The Making of Mollie

  I felt all nervous and fidgety for the rest of the morning. At around eleven Mother told me to walk Julia to Christina’s house, so I did, but that wasn’t very distracting. As soon as we left the house, Julia turned to me and asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Now shut up and keep walking.’

  Julia gave me her most annoyingly pious look, the sort of look that says, ‘you are being very rude but because I am such a good and saintly person I am not going to say anything about it.’

  ‘I know there’s something,’ she said. ‘If there’s anything troubling your conscience, you really should go to confession, or at least talk to one of the nuns about it.’

  I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.

  ‘My conscience is perfectly clear,’ I said, honestly. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Julia.

  I clenched my fists. I knew that if I lost my temper I was perfectly capable of letting the truth slip out in the heat of rage.

  ‘Quite sure,’ I said. ‘Now come on, stop dawdling.’

  Luckily, we had reached Christina’s house so Julia went in (probably to do some praying for my guilty soul), and I walked slowly home, running through the morning’s events for a millionth time. By the time I got home I had reassured myself that we hadn’t left any clues behind. I still felt a bit fidgety, but I didn’t feel scared.

  And then, at about two o’clock, when Phyllis and I were both sitting in the drawing room – her reading a novel in a half-hearted sort of way, me trying to read my French textbook – and Mother was playing some not-very-relaxing Beethoven on the piano, it happened. There was a loud knocking on the door and when Maggie answered it, Mabel ran in, looking very flushed and excited, and announced, ‘Phyllis, I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, really, Mabel,’ said Mother. ‘What’s all this about?’

  Mabel went even more red and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Carberry, but I do need to speak to Phyllis urgently.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Phyllis. ‘Sorry, Mother.’

  They went up to Phyllis’s room.

  ‘The sooner that girl is married the better,’ said Mother. ‘She seems a very flighty young lady.’

  But I barely heard her because I was absolutely burning to know what Mabel was telling Phyllis. I knew she wouldn’t have rushed around here in such a state if something important hadn’t happened. I even considered sneaking up and listening outside the door, but I know that is the sort of behaviour that is unworthy of a suffragette. And a suffragette is what I officially am. Besides, I knew if it was general I.W.F.L. news Phyllis would tell me sooner or later. And I was right. After about half an hour Mabel and Phyllis came back into the drawing room. Phyllis’s eyes were bright and she looked as if she could barely suppress her excitement.

  ‘I’m very sorry about bursting in like that,’ said Mabel. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Well, it’s all right, Mabel,’ said Mother. ‘But I do think you should try to calm yourself. It can’t be good for your digestion, all this rushing about the place.’

  ‘No, Mrs. Carberry,’ said Mabel humbly. ‘Goodbye.’

  When she was gone Mother said, ‘Is Mabel’s engagement still on?’

  ‘What?’ said Phyllis. ‘Oh yes. It’s quite all right. She just wanted to tell me that, um, that they’re going to Paris for a honeymoon.’

  ‘Paris!’ said Mother. ‘Good Lord, how grand. Your father and I went to Killarney, and very lucky we thought ourselves too.’

  And before she could go into a reverie about the good old days of the nineteenth century, I gave Phyllis a meaningful look and said, ‘Phyllis, will you help me find that ribbon I was looking for? I can’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘What?’ said Phyllis. I stared at her even more meaningfully and raised my eyebrows (both of them, sadly, although I tried to just raise one) until she said, ‘Oh, all right.’

  We went up to Phyllis’s room and closed the door.

  ‘What did Mabel want?’ I asked.

  ‘Ssh, not so loud,’ said Phyllis. She took a deep breath. ‘It’s happened. Militant action has begun.’

  An extraordinary feeling washed over me. I felt hot and cold at the same time, and my stomach seemed to tie itself in knots.

