She was there before us, bouncing on the tips of her toes as if she were so excited she couldn’t stand still. When she saw us she ran towards us, a suitcase swinging by her side.
‘Thank goodness!’ she gasped. ‘Quick, we’d better go. My mother could be here any minute.’
‘Your mother!’ said Phyllis. ‘Oh Nora, she hasn’t found out where we’re going, has she?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that,’ said Nora. ‘Come on!’
And she practically ran down the road towards the tram stop. Phyllis and I hurried after her and caught up with her at the junction of Drumcondra Road. Once we’d turned the corner Nora paused to catch her breath.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Mother is going around to Mrs. Sheffield’s house. She wanted to walk out with me and I had to tell her I was late to meet you and couldn’t even wait for her to put her hat on. And then I ran all the way to the corner. I couldn’t risk her seeing our bags. She’d be bound to ask some very nosy questions.’
‘But surely she saw your bag if you were both getting ready to go at the same time?’ said Phyllis.
‘I hid it under the hedge last night,’ said Nora, triumphantly. ‘So I could just grab it on my way out without being seen.’
Phyllis looked impressed despite herself.
‘Good thinking,’ she said. ‘Now come on, girls, let’s get that tram.’ And the three of us ran across the road to the tram stop.
It felt terribly exciting to be out during the week on suffragette business, and I couldn’t help thinking of the last time Nora and I set out on a mission. Tonight’s outing was a lot less nerve-wracking, however, especially as Phyllis was with us. And the whole thing wasn’t as dangerous (or as illegal) as painting on a postbox. I said this to Nora and Phyllis said, ‘Oh, do stop going on about that postbox,’ which is a bit much considering she has never risked her liberty for the suffragette cause and we have. But then she paid for our tram fare so I forgave her.
‘Now remember,’ she said quietly, as we took our seats at the back of the tram., ‘there might be serious trouble this evening. More than at any of the suffrage meetings. This is the Prime Minister, and he’s going to attract a lot more people than even Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington ever does – people who are for him AND against him. So if anything starts when we’re out on the street, I want both of you to go into a shop and stay there until I come and find you. All right?’
We both nodded meekly and I gripped the handle of the carpet bag with both hands as the tram shot into town. Imagine if I left it behind me, like the time I lost my favourite gloves! Or what if someone stole it (a less likely prospect, I have to admit – I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to snatch a rather threadbare old carpet bag). Nora was clutching her suitcase with equal firmness.
‘What did your mother want with Mrs. Sheffield, anyway?’ I asked, as the tram headed down Dorset Street.
‘You won’t believe it,’ said Nora with a sigh. ‘She’s going to collect Barnaby. He’s coming to a late tea in my house.’
‘He’s what?’ I cried.
‘Ssh!’ said Phyllis, who was sitting on my other side.
‘Sorry,’ I said, and turned back to Nora. ‘Why on earth is he doing that?’
‘It’s a treat for Grace,’ said Nora. ‘You know, because she’s going home on Monday.’
Imagine thinking the Menace visiting your house would be a treat. I hope Grace can exert her civilising influence on him. If he paid an official visit to our house he’d probably eat all my socks or get sick in my shoes or something. Anyway, at least Nora was missing his little tea party.
When we reached town there were quite a lot of people milling about, more than I’ve ever seen on a Thursday evening.
‘Lots of people will be coming in to see Mr. Asquith,’ said Phyllis. I wondered were there any Ancient Hooligans in the groups already gathering around the Pillar on Sackville Street. We got off the tram in College Green and followed Phyllis through the crowds who were waiting to see the Prime Minister. Some of them were already waving little union flags, while others had green flags and banners. We wriggled through them and walked towards Grafton Street (where a rude man barged past us and nearly knocked me off the pavement and under a delivery van). After making our way along the busy pavements we turned off Grafton Street onto a small lane where, opposite a church, there was a smart little hat shop that I’d never noticed before.
‘Here we are,’ said Phyllis, and she pushed open the door. A bell jangled and a slightly harassed-looking young woman emerged from a curtained door.
