Fall of Giants

Before the war this well-meaning charity had enabled well-off ladies to graciously give help and advice to the hard-up wives of servicemen. Now it had a new role. The government paid one pound and one shilling to a soldier’s wife with two children separated from her husband by the war. This was not much-about half what a coal miner earned-but it was enough to raise millions of women and children out of grinding poverty. The Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Families Association administered this separation allowance.

But the allowance was payable only to women of “good behavior” and the charity ladies sometimes withheld the government money from wives who rejected their advice about child rearing, household management, and the perils of visiting music halls and drinking gin.

Maud thought such women would be better off without the gin, but that did not give anyone the right to push them into penury. She was driven into a fury of outrage by comfortable middle-class people passing judgment on soldiers’ wives and depriving them of the means to feed their children. Parliament would not permit such abuse, she thought, if women had the vote.

With Ethel were a dozen working-class women plus one man, Bernie Leckwith, secretary of the Aldgate Independent Labour Party. The party approved of Maud’s paper and supported its campaigns.

When Maud joined the group on the pavement, Ethel was talking to a young man with a notebook. “The separation allowance is not a charitable gift,” she said. “Soldiers’ wives receive it as of right. Do you have to pass a good-conduct test before you get your wages as a reporter? Is Mr. Asquith questioned about how much Madeira he drinks before he can draw his salary as a member of Parliament? These women are entitled to the money just as if it was a wage.”

Ethel had found her voice, Maud reflected. She expressed herself simply and vividly.

The reporter looked admiringly at Ethel: he seemed half in love with her. Rather apologetically he said: “Your opponents say that a woman should not receive support if she is unfaithful to her soldier husband.”

“Are you checking on the husbands?” Ethel said indignantly. “I believe there are houses of ill fame in France and Mesopotamia and other places where our men are serving. Does the army take the names of married men entering such houses, and withdraw their wages? Adultery is a sin, but it is not a reason to impoverish the sinner and let her children starve.”

Ethel was carrying her child, Lloyd, on her hip. He was now sixteen months old and able to walk, or at least stagger. He had fine dark hair and green eyes, and was as pretty as his mother. Maud put out her hands to take him, and he came to her eagerly. She felt a pang of longing: she almost wished she had become pregnant during her one night with Walter, despite all the trouble it would have caused.

She had heard nothing of Walter since the Christmas before last. She did not know whether he was alive or dead. She might already be a widow. She tried not to brood, but dreadful thoughts crept up on her unawares, sometimes, and then she had to keep from crying.

Ethel finished charming the reporter, then introduced Maud to a young woman with two children clinging to her skirts. “This is Jayne McCulley, who I told you about.” Jayne had a pretty face and a determined look.

Maud shook hands. “I hope we can get justice for you today, Mrs. McCulley,” she said.

“Very kind of you, I’m sure, ma’am.” The habit of deference died hard even in egalitarian political movements.

“If we’re all ready?” said Ethel.

Maud handed Lloyd back to Ethel, and together the group crossed the road and went in at the front door of the charity office. There was a reception area where a middle-aged woman sat behind a desk. She looked frightened by the crowd.

Maud said to her: “There’s nothing to worry about. Mrs. Williams and I are here to see Mrs. Hargreaves, your manager.”

The receptionist stood up. “I’ll see if she’s in,” she said nervously.

Ethel said: “I know she’s in-I saw her walk through the door half an hour ago.”

The receptionist scurried out.

The woman who returned with her was less easily intimidated. Mrs. Hargreaves was a stout woman in her forties, wearing a French coat and skirt and a fashionable hat decorated with a large pleated bow. The ensemble lost all its continental chic on her stocky figure, Maud thought cattily, but the woman had the confidence that came with money. She also had a large nose. “Yes?” she said rudely.

In the struggle for female equality, Maud reflected, sometimes you had to fight women as well as men. “I have come to see you because I’m concerned about your treatment of Mrs. McCulley.”

Mrs. Hargreaves looked startled, no doubt by Maud’s upper-class accent. She gave Maud an up-and-down scrutiny. She was probably noting that Maud’s clothes were as expensive as her own. When she spoke again, her tone was less arrogant. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss individual cases.”