Читать книгу The Suffragette - E. Sylvia Pankhurst - Страница 8

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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.