by Maggie Ford
‘All this because you want ter go off enjoying yerself,’ she snapped. ‘Going off and leaving an ’usband what was good enough to ’elp you out of a sticky situation just when yer needed it.’
She turned away to busy herself flicking imaginary specks of dust off the sideboard with a duster she’d been holding the whole time Eveline had been here. The effort was a totally unnecessary chore; the living room gleamed like a new pin, May having cleaned and tidied this morning.
‘You ’ad the baby, not me. And only saved from disgrace because a decent man came along and got you out of a scrape, more fool ’im! Now yer want ter ’ave ’im come ’ome and see to ’is own dinner while you go off out. Not only that, yer looking ter foist yer baby off on someone else. If yer so set on going ter this rally lark, then take ’er with yer. I’m sorry, Ev, I’m busy.’
She waited, her back to Eveline, but no more entreaties came. Eveline wasn’t a fool – she knew when she was defeated. Proud too. Dora heard her go carefully down the stairs with the baby in her arms. Only then did she turn round, duster in hand, and go to the window to watch her daughter’s departure.
Eveline didn’t appear immediately, no doubt settling the child into her pram. When she did appear, wheeling the pram off, her pace was sharp, her head high and defiant. But that wasn’t her lookout. Eveline asked for all she got.
No doubt she’d pester her gran and get her way. Dora felt anger surge through her. Mum had always been a thorn in her side ever since Dad had generously handed the shop over to Len Junior, even though he was only a son-in-law, knowing he couldn’t manage it any more.
When Dad died, Mum began to see fit to poke her nose in concerning the shop, keeping tabs on how was it doing and all that, as if it was still hers. But it wasn’t hers. It was Len’s. She’d been left everything else and she wasn’t hard up. Dad had made a good living in his time even if he had got the gambling bug worse as he got older.
She, Dora, had let Mum know that truth in no uncertain terms, fend or please. They’d not spoken for years after that, and had only recently come round to a grudging reunion, usually at Christmastime. Now Mum was interfering again, taking Eveline’s side over the baby.
She turned away as her daughter turned the corner, and putting the duster aside went downstairs into the shop to lend a hand. The place was busy. On Saturday it was half-day closing, and everyone wanted to get a last few items in before lunchtime. There was only Len there, May having gone out on one of her rare afternoons with a friend who was out of work at the moment. May worked hard; she deserved time to herself.
Len looked up as Dora entered. ‘What did she want?’ he asked.
‘Nothing much,’ Dora answered as she prepared to serve the next customer, one in a line of several waiting. He was worked off his feet.
Connie’s request was proving more successful with Eveline’s gran. Victoria Ansell held the sweet child in sheer joy at having a baby on her lap.
‘I’ve never known such a pretty baby,’ she cooed, then let out a contrite little laugh. ‘I shouldn’t really be saying that, should I? Eveline might feel jealous. In actual fact you’ve both got lovely-looking little babies.’
She glanced down at Rebecca and began uttering senseless prattle that seemed to delight the child, who responded with little gurgling sounds of her own.
‘She enjoys good conversation,’ Victoria said, looking up. ‘So when d’you want me to ’ave her?’
‘On Saturday,’ Connie said diffidently. ‘I know it’s short notice.’
‘How much notice does an old lady need when it comes to having a little one all to ’erself for a few hours?’
‘I just thought … I only thought you might be able to …’
‘Be able?’ Victoria smiled understandingly. ‘I know I’m seventy – or thereabouts,’ she granted with a laugh, ‘but not yet in me dotage. I’ve got all me faculties and can look after a titchy one like this. When a baby starts getting on its feet, that’s when it takes young people with energy enough to run after them. But like this she’ll be no trouble to me.’
‘I’m so glad,’ Connie breathed. ‘I didn’t want to impose on you.’
Victoria grew serious as a sudden thought struck her. ‘What does your ’usband say about you going off? ’Ave you arranged with ’im about ’aving to look after ’imself, you ’aving to leave before he gets ’ome from work?’
‘I thought I’d ask you about the baby before I told him.’
‘And break the news to ’im?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Hmm …’ Victoria handed the baby back to its mother. ‘Then I think you should ask ’im today. And I mean ask him, not tell him. He’s the one what goes to work to keep you all.’
As Connie stiffened she hurried on. ‘I’m not against women trying to obtain the vote. I’m all for that. But a man’s still responsible for his family’s welfare, and always will be. Unless, if and when you do get the vote, you think you can start wearing the trousers too, which of course won’t ever ’appen, no matter what. Two bosses in the family would end up ruining it.’
Seeing Connie’s face begin to fall, she gave her a placatory smile. ‘Don’t mind me. You go along, settle it with your ’usband. If he says yes, I’ll be ’appy enough to give eye to this sweet little one for a few hours.’
With a grateful young mother bent on her cause, Victoria found herself eagerly looking forward to Saturday with just a tinge of anxiety that she was still up to the task. But of course she was. She’d brought up seven children and helped out in that busy little shop; she’d been glad to see the back of it in the end, but she hadn’t forgotten how to care for a mere baby.
