CHAPTERXINEWCASTLE PRISON: MY SECOND IMPRISONMENTThenext morning, Monday, October 11, we got up early, with a sense of excitement that we were to be “tried.” We were allowed to wash in a basin arrangement all together. The water was cold, but clean and fresh. The roll towel was horrible, I have never seen anything so dirty—blood had freely been wiped upon it. Nothing could surpass the kindness and civility of the wardresses. One, who thought only of the hunger-strike, cried as we left. We were then led off to the cells upstairs, which were rather cleaner and much lighter. A man came to mend something outside my window; it was open and I could see out by two or three square inches. He looked in at me with great curiosity, but without ill-will. I had the policeman’s pencil still, and wrote on a paper to hand up to him that he should not be afraid of the Suffragettes, but help them to get the vote. I was still thinking about it when the police began to rattle the keys, so I refrained, although it was some time before they came to fetch me.They led us forth to the other side of the building where the court was. We waited in a passage underneath it, and were led up in turns to the prisoner’s box. The others, who had done nothing but break glass, were sentenced to the 3rd Division and hard labour for fourteen days, and some a month, without any option. Mrs. Brailsford and I were both given the alternative of being bound in money sureties for a year. In reality, this offered us no alternative, but in the estimation of the magistrate, I, who had done deliberately most harm, was given the option of going free, while the others, who were many of them younger than I was, first offenders and all had done much less damage than I had, were prisoners beyond their recall.When it was my turn, I was prepared for the three charges I had seen on the paper the day before. First came the charge of assault on Sir Walter Runciman. I said that I did not know it was Sir Walter Runciman in the car, and that I threw the stone low down, so that it should not hit the chauffeur or anyone. They did not take up this charge. Then came the charge of damage, at which I was well pleased. But the man facing the magistrate, the clerk, who conducts most of the affairs in several courts I have been into, would not let this charge come on. He said that I had evidently not intended the damage to the car, and that part of the case was dismissed. I tried to tell him that I had no concern for the motor-car, and, though I didn’t know how a stone so small could have done so much harm, I was not in the least concerned over the£4worth of damage, but he would not let me speak and passed on to the third charge, “disorderly behaviour in a public place.” I put in, with a loud voice,“My disorderly behaviour of throwing a stone with violence in a public place was deliberate and intentional.” After this, they could not but go on with it, since the whole court had heard what I had said. They apparently treated me as a lunatic, and began to ask if it was through not knowing what I was doing that I had thrown a stone? “If I had not known what I was about to do, I should not have held a stone in my hand,” I answered.I had made up my mind, at one time of the trial, that I would deny the tales that had circulated about the Suffragettes and Mr. Lloyd George’s children. It had been said that we tried to kidnap them, that we had wished for their illness, and all kinds of invented evil. Who are the Suffragettes that they should make war on children? If the child of Mr. Lloyd George were ill or in any way suffering, we were sorry, we were sympathetic, as with every other child, and we were sad for him as the loving father of that child. I tried to speak, when I first was called on, and repeatedly afterwards, but I was always stopped and could get no innings. Finally, the magistrates convicted me of “disorderly behaviour with intent to disturb the peace,” and bound me over, myself in the sum of£50and two sureties of£25each, to be enforced for twelve months; in default, one month’s imprisonment in the 2nd Division. I, of course, had no option of finding sureties for twelve months, and was sentenced to the month’s imprisonment. My companion, Miss Davison, was dismissed, as she had literally done nothing.Mrs. Brailsford, who had struck at the barricadewith an axe, was also given the option of being bound over, which she, of course, refused, with the alternative of a month’s imprisonment in the 2nd Division. She had not, as I had, committed any offence before. She was a splendid woman who had gone out to help with the Macedonian relief fund in 1903. She had fed the hungry and nursed the sick and wounded until she contracted typhus fever. The whole “trial” was unworthy of the name—it was a device whereby Mrs. Brailsford and I should be separated from the others and treated with more respect, I having been the only one to do a glaring act and an, apparently, harmful or greatly risky one. The others, without exception, were treated to the 3rd Division.We were put again into a van, but had only a short way to drive. We were shown into a passage of the prison where the governor came and spoke to us. He was very civil, and begged us not to go on the hunger-strike. Then the Matron came, a charming and very refined woman, who walked with a stick, being lame. Miss Davison had headed our little band of twelve; when she was dismissed, Miss Dorothy Pethick, Mrs. Pethick Lawrence’s youngest sister, was our head and spoke for us. Her face had all the beauty that freshness, youth and grace could give it, and with it all for her age—she was twenty-seven—there was a wonderful strength about it. She spoke civilly to the Governor, but in a very determined way. He could not do enough for us. “Don’t break your windows—please don’t break your windows.”