wanted it, and then she would be offered half a man’s wages or less.
But her angry feminism had set as hard as concrete during years of living alongside the tough, hardworking, dirt-poor women of London’s East End. Men often told a fairy tale in which there was a division of labor in families, the man going out to earn money, the woman looking after home and children. Reality was different. Most of the women Ethel knew worked twelve hours a day and looked after home and children as well. Underfed, overworked, living in hovels, and dressed in rags, they could still sing songs and laugh and love their children. In Ethel’s view one of those women had more right to vote than any ten men.
She had been arguing this for so long that she felt quite strange when votes for women became a real possibility in the middle of 1917. As a little girl she had asked: “What will it be like in heaven?” and had never got a satisfactory answer.
Parliament agreed to a debate in mid-June. “It’s the result of two compromises,” Ethel said excitedly to Bernie when she read the report in The Times. “The Speaker’s Conference, which Asquith called to sidestep the issue, was desperate to avoid a row.”
Bernie was giving Lloyd his breakfast, feeding him toast dipped in sweet tea. “I assume the government is afraid that women will start chaining themselves to railings again.”
Ethel nodded. “And if the politicians get caught up in that kind of fuss, people will say they’re not concentrating on winning the war. So the committee recommended giving the vote only to women over thirty who are householders or the wives of householders. Which means I’m too young.”
“That was the first compromise,” said Bernie. “And the second?”
“According to Maud, the cabinet was split.” The War Cabinet consisted of four men plus the prime minister, Lloyd George. “Curzon is against us, obviously.” Earl Curzon, the leader of the House of Lords, was proudly misogynist. He was president of the League for Opposing Woman Suffrage. “So is Milner. But Henderson supports us.” Arthur Henderson was the leader of the Labour Party, whose M.P.s supported the women, even though many Labour Party men did not. “Bonar Law is with us, though lukewarm.”
“Two in favor, two against, and Lloyd George as usual wanting to keep everyone happy.”
“The compromise is that there will be a free vote.” That meant the government would not order its supporters to vote one way or the other.
“So that whatever happens it won’t be the government’s fault.”
“No one ever said Lloyd George was ingenuous.”
“But he’s given you a chance.”
“A chance is all it is. We’ve got some campaigning work to do.”
“I think you’ll find attitudes have changed,” Bernie said optimistically. “The government is desperate to get women into industry to replace all the men sent to France, so they’ve put out a lot of propaganda about how great women are as bus drivers and munitions workers. That makes it more difficult for people to say that women are inferior.”
“I hope you’re right,” Ethel said fervently.
They had been married four months, and Ethel had no regrets. Bernie was clever, interesting, and kind. They believed in the same things and worked together to achieve them. Bernie would probably be the Labour candidate for Aldgate in the next general election-whenever that might be: like so much else, it had to wait for the end of the war. Bernie would make a good member of Parliament, hardworking and intelligent. However, Ethel did not know whether Labour could win Aldgate. The current M.P. was a Liberal, but much had changed since the last election in 1910. Even if the clause about votes for women did not pass, the other proposals of the Speaker’s Conference would give the vote to many more working-class men.
Bernie was a good man, but to her shame Ethel still occasionally thought longingly of Fitz, who was not clever, nor interesting, nor kind, and whose beliefs were opposite to hers. When she had these thoughts she felt she was no better than the type of man that hankered after girls who danced the can-can. Such men were inflamed by stockings and petticoats and frilly knickers; she was entranced by Fitz’s soft hands and clipped accent and the clean, slightly scented smell of him.
But she was Eth Leckwith now. Everyone spoke of Eth and Bernie the way they said horse-and-cart or bread- and-dripping.
She put Lloyd’s shoes on and took him to the child minder, then walked to the office of The Soldier’s Wife. The weather was fine and she felt hopeful. We can change the world, she thought. It’s not easy, but it can be done. Maud’s newspaper would whip up support for the bill among working-class women, and make sure all eyes were on M.P.s when they voted.
Maud was at their pokey office already, having come in early, no doubt because of the news. She sat at an old stained table, wearing a lilac summer gown and a hat like a fore-and-aft cap with one dramatically long feather stuck through its peak. Most of her clothes were prewar, but she still dressed elegantly. She looked too thoroughbred for this place, like a racehorse in a farmyard.
“We must bring out a special edition,” she said, scribbling on a pad. “I’m writing the front page.”
Ethel felt a wave of excitement. This was what she liked: action. She sat on the other side of the table and said: “I’ll make sure the other pages are ready. How about a column on how readers can help?”
“Yes. Come to our meeting, lobby your member of Parliament, write a letter to a newspaper, that sort of thing.”
“I’ll draft something.” She picked up a pencil and took a pad from a drawer.
Maud said: “We have to mobilize women against this bill.”
Ethel froze, pencil in hand. “What?” she said. “Did you say against?”
“Of course. The government is going to pretend to give women the vote-but still withhold it from most of us.”
Ethel looked across the table and saw the headline Maud had written: VOTE AGAINST THIS TRICK! “Just a minute.” She did not see it as a trick. “This may not be all that we want, but it’s better than nothing.”
Maud looked at her angrily. “It’s worse than nothing. This bill only pretends to make women equal.”
Maud was being too theoretical. Of course it was wrong in principle to discriminate against younger women. But right now that was not important. This was about practical politics. Ethel said: “Look, sometimes reform has to go step by step. The vote has been extended to men very gradually. Even now only about half of men can vote-”
Maud interrupted her imperiously. “Have you thought about who the left-out women are?”
It was a fault of Maud’s that she could occasionally seem high-handed. Ethel tried not to be offended. Mildly, she said: “Well, I’m one of them.”
Maud did not soften her tone. “The majority of female munitions workers-such an essential part of the war effort-would be too young to vote. So would most of the nurses who have risked their lives caring for wounded soldiers in France. War widows could not vote, despite the terrible sacrifice they have made, if they happen to live in furnished lodgings. Can’t you see that the purpose of this bill is to turn women into a minority?”
“So you want to campaign against the bill?”
“Of course!”
“That’s crazy.” Ethel was surprised and upset to find herself disagreeing violently with someone who had been a friend and colleague for so long. “I’m sorry, I just don’t see how we can ask members of Parliament to vote against something we’ve been demanding for decades.”
“That is not what we’re doing!” Maud’s anger mounted. “We’ve been campaigning for equality, and this is not it. If we fall for this ruse we’ll be on the sidelines for another generation!”
“It’s not a question of falling for a ruse,” Ethel said tetchily. “I’m not being fooled. I understand the point you’re making-it’s not even particularly subtle. But your judgment is wrong.”
“Is it, indeed?” Maud said stiffly, and Ethel suddenly saw her resemblance to Fitz: brother and sister held opposing opinions with a similar obstinacy.
Ethel said: “Just think of the propaganda the other side will put out! ‘We always knew women couldn’t make up their minds,’ they’ll say. ‘That’s why they can’t vote.’ They will make fun of us, yet again.”
“Our propaganda must be better than theirs,” Maud said airily. “We just have to explain the situation very clearly to everyone.”
Ethel shook her head. “You’re wrong. These things are too emotional. For years we’ve been campaigning against the rule that women can’t vote. That’s the barrier. Once it’s broken down, people will see further