‘Hello, Miss Murphy,’ said Phyllis. ‘Can I have a quiet word?’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Murphy. ‘In here, please.’
Phyllis followed her through the curtained door. As she pulled back the curtain, she looked out and mouthed the words, ‘Don’t touch anything’ at me and Nora. As if we were babies! Though I must admit that some of the hats on display did look very tempting. I wondered what I’d look like in a particularly charming straw one with a cherry-red ribbon and an arrangement of berries and cherry-blossom on one side. A moment later Phyllis stuck her head out from behind the curtain and said, ‘Come on, then.’
Nora and I hurried through the curtain and into a small hall. There was a door to the left that opened onto what was clearly a dressing room, in which clients could try on hats in front of a full length mirror. Phyllis and Miss Murphy were waiting for us there.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Miss Murphy. She smiled at me and Nora, and the harassed expression lifted from her features. She looked much younger. ‘You’re a pair of young sports, that’s what you are,’ she said, and went back to the shop.
‘All right,’ said Phyllis. ‘You start getting changed. Hopefully Mabel will have arrived by the time you get those skirts on and can help me do your hair.’
I hoped so too. I didn’t really trust Phyllis to put up our hair properly. At least, put it up so that it stayed up. She’s bad enough at doing her own. Nora and I took off our shoes, wriggled out of our skirts and petticoats and put on the skirts that Mabel had borrowed for us. Luckily, Nora’s was a decent fit.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said.
‘Mine is a bit long,’ I said. I tucked my blouse under the waistband and tried to look tall.
‘Don’t forget they won’t be too long once you’ve got your shoes on,’ said Phyllis. ‘Thank goodness waists have got higher, you can’t tell you’re not wearing corsets.’
Nora and I put our shoes on, Nora stuffing some cotton wool into the toes of hers. And thanks to her long skirts, you couldn’t see the scuffs at all. Well, hardly at all. We walked around a bit in the shoes, trying to get used to the unfamiliar high heels.
‘See?’ said Phyllis. ‘The skirts aren’t too long at all now. Oh thank goodness!’
Mabel had arrived.
‘Hello, all!’ said Mabel. ‘Goodness, girls, you do look grown up – apart from the plaits. Right, Mollie first, I think. She needs the most work.’
I sat down and let Mabel work her magic. This time, probably because she’d had some practice, it didn’t take her half as long to put up my mane and then move on to Nora. While she ran a brush through Nora’s red curls, I got up and went to the full-length looking glass that stood in a corner of the room.
‘Gosh,’ I said softly.
I almost didn’t recognise myself in the glass. I don’t know if it was the hair or the long skirt or the shoes – which looked right with the long skirt, in a way they hadn’t looked when I tried them at home with my stockinged legs sticking out of them. I didn’t even feel like I was in disguise anymore. Or if I was, I was dressed as my future self.
‘I suppose you’ll do,’ said Phyllis, slamming Mother’s hat on my head and jamming in a hat pin to keep it in place. ‘As long as you don’t stand in direct sunlight.’
‘I think I look jolly good!’ I said indignantly. Mabel laughed and pinned a last lock of hair on top of Nora’s head.
&
nbsp; ‘You both look marvellous,’ she said. ‘Right, Nora, go and feast your eyes on your unnatural beauty.’
Nora’s hair looked very nice – much better than when she’d tried to do it herself. But I realised that when she was walking towards the glass she did look a bit funny.
‘I think you need more cotton in the shoes,’ I said. ‘You’re almost slipping out of them.’
‘I’ll ask Miss Murphy,’ said Phyllis, and she slipped back through the curtained entrance into the shop. She returned a moment later with some cotton wool.
‘If this doesn’t work, you may have to give up,’ she said sternly, handing it over to Nora. ‘We can’t have you wobbling around drawing attention to us.’
Nora’s face was grave as she prodded the cotton wool into place. She put the shoes back on and took a few tentative steps. This time, she looked much more at ease. Though I must say I don’t understand why grown-ups wear high heels. They really aren’t very practical at all.