“We will not break them if they can open. You must understand that we have come here, not to please ourselves; we have pleaded for windows to open in the cells through two years in vain. Now we break the glass to make more sure. It is for the poor things who are shut up in these little cells for weeks and months at a time. Whether they know it or not, their bodies know it—it is all that is bad for them to sleep and live in a room supposed to be ventilated, without a window, and to be given a book telling them elaborately how a window may be kept open in all weathers by placing a board in front of it on a slant, will not make things any better. And what is more, if you feed us by force, we shall break every window we can lay hands on.” “Very well,” said the Governor, “choose your own cells; come round and see.” Then, with the Governor and Matron, we went round. Several cells were shown to us. We were left in some that were small but new—the windows did not open. Finally, Mrs. Brailsford and I were taken to different cells on the ground floor where we were separated completely from the others. We were allowed to have our doors open all the time, and some iron gates only shut us in. Compared with Holloway, their good manners made a great difference, but the kindness about the cells was mostly put on; at least, they had not windows that opened, so they could do little. Mrs. Brailsford and I had cells next door to each other, we spoke together frequently all day. The wardresses were dear northern women, affectionate in their ways. The Matron we found to be even more charming than she looked. She took Mrs. Brailsford and me for exercise, and we talked to her nearly the wholetime. She was quite a Suffragette and understood our rebellion.There was no attempt to put us into prison clothes; we had small packages of things with us. My underclothes were not all that one could wish after two days and nights in the police-station cells. They were amongst other things covered with fleas, and I had at my trial, and on various occasions, become exceedingly hot, which, now that the hunger-strike had begun, was exchanged for extreme cold. The prospect of a month in them as they were was extremely undesirable. I wrote to the Home Secretary, as I was told this was the only means, but I knew that anything I asked for from him might as well be let alone.The first day, Tuesday, was fairly fine. At exercise in the morning we looked around and we noticed some broken glass windows. We shouted “Votes for Women, Hurrah! Hurrah!” but were not sure of any response. They had put our companions, of two days before us, into the punishment cells. We were scarcely back in our cells before there were hasty footsteps; they slammed our doors shut, we could only dimly hear the steps as they passed our cells and then above. Soon after we heard shrieks, always coming from the same direction. It seemed as if the others were being fed by force. During about half an hour the sounds were terrible. Then the doctors, two of them, came to us. They had on white jackets, as if they had just come from an operation, as indeed they had. I said to them, “You have been feeding our friends by force?” One of them answered,“Well, yes, we were bound to have a food trial with one or two of them.” They felt my pulse, first one, then the other; they felt it over again, then they went out. Mrs. Brailsford and I discussed the feeding of our friends, which had sounded most awful; we did not know what to do. We had, of course, not touched any food since our breakfast in the police-station cells. We ourselves had met with nothing but kindness.The knotting in my stomach from lack of food was fairly painful by the second night. Whenever I fell asleep I woke with my knees curled under my chin. I had also a great aching in my back, probably through fatigue and the plank bed in the police-station. The night wardress was very kind to me. I asked once if she couldn’t come in and rub my back just a little. “Why, my dear, the gate’s locked and I have nae got the key.” Mrs. Brailsford said she felt well in every way, save that she could do nothing but think of the other prisoners who were being fed by force. When we walked round the exercise yard on Wednesday morning it was snowing hard. It made me think of Robert Buchanan’s poem, “The Ballade of Judas Iscariot.”“’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,And their eyes were fierce and bright—‘Scourge the soul of Judas IscariotAway into the night!’