FOOTNOTE: [10] I have been in police station cells in several other places--a variety in London and two in Liverpool--but never have I seen anything like this. The other cells were scrupulously clean.
After what seemed a very long time, a policeman summoned me, and said we were all to have food together in the wardresses’ room. As I was let out I noticed seven of the others being let out too--Winifred Jones, Ellen Wines Pitman, Kathleen Brown, Kitty Marion, Dorothy Pethick and Emily Davison. Mrs. Brailsford was the only one I did not see. The four others--Violet Bryant, Ellen Pitfield, Lily Asquith and Dorothy Shallard--had all done their work the previous evening, and had been sentenced on this, Saturday, morning to two weeks’ imprisonment. It was, of course, a joy to see them. It seemed so very long since that morning. When we had passed the central police office, and were ushered into the wardresses’ room, it appeared that Mrs. Brailsford was shut into the wardresses’ bedroom--whether for a more honourable imprisonment, she being a woman whose public work none could call deficient in selflessness and courage, or whether because she was a “dangerous criminal,” having used a hatchet in making her mark on the barricade, we did not know. I remember catching sight of her as the door was opened to let in a cup of tea. There she sat, calm and erect, and Mr. Brailsford, who had been let in to see her, in piteous trouble, having the one thought--“Will my wife be fed by force--how can they dare to do it? How will she be able to bear it?”
Most of the others I had not seen before, yet I felt exuberant delight at being with them. One only I knew well, and that was Miss Ellen Pitman. She was in the Deputation of February and, after being in prison some ten days, she was brought to the hospital for neuralgic pains in her leg. She was a trained nurse, we had got to know each other well, and her fine face will always be very dear to me. We now got to know the wardresses--they were as kind to us as possible. I was so tired I could scarcely see, and after a time we retired to rest. There was a deafening noise; the cells were filled mostly with drunkards, for it was Saturday. Thundering blows on the doors, accompanied by a string of oaths, went on all through the night. The police were very kind to them, bringing them fresh water to drink, chaffing them and coaxing them. No bedding of any kind or rugs were provided by the police, but our friends outside were most wonderfully good to us, and, when they found we were not to be bailed out, they were busy collecting rugs and blankets. At about 12 they sent me in a rug and a sort of air-cushion bed, which would have been most delightful, but I tried every end in vain, I didn’t know how to put air into it. I was stiff for several days from my rest on the plank, but I owed it to the friends that I did not have two nights of it. On Sunday they brought a mattress instead of the air bed, and my flannel sheets which gave me a restful night.