OCTOBER TO NOVEMBER, 1906
A PROTEST MEETING IN THE LOBBY OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. ELEVEN WOMEN
GO TO PRISON. WHAT IT IS LIKE IN HOLLOWAY GAOL.
On October 3rd, 1906, Parliament re-assembled for the Autumn session.
A large number of our women made their way to the House of Commons on
that day, but the Government had again given orders that only twenty
women at a time were to be allowed in the Lobby. All women of the
working class were rigorously excluded. My mother and Mrs. Pethick
Lawrence were amongst those who succeeded in gaining an entrance. They
at once sent in for the Chief Liberal Whip and requested him to ask the
Prime Minister, on their behalf, whether he proposed to do anything
to enfranchise the women of the country during the session, either by
including the registration of qualified women in the provisions of the
Plural Voting Bill then before the House, or by any other means. The
Liberal Whip soon returned with a refusal from the Government to hold
out the very faintest hope that the vote would be given women at any
time during their term of office.
On hearing this, Mrs. Pankhurst and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence returned
to their comrades and consulted with them. The women had received a
direct rebuff, and they felt that they must now act in such a way as
to prove that the Suffragettes would no longer quietly submit to this
perpetual ignoring of their claims. They therefore decided to hold a
meeting of protest, not outside in the street, but just there, in the
Lobby of the House of Commons--of all places the most effective one for
women to choose for a meeting, because the nearest within their reach
to that legislative Chamber which had so frequently refused to grant
them the franchise. Once made, the resolution was acted upon without
delay. Mary Gawthorpe mounted one of the settees close to the statue
of Sir Stafford Northcote and began to address the crowd of visitors
who were waiting to interview various Members of Parliament. The other
women closed up around her, but in the twinkling of an eye dozens of
policemen sprang forward, tore the tiny creature from her post and
swiftly rushed her out of the Lobby. Instantly Mrs. Despard, a sister
of General French, a tall, ascetic-looking, grey-haired figure, stepped
into the breach; but she also was roughly dragged away. Then followed
Mrs. Cobden Sanderson, a daughter of Richard Cobden, and many others,
but each in her turn was thrust outside and the order was given to
clear the Lobby. Mrs. Pankhurst was thrown to the ground in the outer
entrance hall and many of the women, thinking that she was seriously
hurt, closed round her refusing to leave her side. Crowds were now
collecting in the roadway and the women who had been flung out of the
House attempted to address them but were hurled away.
Annie Kenney, who had scarcely recovered from the effects of her last
imprisonment, had been told by the Committee that she must not take any
part in the demonstration for fear that she should be again arrested.
She agreed to run no risks, but she could not keep entirely away from
the scene of action and, standing on the other side of the road, was
now watching to see what might befall her comrades. In the midst of
the struggle she noticed that Mrs. Pethick Lawrence was being roughly
handled, and impulsively ran forward to ask her if she were hurt. Being
already well known to the police, she was immediately arrested. Mrs.
Lawrence was greatly distressed and cried out, "You shall not take this
girl; she has done nothing." But the only result of her protest was
that she herself was also taken into custody. Before long seven women
had shared the same fate, including Miss Irene Miller, my sister Adela
Pankhurst, and Mrs. How Martyn, B.Sc., who had recently become Honorary
Secretary of the London Committee of the Women's Social and Political
Union.[13]
Meanwhile, some of the poor women who had marched from the East End and
who had been denied admission to the Lobby, were resting their tired
limbs on the stone benches in the long entrance hall, and after Mrs.
Cobden Sanderson had made her attempt to speak and had been hustled
away, she seated herself quietly beside these women and began to talk
with them. Shortly afterwards a young policeman came up and abruptly
ordered her away and, as she did not go he seized her and dragged her
to the police station.
The next morning the women were brought up at Rochester Row Police
Court before Mr. Horace Smith. Mrs. Cobden Sanderson's sisters, Mrs.