“The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he waved hands still and slow,And the third time that he waved his handsThe air was thick with snow.“And of every flake of falling snowBefore it touched the ground,There came a dove, and a thousand dovesMade sweet doves’ sound.“’Twas the body of Judas IscariotFloated away full fleet,And the wings of the dove that bore it offWere like its winding-sheet.“’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open doorAnd beckon’d, smiling sweet;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStole in, and fell at his feet.”As I looked upon that dreary scene I saw the prison walls, the cell windows, looking more like tiny shutters, the infinitesimal small windows of the punishment cells in the ground below where we were. The Matron stood on a ledge above us. She was considerate and kind in all her ways. We were either alone and quite unguarded or else she was with us. One evening, when a wardress was letting me back into my cell, I heard the most melancholy sound of a woman calling out to herself again and again, in a tone of uttermost misery. As always, I thought, in a prison, no one answered her, no one said anything. Presently there came the Matron’s consoling voice. Very gently I heard it on the floor above ours, it sounded almost like a mother’s voice: “Oh! there is that poor woman again. Can’t you some of you go and comfort her?” And some one did, for all was quiet after that. I watched at my gate all day, and was pleased to notice that the prisoners who worked outside the cells moved happily, ran about with a springing step and seemed like ordinary servants about their work. How different this was from Holloway!The first morning the Chaplain came to visit me. He was a pleasant-looking man, with a fine beard. He laughed as he told me he was the father offifteen children; he said this as he left. I longed to tell him I hoped that he had had at least two wives to bring them into the world!The second morning, Wednesday, October 13, when the doctors came, I stood in the corner of my cell with my arms crossed and my fingers caught in my nostrils and my mouth. It was the best position I knew of for them not to be able to feed me by nose or mouth without having first a considerable struggle. They came, and after I saw that they had no tube I came out from my corner and let them both look at my heart. They thumped, each of them in turn, and felt my pulse as well. Then they appeared to be agreed and went out. I said to them, “You seemed to be puzzled by my heart; I can tell you about it if you like.” But they had made up their minds about something, and did not want any help from me. Later in the day they came in again with another man in their company. I was again in the corner, my hands in my mouth and nose, but they brought no feeding things. At first I thought the third man was another prison official; but soon, from the way they talked to him, I gathered that he was an outside doctor, apparently from London. He was very civil. He tapped my heart repeatedly and then brought out a tube, which at first I thought was a feeding tube, but it was only another way of testing the heart. He was about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes over the whole thing, then they went out.As I had no answer from the Home Office, though I had written on the Monday of my arrival in the prison, I thought I would begin to wash some of mythings, as the doctors would not come back unless to feed me, and that would be nearer six o’clock. I washed my brush and a few other things in the large pail of my cell, then asked if I might empty it, and as I did this, I held the things some seconds under the tap. It was only cold water, of course, but I was glad of even that. I then put them on the chair to dry as best they might, and lay down on my plank bed, for the pain in my back was terrible, when a wardress came in and announced that I was released, because of the state of my heart! Though this was fairly evident from the visit of the outside doctor, I had not realised it. I gathered my things together and went out. I called to Mrs. Brailsford; she was released too. We were put to wait in the Governor’s room; he was not there. We wondered if we were the only two to be released, and if so, why not the others? How about the heart of Nurse Pitman, who was close on sixty, or of Miss Brown, who had only just been released from a recent hunger-strike! Mrs. Brailsford had seen a doctor before she came on this expedition to Newcastle, and he had declared her absolutely sound in every way, so we did not know why she was released, except for the fact that she was, through her husband, closely connected with Liberal journalism and herself had the noblest reputation for public service in Macedonia. I had heart disease, though only slightly; it had been marked in me since the Deputation on which I had been to the House of Commons, at the beginning of this year. But I was not in so bad a condition as either Nurse Pitman or Miss Brown. After a time the news came that wewere the only two released! Poor Mrs. Brailsford