Deep Dive
Shownotes Transcript
Hi Matt, so shall we just get going? Yes, I have got an amazing series for you. Oh, sorry, I think I'm leading this week. No, it's about the suffragettes so I'm going to read it. I just think it makes more sense. Yeah, do
Do you? Because I've obviously done lots of reading and I think it kind of makes... Yeah, that's lovely. That's a really sweet little hobby you've got going there. But this is politics and I'm a man. Yeah. So I think people would just expect that. It's obviously a movement about women's rights and women's right to vote and giving women a voice. So do you think it feels kind of a bit ironic if...
I was going to do it and then you've taken it from me and you're going to do it. Let me just explain to you why it's just more sensible, it's just more calm if you just let the man read it out. Okay, honestly, I just don't even know if I've got the fight in me. Yeah, I don't think the optics are going to be great and it won't look great on social media, but yeah, go for it. What, it won't be good for me? I think it'll look terrible for you. I was coming to the point, actually, that as an ally...
I think I'm going to graciously stand aside and I'm going to let you read this series. Right, yeah, I must have missed that. OK. As I say, these things can be hard to understand, so if you do need help, I am here. February 1913, East London. Emmeline Pankhurst glances through dirty curtains from the top floor of a run-down townhouse. A man in a brown suit with a pipe waits at the end of the street. He's been there an hour and he's making her anxious.
Right. Are you watching? I'm only showing you this once. Did Emmeline Pankhurst invent sleight-of-hand magic? LAUGHTER
A silence fills the room. All she can hear is the gentle ticking of the clock above the door. Emmeline takes a letter opener and carefully prizes open the envelope. She feels the women's breath as they all lean closer and stare at the white powder inside. Yes, the other string to her bow was that she was a major drug trafficker. She takes a tiny screwdriver to her watch, removing the timer mechanism.
She deftly attaches it to a small battery using her hairpin and a wire, then submerges another pin in the powder. One misstep and it could explode. She wraps the contraption in newspaper, then carefully places it inside another envelope. Emmeline allows herself to breathe. And who's delivering it? A woman at the end of the table raises her hand. Emmeline looks at her face. She can't be much older than her youngest daughter.
She thinks of the girl's mother, her future. Can she really ask her to do this, to risk her life? She could still call it off, but in her heart, she knows it's too late. They've come too far. There is no turning back. So she pastes on a smile, stares into the eyes of the woman holding the bomb, and says, "'And don't come back here. Lay low for at least a fortnight.'"
As Emmeline hands the package across the table, she knows this may be the last time she sees these women. Because by this time tomorrow, they will have blown up the Prime Minister. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.
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From Wondery, I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford. And this is British Scandal, the show where we bring you the murkiest stories that ever happened on these odd little isles. British scandals come in many shapes and sizes. Some are about money, some are about sex, they're all about power.
But when we look at scandals a bit closer, they turn out to be stranger, wilder, just plain weirder than we remember. So we're journeying back to ask who's to blame for what happened. And when the dust settled, did anything really change? MUSIC
So Matt, with Scandal, the beauty is that we take stories that sometimes people say, yeah, they know the key figures, they know the headlines, but they haven't necessarily dug down deep. And I feel like with this story, it's going to be exactly that. I think it's going to be exactly that.
I think everyone will definitely have heard of this group of women and this movement because they changed history. Bewitched. I'd love to know what the British scandal is there. They're Irish, for starters. They are, but they had a lot of success in this country and their breakup led to the total collapse of the denim industry. I would laugh, but I really think we should put a pin in that for another time. Most of us, of course, found out about the suffragettes thanks to the Walt Disney-funded documentary Mary Poppins. LAUGHTER
Which I think is the character that we're going to focus on today. If you're referring to the banger that is Sister Suffragette, do not take that in vain. Go back and listen. It hasn't aged a day. It is hard to get your head around the magnitude of what these women did. They forced a change in British democratic law. They are the reason that a few weeks ago, half the adult population in the UK had the opportunity to vote. They were the suffragettes.
And it's unbelievable. This is only just over 100 years ago that on polling day, women would not have a say at all. The men would go off to vote and then a government would be formed that women had had absolutely no say in whatsoever. This was life for women in the 1900s. Once they were married, their legal rights defaulted to their husbands. They couldn't own property or have a name on a contract without their husband's permission.