  ‘What sort of action?’ I said, or rather croaked. Because suddenly my mouth had become very dry. Somehow I hadn’t expected the news of what we’d done to the postbox to get around so quickly. Now that it had, it all felt a bit overwhelming.

  ‘Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington and Mrs. Palmer and some of the other ladies have broken lots of windows,’ said Phyllis. ‘In the GPO, and Government Buildings, and lots of other places.’

  For a moment I wasn’t sure if I was hearing things correctly.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘They’ve all been arrested,’ said Phyllis. She was almost trembling with excitement. ‘I didn’t know they were planning it. Well, of course, none of us did.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I said. I was stunned. How could we have predicted that we would commit our daring deed on the very morning that our movement’s leaders would spring into militant action? It wasn’t as if they were basing their activities on Harry’s absence and Eccles Street’s burst water pipes (At least, it would be very odd if they were).

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ said Phyllis. ‘They’re such heroines. Everyone will know how serious the movement is now.’

  ‘Did they do anything else?’ I asked. ‘Besides smash windows I mean.’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’ said Phyllis. ‘It’s more than any of the rest of us have done.’

  ‘Of course it’s enough,’ I said quickly. ‘I was just wondering.’

  ‘Well, as far as I know, that was it,’ said Phyllis. ‘I only wish I could have done something too, but obviously they couldn’t have told just anyone that they were planning it – not mere rank-and-file members like me and Kathleen and Mabel.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

  ‘I must go and tell Kathleen,’ said Phyllis. ‘Mabel hasn’t had a chance to call on her, although of course her aunt might have heard and told her already. In fact, everyone will know soon, it’ll be in the evening papers.’

  A few minutes later, she was gone, practically skipping up the road on her way to Kathleen’s house. She looked so happy, but I didn’t really know what I felt, apart from slightly stunned. I wanted to rush off to tell Nora the news, but Mother still wanted me to make myself useful. By which she now apparently meant helping her trim my last summer’s hat to ‘make it look presentable’ (I think it looked perfectly presentable as it was, but Mother says it looked like an old rag, which is a bit harsh if you ask me).

  Unsurprisingly, measuring bits of ribbon wasn’t enough to stop my thoughts whirring around like a top. I was comparing the length of the new ribbon to the old one when a horrible thought struck me. What if Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington and the other window-breakers got blamed for what we had done? What if our postbox painting meant extra time was added to their prison sentences? I felt sick at the thought, and must have looked it too because Mother suddenly said, ‘Are you all right, Mollie? You’ve gone very pale. I really think you must have Harry’s flu.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ I said, untruthfully. ‘Mother, may I go to see Nora later? I want to ask her something about school.’

  ‘Out again?’ said Mother. ‘You spend far too much time gallivanting.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, you sound like Aunt Josephine,’ I said.

  Mother looked horrified. I suppose it was quite a terrible insult. She took a deep breath and then said, ‘Well, I suppose you can call over to her for an hour, as long as it’s all right with Mrs. Cantwell.’

  ‘It always is,’ I said. I started to get up from my seat, but Mother reached over and gently pushed me back down again.

  ‘When you’ve finished helping with this hat,’ she said. Which was fair enough, I suppose. Fifteen minutes later,
I was knocking on Nora’s front door. Agnes went off to fetch her and she came bouncing down the stairs.

  ‘Is that a new hat?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s last summer’s,’ I said. ‘I just helped Mother trim it.’ And I glanced around to make sure nobody was within earshot. Agnes had gone back to the kitchen, but I didn’t want to risk Mrs. Cantwell overhearing.

  ‘I have news,’ I whispered. ‘Important news about … you know what. Let’s go to your room.’

  Nora looked a bit like I must have looked this morning. When we were in her room she said, ‘Did someone see us?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s bigger than that.’ And I told her what I’d learned, and how worried I was that the ladies would get blamed for our slogan-painting.