‘Good,’ said Phyllis. ‘Now come on, we’d better get down to Nassau Street.’
The pavements were even more crowded when we got back to Grafton Street. I felt terribly conspicuous in my new garb, but to my great relief no one seemed to notice anything strange about me or Nora. Maybe things would have been different if there hadn’t been so many people around, but as it was we could just blend in with the crowd. The crowds, in fact, were so numerous at the Nassau Street end of Grafton Street that Mabel suggested taking a more circuitous route. So we went down Duke Street, where a man (who Nora said afterwards must have been intoxicated) emerged from Davy Byrne’s pub and cried, ‘Hello there, young misses!’ after us as we passed. We turned onto Dawson Street, and I couldn’t resist looking at the books displayed in the windows of Hodges Figgis.
‘Don’t dawdle,’ said Phyllis tersely, pulling me away by the arm as if I were a kid and not the sophisticated young lady she wanted me to be.
‘The crowds are too thick,’ said Mabel. ‘Let’s go back around by Molesworth Street.’ She strode off in that direction, the rest of us hurrying in her wake.
‘Where’s Kathleen?’ Phyllis asked. ‘Is she meeting us there?’
‘She’s going to protest in Sackville Street,’ was Mabel’s reply. ‘She had to meet her mother for dinner in the Gresham so she wasn’t sure if she’d get over here in time.’
‘I can’t walk fast in these shoes,’ muttered Nora as we crossed the road, narrowly avoiding being hit by a ’bus.
‘It can’t be long now,’ I reassured her. ‘Can it?’
Luckily, it wasn’t. We followed Mabel down Frederick Street and onto Nassau Street, where the crowds were already spilling out onto the pavement. Policemen were walking along the road, urging spectators to stand back.
‘Come on,’ said Mabel. ‘It’s down here, I believe.’ She led us through the throng and towards a door situated next to a shopfront. She rang the bell, and a moment later a vaguely familiar woman (I later realised I’d seen her at one of the IWFL meetings) answered the door.
‘Hello, Mamie,’ said Mabel. ‘We haven’t missed him, have we?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Mamie. ‘Quick, come in.’ We all squeezed into a narrow hall. Mamie eyed me and Nora with faint suspicion. I pulled down my hat and tried to look tall and grown up.
‘Who is this?’ said Mamie.
‘My cousins,’ said Phyllis. ‘This is Mollie Carberry, and this is Nora Cantwell.’ Mamie relaxed a little and gave me her hand.
‘Mamie Quigley.’ Her handshake was firm. ‘Call me Mamie. Sorry to be so suspicious, but you can’t be too careful these days, now can you?’
‘Where’s our room?’ asked Mabel.
‘Upstairs,’ said Mamie. ‘Follow me.’
The room was quite big, but it was so full of people, nearly all of them women, that it felt almost cramped. Several large flags were folded on a sideboard at one end of the room, the fabric bunched and trailing onto the floor; it was impossible to see what they said. Large windows looked out onto Nassau Street and across to the playing fields of Trinity College, where I could see some young men in cricketing whites making their way back to the sports pavilion. Somehow I found myself thinking of Frank, and wondering what he would say if he could see us in our disguises, ready to protest. I’d like to think he’d be impressed – he was jolly supportive of the chalking, after all – but you never know.
‘Look at the posters,’ whispered Nora. Several posters with straps at the top of them were propped against the wall. One said ‘HOME RULE FOR IRISH WOMEN AS WELL AS MEN’; another read ‘WE DEMAND WOMAN SUFFRAGE AMMENDMENT TO THE HOME RULE BILL’, as well as others with shorter slogans.
‘Well, we needn’t have worried about our poster slogan ideas being too long and complicated,’ I whispered back.
‘What are you two muttering about?’ said Phyllis, in what I can only describe as a mutter. ‘You’d better not be planning any silly stunt.’
Yet again, I was struck by how unfair Phyllis always is.
‘We were just looking at the posters,’ I said indignantly.