Divorced men were given primary custody of their children. Women were paid significantly less than men if they were allowed to work at all. So it's a great relief that that doesn't happen any longer. Indeed. I mean, when you put it like that, I am beginning to think that they had a point. That's good of you. I've always said the ally of allies. Like he is, he's at the top of the tree. It can take me a while to get there.
But I get there. So today you are going to need to don your sash, grab your banner, because we're not just taking to the streets. We're marching right to the top of the suffragette hierarchy. This is the story of the leaders that were the pop stars of women's rights in the 1900s. They were PR machines, political devotees, and even were referred to as terrorists. This is episode one, Deeds Not Words. MUSIC
15 years earlier, July 1898, somewhere in France. Emmeline Pankhurst clambers from the train carriage onto the dusty ground, her suitcase in one hand, a crumpled telegram in the other. She takes in the hordes of confused passengers gathering on the tracks. Beyond them, rolling lavender fields stretch for as far as the eye can see.
She's been in France taking part in political meetings, talking about how women should be given the vote. It was thrilling, but as she stands there by the stopped train, her heart sinks. She's going to miss her boat back to England. Excuse me? The train conductor turns. When will we get going again? I need to get home. The conductor throws his hands in the air. I am very sorry, madame, but the train is broken.
Emmeline holds out the telegram. My husband is incredibly sick. I have to get back to him. The conductor shrugs, then marches away towards the front of the train. Emmeline scans the horizon, spots what she thinks is a plume of smoke, decides to take matters into her own hands. She gives the train a last glance, then lifts her heavy bag and begins trudging across the field. To her relief, 20 minutes later, she finds a small farmhouse.
She knocks, then pushes at the large wooden door. It creaks open. She wipes the sweat from her face, then edges into the cool, dark interior. Hello? Is anyone... She jumps back, startled. Bonjour. I'm sorry. I need a lift, a train. Broken. I need assistance. The man stares at her blankly.
I really need to get to Calais. I can pay. This was me last week in France. There's some stuff you just know you have in your back pocket. Café au lait, Fanta Le Mans. What's Fanta Le Mans? Lemon Fanta. Wow, your French is brilliant. It's just pop. It's literally what it's called as well. Yeah, but when you put the accent on and switch the word around, it's just like a magic trick. It fools the brain.
Can you take me? J'ai un cheval et une charrette. Then lets out a breath as she realises he's pointing.
She turns and takes in a dirty, mud-caked horse tied to a cart. She realises she doesn't have a choice, so she hikes up her skirt and climbs aboard. A few hours later, Emmeline steadies her feet on the boat's deck as it departs Calais. She lets the fresh salt air wash across her. Then she makes her way below deck. She can't wait to get home and tell her husband about her adventure.
That copy of the Beano drops out the middle. I knew it. That's mine! The headline...
Obituary of celebrated barrister Richard Pankhurst, who died suddenly in the arms of his eldest daughter. Emmeline sinks, ink staining her fingers. The mother glances at her with concern. Are you okay? Emmeline can't reply. She stares at her husband's face. It was him who got Emmeline interested in politics and women's suffrage.
Is it inappropriate of me to just make the point here that it sounds like a man came up with the idea of giving women the vote? Does it feel inappropriate? Oh, yeah. It dawns on her that she's not only lost her soulmate, she's also now a single mother with five children to raise. Richard had kept her afloat emotionally and also financially.
For the first time in her life, Emmeline will have to go out to work. She'll have to live on her own, without the love of her life. And right now, she has no idea how. One year later, Chorlton, Manchester. Emmeline tidies away the last of her papers and pulls on her coat. She's working as a registrar of births, marriages and deaths. She glances around the tiny office. Condensation on the windows, plaster crumbling down the walls.
A wooden desk pressed into a corner. Emmeline's had a difficult 12 months. She discovered her husband had been in a huge amount of debt. She's been forced to sell their beautiful house in Victoria Park and many of the family belongings. She's given up all her political activities and she's even taken a second job running a haberdashery shop.
