Winifred blenched. People were watching them. ‘Shush,’ she said, noticing the frowns from the people seated at the tables nearby, uncomfortably aware of the icy stares of their companions, the whispers hidden by napkins as women leant towards men who averted their eyes.
Honora seemed satisfied that she’d caused a stir. She smiled brightly. ‘So ya see, ya have to come with me to the meeting. It’s your duty as a woman.’
‘No.’ Winifred was determined. ‘No, I won’t.’
‘Ya will.’ Honora nodded. ‘For sure ya will. Now, finish your drink if you want to catch that tram.’
Chapter 5
Wednesday 15th March 1911
‘We want deeds, not words.’ The ubiquitous cry of the Suffragette movement rang out to be drowned by the clapping of the women surrounding Winifred.
It hadn’t occurred to her before that she had such a small life, lived in such a small world. She’d paid no attention to politics in the past, so despite her protests to Honora, over the last month, she’d read any articles on the Suffragette movement she could find in her father’s copy of the Yorkshire Evening Post. The violence often meted out to the women aroused an anger in her she didn’t think she was capable of. The description of how one group of women, protesting outside Leeds town hall, were dragged by their hair to the local police station and beaten with truncheons sickened her. She’d been unable to get it out of her mind for days afterwards.
She looked across the large hall towards the three tall windows which threw slants of weak sunlight over the women crammed into the room. Dust motes floated erratically above them as they clapped and moved restlessly, standing on tiptoes to see the people on the stage at the end of the room.
Was this something she wanted to be part of? She flapped her handkerchief in front of her face in a vain effort to cool herself.
The three girls they’d met at the door of the hall were on the other side of Honora, cheering and clapping as well, their faces alight with enthusiasm as they exchanged glances with her. Winifred had never been amongst such a crowd; such passion frightened her yet it was also thrilling.
‘All right?’ Honora put her arm around Winifred’s waist, her head close. Even so she had to shout. ‘Ya look a wee bit hot.’
The sweat was trickling down Winifred’s back. ‘I’m fine. I’m listening.’ She nodded towards the front of the hall, not meeting Honora’s eyes.
‘We women must make a clear and positive case.’ The woman at the lectern let her eyes travel over the audience. ‘We have only one thing to say and I urge the men amongst us to listen.’ She paused. ‘Women are human beings, the same as you. We are entitled to vote.’ The applause rose, then fell as the woman held up her hand. ‘We are entitled to vote.’
‘Who did you say she was?’ Winifred’s words were caught by the woman in front of her who turned to give them a withering look.
Honora shrugged, aligning herself with the plump woman and raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement of Winifred’s ignorance. ‘I told ya,’ she shouted, without looking at Winifred. ‘It’s Ada Wood; she’s a friend of Emmeline.’
‘Emmeline?’
‘Pankhurst. Emmeline Pankhurst. Ye gods girl, did ya not listen to a word I’ve said,’ Honora kept her eyes on the broad back of the woman, before lowering her voice and putting her mouth close to Winifred’s ear. ‘At least that’s what the woman at the door said.’
Honora’s words made Winifred smile; less ashamed of her ignorance.
She stood on tiptoe, peering around the array of broad-brimmed black hats at the stage where there was one man, the Reverend, amongst a line of stern looking women. They sat, straight backed in chairs, behind the imposing figure at the podium. She’d certainly held the crowd in thrall, Winifred thought in envy. She couldn’t ever think of a time when anyone had really listened to anything she’d said in all her life.
Another woman got up from her seat and stood at the front of the stage. ‘We all know what happened in London last year. The cruel and disgraceful way we were treated by the police. We will not let that deter us, Members. We will fight all the way.’ She flung her arms wide. ‘We will get the vote. However many of us have to suffer–have to die even. We will get the vote.’
There was a roar of approval throughout the hall.
A raft of placards suddenly appeared in front of Winifred, closing off the narrow view she had. They were twisted around so she could read some of them.
