Kate’s answer came a few days later when Clara came to the nursery door and beckoned for her to follow. Kate saw that the twins were playing happily in their opposite corners of the room and Thomas was carefully copying a drawing from one of his books on insects, so she followed Clara to her room.
‘Shut the door, Kate,’ Clara said. ‘First of all, I don’t think I thanked you properly for helping me to meet with Edward. It was so good to really talk to him about important things, not just the quality of the cake and the changes in the weather. Now, I know that you are as keen to show you support the suffragette cause as I am, so I am going to explain my plan to you and I’m sure you’ll want to be a part of it.’
Kate wouldn’t have used the word sure. She wondered what Clara had to say.
‘I’ve read you the reports on the campaign of action. Deeds not words are the important thing. We need to show our willingness to act, Kate. So, I have decided that we will set fire to a post box.’
‘Which one?’ Kate asked trying not to show her alarm.
‘Does it matter which post box? The one just down the road, of course, the one you use to post our letters.’
‘But isn’t that rather close to home?’ Kate said. ‘Won’t we be recognized?’
‘We’ll go at a time of day when there are less people taking the air. Just around teatime. We can take a roundabout route from the park and wait until we can’t see anyone we know in the immediate vicinity.’
‘Oh, Miss Clara. You’ve written to the local MP. Shouldn’t you wait for a reply?’ Kate suggested.
‘Wait, wait. All I do is wait! Deeds not words, Kate. Well, are you with me or not? If you’re not then . . . then . . .’
Kate waited. Then what?
‘Then there’s no hope for any of us. We might as well stop now, give up. Accept that we are lesser beings than men. Is that what you think we should accept, Kate? We’re either suffragettes or we’re not.’
Kate thought about what might happen if Mr and Mrs Winton found out, if someone recognized them and told on them. But then she recalled the rousing speeches that she had heard at the meetings. She thought about what might be possible if women were able to influence decision-making at the highest levels of government. For one brief moment she thought about her own ambitions to become a teacher which would never come to fruition unless young women like her were better educated. The future might be different for her children or even for her own sister, Dot, if change could happen.
‘All right,’ Kate agreed.
Chapter Twelve
September 1913
Kate and Clara walked up and down the street a few times until Clara decided that there were enough people to witness the protest. Kate still felt extremely nervous about the whole thing and it must have shown on her face for Clara said, ‘We must have the courage of our convictions, Kate. Be brave. There’s no point in doing the deed without making a public point about why it’s being done.’
Kate hoped that they would not be recognized by anyone and reported to Mrs Winton, for although Dorothea Winton was a supporter, she did not approve of the more violent forms of protest.
‘Do you have the methylated spirits?’ Clara asked.
Kate lifted the cloth off her basket and removed a small bottle of the purple liquid and gave it to Clara.
‘And the matches?’
Kate nodded.
Clara took the bottle, removed the cap and began pouring the contents into the opening of the post box. Kate stared at the lurid flow, as the bottle emptied. There were several people on both sides of the road, couples out for a Sunday afternoon stroll and one or two automobiles were cruising past. Clara lit the match, threw it and they stepped back.
A child shouted from one of the vehicles, ‘Look, Mummy, a bonfire.’
Two or three men rushed towards the flames as Clara and Kate unfurled their banner and yelled, ‘Votes for women’ at the top of their voices.
‘Stand back,’ one of the men called out, frightened for their safety, Kate thought. But as the group neared them, she saw thattheir concern was not for her and Clara but for the other passers-by.
Two women stopped and looked on. The more elderly of the two held a handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth.
‘My goodness, Gwendoline, whatever is going on?’ she asked her companion.
‘It’s a protest, Votes for Women, Aunt,’ the younger woman replied.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ a bearded and bespectacled gentleman bellowed at them.