What is haberdashery? It's your ribbons, it's your buttons, it's your frilly bits, it's your little tiny bits of lace that you can put on the edge of things, it's your zips, it is your poppers, it's your hook and eyes, it's essentially your sequins and your beads. And do these shops, they don't seem to really exist anymore? Oh, big haberdashery has got me in the palm of its hand. I had no idea that these places were still going concerns. Emmeline glances at the clock.
She needs to get across Manchester to do the evening shift. She rushes out of the door, almost crashing into a girl with a toddler on each hip. May I help you? Emily looks her up and down. She can't be older than 16. And her children, their dirty clothes, grimy skin. When the girl speaks, Emmeline sees she's lost some teeth. I need to register a death. We're closed for today. You'll have to come back tomorrow.
But the girl just carries on talking, staring vacantly. It's for my baby. I need to register her birth and all. Emmeline sees that the girl is carrying a tiny bundle under her coat and realises with horror it's the baby. I'm really sorry. I didn't have anyone or anywhere to go. She trails off. Emmeline gently reaches out and takes the girl's calloused hand.
pushes open the office door and ushers her into a seat, then shouts down to a colleague. Could you ring the shop? Tell them to close up. She makes the girl a cup of tea and notices the bruises up her arm. Emmeline tries not to stare. Instead, she looks around the room. She spots some old wooden boxes and gives them to the toddlers to play with. Emmeline can't help but well up at their wide-eyed delight. She wonders what kind of life these two little children will grow up to have.
then turns her attention back to the mother, steadies her hand and starts to take her details. An hour later, Emmeline's alone in the office, the street outside now dark. Sitting perfectly still, she feels a bubbling rage in the pit of her stomach at a 16-year-old girl with two toddlers, a dead baby and a life condemned to the workhouse. Emmeline looks at the girl's teacup, a grubby thumbprint on the handle.
Emmeline spent much of her adult life in meetings talking about how if women ran the country, they'd have a better quality of life. How if women like her got the vote, they'd have a say over their lives. But she's never come face to face with women who have so little. She feels a flame ignite. She still has political contacts. She knows people who want to improve women's lives. She takes a pen and a fresh sheet of paper and begins scribbling frantically.
She knows exactly what she's going to do. This touches upon one of the major themes and strands of British scandal, which is class. And obviously today we would call it intersectionality about gender and class together, let alone race. But even someone who is effectively a civil rights campaigner, like Emmeline Pankhurst,
is still coming from a position of relative privilege compared to working class women. And this is 66 years after the Great Reform Act of 1832. It gave the vote to lots more people, but not even all men could vote. So back then, you were still a long way from universal suffrage. And of course, women weren't included at that point. And 66 years later, at this point, women are still not included. Yeah. And this conversation that she's referring to, these meetings that she's been in, the
The suffrage movement has been going for 40 years at this point. So people like her, middle class women, have been having these conversations with MPs. They've been politely and peacefully talking about women's right to vote and women's rights more generally. But it's not working, obviously. And it's certainly not a conversation that, as you say, working class women have access to or really are included in in any major way.
January 1901, Lincoln's Inn, London. 23-year-old Christabel Pankhurst stands on tiptoes to look through the high window in the meeting room doors. Her breath fogs the glass. She can hear the usher approaching again. Will you please sit down, Miss Pankhurst, or I'll have no choice but to remove you. He can get stuffed. She's going nowhere. Not when the men in that room hold her life in their hands.
Christabel holds her breath as the lawyers come through the large doors and the chairman hands her back her letter. I'm sorry, Miss Pankhurst, but as you know full well, women cannot practice law.
Sometimes this stuff can feel like ancient history, but this really wasn't that long ago. And it's important to note that it's not just law. Women couldn't be in the civil service. They couldn't be secondary school teachers. They could study, but not all universities gave them degrees. And a date that stays with me is 1948, which is when Cambridge University said, OK, we've let you study here before, but now we'll actually grant you a degree. 1948!
Christabel snaps back. With all due respect, sir, I've got the highest marks in my year. At this rate, I'm going to come out with better grades than my father did. I would be an asset to this country's legal system. The chairman sighs. I would suggest you find a career more suitable for a... He stammers. Christabel stares at him, daring him to say it. A woman. He turns away and Christabel shouts.
Things are changing. Just you watch. By the time you're retired, I'll be running my own law firm. This reminds me of when Darius Dinesh was kicked off Popstars. You'll have to join the dots for me. It was the precursor to Pop Idol, a reality show where they created a pop group.