Votes for Women
The Bill, the Whole Bill and Nothing but the Bill
Her lips moved as she took in the words before glancing towards Honora. The girl’s cheeks were red and she was shouting out the chant with the other three girls, their hands linked and raised above their heads. ‘Votes for women.’ When she returned Winifred’s gaze her dark eyes were glittering with excitement. ‘We’ll show the beggars,’ she mouthed. ‘We’ll show them.’
We? The chill that crawled over Winifred’s scalp accompanied her thoughts; what had she got herself into? And what would her mother say if she knew her daughter was here? The answer came all too quickly. Her parents must never know where she’d been this afternoon.
She wouldn’t go to anything like that ever again. Anna, one of the three girls had wanted them to go back to her house but Winifred insisted she needed to go home. She barely listened to the chatter of her friend as they hurried along. The meeting had frightened her; all those women shouting; the unseemly fury.
‘I went to London that day.’ Honora’s words brought Winifred to a halt. She held onto her friend’s arm stopping her from walking.
‘You went?’
‘Yes. I’ve not told anyone, not even my brother, ’ Her face was flushed with defiance. ‘I didn’t tell Conal because I knew he’d stop me; he said it was asking for trouble.’
‘And from the sound of it, it was. What on earth were you thinking?’
Honora clenched her hands together. ‘We had to protest. They’d taken the coward’s way out; put off the decision on our suffrage?’
‘Yes, but to put yourself in danger—’
‘We thought if we went in great numbers they would see how wrong they’d been.’ Her voice cracked. ‘There were hundreds of us but we didn’t stand a chance. There were just as many police, on horses, with batons. One of the women in our group was killed. I didn’t see it; it was after we’d all been driven away. We never saw her again.’ The tears welled and fell.
‘Don’t. I can’t bear to hear.’ Winifred brushed her thumb against the wetness on Honora’s face. ‘You have to stop this.’
‘No!’
‘Women getting the vote… It’ll never happen.’
‘One day it will. If we protest long enough. If we show how strong we are—’
‘I’ve read so much in the last few weeks, Honora. The law is on the side of men; they have all the power in government, the police are all men. Women have no control over what happens to them.’ Except at home, her home; she couldn’t stop the thought flashing through her mind. ‘We could never win against all that—’
‘We can.’ Her friend’s words were fierce. ‘We should.’ The tears had gone as quickly as they’d arrived. ‘You can.’
‘No, I’m sorry, I couldn’t.’ Just thinking about all that hostile fervour was more than enough to deter Winifred. ‘It’s not something I dare get involved in.’ She became aware that people were having to walk around them, eyeing them in curiosity, as they stood in the middle of the pavement. ‘Now I need to get home. And I think it’s going to rain.’
‘Just a minute.’ Honora fished in to her coat pocket and brought out a handkerchief. She gave her nose a long blow. ‘There,’ she said, ‘that’s better. Come on then.’ She linked arms with Winifred. ‘We’ll go through the park, it’ll be faster.’
Chapter 6
Winifred kept her eyes on the ground and quickened her steps along the path in Balfour Park. The day had been all too much. The excitement of secretly defying her mother had
long since dissipated. She wasn’t looking forward to all the earache she was going to get when she got home. How would she explain where she’d been all afternoon? Especially on this cold, damp day. She’d have to find a good lie to cover up. Shopping in Huddersfield perhaps; though she had nothing to show for it.
‘Well, it’s the gorgeous Honora, so it is.’
Lost in the story she was trying to concoct, Winifred hadn’t notice the group of young men lounging around the benches at the side of the path. She almost stumbled when Honora stopped suddenly. Looking up she saw one of them snake his arm around her friend’s neck and pull her towards him, lowering his face to kiss her.
The indignation that rose in Winifred boiled over into angry words. ‘How dare you…’ before she saw that Honora was actually laughing under his kiss. It was one of the youths from the tram.
‘Honora!’ Winifred couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Keeping her head down she pushed her way through them, only to be forced to stop when one of them refused to move. She stood still, looking down, her fists tight to her sides. His brown boots were planted squarely in front of her, the toes coated with dust from the gravel path.
