Phyllis was reading a book called Ann Veronica by H. G. Wells (yes, the same author Frank has been reading, though apparently there are no strange creatures in this one). I had just finished writing a letter to Stella and had brought out Anne of Avonlea, which is just as good as Anne of Green Gables (hurrah for Mabel and her excellent taste in literature). For a while we were both absorbed in our books. It was a gorgeous day, nice and hot, but with a little bit of a breeze. In fact, it was the perfect weather for lolling about in the garden. But I couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that time was running out and I had to say something to Phyllis about the Asquith protest, so after about twenty minutes I reluctantly put down Anne and said, ‘Phyl?’
‘Mmmm?’ said Phyllis, not looking up from her book.
‘About the Asquith protests. Can Nora and I come to the house in Nassau Street?’
Phyllis put down Ann Veronica.
‘Oh for goodness sake, not all this again,’ she said.
‘We want to show Mr. Asquith that Irishwomen of all ages are against him,’ I said.
‘Irishwomen, you!’ Phyllis scoffed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Irish girls, then,’ I said. ‘Come on, Phyl, we’ll be in a house. Those Ancient Hooligans can’t get in. What can happen to us there?’
‘Listen,’ said Phyllis. ‘I told you last month that I wasn’t going to take you to any more suffrage things. And I meant it. You talked me round too many times before. That is, when you weren’t trying to blackmail me.’
‘But Phyl,’ I protested. Phyllis stood up, placing the book on the chair.
‘I’m going to get some water,’ she said, and strode off towards the house. I followed her into the kitchen.
‘And stop following me,’ she said. ‘Go back out to your rug.’
‘Stop acting like a grown-up,’ I said. ‘You’re only four years older than me.’
‘Those four years make a lot of difference,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be starting university in a few months – unless Mother and Father change their mind.’
‘Why on earth would they do that?’ I said.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Phyllis, with crushing sarcasm. ‘Maybe if they thought I was taking my little sister to dangerous political events where she could get herself killed.’ She went to the dresser and took down a glass.
‘I can look after myself,’ I said. ‘I’m not a baby.’
‘Oh, aren’t you?’ said Phyllis, turning on the tap and filling the glass with water. ‘Well, you sound like the worst sort of baby to me.’ She put on a wheedling, whining voice. ‘“Take me to a meeting, Phyllis!”’
‘Well, it worked before, didn’t it?’ I pointed out. ‘And don’t forget, we saved you from being discovered in the park that time.’
‘Stop going on about that!’ said Phyllis. ‘You don’t even know if Mrs. Sheffield would have seen me, even if you hadn’t been crawling around on the grass. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. I’m not taking you to Nassau Street and that’s that.’
‘It’s not fair,’ I said angrily. ‘We’re suffragettes too, we have a right to take part …’
Phyllis whirled round to face me with such ferocity that a lock of hair fell down into her eyes.
‘For the love of God, Mollie, you’re not suffragettes!’ she yelled. ‘Just because you’ve wandered into a few meetings and read a few magazines doesn’t make you a suffragette.’
‘We ARE suffragettes!’ I yelled back. It was a good thing there was no one else at home to hear all this, not that I think Phyllis or I would have noticed if there had been. We were so worked up that our entire family could have walked in and we wouldn’t have cared.
‘You’re just a couple of silly little girls,’ snarled Phyllis. ‘And I’m tired of having to look after you.’ She started to walk towards the door but I grabbed her arm. The water splashed from its glass and went all over Phyllis’s skirt.
‘Look what you’ve done!’ cried Phyllis, but I ignored her.
‘Me and Nora don’t need looking after,’ I snapped back. ‘We’ve risked more for the movement than you have.’
Phyllis gave one of those awful mocking laughs she does so well.
‘Oh yes?’ she said. ‘What have you risked? Being sent to bed without supper for sneaking out to a meeting?’
‘Going to prison!’ I cried.
Later, Nora asked what on earth I was thinking, telling Phyllis like this. But the truth is I wasn’t actually thinking at all. I was just so angry with Phyllis and her patronising, smug superiority. It was like a red mist had descended over my brain. As soon as I spoke, Phyllis looked at me with even more contempt.