was so overcome at this news that she was unable to drink the glass of hot milk that was given to us before we were let out. The Governor came back to his room. He had always told us how keen he was for the vote, and he seemed very glad for us that we were to be released. The cab was ready and we drove away, I think at about 3.30 in the afternoon. It seemed appalling to go and to leave the others in prison, to the hunger-strike and to forcible feeding.Nurse Pitman and Miss Brown were released the next day. It was not possible to understand for what reason they should have been kept twenty-four hours longer on hunger-strike than Mrs. Brailsford and myself; the only reason that we could see was that our names were known, theirs were not!The only thing which made an impression on me, not told in the above, was that once the wardress led me out to one of the lavatories. Just in front of it a woman had been sick, and I was taken away to another. It showed the great loneliness of prison life. There, in rows thickly set all around me, were the cells, in each a prisoner. One had been taken out immediately before I had, but she was put back and all the cells were locked before I came. The mystery was intense, the silence, the loneliness as great as they could be.My sister, Betty Balfour, came from Scotland to see if she could do anything to help me when she heard that I was in prison. She was convinced that I should not be forcibly fed because of the state of my heart, but that I should be let out after a day or two of hunger-strike. It was delightful to be with her,and the next day we travelled south together to my home.In December I went to speak at Glasgow, and Dr. Marion Gilchrist listened to my heart. This was her verdict: “I have examined Lady Constance Lytton’s heart and find she has a chronic valvular lesion, but it is acting well in spite of the fact that she has just undergone great exertion.” She said it was easily understood why I had been let out of Newcastle Prison.
Thenext morning, Monday, October 11, we got up early, with a sense of excitement that we were to be “tried.” We were allowed to wash in a basin arrangement all together. The water was cold, but clean and fresh. The roll towel was horrible, I have never seen anything so dirty—blood had freely been wiped upon it. Nothing could surpass the kindness and civility of the wardresses. One, who thought only of the hunger-strike, cried as we left. We were then led off to the cells upstairs, which were rather cleaner and much lighter. A man came to mend something outside my window; it was open and I could see out by two or three square inches. He looked in at me with great curiosity, but without ill-will. I had the policeman’s pencil still, and wrote on a paper to hand up to him that he should not be afraid of the Suffragettes, but help them to get the vote. I was still thinking about it when the police began to rattle the keys, so I refrained, although it was some time before they came to fetch me.
They led us forth to the other side of the building where the court was. We waited in a passage underneath it, and were led up in turns to the prisoner’s box. The others, who had done nothing but break glass, were sentenced to the 3rd Division and hard labour for fourteen days, and some a month, without any option. Mrs. Brailsford and I were both given the alternative of being bound in money sureties for a year. In reality, this offered us no alternative, but in the estimation of the magistrate, I, who had done deliberately most harm, was given the option of going free, while the others, who were many of them younger than I was, first offenders and all had done much less damage than I had, were prisoners beyond their recall.
When it was my turn, I was prepared for the three charges I had seen on the paper the day before. First came the charge of assault on Sir Walter Runciman. I said that I did not know it was Sir Walter Runciman in the car, and that I threw the stone low down, so that it should not hit the chauffeur or anyone. They did not take up this charge. Then came the charge of damage, at which I was well pleased. But the man facing the magistrate, the clerk, who conducts most of the affairs in several courts I have been into, would not let this charge come on. He said that I had evidently not intended the damage to the car, and that part of the case was dismissed. I tried to tell him that I had no concern for the motor-car, and, though I didn’t know how a stone so small could have done so much harm, I was not in the least concerned over the£4worth of damage, but he would not let me speak and passed on to the third charge, “disorderly behaviour in a public place.” I put in, with a loud voice,“My disorderly behaviour of throwing a stone with violence in a public place was deliberate and intentional.” After this, they could not but go on with it, since the whole court had heard what I had said. They apparently treated me as a lunatic, and began to ask if it was through not knowing what I was doing that I had thrown a stone? “If I had not known what I was about to do, I should not have held a stone in my hand,” I answered.