Cobden Unwin and Mrs. Cobden Sickert and several friends and relatives
of the other women, had come early in order that they might be sure
of obtaining a seat in Court. Whilst another trial was in progress
the Usher had asked them to leave the Court for the present in order
to make room for other people, saying, "You shall be allowed in again
when your own case comes on." They at once acceded to his request, but
were prevented from returning and were subsequently told that no women
would be allowed to enter. Some twenty or thirty of us had by this time
congregated in the large entrance hall, but, though men were constantly
passing in and out of the Court where the trial was taking place,
admittance was denied to us. Many of us wished to testify as witnesses,
but we were told that we could not go into the Court, and were taken
into a side room, where an attempt was made to lock us in. To prevent
this, we insisted upon standing in the doorway.
In the meantime the case against the ten Suffragists was being hurried
through. They were all put into the dock together. After the police
evidence had been heard against them, Mrs. Cobden Sanderson asked leave
to make a statement. You must not picture her to yourself as being
either big-boned, plain-looking and aggressive and wearing "mannish"
clothes, or as emotional and overstrung. On the contrary, she is just
what Reynolds, Hoppner, Sir Henry Raeburn, or Romney with his softest
and tenderest touch, would have loved to paint. Not very tall, she is
comfortably and firmly knit and as she walks she puts her foot down
quite firmly, in a dignified and stately way. She is always dressed
in low-toned greys and lilacs, and her clothes are gracefully and
delicately wrought, with all sorts of tiny tuckings and finishings
which give a suggestion of daintiest detail without any loss of
simplicity or breadth. She has a shower of hair like spun silver that
crinkles itself in the most original and charming way, and which she
binds around with broad ribbon, lest its loose falling strands should
mar the neatness of her aspect. Her cheeks are tinged with the soft
dull rose that one sees in pastel, and her eyes have the most genial
and benevolent glance.
Speaking now to the Magistrate, she said, quite quietly, that she had
gone to the House of Commons to demand the vote; that so long as women
were deprived of citizen rights and had, therefore, no constitutional
means of obtaining redress, they had a right to be heard in the House
of Commons itself. She wished to take the whole responsibility of
the demonstration upon her own shoulders. "If anyone is guilty," she
said, "it is I. I was arrested as one of the ringleaders, and being
the eldest of these, I was most responsible." Then she quoted in her
defence the words of Mr. John Burns, who was now the President of the
Local Government Board and who, in circumstances similar to those in
which she was placed, had said, "I am a rebel because I am an outlaw. I
am a law-breaker because I desire to be a law-maker."
At this point the Magistrate, who had repeatedly interrupted her,
refused to hear any more, or to allow any statement at all from the
other prisoners, although in doing so, he was disregarding every legal
precedent. He said that each of the ten defendants must enter into
her own recognisances to keep the peace for six months and must find
a surety for her good behaviour in £10, and that if she failed to do
this, she must go to prison for two months in the second division. The
women at once protested against this mockery of a trial, and raising a
banner bearing the words "Women should vote for the laws they obey and
the taxes they pay" declared that they would not leave the dock until
they had been allowed the right to which all prisoners were entitled,
namely that of making a statement in their own defence. But Mr. Horace
Smith cared nothing for the justice of what they said; he merely called
the police and the women were forcibly removed.
The Police Court authorities now announced to those of us who were
waiting in the witness room that the case was over and that our friends
had been taken to Holloway. I can scarcely express our feelings of
indignation. It seemed, indeed, terrible that ten upright, earnest
women should have been thus hustled off to prison, without a word from
their friends, after a trial lasting less than half an hour.
Some protesting, others filled with silent consternation, the women
turned to go, but I, myself, felt that I could not leave without a
single word of rebuke to those who had conducted the proceedings
against us so shamefully. I therefore returned to the door of the inner
court and asked to be admitted. "It is all over," said the doorkeepers,
"there is nothing to interest you now;" but I walked quickly past them
and entered the court. It was quite a small room; one could easily
make oneself heard without raising one's voice, and as shortly as I
could, I told the magistrate how women had been refused admittance
whilst the trial was in progress, and how some who had actually taken
their seats had been tricked into leaving. I pointed out to him that as
it was customary to allow the general public, and especially friends of
the prisoners, to be present in court, it was grossly unfair to refuse
to do so in this case, and likely to destroy confidence in the justice
of the trial. I was explaining that even the women who had wished to
testify as voluntary witnesses had been kept out of the court, when the
magistrate interrupted me saying, "There is no truth in any of your
statements. The court was crowded."