And Darius Dinesh, when kicked off, says to Nasty Nigel, I will have a number one single. I will have a number one album. So Christabel Pankhurst, the Darius Dinesh of her day. I can pay no greater tribute than to liken it to the struggle of a man on a reality TV show. Christabel feels the usher's hand on her shoulder, steering her towards the exit. The following day, she marches through the door of 62 Nelson Street...
It isn't fair. She kicks the table where her mother's working, flops into the armchair. Father walked through life doing whatever he wanted. Why can't I? Emmeline takes her glasses off but refuses to be baited. Christabel knows it isn't her mother's fault, but she can't help herself. So? Emmeline goes back to the paper in front of her. I wholeheartedly agree it's incredibly unfair. Christabel tries again.
What are you going to do about it? Sit around in drawing rooms and talk? Emeline smiles. Christabel, I agree. Which is why I want to set up a union. Just for women. Emeline continues. With the aim of getting women the vote. Christabel scoffs. You have two jobs. We can barely pay the bills. How on earth would you have time to set up a union? Emeline leans forward.
With your help, with your legal knowledge and passion and my organisation, I think we'd be quite the team. Christabel considers this. Women have been fighting for suffrage for years. She's not quite sure how a union will change anything. As if reading her thoughts, Emmeline gestures to the papers she's working on. We'll do it differently. It won't be petitions and letter writing. It won't be confined to drawing rooms. It will be direct action.
will force the government to respond to our demands. Christabel has always wanted to change the world, but if she can't change it through the courts, she needs to go to where the power really lies in Britain: politics. October 1903, 62 Nelson Street, Manchester. Emmeline stands in the doorway of their tiny living room. There are ten chairs in a circle, each with a handwritten agenda.
She can hear her daughters in the kitchen making tea and her son Henry has been sent upstairs. No men allowed. Emmeline takes a seat and goes over her notes for her speech. They should have started ten minutes ago. She looks up as Christabel explodes through the door. Where is everyone? Emmeline glances at her watch. This is what's wrong with all your middle class friends. They just want to sit around talking and not... Emmeline's patience runs out.
Enough! I am just as disappointed as... I'm sorry, is this the union meeting? Can we get you some tea?
I think there may be others on their way. Emmeline turns around as a second wave of women stream into the tiny room. She can hardly believe it. She's going to run out of chairs. Ten minutes later, 62 Nelson Street is packed with women standing and squashed into every room. Emmeline looks up as Christabel claps her hands to silence the excited chatter. Thank you everyone for coming. I'd like to introduce you all to my mother, Emmeline Pankhurst.
Emmeline clutches her notes. She was expecting a small, intimate circle, not this sea of expectant faces. Good afternoon. Christabel and I would like to speak with you about women's suffrage. I know that many of you have been in the same meetings as myself and my late husband over the years, but it's never really got us anywhere. Emmeline looks pointedly around the room.
In fact, all this endless talking has achieved precisely nothing. So I would like to propose we set up our own union. There's an intake of breath, but Emmeline continues, louder this time. The Women's Social and Political Union. And it won't be about talking. It will be about doing. Christabel interjects loudly.
Deeds, not words. This is the birth of the three-word British political slogan. Stop the boats, get Brexit done. Deeds, not words was the mother of those wonderful phrases. It's very good. There's no flab on it whatsoever. Emeline stares at the silent crowd. A chair leg scrapes the floor. Has she misjudged this?
I propose our first action will be to speak to my late husband's dear friend, Mr Keir Hardie of the Labour Party, to put forward a women's suffrage bill to be heard in Parliament. Emmeline fixes her eyes on her notes. I've already drafted a few initial thoughts, but before that, we need to officially form the WSPU. Could I see a show of hands as to who's in favour? Emmeline looks up, her mouth dry, no movement in the room.
She drops her head. She knew this would never work. Then she hears a shuffling noise. She raises her eyes. A hand has gone up right at the back of the room. Then another one. And another one. Until the room is filled with raised hands. Emmeline is hit by a series of excited questions. Will there be elected positions? Will you need a treasurer? Can I invite my daughters?