  ‘Well, if that happens,’ said Nora bravely, ‘we’ll just have to own up.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘We can’t let them be punished for what we did. Besides, some people would argue that we should own up to painting it anyway. I mean, that we should have the courage of our convictions.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure about that,’ said Nora.

  ‘Neither am I, really,’ I agreed. ‘But I am sure about the other part. We can’t let them be blamed for something they didn’t do, even if they approve of us doing it. If you see what I mean.’

  Nora nodded to show that she did.

  ‘When will we know?’ said Nora. ‘What exactly they’re being blamed for, I mean.’

  ‘It might be in the newspaper,’ I said. ‘Tonight or tomorrow.’

  We looked at each other nervously.

  ‘You’re not regretting doing it, are you?’ I asked.

  Nora seemed to pull herself together.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Never. It’s the best thing we ever did.’

  And when she said that, I knew that it was true. All our lives we’ve just done ordinary things. We’ve gone to school and read books and climbed trees and played games and had enemies (Grace) and friends (Stella) and annoying big brothers (you know who). But nothing we’d done before had been like this. None of it had been bigger than ourselves, bigger than everyone we knew. Standing up for women – standing up not just for what we want our lives to be like when we grow up, but for everyone else too – was bigger than ourselves. And even though we’d only painted something on a postbox, which doesn’t seem like much in the greater scheme of things, other people would see that postbox and know that there were people out there who thought votes for women was important. What we’d done wasn’t nearly as meaningful or brave as what Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington and the others had done. But it was a big step for us. I was very glad we’d done it. And if I had to, I would go to the police and tell them so.

  I couldn’t stay at Nora’s for too long – we hoped her father might come home early with an evening paper, but he was working late. When I left, we arranged to meet first thing tomorrow.

  ‘We’ll definitely know what’s happened by then,’ I said. ‘Even if I have to run out and buy a newspaper with my own money.’

  ‘Do you actually have any money of your own at the moment?’ asked Nora. ‘You’re not terribly good at saving.’

  ‘I have two and six left in my money box,’ I said indignantly.

  Nora apologised for doubting me and said she would try and buy a paper too.

  I was so nervy and fidgety when I got home that Mother asked again if I was all right.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I’ve just been studying too hard.’

  Mother let out a very undignified snort of laughter at this.

  ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Well, I hope we see the results of this in your summer exams.’

  When Mother left the room, I asked Phyllis if she’d had any more news about the prisoners but she hadn’t. None of her friends had called around and Father hadn’t brought home an evening newspaper.

  ‘And I don’t think I’ll hear anything more until tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I told Mother I wanted to call around to Kathleen later and she said she needed me to stay at home and help her sort out old sheets. And I didn’t want to kick up too much of a fuss now because I know there might be a lot to do over the next week.’

  So there was nothing we could do but wait until the next day. Even the latest installment of Peter Fitzgerald’s adventures couldn’t distract me, although they were frightfully dramatic (He is now being pursued across an Arabian desert by the leader of the gang of jewel thieves). When I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep for ages, and when I finally did fall asleep, I had terrible dreams about being chased by policemen while covered in paint.

  I felt exhausted the next morning, as if I really had been chased all night. When I came down to breakfast Phyllis didn’t look as if she’d got much sleep either. But when the meal was over, she gave me a meaningful look as she left the dining room. I followed her up to her room. There was a copy of today’s newspaper lying on her bed.

  ‘Page six,’ she said.

  I grabbed it and hurriedly turned the pages. And there it was, halfway down the page, under a piece about the inquiry into the sinking of the Titanic. I read it aloud: ‘“In North Dublin Police Court yesterday Hilda Webb, Maud Lloyd, Marjorie Hasler, and Kathleen Houston were charged with having, in furtherance of the suffragette movement, smashed the windows of the Custom House, Post Office and Local Marine Board Office between five and six o’clock that morning.” I thought you said Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington was arrested too?’

  ‘Different police court,’ said Phyllis. ‘Keep reading.’