‘Prison!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you can joke about such a thing, with those poor ladies still in Mountjoy. You don’t go to prison for going to a meeting in a public park. Otherwise Mrs. Sheffield and Barnaby would be behind bars for walking past one.’
‘We haven’t just gone to meetings,’ I said. ‘We broke the law. Which is more than you’ve ever done.’
I must have sounded sincere because Phyllis’s disdainful expression started to fade.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ she said.
‘Do you remember the police court reports last month? When Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington and the others were arrested?’ I said.
‘Of course I do,’ said Phyllis. She tried to do another one of her mocking laughs, but it didn’t really work this time. ‘You’re not going to pretend you were up in court too, are you?’
I ignored her.
‘The police said someone had painted “Votes for Irish Women” on postboxes around town, but they couldn’t find the culprits,’ I said. ‘Well, me and Nora did it. Not all the postboxes,’ I added hastily. I didn’t want to take credit for the brave actions of others. ‘But one of them. On Eccles Street. I don’t know who painted the other ones.’
Phyllis’s jaw dropped open. I’d read about this happening in books, but I’d never seen it happen in real life.
‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘Honestly. We used leftover paint from Nora’s house. We sneaked it out of her garden shed. And we got up early with Harry’s alarm clock. No one saw us do it, if that’s what you’re worried about. And,’ I said hurriedly, ‘if someone else had been arrested for it, we’d have owned up.’
Phyllis stared at me for a long moment. Finally she spoke.
‘But why?’ she said.
Now it was my turn to stamp my foot in frustration.
‘Because we’re serious about the cause!’ I said. ‘We’re not just silly girls playing games. We really care about it. And we did some chalking in town too. In College Green and Rutland Square. We chalked notices about the big meeting. We did it together once and then I went in and did it on my own.’
Phyllis sat down on Maggie’s favourite kitchen chair with a bump. She still looked stunned.
‘So you see,’ I continued, ‘we really are committed suffragettes. And it’s not fair to say we can’t protest against the Prime Minister, because we’ve already done more militant actions than most people have. Including you, if you don’t mind me saying so. And we’ve got as much right to be at the protest as anyone else.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Phyllis. She looked up at me. ‘Does anyone else know about this?’
‘Only our friend Stella,’ I said. ‘And she won’t tell anyone. She’s sworn to secrecy.’ Phyllis didn’t look very convinced – well, she still looked dazed more than anything else. ‘And we would trust her with our lives,’ I went on. Which looks very dramatic when I write it down, but felt quite normal when I was saying it. I suppose it was a dramatic sort of morning.
‘So you actually … went out with a tin of paint?’ said Phyllis.
‘I told you we did,’ I said impatiently. ‘I’m not making it up. We chucked the tin in a hedge afterwards. It might still be there,’ I added. We’d never actually gone back to check. ‘You can go and have a look if you don’t believe me.
And even if it’s gone, there’s probably still some paint on the ground near it.’
‘If Mother and Father ever found out …’ Phyllis’s voice trailed off.
‘They won’t,’ I said. ‘Why would they? I didn’t even want to tell you about it. And I wouldn’t have,’ I added, ‘if you hadn’t been so annoying and unreasonable.’
‘I need a cup of tea,’ said Phyllis. She got up and filled the kettle in silence.
‘Well?’ I said, as she put the kettle on the hob. I was starting to feel a little nervous. I wasn’t used to Phyllis being so quiet. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think …’ said Phyllis. And then she looked me straight in the eye. ‘I think you were very brave. Both of you.’
Now it was my turn to be surprised.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Um. Thanks.’
‘But please, PLEASE don’t break the law again,’ Phyllis said, and this time she sounded more earnest than hectoring. ‘You really could get into terrible trouble.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘And if you did,’ Phyllis went on, ‘Mother and Father would definitely blame me.’ I might have known she had a selfish motive, at least partly. But I suppose I couldn’t blame her. She was right, after all. ‘And that’s not all. If you got arrested, they might not only change their minds about me going to college. They might not let you go either. And they might send both of us to one of the country aunts. Or send you to boarding school.’
