. ‘Mum?’
The face was turned abruptly away from her. From the kitchen where her father was shaving his chin, she heard his voice. ‘Shut the door, Mother, there’s a real blooming draught.’
Eveline took one more look at her mother’s averted face and walked out. As she left she looked up at the living-room window. Framed there were the faces of her sister May and her younger brothers, Jimmy and Bobby. Len had already gone off to work before she arrived.
May waved, but she couldn’t bring herself to wave back. Perhaps later she would go and see her married sister Tilly, maybe get some sympathy there though Tilly had no interest in suffragettes at all. Nor did her sister-in-law Marion, Fred’s wife, who she recalled had totally agreed with Dad last Christmas that they caused a lot of trouble for nothing.
Another thought came to her: to go and see if Larry was back in London yet.
It wasn’t an easy decision; her journey early next morning felt plagued by misgivings and an odd fear of facing him after what had happened. He had no particular interest in the suffragette cause. What would she say to him?
It seemed to take for ever, going to Liverpool Street, taking the tube to
Sloane Square, walking for ages along King’s Road, finishing up outside Larry’s flat in Cheyne Walk. After busy King’s Road these quiet side streets felt so peaceful, she could have been miles from London. The Thames at high tide had a clean look to it, glinting in the mid-morning sunshine; no sheen of oil marred its surface, here was none of the clutter of tugboats and lighters and cargo vessels one saw further downstream around the Pool of London. All was calm and peaceful.
She breathed in the fresh tang of the river and felt instantly restored after what had been the most horrific week of her life. Glancing up to see that one of his windows was open, joy and relief flooded through her. He was at home.
Already she could feel his arms enfolding her as she pressed the bell to his flat. She had to wait a minute or so before the door opened and there he was. Seeing her, he looked a little taken aback. ‘What are you doing here?’
It was an odd question and for a moment she was lost for words. True, she hadn’t seen him for a few weeks, but she suddenly felt like a stranger.
Before she could say anything, he said, ‘Well, you’d best come into the hall. You don’t look too well.’
As she stepped inside, he asked, ‘Have you been ill?’
‘No,’ she replied in a small voice, feeling inexplicably embarrassed, wishing she hadn’t come. ‘Something happened to me while you were away.’ Almost in one breath she gabbled out what had taken place.
He stood silent for a while, as she remained there in the hallway watching him. He hadn’t asked her up to his flat but he must have noticed her glance towards the stairs. He took in a sharp breath.
‘Look, I’m sorry, Eveline. I can’t ask you up. I’ve got …’ He paused then hurried on. ‘I’ve got visitors.’
‘Oh.’
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