That was until not ten minutes after Connie had left and Eveline came knocking on her door. What could she say? What would her granddaughter think if she refused to look after her own great-grandchild after promising to look after the child of a comparative outsider?
Yes, she sighed, she’d be glad to and it was shabby of Dora to refuse to do one little favour. ‘Why couldn’t she?’ she asked.
Eveline’s neck went thin and stretched. ‘I took it she feels she doesn’t owe a duty to a kiddy she still sees as illegitimate,’ came the stiff reply.
Victoria frowned. ‘I can see I’m going to ’ave a word with that woman eventually,’ she said angrily. Immediately Eveline began invoking excuses for her mother.
‘She’s not against the baby. It’s me. She’ll never forgive me.’
‘Then it’s about time she learned to, and stopped taking it out on an innocent infant.’
After Eveline left, gratefully relieved, Victoria was left wondering just what she had let herself in for. Having told her that she too must ask not tell her husband what she’d planned to do, she found herself almost wishing both men would refuse to be put out, saving her the worry about coping with not one but two babies on Saturday. But she knew they wouldn’t refuse. Men these days were becoming far too soft.
‘He said yes!’ Connie was as excited as if she’d been given the moon. ‘He even said he’d try to be there to see me pass. He’s always been for women’s suffrage.’
Sitting in Connie’s top-floor flat with the summer sunshine streaming in, Eveline felt a wave of jealousy, not only because of this lovely flat but also because her own husband had not been half so forthcoming.
Having finally got her way after a bit of strained atmosphere, she had hurried over this Wednesday morning to tell Connie her good news only to find George had practically urged Connie to attend. She felt that if Gran had not consented to look after Rebecca, he’d even have taken it on. But Rebecca was his baby whereas Helena was nothing to Albert and despite seeming to dote on her no one could be certain what went through his mind sometimes.
She sipped her tea and glanced about Connie’s bright and tidy flat. There was no incentive to keep hers as nice. She’d tried but it never looked any better for it, everything being so shabby. But one day when Albert finally got the engineering jo
b he was hoping so much to achieve, they’d have a nice large place and she would take great pleasure showing it off to Connie. That was if George hadn’t become an assistant bank manager by then with an even larger house to show for it.
Still, she had to be glad of small mercies. What if Albert had flatly said no? How could she have faced Connie? But it had still been touch and go.
‘I do know what women are trying to do,’ he’d said negatively. ‘But you’re a married woman now and we’ve got a baby to think of.’
‘But what we’re doing is so very important,’ she’d argued. ‘It’s what nearly every woman in the country is striving for and one day we will achieve our goal. Everyone is needed. I can’t just drop it all because I’m married.’
There had been a look on Albert’s face that made her realise what she’d said. But for him she would not be married, condemned as a slut, her child born without a father.
Filled with contrition she’d rushed into his arms saying she didn’t mean it the way it had sounded and could he ever forgive her, her rush crumpling the paper he’d been reading.
‘Nothing to forgive,’ he’d said, enfolding her in his arms. ‘I married you ’cos I love you, Ev. But I just ’ope you know what you’re doing with this suffragette thing, that’s all.’
She did know what she was doing. So did Connie. They had come to believe that nothing would stop them in their fight, not marriage, not children, although they shouldn’t ever be neglected because of it. What they were doing was for those who came after them. It was what she believed, believed to the core of her being,
She said all this to Connie who replied, ‘I know what you’re trying to say, and it is true, all of it. But did he actually agree to your going on the procession?’
Eveline nodded uncertainly. ‘I think he did. At least he didn’t say no. He just cuddled me and said he hoped I knew what I was doing.’
It had been his way of consenting; on the day he wished her good luck before going off to work. Dressed in her summer best, it was hard to express how happy she felt, the sun shining, the air warm, but not too warm, Gran in charge of both children, bless her, youthful eyes sparkling in that elderly face, not a bit apprehensive at having two babies in her care for the next few hours.
‘I ain’t that past it yet as I can’t look after two tiny tots,’ she’d said. ‘Different if they was running about. I’m not as young as I can get up any speed to run after ’em, but no, they’ll be fine with me at the age they are.’
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Eveline gave her a huge, affectionate hug, at the same time aware of a surge of bitterness. It should be her mother she was hugging in gratitude.
Chapter Eighteen
Eveline looked apologetically at Connie as they assembled ready for the procession. ‘I’m sorry. They expect it. I can’t get out of it,’
She had practically been commanded to be in the prisoners’ pageant. Refusal would have been seen as a slight to what the women had gone through for their beliefs. She couldn’t say no.
Closely watching Connie’s reaction, she still regretted that business with her in court, allowing her father get her off going to prison. If she hadn’t submitted so meekly to his paying her fine, they’d both be marching side by side in a place of honour today.
‘I’m sorry, Connie, I have to. You don’t mind, do you?’
She was surprised to see Connie smile at her, apparently not at all put out. But why should she be when her George was coming to see her pass?
Eveline had hoped Albert might come along after work too, but he’d said he had some studying to do if he hoped ever to be an engineer earning a decent wage. Although he was right, of course, it still irked.