I had made up my mind, at one time of the trial, that I would deny the tales that had circulated about the Suffragettes and Mr. Lloyd George’s children. It had been said that we tried to kidnap them, that we had wished for their illness, and all kinds of invented evil. Who are the Suffragettes that they should make war on children? If the child of Mr. Lloyd George were ill or in any way suffering, we were sorry, we were sympathetic, as with every other child, and we were sad for him as the loving father of that child. I tried to speak, when I first was called on, and repeatedly afterwards, but I was always stopped and could get no innings. Finally, the magistrates convicted me of “disorderly behaviour with intent to disturb the peace,” and bound me over, myself in the sum of£50and two sureties of£25each, to be enforced for twelve months; in default, one month’s imprisonment in the 2nd Division. I, of course, had no option of finding sureties for twelve months, and was sentenced to the month’s imprisonment. My companion, Miss Davison, was dismissed, as she had literally done nothing.
Mrs. Brailsford, who had struck at the barricadewith an axe, was also given the option of being bound over, which she, of course, refused, with the alternative of a month’s imprisonment in the 2nd Division. She had not, as I had, committed any offence before. She was a splendid woman who had gone out to help with the Macedonian relief fund in 1903. She had fed the hungry and nursed the sick and wounded until she contracted typhus fever. The whole “trial” was unworthy of the name—it was a device whereby Mrs. Brailsford and I should be separated from the others and treated with more respect, I having been the only one to do a glaring act and an, apparently, harmful or greatly risky one. The others, without exception, were treated to the 3rd Division.
We were put again into a van, but had only a short way to drive. We were shown into a passage of the prison where the governor came and spoke to us. He was very civil, and begged us not to go on the hunger-strike. Then the Matron came, a charming and very refined woman, who walked with a stick, being lame. Miss Davison had headed our little band of twelve; when she was dismissed, Miss Dorothy Pethick, Mrs. Pethick Lawrence’s youngest sister, was our head and spoke for us. Her face had all the beauty that freshness, youth and grace could give it, and with it all for her age—she was twenty-seven—there was a wonderful strength about it. She spoke civilly to the Governor, but in a very determined way. He could not do enough for us. “Don’t break your windows—please don’t break your windows.”“We will not break them if they can open. You must understand that we have come here, not to please ourselves; we have pleaded for windows to open in the cells through two years in vain. Now we break the glass to make more sure. It is for the poor things who are shut up in these little cells for weeks and months at a time. Whether they know it or not, their bodies know it—it is all that is bad for them to sleep and live in a room supposed to be ventilated, without a window, and to be given a book telling them elaborately how a window may be kept open in all weathers by placing a board in front of it on a slant, will not make things any better. And what is more, if you feed us by force, we shall break every window we can lay hands on.” “Very well,” said the Governor, “choose your own cells; come round and see.” Then, with the Governor and Matron, we went round. Several cells were shown to us. We were left in some that were small but new—the windows did not open. Finally, Mrs. Brailsford and I were taken to different cells on the ground floor where we were separated completely from the others. We were allowed to have our doors open all the time, and some iron gates only shut us in. Compared with Holloway, their good manners made a great difference, but the kindness about the cells was mostly put on; at least, they had not windows that opened, so they could do little. Mrs. Brailsford and I had cells next door to each other, we spoke together frequently all day. The wardresses were dear northern women, affectionate in their ways. The Matron we found to be even more charming than she looked. She took Mrs. Brailsford and me for exercise, and we talked to her nearly the wholetime. She was quite a Suffragette and understood our rebellion.
There was no attempt to put us into prison clothes; we had small packages of things with us. My underclothes were not all that one could wish after two days and nights in the police-station cells. They were amongst other things covered with fleas, and I had at my trial, and on various occasions, become exceedingly hot, which, now that the hunger-strike had begun, was exchanged for extreme cold. The prospect of a month in them as they were was extremely undesirable. I wrote to the Home Secretary, as I was told this was the only means, but I knew that anything I asked for from him might as well be let alone.
The first day, Tuesday, was fairly fine. At exercise in the morning we looked around and we noticed some broken glass windows. We shouted “Votes for Women, Hurrah! Hurrah!” but were not sure of any response. They had put our companions, of two days before us, into the punishment cells. We were scarcely back in our cells before there were hasty footsteps; they slammed our doors shut, we could only dimly hear the steps as they passed our cells and then above. Soon after we heard shrieks, always coming from the same direction. It seemed as if the others were being fed by force. During about half an hour the sounds were terrible. Then the doctors, two of them, came to us. They had on white jackets, as if they had just come from an operation, as indeed they had. I said to them, “You have been feeding our friends by force?” One of them answered,“Well, yes, we were bound to have a food trial with one or two of them.” They felt my pulse, first one, then the other; they felt it over again, then they went out. Mrs. Brailsford and I discussed the feeding of our friends, which had sounded most awful; we did not know what to do. We had, of course, not touched any food since our breakfast in the police-station cells. We ourselves had met with nothing but kindness.