I was then seized by two policemen, dragged across the outer lobby and
flung into the street. Here a great mass of people had assembled and
I felt that I ought not to go away without telling them something of
the cause for which we were fighting and of the very scanty justice
which had been doled out to our women. I tried to speak to them,
though I had been rendered almost breathless by the violent manner of
my ejection, and only to those who were near me could I make myself
heard. In a moment, I hardly knew how or why, I was again seized by
the policeman and dragged back into the court house. Soon afterwards
I found myself in the dock before Mr. Horace Smith, and was charged
with causing an obstruction and with the use of violent and abusive
language. I protested against the latter half of the charge and it was
immediately withdrawn. At greater length than on the first occasion, I
was then able to describe all that had happened within the precincts
of the court. Many of our friends and members, on hearing that all was
not over, had returned and from amongst them I called as witnesses to
the truth of my statement, Mrs. Cobden Unwin, Mrs. Cobden Sickert and a
number of other ladies, but their testimony was ignored and I was found
guilty and sentenced either to pay a fine of £1 or to undergo fourteen
days' imprisonment in the third and lowest class. Of course I chose the
latter alternative, and was taken to join my comrades in the cells. But
now, instead of being ordered away as before, our friends were allowed
to come up and bring us lunch and talk to us for a little while.
The police court cells were small and dark, furnished only with a
wooden seat fastened to the wall and a sanitary convenience. The walls
were whitewashed, the floors were of stone, and each of the cells
opened into a long stone passage, whose barred windows overlooked
the courtyard, beyond which we could see through gaps in the prison
buildings, the crowds of people who were assembled in the street
beyond. We were not shut up in the cells but allowed to move about from
one to another, or to stand in the passage, at the end of which were
several stone steps leading up to a strongly-fastened iron gate. This
passage, though dimly lit, was lighter than the cells and seemed to us
less insanitary, and so as we had many hours to wait before we were
to be taken to Holloway in the prison van, "Black Maria," we seated
ourselves together on the stone steps. Someone had brought with her a
volume of Browning, and Mrs. Lawrence read aloud to us from those of
the poems which seemed to apply to our own case.
All too soon the order came for us to go down to the van and, one by
one, as our names were called, we walked across the yard, climbed
the steps and took our places separately in one of the twelve little
compartments which it contained. I was one of the two last to enter,
and I had, therefore, a little more of the fresh air than most of the
others, and from the small barred window of my compartment, I could see
the burly form of the guarding policeman who stood in the passageway
between us and, when he moved from time to time, could see past him and
out the barred window in the door of the van to the streets through
which we drove.
How long the way seemed to Holloway, as the springless van rattled
over the stones and constantly bumped us against the narrow wooden
pens in which we sat! As it passed down the poor streets, the people
cheered--they always cheer the prison van. It was evening when we
arrived at our destination, and the darkness was closing in. As we
passed in single file through the great gates, we found ourselves
at the end of a long corridor with cubicles on either side. A woman
officer in holland dress, with a dark blue bonnet, with hanging strings
on her head and with a bundle of keys and chains jangling at her waist,
called out our names and the length of our sentences and locked each
of us separately into one of the cubicles, which were about four feet
square and quite dark. In the door of each cubicle was a little round
glass spy-hole, which might be closed by a metal flap on the outside.
Mine had been left open by mistake, and through it I could see a little
of what was going on outside.
Once we had been locked away, the wardress came from door to door,
taking down further particulars as to the profession, religion,
and so on, of each prisoner--there were many beside ourselves--and
asking if we and they could read and write and sew. Meanwhile the
prisoners called to each other over the tops of the cubicles in loud,
high-pitched voices. Every now and then the officer protested, but
still the noise continued. Soon another van load of prisoners arrived
and the cubicles being filled, several women together were put into
the same compartment,--sometimes as many as five in one of those tiny
places! It was very cold, and the stone floor made one's feet colder
still, yet for a long time--until I was so tired that I could no longer
stand--I was afraid to sit down because, in the darkness, one could not
see whether, as one feared, everything might be covered with vermin.
