In the afternoon the sun shone brightly and the air was full of that indefinable sense of spring. The “spring-running” of the jungle seemed to penetrate even through prison walls and into the minds of prison officials. Whether because of this or for some less good cause we were accorded exceptional benefits. Hospital patients who had not been out before were allowed to come to exercise and we were told to walk in couples, arm-in-arm, the healthier patients supporting the others. Amazing privilege! It seemed like a bit of heaven. We, of course, discarded the “silence” rule at the same time. We were exercised in a larger space, not one of the narrowly-enclosed exercise yards. The prison officials passed by—Governor, Matron, doctors—but they made no comment at the unusual sight, seemed, on the contrary, quite pleased as we grinned our pleasure boldly into their faces.

CHAPTER IX
FROM THE CELLS

The following morning, Thursday, March 18, I was again summoned before the Governor. He looked as if he had an important announcement to make to me. “Do you still wish to leave the hospital?” he asked. I was afraid this might mean my dismissal. “Do you mean going to the other side?” I said. He answered “Yes.” “Rather!” I exclaimed, and could hardly contain myself for surprise and delight. He proceeded to explain: “The weather having changed, the medical officer gives his consent to your being moved to the cells.” I should not be allowed to scrub my floor nor do any of the routine “labour,” but if my health and behaviour (!) remained good, I might be moved next day.

The weather, of course, had changed many times since we had been in Holloway, varieties of cold or mild, damp or dry succeeding each other day by day, after the familiar fashion of our national climate in February and March. But I was too well content to be sarcastic over the reasons given for the official surrender to my request. I simply said “Thank you very much indeed.” I had already announced this decision to several of the ward patients, when the superintendent came on her rounds and I rushed up to her unceremoniously with, “Have you heard my good news?” Her official mood was on and she ordered me off with a “Hush! not now.” I gathered from various questions put to me by the Governor that the authorities hoped I had not told of my carving-strike to the other patients. It would never do, of course, to conciliate the wishes of a striker! But I was not able to comfort them on this score, and my triumph was public as well as complete.

Later in the morning the superintendent took me before the Senior Medical Officer. With him it was a real temptation to say, “If now, why not before?” to point out how effective had been the behaviour which two days previously he had professed to find so incomprehensible, also to draw the analogy between this little prison episode and the women’s fight for the vote—a reasonable demand, continuously pressed in a reasonable way and with great patience; result, blank refusal on the part of responsible powers. Militant action, by means of strike and protest; result, anger, condemnation, and the request is granted. The vote is not yet granted to women, but who now doubts that “they’ll get it” before long; but I restrained myself and trusted that the lesson would sink home unassisted. The doctor pointed to a chair by the side of his desk for me to sit while he sounded me. In my excitement I forgot all prison decorum and shook him cordially by the hand. He and the ward superintendent seemed nearly as pleased as I was myself. I felt how differently the prison system would work and with what different results if the officials were more often allowed to please themselves by pleasing their prisoners.

That afternoon Mrs. Macdonald was released and sent, by arrangement with the Prison Commissioners, to a private hospital. The ward superintendent accompanied her, but on the return of this officer no word escaped her as to how the patient had stood the transit, nor as to the result of the further radiograph which had been taken the day before. As soon as I was released, I heard that her leg was broken and had been from the first. A committee was formed for her care and her redress. The Home Secretary, Mr. Gladstone, was sure that the leg had been broken before and refused to read our statement. It was not till 1910, when Mr. Winston Churchill was made Home Secretary, that he read the case and paid her £500 compensation. She was taken to another hospital and had a serious operation to her leg. Had it been treated at once, the fractured bone would have been restored to its own length, but after about eighteen days of her being in prison, when nothing was done for it, the bone had overlapped and the muscles hardened round it. This, of course, inevitably shortened the bone. The operation was successful, but she is lame for life.

The only item in the cell-life routine to which I looked forward with considerable misgiving was discarding the hospital slippers and having to wear the hard shoes continuously all day. I felt quite absurdly pleased with the reward of my efforts. At the mid-day meal I drank, or rather ate, the doctor’s health in rice pudding and insisted that the wardress in charge should do the same. That day there happened to be on duty one of the outwardly least human of her kind, but my good spirits were irrepressible, and these being so rarely seen in prison, they gave me a certain air of authority, I suppose, for her severity melted and she ate the rice pudding, as ordered, with even the flicker of a smile.

The luxury of a bath was allowed once a week, my turn was due that evening. The superintendent said: “If I let you have it, will you promise me not to cut yourself about or any nonsense of that kind?” I answered: “Is it likely now that I’ve achieved all that I’ve been struggling for?” That evening, when she came to my bed for a last inspection, I said, “You see, they have given way after all.” “Yes,” she answered; “I never thought they would, but there, you never can tell what is happening behind the scenes.” I cordially agreed with this last sentiment. “That is why,” I answered, “one should never grow disheartened when things seem to be impossible.”