The knotting in my stomach from lack of food was fairly painful by the second night. Whenever I fell asleep I woke with my knees curled under my chin. I had also a great aching in my back, probably through fatigue and the plank bed in the police-station. The night wardress was very kind to me. I asked once if she couldn’t come in and rub my back just a little. “Why, my dear, the gate’s locked and I have nae got the key.” Mrs. Brailsford said she felt well in every way, save that she could do nothing but think of the other prisoners who were being fed by force. When we walked round the exercise yard on Wednesday morning it was snowing hard. It made me think of Robert Buchanan’s poem, “The Ballade of Judas Iscariot.”
“’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,And their eyes were fierce and bright—‘Scourge the soul of Judas IscariotAway into the night!’“The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he waved hands still and slow,And the third time that he waved his handsThe air was thick with snow.“And of every flake of falling snowBefore it touched the ground,There came a dove, and a thousand dovesMade sweet doves’ sound.“’Twas the body of Judas IscariotFloated away full fleet,And the wings of the dove that bore it offWere like its winding-sheet.“’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open doorAnd beckon’d, smiling sweet;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStole in, and fell at his feet.”
“’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,And their eyes were fierce and bright—‘Scourge the soul of Judas IscariotAway into the night!’“The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he waved hands still and slow,And the third time that he waved his handsThe air was thick with snow.“And of every flake of falling snowBefore it touched the ground,There came a dove, and a thousand dovesMade sweet doves’ sound.“’Twas the body of Judas IscariotFloated away full fleet,And the wings of the dove that bore it offWere like its winding-sheet.“’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open doorAnd beckon’d, smiling sweet;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStole in, and fell at his feet.”
“’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,And their eyes were fierce and bright—‘Scourge the soul of Judas IscariotAway into the night!’
“’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,
And their eyes were fierce and bright—
‘Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot
Away into the night!’
“The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he waved hands still and slow,And the third time that he waved his handsThe air was thick with snow.
“The Bridegroom stood in the open door,
And he waved hands still and slow,
And the third time that he waved his hands
The air was thick with snow.
“And of every flake of falling snowBefore it touched the ground,There came a dove, and a thousand dovesMade sweet doves’ sound.
“And of every flake of falling snow
Before it touched the ground,
There came a dove, and a thousand doves
Made sweet doves’ sound.
“’Twas the body of Judas IscariotFloated away full fleet,And the wings of the dove that bore it offWere like its winding-sheet.
“’Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Floated away full fleet,
And the wings of the dove that bore it off
Were like its winding-sheet.
“’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open doorAnd beckon’d, smiling sweet;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStole in, and fell at his feet.”
“’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door
And beckon’d, smiling sweet;
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Stole in, and fell at his feet.”
As I looked upon that dreary scene I saw the prison walls, the cell windows, looking more like tiny shutters, the infinitesimal small windows of the punishment cells in the ground below where we were. The Matron stood on a ledge above us. She was considerate and kind in all her ways. We were either alone and quite unguarded or else she was with us. One evening, when a wardress was letting me back into my cell, I heard the most melancholy sound of a woman calling out to herself again and again, in a tone of uttermost misery. As always, I thought, in a prison, no one answered her, no one said anything. Presently there came the Matron’s consoling voice. Very gently I heard it on the floor above ours, it sounded almost like a mother’s voice: “Oh! there is that poor woman again. Can’t you some of you go and comfort her?” And some one did, for all was quiet after that. I watched at my gate all day, and was pleased to notice that the prisoners who worked outside the cells moved happily, ran about with a springing step and seemed like ordinary servants about their work. How different this was from Holloway!
