Before he even went on to read Grace’s personal statement, he could tell by the way that she had crossed out petition and replaced it with demand and had obliterated the words humbly sheweth that it was going to make for a very interesting read.
‘…that I am a political prisoner and demand to be placed in the First Division. Men, when they are convicted of political acts are allowed to wear their own clothes and various other privileges and I claim the right to the same treatment. I understand that all suffrage prisoners are entitled to certain privileges under Mr Churchill’s regulations, viz to write and receive letters, to see visitors once a fortnight, to have our own books and needlework, to exercise twice daily and talk freely during exercise time. This treatment has been refused us. I shall decline to keep the rules of the prison until this claim is granted, no matter what the punishment might be. Grace Emmerson.’
Morton ran his finger over Grace’s original signature, his admiration for her growing with each new record that offered a glimpse into her life. He was far from an expert on suffragettes, but he was aware of the brutal treatment and force-feeding that had taken place in prisons.
Next came a report from the Governor of Holloway Prison, James Scott, which Morton read with interest. ‘As I reported to you yesterday verbally, the 14 suffragettes, mutinous since reception, all broke their cell windows yesterday. They were left in the same cells. Some of them were singing loudly, and they all continued insubordinate in conduct. In the forenoon today they became very disorderly. They continued to sing and shout. Some of them waved their sashes through the broken panes. Some of their friends had secured a room in the neighbourhood, and spoke to them through a megaphone, made various signals, etc. The Police were referred to, and they inform me, as the result of their enquiries, that the room occupied by the outside suffragettes was secured by Cecil Barwise, of Linden Grove in Brighton, who is said to be a groom there.’
Morton stopped reading and stared at the page. Cecil Barwise—the man who would later become Grace’s husband—had taken a room opposite the prison. Had it been to be nearer to Grace? Or simply to assist with the suffragette cause? Perhaps both.
He returned to the document: ‘The committee met at 4pm, having been reported to them under Rule 82, paras 3 and 5. They tried the 14 prisoners separately. All of them admitted the charges and gloried in their offences. Not one of them would promise amendment. Some of them were impertinent, noisy, and violent. One of them declared that she would not eat any food in prison. One of them bit a wardress so severely in the hand, that she has been put on the sick-list. One of them threw her loaf at an Officer, and also threw her hot cocoa over her, burning her and spoiling her uniform. Some of them made so much noise in their cells, singing, knocking, ringing bells, etc during the trials that the Magistrates had difficulty in proceeding at times. The Magistrates had no difficulty in deciding that the prisoners must all be punished. They were all, after sentence, placed in different cells to those they occupied before trial. Eight of them have been put in the special cells. James Scott.’
Special cells, Morton thought. An ominous-sounding, camouflage term that smacked of institutional abuses.
It took him the best part of two hours to complete the file. Although there were no further mentions of Grace by name, the documents continued to provide an illuminating account of the suffragettes’ incarcerations. It saddened Morton to think that Grace, having spent her childhood in the Brighton Union Workhouse, had, as an adult, exchanged one draconian institution for another.
The next file contained more complaints, letters written by suffragettes to the Home Office protesting at their treatment in prison. Several pages in, Morton discovered a letter written by Grace following her release.
‘The Right Honourable H. Gladstone. Dear Sir, In reference to your replies in the House Wednesday night as to the cells in which we suffragettes were placed, I should like to say that I think it is a pity that a man in your high position should not be more cognisant of the real facts as they exist. Having been brutalised and injured by the police whilst protesting at Downing Street, I was held in Holloway one month and during the whole of that time I was kept in close confinement for protesting against being put in the 2nd Division. For the same protest I was put into a punishment cell which was dark, foul and most insanitary. The place had been washed just previously to my incarceration and did not properly dry all night. The bed which was fastened to the wall was very damp and I was unable to take my clothes off but sat wrapped in a blanket the whole of that night. The cell in question is wholly unfit for human inhabitation. I have seen several of my colleagues since my release, all of whom were placed in similar disgusting cells and who suffered in the same way. The cells in question are below the level of the ground. Your cowardly allusion to “when prisoners refuse food they are hardly fit subjects for exercise” does not apply as I had been in close confinement for a week before I started the hunger-strike which was only resorted to as a final protest at being placed in the 2nd Division. Do you not think it would be more dignified when quoting facts to stick to the truth? I think the time has come for us to show that we no longer intend to lightly undergo the insults and contumely that we have patiently allowed to be heaped