Emmeline suddenly feels the huge responsibility. These women are placing their trust in her. She turns as Christabel appears at her side. She takes her daughter's hand, smiles, leans in and whispers, I think it's time to get to work.
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She takes in the intricately decorated ceiling, statues and paintings of famous parliamentarians. She ignores the stares of the politicians dressed in suits with armfuls of papers. She refuses to be cowed, scowling back. Her mother whispers quietly in her ear: "We're here to win support, remember?" Emmeline's right. They've been working on the women's suffrage bill with Labour MP Keir Hardie.
If it succeeds, it will give women over the age of 30 the right to vote. But they need a majority of MPs to vote for it. Ready? Polite smiles only. Christabel straightens her white floor-length dress and approaches an MP reading the Times. Excuse me? He looks up. My name's Christabel Pankhurst. My mother and I have been working with Keir Hardie on the Women's Suffrage Bill.
Christabel is pleased to see a flash of recognition on his face. He smiles. I've read about this. She feels a spark of hope. But I'm afraid I won't be able to support it. Christabel stops. Why? I have to represent the interests of my constituents, and this isn't something that will benefit them. Christabel can feel anger rising. She cuts in. How many of your constituents are women? He fixes her with a smile.
Enough for me to know that they have no interest in women's suffrage. Christabel focuses her attention elsewhere. She speaks to five more MPs, all of whom give the same pathetic answer. She slumps onto a wooden bench as a bell rings, watches the lobby empty as all the men scuttle into the chamber to debate the women's suffrage bill. She breathes slowly. All they can do now is wait.
Three hours later, Christabel jumps at the sound of a large door creaking open. MPs spill out. Christabel can't read their faces. She spots the first man she spoke to. Well, was it passed? The suffrage bill? He walks on. Christabel calls out again. What happened? What was the result? She finally spots Kia Hardy. Rushes over. Why won't anyone tell us what happened? She looks expectantly at his kind face.
I'm sorry, Miss Pankhurst. The bill wasn't heard. There's usually only time to hear the first one or two bills. Christabel feels all the energy leave her body. Where was our bill? It was 48th. Even these days, it can take ages for stuff to get through Parliament. Even introducing it, getting it through the Commons, amendments are made, it goes to the Lord, sometimes it can go back.
The Lords can push it back three times before you can use the Parliament Act to override it and then get royal assent. And that's today. Imagine how hard it was back then. They can't even get it debated on the floor yet. So probably quite naive of her to be like, was it passed? Did we get the vote? But I guess they're not able to be in these conversations or be in these processes. So how would you know how it works? Well, this is the problem with power is if you've got a parliament exclusively made of men, the vote for women isn't going to be high up on that list.
She sees embarrassment flash across Keir's face. I'm sorry, Christabel. I should have explained this. You should have mansplained this, am I right? Come here. Ruffles her hair. Get out of here. Christabel feels her face flush with anger. She's supposed to be the one with the legal knowledge. How could she have been so naive? She makes a decision. She's going to read up on the parliamentary system, learn every loophole there is,
She won't rest until their suffrage bill is at the top of the pile. Two months later, Westminster. Emmeline quietens the 30 women behind her as she pushes open the door to a wood-panelled office. She mutters to her daughter, let me do the talking. The MP for St Albans, Mr Bamford Slack, is perched behind his desk. What an amazing name. Phenomenal. Mr Bamford Slack.
Emmeline takes in his round face, his small spectacles and large moustache. Mrs Pankhurst, I wasn't expecting so many of you. You're here to talk about farming. Emmeline smiles. They'd secured this meeting by telling him they were constituents.
Actually, Mr Slack, I'm here with the Women's Social and Political Union to ask you to swap your farming bill, which is currently in second place in tomorrow's reading, with ours, which is 25th. Emmeline sees a flash of panic on his face. He reaches for his telephone. Emmeline gently puts a hand on it. Mr Slack, please hear us out.
I'm sorry, ladies, it's not an option. I've waited months for my bill to be heard. With respect, Mr Slack, your bill is about cattle and ours is about the future of women's rights in this country. Mr Slack pushes his glasses up. Well, perhaps that's important to you, but women's suffrage is not a priority for my... He's interrupted by a shout from the back of the room. Bamford Slack!