The first morning the Chaplain came to visit me. He was a pleasant-looking man, with a fine beard. He laughed as he told me he was the father offifteen children; he said this as he left. I longed to tell him I hoped that he had had at least two wives to bring them into the world!
The second morning, Wednesday, October 13, when the doctors came, I stood in the corner of my cell with my arms crossed and my fingers caught in my nostrils and my mouth. It was the best position I knew of for them not to be able to feed me by nose or mouth without having first a considerable struggle. They came, and after I saw that they had no tube I came out from my corner and let them both look at my heart. They thumped, each of them in turn, and felt my pulse as well. Then they appeared to be agreed and went out. I said to them, “You seemed to be puzzled by my heart; I can tell you about it if you like.” But they had made up their minds about something, and did not want any help from me. Later in the day they came in again with another man in their company. I was again in the corner, my hands in my mouth and nose, but they brought no feeding things. At first I thought the third man was another prison official; but soon, from the way they talked to him, I gathered that he was an outside doctor, apparently from London. He was very civil. He tapped my heart repeatedly and then brought out a tube, which at first I thought was a feeding tube, but it was only another way of testing the heart. He was about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes over the whole thing, then they went out.
As I had no answer from the Home Office, though I had written on the Monday of my arrival in the prison, I thought I would begin to wash some of mythings, as the doctors would not come back unless to feed me, and that would be nearer six o’clock. I washed my brush and a few other things in the large pail of my cell, then asked if I might empty it, and as I did this, I held the things some seconds under the tap. It was only cold water, of course, but I was glad of even that. I then put them on the chair to dry as best they might, and lay down on my plank bed, for the pain in my back was terrible, when a wardress came in and announced that I was released, because of the state of my heart! Though this was fairly evident from the visit of the outside doctor, I had not realised it. I gathered my things together and went out. I called to Mrs. Brailsford; she was released too. We were put to wait in the Governor’s room; he was not there. We wondered if we were the only two to be released, and if so, why not the others? How about the heart of Nurse Pitman, who was close on sixty, or of Miss Brown, who had only just been released from a recent hunger-strike! Mrs. Brailsford had seen a doctor before she came on this expedition to Newcastle, and he had declared her absolutely sound in every way, so we did not know why she was released, except for the fact that she was, through her husband, closely connected with Liberal journalism and herself had the noblest reputation for public service in Macedonia. I had heart disease, though only slightly; it had been marked in me since the Deputation on which I had been to the House of Commons, at the beginning of this year. But I was not in so bad a condition as either Nurse Pitman or Miss Brown. After a time the news came that wewere the only two released! Poor Mrs. Brailsford was so overcome at this news that she was unable to drink the glass of hot milk that was given to us before we were let out. The Governor came back to his room. He had always told us how keen he was for the vote, and he seemed very glad for us that we were to be released. The cab was ready and we drove away, I think at about 3.30 in the afternoon. It seemed appalling to go and to leave the others in prison, to the hunger-strike and to forcible feeding.
Nurse Pitman and Miss Brown were released the next day. It was not possible to understand for what reason they should have been kept twenty-four hours longer on hunger-strike than Mrs. Brailsford and myself; the only reason that we could see was that our names were known, theirs were not!
The only thing which made an impression on me, not told in the above, was that once the wardress led me out to one of the lavatories. Just in front of it a woman had been sick, and I was taken away to another. It showed the great loneliness of prison life. There, in rows thickly set all around me, were the cells, in each a prisoner. One had been taken out immediately before I had, but she was put back and all the cells were locked before I came. The mystery was intense, the silence, the loneliness as great as they could be.
My sister, Betty Balfour, came from Scotland to see if she could do anything to help me when she heard that I was in prison. She was convinced that I should not be forcibly fed because of the state of my heart, but that I should be let out after a day or two of hunger-strike. It was delightful to be with her,and the next day we travelled south together to my home.
In December I went to speak at Glasgow, and Dr. Marion Gilchrist listened to my heart. This was her verdict: “I have examined Lady Constance Lytton’s heart and find she has a chronic valvular lesion, but it is acting well in spite of the fact that she has just undergone great exertion.” She said it was easily understood why I had been let out of Newcastle Prison.