Rosfrith returned and we descended the stairs together. ‘Are you a suffragette, Rosfrith?’ I asked.
‘I don’t sneak out at night and smash windows, if that’s what you’re asking. I would prefer to call myself a suffragist.’
‘I don’t think I could do what some women do.’
‘Starve yourself or be a public nuisance?’
‘Neither.’
Rosfrith paused on the staircase and turned to me. ‘I don’t think I could, either. And I can’t imagine … well, you’ve read the papers. But militancy isn’t the only way, Esme.’
Rosfrith resumed her descent and I followed, two steps behind. There was so much I wanted to ask her, but despite us both having grown up in the shadow of the Dictionary, I felt we were worlds apart.
We lingered a while in the kitchen doorway, watching the rain. ‘I’d best make a run for it,’ Rosfrith said eventually. ‘But you’ve been wet enough for one day – wait here in the warm till it’s passed. We certainly can’t have you catching cold.’ She opened her umbrella and trotted the distance between kitchen and Scriptorium.
Lizzie was crouched in front of the range. ‘Look at your face, Essymay. What on earth is wrong?’
‘The papers, Lizzie. You’d be shocked to know what is going on.’
‘No need to read the papers; the Market serves just as well.’ She shovelled coal onto the rising flames and shut the heavy cast-iron door with a bang. She looked stiff as she pulled herself up to standing.
‘And are they talking about what’s happening to the suffragettes in Birmingham?’ I said.
‘Yes. They’re talking about it.’
‘Are they angry? About the hunger strikes and the forced feeding?’
‘Some are,’ she said as she began slicing vegetables and putting them in a large pot. ‘Others think they’re going about things all wrong. That you catch more flies with honey.’
‘But do they think they deserve what’s happening to them? It’s torture.’
‘Some think they can’t be left to starve to death.’
‘And what do you think, Lizzie?’
She looked up, her eyes rimmed red and watering from the onions. ‘I wouldn’t be that brave,’ she said.
It wasn’t an answer, but I might have said the same thing if I’d been honest with myself.
April 11th, 1910
Happy birthday, my dear Esme,
I can’t believe you are twenty-eight. It makes me feel quite old. This year, in light of your continued concerns, I have enclosed a book by Emily Davies. Emily was a friend of my mother’s and has been involved in the suffrage movement for half a century. She has quite a different approach to Mrs Pankhurst and is a firm believer in the equalising effect of women’s education – her arguments are quite compelling. I am hoping that if you read ‘Thoughts on Some Questions Relating to Women’ you might give some thought to taking a degree yourself. Which leads me to your letter.
I read it aloud over breakfast. Beth and I are at one with your concerns, though we do not feel as impotent as you seem to.
This is not a new fight, and while the actions of Emmeline Pankhurst’s army of women will certainly draw attention to the cause, they may not hasten a satisfactory resolution. We will get the vote sooner or later, but that will not be the end of it. The fight will go on, and it cannot rely solely on women prepared to starve themselves.
Our grandfather was outspoken on the topic of women’s right to vote back when ‘universal suffrage’ was the political argument of the day. I wonder how our dictionary will define universal. Back then, it meant all adults, regardless of race, income or property. But it did not mean women, and against this our grandfather railed. It would be a long campaign, he was heard to say, and to be successful it would have to be fought on many fronts.
You are not a coward, Esme. It pains me to think that any young woman would think such a thing because she is not being brutalised for her convictions. If Tilda is campaigning for the WSPU, it suits her completely. She is an actress and knows how to provoke an audience. If you want to be useful, keep doing what you have always done. You once made the observation that some words were considered more important than others simply because they were written down. You were arguing that by default the words of educated men were more important than the words of the uneducated classes, women among them. Do what you are good at, my dear Esme: keep considering the words we use and record. Once the question of women’s political suffrage has been dealt with, less obvious inequalities will need to be exposed. Without realising it, you are already working for this cause. As grandfather said, it will be a long game. Play a position you are good at, and let others play theirs.
Now, to other news. I have thought long and hard about whether silence is best, but Beth has convinced me that silence is a void filled with anxieties. Sarah writes that they have settled comfortably in Adelaide and that little Megan is thriving. There is more I could share on that topic, but I will wait to be asked.
Not unrelated to your enquiries, Sarah has just voted in her first election! Isn’t it wonderful? Women in South Australia have been exercising this right for the past fifteen years. As far as I can glean, none have had to smash any windows or starve themselves for the privilege. You are no doubt aware that a few of those good women have travelled to England to support the cause. Do you recall