After waiting a long time, the prisoners were sent to see the doctor,
and we Suffragists stood waiting in a line together. The wardress
passed constantly up and down our ranks saying, "All of you unfasten
your chests." When at last we got into the doctor's room, he either
asked us no questions, or said in a mechanical way, "Are you all
right?" then he touched us quickly with his stethoscope and we passed
back to our cubicles.
After another long wait we were sent to change our clothes. In a large
room, lined with shelves, with two or three wardresses hovering about,
and one seated at a table, we were told to undress, three or four
at a time, and given a short cotton chemise to put on after we had
removed our own clothes. Then we were ordered to hand over our clothes,
hats, dresses, boots and all together, which were roughly tied up in
bundles and placed upon the shelves. Then, barefooted, and wearing
only the chemise, we were made to march across to the officer at the
table. The officer now told us to deliver to her our money, jewellery,
hair pins and hair combs. She gave us back the hair pins and kept
everything else, taking down particulars of these and entering them in
a book. At the same time she again asked us our names, ages, and the
other particulars which we had now given so often. After this we were
searched; the officer first telling us to put up our arms, and then
feeling us all over and examining our hair to see that we had nothing
concealed about us. A wardress then led us through a doorway into the
dimly lit bath room.
The baths were separated from each other by partitions, and from the
rest of the room by a half door which had no fastening and over which
the wardress could look. The baths were of black iron, covered with an
old and very dingy coat of white paint, which had worn off in patches
and the woodwork which enclosed them was stained and worn. I shrank
from entering the bath, but I was shivering with cold, and though I
feared it was not clean, there was something comforting about the
feel of the warm water. Presently the wardress hung some towels and
underclothing over the top of the wooden door, and told me to dress as
quickly as I could. I hastened to obey her, and found that the clothes,
which were badly sewn and badly cut, were of coarse calico and harsh
woollen stuff, and that there were innumerable strings to fasten around
one's waist. A strange-looking pair of corsets was supplied to each
of us, but these we were not obliged to wear unless we wished. The
stockings were of harsh thick wool, and had been badly darned. They
were black with red stripes going around the legs, and as they were
very wide, and there were no garters or suspenders to keep them up,
they were constantly slipping down and wrinkling around one's ankles.
On opening my door I found that outside all was hurry and confusion.
In the dim light the women were scrambling for the dresses, which were
lying in big heaps on the floor. The skirts of these dresses, like the
petticoats--of which there were three--were of the same width at both
top and bottom and they were gathered into wide bands which, though
fastened with tapes were not made to draw up, and had to be overlapped
in the most clumsy fashion in order to make them fit any but the very
stoutest women. The bodices were so strangely cut that even when worn
by very thin people they seemed bound to gape in front, especially as
they were fastened with only one button at the neck. My bodice, the
only one I could manage to get hold of, had several large rents, which
had been roughly cobbled together with black cotton.[14] Every article
of clothing was conspicuously stamped with the broad arrow, which was
painted black on light garments, and white on those which were dark.
I had scarcely fastened my dress when somebody called out to us all:
"Look sharp and put on your shoes." These we had to take for ourselves
from where they were bundled together on a wooden rack. None of them
seemed to be in pairs and they were heavy and clumsy, with leather
laces that, when one attempted to tie them, broke easily in the hand.
Lastly, white cotton caps fastened under the chin with strings and
stamped in black with the broad arrow, and the blue and white check
aprons and handkerchiefs, both of which looked like dusters,[15] were
given to us and we were led off on a long journey to the cells.
It seemed a sort of skeleton building that we were taken through--the
strangest place in which I had ever been. In every great oblong ward
or block through which we passed, though there were many stories,
one could see right down to the basement and up to the lofty roof.