I thought of leaving Dublin. Leaving Nora and Stella and everyone at school and Mother and Father and Maggie and even Julia and Harry. Even the thought of not seeing the Menace again felt like a wrench, strangely enough.
‘I won’t break the law again,’ I promised. And I really did mean it.
‘Good,’ said Phyllis.
‘So will you take us to Nassau Street?’ I said hopefully.
Phyllis sighed.
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘I can’t pretend you don’t deserve it. You’ve certainly shown your commitment to the cause.’
I felt like jumping for joy but I didn’t in case Phyllis thought I was being flighty and changed her mind.
‘If anything bad does happen – which it won’t,’ I added hastily, ‘I will tell Mother and Father that you had nothing to do with it. I’ll tell them you didn’t even know we were there.’
‘I don’t think they’ll quite believe that,’ said Phyllis. ‘But it’s worth a try.’
‘Anyway, I’m sure it’ll all go peacefully,’ I said. ‘After all, no one made a fuss at the ladies’ trial.’
‘True,’ said Phyllis. ‘But this is different. This is the Prime Minister. It mightn’t just be us and the Antis who are out on the streets. There’ll be huge crowds. Anything could happen.’
She made a good point. We’re so wrapped up in suffrage things that sometimes I forget about what Father calls the National Question. You know, Home Rule and full independence and all that sort of thing. I know Maggie’s sister Jenny thinks Home Rule isn’t enough. She said as much a few weeks ago, during her last visit to the kitchen.
‘What’s the point in just having a little playacting parliament when London will still make all the big decisions?’ she said, taking a bite of one Maggie’s delicious fairy cakes. Maggie snatched the cake out of her hands.
‘No talk like that in front of the child,’ she said, and there was real anger in her voice. I know Maggie supports the suffrage cause, and she might support the nationalist cause as well, but she’s made it very clear that she won’t talk about any of these things with me. Which is fair enough, but I still didn’t like being called a child.
‘I’m not a child,’ I said. I’ll be fifteen in a few months. You were working when you were my age.’
‘Yes. I was. And the fact that you’re sitting here eating a cake and not scrubbing a floor for a few pennies a week and half a bed in an attic,’ said Maggie, quite sharply for her, ‘is the reason why girls like you are still children.’
‘Sorry, Maggie,’ I said.
Maggie’s face softened and she put her arm around my shoulders.
‘You should enjoy it, love,’ she said. ‘Lord knows I didn’t have much fun when I was your age.’
It does seem so unfair that Maggie and Jenny and girls like them should have to slave away, while girls like me and Nora and Grace are allowed play tennis and sit in the garden reading all day.
But back to me and Phyllis. She sent me to the cold press to get some milk while the kettle boiled, and then I sat at the kitchen table while she first swilled hot water around in Maggie’s nice brown tea-pot, then poured it down the sink and put in several spoonfuls of tealeaves before filling the pot with freshly boiled water. Then she encased the pot in the tea cosy I knitted for Maggie as her Christmas present last year, sat down opposite me at the table, and sighed. I ignored the sigh and said, ‘So what do you think me and Nora can do in the Nassau Street house?’
‘Stand back and stay out of trouble,’ said Phyllis.
‘Can we wave a flag out of the window?’ I said hopefully.
‘Don’t push your luck,’ said Phyllis. ‘Now make yourself useful and get us some cups.’ There were some clean cups and saucers on the draining board. I brought some over to the table and Phyllis poured out the tea.
‘I can’t believe you painted a postbox,’ she said, handing over my cup. And all of a sudden I felt myself smiling.
‘Neither can I,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t believe we were doing it while we were doing it. If you know what I mean.’
‘Was it fun?’ said Phyllis. Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so annoyingly older-sister-ish. She was talking to me as if I was just another person. ‘Or was it just frightening? You know, because of the fear of getting caught.’
I considered the question.