Emeline stands to one side, as planned, as a short woman marches forward. Alice, what on earth are you doing here with these women? Alice points at her husband across his desk. I have spent 25 years making your dinner and washing your underwear. Don't you think it's high time you did something for me? Emeline watches Mr Slack straighten and then hang his head in surrender.
The following day, Emmeline sits in the gallery overlooking the House of Commons. News has spread that their women's suffrage bill has finally made it to second place. But first, the roadway lighting bill. Roadways have rights too. I think we all remember where we were when the roadway lighting bill went through. Emmeline listens politely as MPs debate the benefits and pitfalls of horse-drawn carts and rear-view lights. Oh God, it makes the hair stand up on end, doesn't it?
Has my honourable friend thought about the impact of a road user becoming dazzled? Yeah, yeah, yeah. With respect, has my learned friend thought about the impact of a collision? Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. An hour later, the debate is still raging, but Emmeline can't keep track of the arguments. She glances at Christabel, who looks just as confused as she is. Then she catches an MP smirk up at the gallery.
Emmeline gives Christabel a concerted look as she realises what's going on. They're stringing out the debate so that the women's suffrage bill won't be heard. This is sabotage. This is what's known in the trade as filibustering. You just talk a bill out so that the other one doesn't get a chance to be heard. On they drone for another two hours, MPs openly jeering. She's being made a laughingstock. Time has finally called.
Emily follows Christabel as she charges down to the lobby, shouting at MPs. Shame! Shame on you! Emily touches her arm. Stop it, Christabel. We'll be thrown out. But Christabel spins round. Do you not see? They'll always find a way to silence us. Well, what do you suggest? Christabel pauses before replying. We need to refuse to be silenced. Emmeline looks at the fire in Christabel's eyes.
She's not quite sure what Christabel has in mind, but perhaps it is time to stop playing polite women of society. Deeds, not words. Emmeline may have helped the WSPU find its voice, but now it's time to make sure it's used and to shout louder than any of them have ever done before. MUSIC
When looking at contemporary social movements or activists, that mantra feels very familiar, doesn't it? Oh, yes. Think of modern protest groups like Extinction Rebellion, Just Stop Oil, Insulate Britain. They have definitely learned from the tactics of the suffragettes and they are very explicit. They say that they are effectively paying homage to the way that the suffragettes campaigned. And like the suffragettes, it's full of posh people.
October 1905, Manchester Free Trade Hall. Christabel grips Adela's hand, gives it a squeeze. She knows her little sister would rather be gardening or out walking in the peaks. Politics isn't her thing, but Christabel didn't want to come alone. She pushes through the crowded hall to their seats. As they sit down, she overhears an elderly man mutter, "'Isn't it charming to see women taking an interest in politics?'
Christabel fixes her eyes on the stage where a portly man with receding hair is speaking. She's never seen Winston Churchill in the flesh. Churchill is her MP in Manchester, but he's refused to discuss women's suffrage with her or her mother. As we all know, a general election is due to be called any day.
I will be seeking re-election in Manchester North West. I'm keen to hear about any issues my constituents have in the local area. Christabel raises her hand. She's sure that Churchill looks directly at her, but then passes over to the man in front. She's ignored a further four times until she can bear it no longer. She stands, shouts.
Mr Churchill, will a Liberal government give women the vote? Christabel keeps her eyes fixed on the stunned Churchill. Sit down, stupid woman. Christabel ignores the jeers. She shouts her question again. Will the Liberals support votes for women? Then watches in disbelief as Churchill quietly collects his papers, indicating the meeting is over.
She clambers up to stand on her chair, towering above the sea of men. Someone get that woman out! Christabel ignores them all. Surely you're not running away scared from a woman, Mr Churchill? She grins as he stops. She's got his attention now. Then she sees him point to someone in the crowd. She turns confused. Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!
Christabel spots two police officers making a beeline for her. She feels Adela tug on her hand. Please sit down, Christabel. But Christabel is sick of being ignored, sick of being silenced. Today, she's not going down without a fight. She stamps her foot on her chair again and again and again. Then she feels a rough hand grip her ankle.
She looks down to see a red-faced man trying to pull her down. Then other men grab at her clothes and body as she tries to kick back. She sees a terrified look on Adela's face. Here's her little sister scream as Christabel's legs give way and the room erupts into cheers. Let me go! I've done nothing wrong! A police officer spits back. Stupid girls!