‘Well now, Sis, and are ya going to tell me who this is, then?’ The voice, deep and thick with the Irish accent, held a hint of laughter.
Honora moved next to Winifred. ‘Leave her alone…’ She pushed at him, linked arms with Winifred. ‘This is my new friend, Win. Isn’t she just lovely?’ Putting her mouth close to Winifred’s ear, she said, ‘This is Conal, my brother.’
Winifred let her eyes travel from the boots to his face, with what she hoped was a disdainful expression. And was shocked into recognition when she saw it was the impudent youth from the tram; the one who had so much to say for himself. Except he wasn’t a boy, he was a man. And he was the spit of Honora. Coal black hair, strong straight nose, determined chin. And long-lashed dark eyes that seemed to look right into your soul, she thought. They held the same slight mockery in them as her friend’s.
Her mouth slackened when the brother and sister laughed.
‘Like what ya see?’ His voice even held the same rhythm as Honora’s.
The anger was quick in Winifred. Everything she’d just been through; that sweltering meeting, listening to Honora talking about those horrible things that had happened in London. And now this; they were laughing at her. She glared at the two of them, and then twisted round to glower at the group of boys.
‘Well, now you’ve had your fun…’ The words came out strident with the effort of preventing the tears. ‘So, if you’d let me pass…’ She adjusted her hat so that the side of her face was hidden.
‘Don’t do that,’ Conal said, reaching towards her and straightening the brim. ‘I can’t see your gorgeous blue eyes, if ya hide behind yon daft hat.’
She knocked his hand away. Not daring to trust her voice she shook off Honora’s grasp and pushed past him.
‘Aw, Win…’
Winifred ignored her, looking towards the large iron gates at the far entrance to the park, blurred with the hot tears of humiliation. She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t let herself be persuaded to go to that meeting. A sudden chilly breeze made the leaves on the large privet hedges at the side of the path quiver, carrying Honora’s voice towards her.
‘Aw, Win… I’m sorry, so I am.’
She ignored the apology. A splash of rain hit her hand; glancing up at the sky she saw it was rapidly filling with darkening banks of clouds. Holding the skirt of her coat together with one hand and clamping her other hand on her hat, she quickened her steps.
The first drops were heavy and cold on her skin. There was no chance she’d make it home. Her hat would be ruined. She looked across at the bandstand in the centre of the park. There were already people hurrying towards it. She could hear the cries of surprise, the shrieks of children running in front of their parents, dodging the benches, and leaping up the four wooden tiers of steps. Changing direction she followed the wide paths that were rapidly darkening with patches of rain.
She was out of breath when she joined the crowd under the roof of the bandstand. Good-naturedly they moved to let her in.
‘Well, that was a surprise and that’s the truth.’ The man who spoke to her lifted his trilby. There was no doubting the admiration in his eyes but Winifred had had enough of men. She smiled briefly without looking at him and moved to be amongst a small bunch of women with children clustered in the middle of the stand. A nanny with a navy blue baby carriage was quickly helped up the steps by three men and the women divided to make room for her.
‘Goodness me!’ The nanny manoeuvred the carriage and laughed. ‘What a downpour.’
The shoulders of her dark coat glistened with rain; her white cap had been flattened to her head. She unclipped the wet hood of the pram and bent to check on its occupant. Her presence seemed to relax the group of strangers. One small boy and his mother peeked in to see the baby. There were a few low smiling comments as the baby started to wail. The nanny pressed down on the handle, jiggling the pram. The edge of the carriage dug spasmodically into Winifred’s hip so she retreated to lean against one of the posts.
‘Win–Winifred? I’m sorry.’
Winifred closed her eyes against threatening tears. Go away, she thought, just leave me alone.
Honora pushed through the crowd and, breathless from running, caught hold of Winifred’s arm. Winifred looked over the girl’s shoulder. No-one was following. At least she’d had the courtesy of not bringing those louts with her. For the first time since Honora had come into the shop she felt less in awe of the Irish girl and the way she disregarded all the conventions that she, herself, had been forced to live by. The anger she felt for the way she’d been laughed at fuelled her words.