‘It was jolly frightening,’ I said. ‘But … well, after we’d done it, we both had the most wonderful feeling, like soda water was bubbling up inside us. I know that probably sounds silly, but that’s how we felt.’
And to my surprise, Phyllis nodded.
‘That’s just how I felt the first time I took part in a poster parade,’ she said. ‘I mean, I was quite all right when we were getting ready but then, when we set off down the street with our posters and banners and things, I couldn’t quite believe I was doing it. Lots of people were staring at us and a few men shouted things at us and it all seemed like a strange dream – you know the sort, the ones where you find yourself having to give a lecture to all your old teachers or something and then you realise you’re not wearing any shoes.’
I nodded. Just a few weeks ago I dreamed I was in school and then I looked down and I was only wearing my petticoat and a pair of Julia’s old socks. It was horrible.
‘And then of course those awful Ancient Hooligans threw things at us,’ Phyllis went on. ‘And it was quite frightening. But then afterwards, when it was all over and we were having tea in Mrs. Mulvany’s house, I felt that sort of bubbly feeling, and I was so glad I’d done it, and I knew I’d do it again. Not,’ she added quickly, ‘that you should be considering doing any postbox painting again. I’m sure you can get the soda water feeling from being a silent supporter in the Nassau Street house. You won’t even have to wave a banner.’
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t object. Besides, I bet when we’re there, me and Nora can manage to wave a poster out of the window. We’ll be smaller than all the grown-ups so we should be able to wriggle in front of them and get it out. I was wondering about that when Phyllis said, ‘I’m proud of you.’
No one in my family had ever said that to me before. In fact, I don’t think anybody has ever said it to me in all my life. I was so shocked I couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. And before I could come up with something, Phyllis took her tea and went out in the back garden. I thought I should probably stay away from her in case she regretted being so unusually nice to me and changed her mind about taking us to Nassau Street, so I went upstairs and wrote th
is letter to you.
Actually, I think I heard Phyllis go out about half an hour ago so I hope she hasn’t decided to report me to the IWFL for letting their movement take responsibility for my own criminal activities. I know she was full of praise a few hours ago but you never know, she can be quite capricious. And even if she tells them that she approves of my actions, the rest of them might not agree with her. I will try not to think about it now, anyway. Since I started writing this letter Mother, Julia and Maggie have all come home so I had better go down in case Mother starts suspecting I’m ‘up to no good’ which is her usual accusation when she hasn’t been monitoring my activities for more than ten minutes.
Later
Well, Phyllis didn’t report me – at least, not in a bad way. But she did tell someone about me and Nora. She stayed out for most of the day – she had told Mother she wouldn’t be at home for dinner – and she didn’t turn up until after Maggie had cleared away what was left of our cold ham and salad this evening. Mother was having a lie down (the heat was making her feel faint, as it generally does – I really don’t know how she breathes when she’s wearing her corsets laced so tightly) and Father, Harry, Frank, Julia and I were in the drawing room. Frank suggested a game of cards.
‘How about a round of Beg O’ My Neighbour?’ he said, producing a pack from his pocket.
‘I’ve never played it,’ I said.
‘It’s easy,’ said Harry. ‘Well, it’s easy for me, I don’t know if your feeble brain will be able to comprehend all the rules.’
I tried my best to give him one of Phyllis’s scornful looks.
‘If you can play it I certainly can,’ I said. ‘What do you think, Julia?’
‘I don’t play cards,’ said Julia in such a disapproving way that even Father laughed.
‘I think we can allow a game of Beg O’ My Neighbour,’ he said. ‘It’s not gambling, Julia. It’s more like Snap.’
Julia didn’t look convinced but we all assured her that she wasn’t committing any sins by playing so, after Frank explained the rules, the game began. It was jolly good fun and even Harry forgot to be his usual bossy self once we all got caught up in taking each other’s cards. Julia (who had forgotten all her misgivings about playing cards about five seconds after the game began) was arguing over whether Father had the right to take her King of Diamonds or not when the door opened and Phyllis came in, followed by a familiar face.