Open Writing

Rain was pouring down on he day of the rally. The wind was sharp and constant, and the spirits of the girls were considerably dampened.

“We must give it a go,” said Muriel. “We have put such a lot of time and effort into this. We cannot balk now just because the weather isn’t on our side.”

So the six girls who comprised what was left of the committee donned their purple sashes. With their petitions clutched in their hands, they made their way from Charlotte’s house, across the bridge and into town. It was only a ten minute walk, but somehow it seemed to take forever, with the wind trying to steal their umbrellas, along with the papers in their hands. Their sashes which had looked so fine when they had first put them on, were now decidedly droopy. Some of the ink had run, smudging the message on them.

They arrived at the Guildhall just before noon. They had hoped to see a large crowd waiting to cheer them on, but there was nobody there, other than shoppers. These took no notice of the girls, hurrying about their business, eager to get indoors to escape from the rain as quickly as possible.

Muriel realised she had to take the lead. “Votes for women!” she shouted at the top of her voice, beginning to walk in a circle outside the Guildhall. The others felt compelled to join in, but their voices were neither as loud nor as positive as Muriel's.

Round and round the girls went, though not one bit of attention did they receive, either positive or negative. Eventually Muriel said, “Let’s take the petitions into the Guildhall and present them to the Mayor.”

The Guildhall, a most impressive building fronted by Corinthian pillars, had a statue of Queen Ann above its door. To either side were statues of Charles I holding a church and Charles II with orb and scepter. On its parapet were five figures representing Hercules, Peace, Justice, Plenty and Chastisement.

“We’re here for justice,” thought Muriel as she looked up at the statues.

They entered a large high-ceilinged hall. There was an air of business, with people rushing in all directions. Muriel located a reception desk and asked politely if they could see the Mayor.

“I’m sorry, but he is not here today,” a woman replied. “May I help?”

“Is Mr. Maund around?” asked Margaret, naming one of the city officials.

The woman went to check, returning to announce “Mr. Maund will see you for a few minutes. He is in the Randall Room.”

“He’s my cousin.'' Margaret whispered to the others as they climbed a staircase. When they reached the Randall Room they knocked on its door, to be summoned inside by a gruff voice.

"What is it you want?'' Mr, Maund asked, vastly unimpressed by the sight of water dripping from six umbrellas and the tracks made by twelve feet.

“We are members of the WSPU,'' said Muriel, taking the lead. "We have been collecting signatures throught Worcester for this petition which we had hoped to present to the Mayor. I have been informed that he is not here today. Would you accept these forms and pass them on to the Mayor?''

"I know nothing about this,'' said Mr. Maund. "Why not make an appointmentto see the Mayor on another day?''

"No, this is our day of protest and we will leave the petition here,'' said Margaret, somewhat annoyed by his patronising attitude. Then, changing her line of attack, she said "By the way Mr. Maund I think we are related. I am Margaret Tree. I believe your mother and my father are cousins. Isaac Arrowsmith was my great-grandfather. I wish you to know that everyone in our household signed this petition, including my father.''

Muriel was surprised and delighted that shy Margaret had taken the lead, and Mr, Maund was obviously impressed by the mention of the name Arrowsmith. That name was revered in both Worcester and Bristol.

"Ah yes,'' he said in a much friendlier tone. "Isaac Arrowsmith was indeed my grandfather. Here, let me see your peition. Yes... Warren W. A. Tree. Your father has indeed signed it. By the way, the A in his name is for Arrowsmith. Yes, I will accept this petition and pass it on to the Mayor. And thankyou for bringing it here on such a miserable rainy day.''

He shook each girl by the hand. "Now if you would excuse me,'' he said "I have to attend a meeting.''

So, with mixed feelings, the girls left the Guildhall. There was a sense of success, but also of disappointment. They went to a nearby tea shop for a modest celebration.

Before going their separate ways Muriel said she thought they should wait until they had heard from the Mayor before planning a rally, or a fund-raising concert. "I think we have done jolly well so far,'' she said "and I want to thankyou for supporting me in this. Perhaps we should meet again at Charlotte's house in a month's time when we can decide what actions to take next.''

All agreed.

*

May and Muriel eagerly scanned the local newspapers during the ensuing weeks, but there was no mention of the petition. Muriel, whose name and address was on the document they had handed in, also checked each day's post, but no letter came from the Mayor.

It was a deflated group of girls which eventually met at Charlotte's home.

"Let's not plan a concert,'' said May. "I don't think I can take further rejection. Let’s just say we did our best and got nowhere.”

Muriel was not quite ready to give up the fight. “All right, I agree that perhaps we should let the situation alone for the time being, but I have made a copy of the names of those who signed the petition. At some time in the future we may once again be able to call upon them for support.''

So the girls settled up the costs of organising the petition, then filled in the rest of the afternoon with a game of whist.