The Amazons of Edwardian England

Part 1

In the Spring of 1909, I moved into a quaint London flat with three other quite darling women I had met at the Morstan Breast Cancer Convalescent Home in Sussex, where I had spent two months after having my right breast removed because of a rather largening tumour. In fact, all my new flatmates had had single mastectomies on their right breast, except Melanie; for she had a double.

It is with them that I came to tell this glorious, glorious story.

While walking down Baker street one evening, with two of my three newfound companions, Phillipa, the undoubted matriarch of the group, began.

"You know what would be brilliant?"

"World peace, riches, a man to dine with me at the Ritz and dance with me all night long," I sang.

"Well, yes, that's all very well and good but I got a letter from my cousin in Chichester yesterday and she would not stop going on about the suffrage marches there. She even had to start learning Ju-Jitsu and carrying a dagger with her because of dangerous these marches are."

"Actually, I saw a flyer for one of those in the post office window this morning!" piped up Phoebe, who was the quiet and bookish one of our quartet.

"Which post office?" Phillipa spat out at Phoebe, faster than anything you'd ever heard before.

"The...the...one...on Oxford street." Phoebe stuttered.

So that is where we went, went to collect that feminist flyer.

When, later that day, my eventual return to Gower Street came, I got out of the carriage and stepped onto the fresh London asphalt with my two companions, walked up to the front door of our flat, put the key in the lock and opened the door. My two companions followed me in and up the stairs in silence until Phillipa, who always seemed to have something bubbling in her brain, strode past me up the stairs and up onto the landing.

"What's that smell? Doris? Have you got a new perfume?"

"Umm no." I replied, not having the faintest clue what she was on about now.

She bolted up the rest of the stairs until she reached the door to the living room. She stood there for a while, contemplating, pondering, wondering.

Phillipa then barged open the door and shrieked at Melanie, who had an odd-looking cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

"You promised! You said you wouldn't and you did. Oh, how typical!"

The Cannabis smoke lingered in the air and floated to the top of the room. It smelled odd.

"I haven't been smoking any, I promise. I just lit it."

"You liar! I bet you were high when we left here at 10 o'clock this morning."

"No one deceives like an addict," muttered Phoebe from the back of the room.

"Give me it. Now."

Melanie reluctantly handed over the hemp to Phillipa, painted a grumpy look on her face and slumped back down into the chair behind her.

"Anyway, we found this while we were out," Phoebe began, while she too lowered herself into a chair beside Melanie and handed her the flyer. "We thought we might go."

Melanie darted her eyes around the page. "Women's march, aye?"

"Why? You not a suffragette, Melanie?" called Phillipa from the kitchen, who had clearly calmed herself and was beginning to make a pot of tea.

"No. It would be fun," replied Melanie.

"That's settled then. We'll go."

"But I think we should do what Phillipa's cousin did, and...and learn some fighting or something and perhaps carry a dagger? I mean, we wouldn't want to get hurt." This, in all honesty, was a surprise to hear from the lips of Phoebe.

"Well, good then." Melanie piped up again. "We'll go and fight that horrid Henry Asquith!"