In 1890, a year memorable for the number of processions to the Park, and demonstrations held therein, discontent was aroused in the minds of some of the younger policemen at the extra work entailed. These Sunday processions became a weekly occurrence, and of course extra police were required to look after them. Naturally, when this went on for some time the men in blue felt aggrieved. They wanted their Sundays like everyone else. The “agitators,” not being particularly anxious to have their services, at once suggested that they should go out on strike.
One hot July day these members of the force struck or committed some such acts of insubordination, and confusion reigned at Bow Street. The unswerving loyalty of the main body of the Metropolitan Police, however, saved the situation, but for a couple of days troopers from Knightsbridge barracks were to be seen patrolling Rotten Row, in place of our usual dignified guardians of the peace.
One of the uses of the Park—too often a misuse—is that of a meeting ground for all kinds of demonstrations. When any body of people—men or women—wish to attract, they call out the crowd to “demonstrate,” and march to Hyde Park. The place is big enough to contain them without much disturbance to the other habitués, and as a “safety valve” it is safer than Trafalgar Square, with so many shop-windows within reach.
Nothing about these demonstrations is more wonderful than the way they are handled by the police. As soon as one is planned, information has to be forwarded to Scotland Yard by the promoters, and arrangements are immediately made. The processions often start from many different quarters, but wherever they come, or wherever they go, they are shepherded the whole time by the “bobbies” in blue, or in mufti.
In 1886 a detachment of one of these demonstrations got out of hand and struck terror to the West End, where they wrecked a number of shops in Piccadilly and Audley Street,—named by some wit “Disorderly Street,”—and Oxford Street. This caused a scare, and as broken windows and broken heads are not things to be encouraged, preparations have been more carefully made ever since, though most wisely concealed.
Rumour has it that, by telephone with Scotland Yard, a thousand extra men can be brought into Hyde Park at a few moments’ notice, and that a number are kept very much nearer the scene of action during the whole time of a demonstration in case of need. There are police barracks near the Royal Humane Society’s station, where a large force could be kept ready. Nowhere in the world is such a well-organised and well-worked system to be found. London is the model on which all the police regulations of other capitals are formed.
The Metropolitan Police have seven hundred square miles under their jurisdiction. They are some twenty thousand strong, and whether we see a single mounted policeman clearing the way for the Queen to pass up the Lady’s Mile in Hyde Park, or hundreds of them manipulating a demonstration of fifty thousand people in Hyde Park, we look on and marvel.
About £8000 a year is spent on police work for this park alone. It seems a large sum, but is nothing compared with the amount of useful work they do. Only a century or so back the park was not safe at night; but now, although still badly lighted, thanks to the police force, any one who passes through may feel secure.
Of the many demonstrations that have taken place of recent years, the most epoch-making was probably the march of the suffragettes in 1907.
While ladies had actually been elected, and seven of them were calmly taking their seats in the Parliament of Finland—the most advanced corner of the world as regards women’s rights—our English sisters were marching to Hyde Park. They had tried quiet means and loud; addressed meetings, waved flags, and shouted from behind the grill in the House of Commons, had fought policemen in open combat in the streets; and then they bethought themselves of a gigantic open-air muster.