‘Oh yes.’ Phyllis didn’t even have the grace to apologise for unfairly suspecting us. ‘I’d forgotten about the poster parade.’ She went over to Mamie Quigley, who was standing near one of the other windows, leaning against a small table and talking to Mabel with a serious expression on her face. Nora and I followed her.
‘How did the parade go this afternoon?’ Phyllis asked Mamie.
‘Not bad, actually.’ Mamie’s face brightened. ‘We sold quite a few Citizens.’
‘Any trouble?’ said Mabel.
Mamie shrugged.
‘A few silly jokes,’ she said. ‘But nothing we haven’t heard before. It was all quite good humoured, really.’
‘There you go,’ said Mabel, with customary cheerfulness. ‘We get more of the public on our side every day.’
‘Hopefully we’ll have a few more by tomorrow,’ said Mamie. ‘Have you seen the confetti?’
‘What confetti?’ said Mabel and Phyllis at the same time.
Mamie grinned. ‘This you must see,’ she said. She picked up a small paper bag which was sitting on the table and gently shook some of the contents out onto the palm of her hand ‘Look!’
The bag was full of small paper circles, but when you looked at them closely you could see the words VOTES FOR WOMEN printed on them in small but legible letters. Mabel laughed in delight.
‘How absolutely wonderful!’ she said.
‘We’re going to scatter it out of the windows,’ said Mamie. ‘There are another few bags of it over there. Maybe some Antis will carry our slogans around on their hats for the rest of the evening!’
That’s when I was struck by an excellent idea. Phyllis had made us promise not to try to wave any flags. But she hadn’t said anything about confetti.
‘Could I please throw some confetti?’ I asked Mamie.
‘Mollie!’ said Phyllis. But Mamie smiled.
‘I don’t see why not,’ she said. ‘Is this your first suffrage event?’
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I’ve been to lots of meetings. So has Nora.’ I wished I could tell her about the postboxes, but I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea.
‘Sorry,’ said Mamie. ‘It’s just that you look so young.’
‘Oh, we’re both eighteen.’ I hoped my cheeks wouldn’t betray me by going bright red, as they so often do. But if I did blush, I hope my hat (which I was keeping firmly on my head, as Phyllis had instructed) covered enough of my features to make it unnoticeable.
‘Here you go,’ said Mamie. She handed me the bag of confetti and looked at her watch. ‘Goodness, he’ll be here soon. We’d better get the flags ready. They’re terribly awkward in an enclosed space like this. I told Mrs. Mulvany we have to make sure we don’t smash a window pane.’
‘Let me help,’ said Mabel. One of the flags was carefully attached to a long pole.
It took several people to manoeuvre the flags across the
room without the poles hitting or breaking anything (or anyone).
‘All right, everyone,’ said a woman whom I recognised as Mrs. Mulvany, the woman I’d spotted giving leaflets to Phyllis in the street, what felt like years ago. ‘The Prime Minister should be passing soon. Mrs. Quigley and Miss Purcell, you take that flag, and Miss Carberry and Miss Clarke, you can take that one. Mrs. Byrne should be here soon with another flag pole, but, in the meantime, we can just hold the flags out of the window. Mr. Donnelly and Mrs. Murphy, please push up the windows as far as they will go. Careful now!’ The windows were pushed up, but just as the flags were being placed into position, Mabel, who was leaning out of the window, said, ‘I say, there are some policemen outside the door.’
‘Well, there are bound to be lots of policemen, with crowds like this,’ said Mrs. Mulvany. ‘Come on, everyone, get the flags out.’
Just then, however, there was a loud banging on the front door. The flag bearers exchanged worried glances.
‘Carry on, everyone,’ said Mrs. Mulvany. ‘I’ll go down and see what they want.’
I squeezed through the group and found a position at the window that wasn’t being used for a flag. Quite a crowd of policemen seemed to be gathered outside the building we were in. They couldn’t all be here because of us, could they?
But then I heard Mrs. Mulvany cry out, and a moment later a crowd of police officers burst into the room. They were followed by several men without uniforms who turned out to be plain-clothes policemen.