Connie’s husband had said he would try to get off work and watch out for her despite the procession being well on its way by then. Eveline couldn’t help taking comfort that he’d have to find her among forty thousand women, which didn’t seem likely; this was to be the biggest demonstration yet, with all the display and colour of earlier processions.
Connie did look splendid though. She’d splashed out, spending her own money on a new outfit, this time with George’s blessings, his wages at the bank having improved with a small promotion. Beside her in her one and only Sunday best white dress, Eveline felt old-fashioned.
In a way she was glad not to be with her in the procession where she would feel a little dowdy beside her. With the 1911 summer fashions changing almost too fast to keep up with, dresses and skirts had become suddenly tube-like although there were still plenty of last year’s wide skirts and flared hemlines to be seen. Hair was lower than last year, more puffed out about the ears, swept softly back to a loose roll at the nape of the neck. This she could achieve at no expense, her abundance of brown hair lending itself to the style, but the rest …
She could do nothing about shoes either. Toes were becoming more pointed; while those with money could keep up with changing fashions, she must carry on wearing the old rounded-toed sort.
She felt guilty at feeling somewhat glad when Connie said that her savings weren’t stretching all that well towards new clothes. Disowned by her family, with no father to put his hand in his pocket for her, the girl who’d once had everything was now having to watch the pennies despite George’s promotion. Wrong perhaps to think this way and Eveline wasn’t crowing; in fact she had to admire Connie’s resourcefulness in turning her hand to making her own skirts.
She’d bought a little second-hand sewing machine, and with dress patterns from the haberdasher’s had started to make the simple skirts and blouses as near to the new style as best she could, saving herself quite a bit. She said she’d make a skirt for Eveline so long as she provided the material, stitched the hems and sewed on the buttons or hooks and eyes.
‘Pity I can’t make hats,’ she said, even though huge, hard-to-balance millinery was giving way to flatter styles with upswept brims, plainer toques in white, cream or beige straw, decorated with a dark feather or two, or black straw with white feathers. Eveline had bought one cheap in beige straw from Petticoat Lane Market, which she’d decorated herself with a darker band and a fan of brown feathers. But it couldn’t compare with the fine hat Connie had bought from a departmental store in Oxford Street – still risking her dwindling savings trying to keep up with fashion.
Leaving Connie in order to take her position in the prisoners’ pageant, her white arrow badge proclaiming her right, she followed the marshal who’d come to conduct her to her place. How any marshal or steward could find anyone in this milling throng and get them into their positions, with the pavement already clogged with spectators even though the procession would not start until five-thirty, was nothing short of remarkable.
‘Look out for me when we get to the Albert Hall,’ called Eveline as she left and saw Connie’s half-nod; Connie was already craning her neck to see if she could catch sight of her George.
There would be no such prospect of Albert turning up to watch her in her place of honour. The prisoners’ pageant was the best yet, seven hundred women, one hundred and forty rows, each row five abreast, all of them in white, holding lances from whose spears pennons fluttered. At their centre there was a huge tableau of women in loose white gowns and haloes of flowers. Drawn by two white horses, the platform towered above the onlookers, women also clad in white standing with their lances about an even taller platform on which sat other women, and crowning it all on yet another platform a single, young woman sitting beneath a canopy of white roses and green garlands, a young girl at her feet.
Once they moved off, people would gasp to see it, realising that every one in those hundred and forty lines had at one time or another endured a harsh and humiliating incarceration for her cause.
There were dozens of other floats just as impressive, women from all over the Empire, even from the United States, all carrying colourful national emblems, many in national dress and as many tableaux as in previous marches. Eveline had never felt so proud of having once be
en a prisoner, having shared what every one of these seven hundred had endured.
With sunshine pouring down from a brilliant blue sky, the air warm and balmy as though bestowing blessings on the whole affair, it could have been even more wonderful if Albert had been here to see her. He’d obviously considered his studies far more important than watching her pass in this five-mile-long column of women with one thought in mind – to gain the right to vote alongside men who saw them as inferior. And yet, though men made up seventy-five per cent of the crowds watching today, not one had so far lifted voice or fist against this demonstration. By the look of them they seemed overwhelmed by it.
Eveline felt proud, but it was mixed with feelings of bitterness that Connie’s husband would keep his promise and even if he were unable to find her in this forty-thousand-strong demonstration, he’d have at least bothered to come.
She knew she shouldn’t begrudge Albert studying. He so wanted to improve his life and it was all for his little family, seeing that he included Helena as his own. She tried hard to think of all he’d done for her, marrying her and giving little Helena his name, and knew that she should be grateful. But if only, just for this one day, he’d said he’d be here. Just this one day. If only she could now see his broad face smiling at her from the crowd.
Waiting for the signal to begin as the sun moved across the sky, her eyes searched and searched those who’d clambered on to the parapet along the length of the Embankment or clung to the arms of lamp-posts for a better view. Thousands had thronged to London for the King’s Coronation and were in holiday mood ready to enjoy this spectacular procession too, prior to the other one five days from now with its royal golden coach and its colourful troops and its massed bands. But today Eveline’s eyes sought only one face in this sea of faces.