The stone floors of the corridors lined the walls all the way round,
jutting out at the junctions of the stories like shelves some nine
or ten feet apart, being protected on the outer edge by an iron wire
trellis work four or five feet high, and having on the wall side rows
and rows and rows of numbered doors studded with nails. The various
stories were connected by flights of iron steps bordered by iron
trellis work, and reaching in slanting lines from corridor to corridor.
All the walls and doors were painted stone colour and all the iron work
was painted black.
We clattered up those seemingly endless flights and shuffled along
those mazy corridors in our heavy shoes and at last stopped at a small
office, rather like one of the pay desks which one sees in drapers'
shops, where our names and the length of our sentences and all the
various other particulars were verified once more, and the sheets for
the bed, a Bible and a number of other little books with black shiny
bindings, were given out to us. Annie Kenney had told us that a tooth
brush would be given to us if we asked for it, but that if we neglected
to do this, nothing would be said about it, and we might not be allowed
to have it later. As we waited in line I noticed that the other women
were eating chunks of brown bread,[16] but, though by this time I was
very hungry, none had been given to me. I asked Mrs. Baldock, who
stood next to me, where she had got her bread, and she told me that
one of the wardresses had given it to her, and seeing that I had been
overlooked, she broke off half her own small loaf and gave it to me.
These were the last words I was to have with my fellow prisoners, for,
whilst they had been put into the second class, I had been sentenced to
the third, and even in chapel they were hidden from me by a buttress.
After another long march through the prison corridors, a wardress, with
her jangling keys, unlocked a number of heavy iron doors and having
ordered each of us to enter one of them separately, shut them behind
us again with a loud bang. I now found myself in a small whitewashed
cell twelve or thirteen feet long by seven feet wide, and about nine
feet high. The floor was of stone. The window, which was high up near
the ceiling had many little panes, enclosed in a heavy iron frame-work
and guarded by strong iron bars outside. The iron door was studded
with nails and its round eye-like spy-hole was now covered on the
outside. On the left-hand side of the door was a small recess, some
four feet from the ground, in which, behind a pane of thick opaque
glass was a flickering gas jet which cast a dim light into the cell.
Under this recess was a small wooden shelf, somewhere about fourteen
or fifteen inches square, which I afterwards learnt was called the
table, and opposite this was a wooden stool. By the window, set into
the corner of the room, was another shelf about three feet six inches
high, with one about six inches from the floor immediately under it.
The lower shelf was for the mattress and bedding. The upper one held a
wooden spoon, a pint pot of block tin stamped with the broad arrow, a
wooden saltcellar, a small piece of hard yellow soap, a red card case
containing some prison rules and a card on which was printed a morning
and an evening prayer, a small oval hair brush without a handle, like a
good-sized nail brush, and a comb between three and four inches long.
On this shelf I was afterwards told to place my books and tooth brush.
These things had all to be kept in certain never varying positions. On
the floor, leaning against the wall under the window, were arranged
a number of utensils made of block tin, these being a plate, a small
water can holding about three pints of water, a tiny shallow wash-basin
less than a foot in diameter, and a small slop-pail with a lid. Two
little round brushes, in shape rather like those we use for brushing
clothes with, which were intended for sweeping the floor, a little tin
dust pan, and a piece of bath-brick wrapped in some rags for cleaning
the tins. These also were all placed in an order which, as I soon
learnt, was never to be changed. A small towel and a smaller table
cloth, both of them resembling dish cloths, hung on a nail. Propped
against the right-hand wall was the plank bed, with the pillow balanced
on top. The bed is, I think, two feet six inches in width, and when in
position for sleeping is raised up by two cross pieces to about two
inches from the floor.
As I was examining in wonder all these various things, a wardress
opened the door and said sharply, "What, have you not made your bed
yet? The light will be put out soon. You had better make haste!"
"Please can I have a nightdress?"[17] I asked, but she answered "No."
Then the iron door banged and I was left alone for the night.
After eating my little piece of bread, I did as I was told and tried to
sleep. But sleep is one of the hardest things to obtain in Holloway.
