It was a direct challenge from one of these women that led to my offering them the shelter and protection of my own house. Susan Hurley was her name; they called her ‘Glass-eyed Sue,’ from which I infer that at some time she had been possessed of an artificial eye, but she lost the eye, if not the name, long before I met with her. She was a wild, untamed Irish woman, and would fight with man or woman, police or civilian. I believe she lost the sight of one eye in a drunken fight. I noticed, too, that a good-sized piece of her left ear had disappeared, most likely in a similar struggle. I was visiting at a different court from the one I usually attended, and Hurley had been charged and sentenced to two months’ imprisonment; she was in the cells, and I was asked to see her.
She did not present a nice appearance; she had been badly knocked about, and blood had flowed freely. Her dress all torn, no bonnet or hat, her hair anyhow, minus one eye, and half an ear, she looked bad enough for anything. I spoke kindly to her, but she pulled me up sharply with, ‘Who are you?’ I told her that I was a police-court missionary. ‘Bosh!’ she said. ‘Go away; what can you do? Say a prayer for me! Give me a tract! Tell me you are sorry for me! I know all you can say, and can say it better than you can yourself. I know all you can do, and that is--nothing.’ I kept quiet whilst she let off the steam, and then we had some conversation. I found that she was a Roman Catholic, and had been in prison scores of times, and even so notorious that no home would take her in, and that when last she made an application a policeman was sent for, as a disturbance was feared when she was refused. She seemed a clever woman, but was very bitter and sarcastic.
I was bound to admit the truth of her words, for even prayers and sympathy are of little use to homeless, vice-stricken women. So I wrote a letter, and addressed it to my wife. This I gave to Hurley, and asked that when released from prison she should bring it herself, and Mrs. Holmes would take her in even if I was not at home. She took the letter, but did not look at it. She looked at me and said, ‘You must be the missionary from North London.’ I never felt so proud in my life, and now think those words the greatest compliment ever paid me.