  I looked further down the report and there it was. ‘“In the Southern Court Margaret Palmer, Jane Murphy, Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington and Margaret Murphy were charged with having, with a like object, broken the windows of the Land Commission and Ship Street Military Barracks.’” I kept reading. ‘They’ve all been admitted to bail,’ I said. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means they’re free, for now,’ said Phyllis. ‘They’ve been let out until the trial.’

  I looked at the report again. ‘It just says they’re being charged with breaking windows,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Phyllis. ‘They didn’t do anything else. Anything else illegal, that is. ’

  I felt relief rush through me. So they weren’t being accused of painting the postboxes, and me and Nora hadn’t got them into more trouble.

  ‘Now, I really must go and see Kathleen,’ said Phyllis. ‘Mother can’t possibly want me to help her around the house now.’

  And off she went. I sighed and went down to the dining room to work on my Latin, but I’d only got one verse into Ovid’s ‘Last Night in Rome’ when there was a knock on the door, and a moment later Nora hurried into the room.

  ‘Maggie told me you were in here,’ she said. ‘Did you see? They haven’t been charged.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m so relieved.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Nora. ‘And I met Kathleen and Phyllis on my way over, and they were so excited they deigned to talk to me. Apparently, they – the arrested ladies, I mean – are going to talk at a Phoenix Park meeting tomorrow.’

  We looked at each other.

  ‘We must go,’ I said.

  ‘Of course we must,’ said Nora. ‘I mean, we’re fellow militants.’

  And we looked at each other and felt very proud.

  ‘I sort of feel we should sing the song,’ I said.

  ‘Better not,’ said Nora. ‘Someone might hear. But I will hum it on my way home.’

  Just then, there was a very loud knock on the front door. Nora and I looked at each other.

  ‘It couldn’t be …’ My voice trailed off.

  ‘The police? Of course not. How could it be?’ said Nora. But she didn’t sound as confident as I hoped.

  And then I heard the door open and Harry’s voice booming, ‘I’m home!’

  Nora and I both sagged with relief.

  ‘I’ve never been so glad to hear that horrible voice,’ I said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Nora. ??
?I thought you said he wasn’t back until Sunday?’

  ‘He’s not meant to be,’ I said. ‘Maybe Uncle Piers has sent him back because he’s so awful.’

  Sadly, this was not the case, as I found out when Nora and I went downstairs. Harry had returned because just as he recovered my cousin Margaret had arrived home from France and promptly come down with scarlet fever. Which is of course very serious, not that Harry seemed to care about that.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine,’ he said. ‘And besides, I did have to get away from all those germs, especially after being sick myself.’

  ‘But, Harry, why didn’t you send a telegram?’ asked Mother, once she’d made sure Harry hadn’t had any direct contact with Margaret and so wasn’t riddled with scarlet fever germs. ‘It’s not like Piers to just pack you off without a word.’

  Harry looked slightly shame-faced, which is extremely unusual for him.

  ‘Well, actually, Uncle Piers did give me the money to send one yesterday afternoon, but I thought it was an awful waste when I was going to see you so soon,’ he said. ‘So, um, I spent it on things to eat on the train.’

  Mother was very annoyed and told him he would have to pay back Uncle Piers with his own money. I can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy seeing him get into trouble. It happens so rarely, after all.

  ‘Can I go over to Frank’s house?’ asked Harry, after he’d solemnly promised to send Uncle Piers the money he’d essentially stolen. ‘I haven’t seen him since I got sick on his feet.’

  Poor Frank. Anyone getting sick on your feet would be bad enough, but Harry! You’d have to burn your shoes afterwards.

  ‘Harry, don’t say such disgusting things,’ said Mother. ‘All right, you can go, but you must be back here for supper.’

  And, just like that, things were back to normal. If I’d just admitted to spending telegram money on sweets I would definitely not have been allowed go round to Nora’s house straight afterwards.