The bed is so hard, the blankets and sheets are scarcely wide enough
to cover one, and the pillow, filled with a kind of herb, seems as if
it were made of stone. The window is not made to open. The system of
ventilation is exceedingly bad, and though one is usually cold at night
one always suffers terribly from the want of air.
I learnt next day that we were as yet only in the admission cells,
and as everyone was too busy to set us to work we had nothing to do
but examine our books. These I found, in addition to the prayer book,
consisted of a Bible, a hymn book, a tract called "The Narrow Way,"
which was intended to show how easy it is to fall into temptation, and
a little book on health and cleanliness, which described the way in
which human beings are gradually poisoned when they were not able to
get enough fresh air.
The following day we were removed to the cells which we were to occupy
during the remainder of our imprisonment. Many of the ordinary cells
are exactly like the reception cells, but the cell into which I was now
put was smaller, but better lit than the reception cell, for it had a
larger window and there was a small electric light bulb attached to the
wall instead of the recessed gas jet. Hanging on a nail in the wall was
a large round badge made of yellow cloth bearing the number of the cell
and the letter and the number of its block in the prison. I was told to
attach this badge to a button on my bodice, and henceforth, like the
other prisoners, I was called by the number of my cell, which happened
to be twelve.
* * * * *
Suppose yourself to be one of the Third Class prisoners. Like them you
will follow the same routine. Each morning whilst it is still quite
dark you will be awakened by the tramp of heavy feet and the ringing
of bells; then the light is turned on. You wash in the tiny basin and
dress hurriedly. Soon you hear the rattle of keys and the noise of
iron doors. The sound comes nearer and nearer until it reaches your
own door. The wardress flings it open and orders sharply, "Empty your
slops, 12!" You hasten to do so, and return at the word of command.
Then, just as you have been shown, you roll your bed. The first sheet
is folded in four, then spread out on the floor, and rolled up from one
end, tightly, like a sausage. The second sheet is rolled round it, and
round this, one by one, the blankets and quilt. You must be careful to
do this very neatly or you are certain to be reprimanded.
Next clean your tins. You have three pieces of rag with which to do
this. Two of them are frayed scraps of brown serge, like your dress,
and the other is a piece of white calico. These rags were probably not
new and fresh when you came here, but had been well used by previous
occupants of the cell. Folded up in these rags you will find a piece
of bath-brick. You have been told to rub this bath-brick on the stone
floor until you have scoured off a quantity of its dust. Then you take
one of the brown rags and soap this on the yellow cake which you use
for your own face. Then with the soapy rag you rub over one of the
tins, and this done, dip the rag into the brick-dust which is lying on
the floor and rub it on to the soapy tin. Then you rub it again with
the second brown rag and polish with the white calico one that remains.
You must be sure to make all the tins very bright.
Presently the door opens and shuts again. Someone has left you a pail
of water; with it you must scrub the stool, bed and table, and wash
the shelves. Then scrub the floor. All this ought to be done before
breakfast, but unless you are already experienced in such matters it
will take you very much longer.
Before you have done your task there comes again the jangling of keys
and clanging of iron doors. Then, "Where's your pint, 12?" You hand it
out, spread your little cloth and set your plate ready. Your pint pot
is filled with gruel (oatmeal and water without any seasoning), and six
ounces of bread are thrust upon your plate. Then the door closes. Now
eat your breakfast, and then, if your cleaning is done, begin to sew.
Perhaps it is a sheet you have to do. Of these, with hem top and bottom
and mid-seam, the minimum quantity which you must finish, as you will
learn from your "Labour Card" is 15 per week.
At half past eight it is time for chapel. The officer watches you take
your place in line amongst the other women. They all wear numbered
badges like yours, and are dressed as you are. A few, very few, four
or five perhaps, out of all the hundreds in the Third Division, wear
red stars on caps and sleeves. This is to show that they are first
offenders who have previously borne a good character and have someone
to testify to that fact. Every now and then the wardress cries out that
someone is speaking, and as you march along there is a running fire
of criticism and rebuke. "Tie up your cap string, 27. You look like a
cinder-picker. You must learn to dress decently here." "Hold up your
head, number 30." "Hurry up, 23." In the chapel it is your turn. "Don't
look about you, 12." In comes the clergyman. He reads the lessons and
all sing and pray together.