‘I don’t want to know.’ Even though she had to whisper she kept her tone cold. ‘I came with you to that horrid meeting. I listened to you telling me about the stupid way you put yourself in danger. This is the final straw, Honora. I care about my reputation even if you don’t.’
She wouldn’t make eye contact with the Irish girl, preferring to look past the nanny to the park. Water poured off the roof of the stand and bounced onto the path with loud splats. Shining swirls of small puddles formed on the benches. In the distance, across the large area of grass bordered by flowerbeds, now only bare lengths of dark soil, she could see figures sheltering in the long glasshouse.
‘It was only a joke,’ Honora wheedled. ‘Can ya not take a joke?’ Winifred knew the girl was trying to push the blame onto her and was determined not to let her. ‘No, I can’t. Not when it’s at my expense.’ Winifred’s cold wet gloves were stuck to her hands. She wished she had a fur muff like one or two of the women who stood by them. She also wished the rain would stop so she could go home.
‘To be sure, I’m sorry. Liam, he’s my fella. I should have told ya. It was only meant to be a bit of fun.’
‘Not to me.’ Winifred was shivering now. ‘Oh, this is hopeless. I’m going.’ It was more important to get away from Honora, even more important than avoiding the wrath of her mother for being late. At least the weather gave her an excuse.
Holding her hand above her hat in the hopeless task of saving it from getting wet, she splashed her way down the steps and along the path. The rain wasn’t as hard now but, when she glanced up, the sky was still a glowering grey. She brushed again a small birch tree, dislodging a shower of water onto her. Blast it; she shocked herself with the thought. Perhaps Honora was a bad influence, swearing hadn’t always come so easily to her. But she repeated the words to herself when she heard the Irish girl’s voice.
‘Hold on, will ya, Winifred. Please…’
Lying sleepless in bed that night Winifred stared out of the window, watching the thin trails of shadowy clouds pass across the bright disc of the full moon. It had been a dreadful day. One she was determined to forget.
She turned over onto her side and pulled her pillow around her head. The last thin
g she remembered was the way Honora’s brother’s dark eyes had fixed on hers. The tremor that ran across her skin wasn’t fear or annoyance. But Winifred wasn’t ready to acknowledge it was excitement or attraction. Not even to herself.
Chapter 7
Of course, as expected, Honora came into the shop the following day.
Winifred turned her back. ‘Mother, can you serve this customer, please? ‘I need to go to the lavvy. I won’t be a minute.’
Going through to the back yard she heard her mother speak. ‘And what can I get you?’
Ethel hadn’t spoken with her usual ‘shop’ voice, as Winifred and her father called it. They’d long shared the joke between them about the royal tones Mother adopted just for the times she stood behind the counter. No, this time the broad Yorkshire vowels weren’t disguised at all and there was clear satisfaction in her question. She’d obviously cottoned on to the fact that there was something wrong between Winifred and Honora and probably hoped the new friendship had ended.
Of course her mother would be pleased; it would mean Winifred would lose the freedom she’d gained lately, would always be on call to work in the shop.
Listening to the mumbled reply, Winifred almost felt sorry for her new friend. Her ex-friend, she reminded herself, straightening her back and marching out to the yard; determined not to forget what had happened the day before.
The next time, when Honora appeared, Winifred was on her own in the shop. She had no choice but to serve her. Handing over the usual small cake and taking the money she avoided Honora’s eyes, looking past her shoulder to the next customer.
‘Mrs Cox, what can I do for you today?’
‘This cheese bought yesterday is mouldy.’ The woman made a show of peering around Honora, jostling her arm with her shopping basket. The girl had no choice but to move to one side.
Winifred took the parcel that Mrs Cox slapped onto the counter and unwrapped it. ‘It’s Lancashire cheese,’ she said.
100 Tiny Threads Page 3