Can they be really criminals, all these poor, sad-faced women? How soft
their hearts are! How easily they are moved! If there is a word in the
services which touches the experience of their lives, they are in tears
at once. Anything about children, home, affection, a word of pity for
the sinner, or of striving to do better,--any of these things they feel
deeply. Singing and the sound of the organ make them cry. Many of them
are old, with shrunken cheeks and scant white hair. Few seem young.
All are anxious and careworn. They are broken down by poverty, sorrow
and overwork. Think of them going back to sit, each in her lonely cell,
to brood for hours on the causes which brought her here, wondering
what is happening to those she loves outside, tortured, perhaps, by
the thought that she is needed there. How can these women bear the
slow-going, lonely hours? Now go back to your cell with their faces in
your eyes.
At twelve o'clock comes dinner. A pint of oatmeal porridge and six
ounces of bread three days a week, six ounces of suet pudding and six
ounces of bread two days a week, and on two other days eight ounces of
potatoes and six ounces of bread.
After dinner you will leave your cell no more that day, except to fetch
water between two and three o'clock, unless it be one of the three days
a week on which you are sent to exercise. In that case, having chosen
one for yourself from a bundle of drab-coloured capes, and having
fastened your badge to it, you follow the other women outside. There,
all march slowly round in single file with a distance of three or four
yards between each prisoner. Two of the very oldest women, who can only
totter along, go up and down at one side, passing and repassing each
other.
If you came into the prison on Wednesday, the first day for you to
exercise will be Saturday. How long it seems since you were last in
the outside world, since you saw the sky and the sunshine and felt the
pure fresh air against your cheek! How vividly everything strikes you
now. Every detail stands out in your mind with never-to-be-forgotten
clearness. Perhaps it is a showery Autumn day. The blue sky is flecked
with quickly driving clouds. The sun shines brightly and lights up
the puddles on the ground and the raindrops still hanging from the
eaves and window ledges. The wind comes in little playful gusts. The
free pigeons are flying about in happy confidence. You notice every
variation in their glossy plumage. Some are grey with purple throats,
some have black markings on their wings, some are a pale brown colour,
some nearly white; one is a deep purple, almost black, with shining
white bars on his wings and tail. All are varied--no two are alike. The
gaunt prison buildings surround everything, but in all this shimmering
brightness, in this sweet, free air, they have lost for the moment
their gloomy terror.
Now, your eye lights on your fellow prisoners. You are brought back to
the dreary truth of prison life. With measured tread, and dull listless
step, they shuffle on. Their heads are bent, their eyes cast down. They
do not see the sun and the brightness, the precious sky or the hovering
birds. They do not even see the ground at their feet, for they pass
over sunk stones, through wet and mud, though there be dry ground on
either side. The prison system has eaten into their hearts. They have
lost hope, and the sight of nature has no power to make them glad. It
may be that when next you walk with them you will feel as they do.
These gloomy overshadowing walls and the remembrance of your narrow
cell, with its endless twilight and dreary, useless tasks may have
filled your mind and driven away all other thoughts.
Once inside, the last break in the day will be supper at five o'clock
(like breakfast, six ounces of bread and a pint of gruel), except that
just before the light goes out at night, comes a noisy knocking at
every door, and the cry, "Are you all right?" Then darkness, a long,
sleepless night, and the awakening to another day like yesterday and
like to-morrow.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] The Secretarial duties had now increased so greatly that no one
person could cope with them without giving the whole of her time to the
work. As I was unable to do this, I had been obliged to resign.
[14] Some days afterwards it was condemned and I had a somewhat better
one given to me.
[15] We afterwards learnt that one clean handkerchief was supplied each
week. We had no pockets to keep them in.
[16] Each prisoner, on the day of entering is according to prison rules
to be given a supper consisting of six ounces of meat and one pint of
cocoa.
[17] Since this time night dresses have been introduced into Holloway,
and are given to Suffragettes, and, let us hope, to other prisoners.