As the police car races down the street, siren blaring, Christabel wonders if she's gone too far. But then she spots a campaign poster with Churchill's smug face staring back at her. And all of her anger resurfaces. All she's asking for is what these men already have. She won't let them intimidate her anymore. Won't let them make her back down. From here on in, she'll never surrender.
The following day, Manchester Police Court. Christabel straightens her hat and squares her shoulders as she approaches the courtroom steps. She takes in the small crowd, spots a few journalists. She'd hoped for more press, but this will have to do. Miss Pankhurst, do you really believe that causing a disturbance will win women the vote? Christabel pauses.
If Mr Churchill spent as much effort listening to the justified demands of half the population as he does maintaining the status quo, we wouldn't need to resort to such measures. But do you have any regrets about your actions? I only regret that women must fight so fiercely for what should be granted freely. She turns towards the courtroom doors. Inside, it's packed.
Christabel catches her mother's eye in the gallery as she and Adela are led into the dock. Christabel and Adela Pankhurst, you are both charged with inciting public unrest. You are sentenced to pay fines of 10 shillings each or go to prison for seven days. What do you choose? Christabel puffs out her chest.
She opens her mouth to launch into the speech she's been practicing, when from the corner of her eye, she spots a rotund man entering the room. What is he doing here? Winston Churchill? Christabel watches him approach the judge as the room quietens. The court is silent. She leans forward in her chair, trying to hear their whispered voices. She jumps as the judge stands abruptly.
There will be no jail sentence. Mr Churchill will pay the fines. Christabel spots a journalist leave the press gallery, then another and another. She wonders if she's finally got through to Churchill when she realises what's happening. Churchill doesn't want two women locked up during the lead-up to a general election. It will reflect badly on the Liberal Party. Churchill wants to silence them.
If that happened this year, three days later, Churchill would be on Sky News saying, like, I'm very sorry, it was an error of judgement, but can we please not politicise this? We refuse to let this man pay our fines. We choose prison. A gasp goes around the room. Christabel hears a rush behind her as the remaining press surge forward, flashbulbs exploding. We are political prisoners.
That's so smart because at that time, political prisoners in Britain were groups like Irish nationalists and radical socialists. So rather than just going to prison and being seen like a common criminal or a petty thief or something, they're elevating themselves. By making that distinction, you are legitimising your position as activists and political influencers. Emily and the other WSPU members jump to their feet to applaud as Christabel starts to chant...
Votes for women! Votes for women! For women! Votes for women! Christabel raises Adela's hand in the air as the others join in. But then the two sisters are separated and Christabel is led from the courtroom. She's taken down a set of concrete stairs into darkness. Christabel is barely able to see where she's putting her feet as the noise of the courtroom drains away. From nowhere, a wave of fear hits her. Is she really doing this?
Going to prison? As she feels the hand of the police officer tighten around her slender wrist, a realization creeps up on her. Maybe, just maybe, she's made a terrible mistake. Want to teach your kids financial literacy, but not sure where to start? Greenlight can help.
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One week later, 1905, Manchester. Emmeline rushes to hug her girls as the prison doors open.
She takes in their grey expressions, then pulls them both into an embrace. How are you? Christabel replies. Starving. Seven days of gruel and scrubbing floors. OK, maybe I've been a bit naive, but I thought if they were going to be political prisoners, they might have had slightly different treatment that they might have been able to read and do stuff like that. Yes, you're right. If they'd have been granted sort of the dignity of that categorisation, but actually they were treated as common criminals.
Emeline can tell Christabel is putting on a front. She squeezes her tightly, pins a chrysanthemum in her hair. The flower has become a symbol of solidarity amongst WSPU members. Emeline turns to Adela to do the same. I don't want to be more marked than I already am. Emeline catches Christabel's eye. I'm so proud of you both. I've arranged a small get-together to celebrate your release.
But as they start to approach the free trade hall, Emmeline realises Adela's stopped walking. I don't want to go back to the place I was arrested. Emmeline looks at her youngest with concern, but Christabel speaks first. Come on, spoilsport, we need to celebrate. Christabel pulls open the door as a huge cheer goes up. Emmeline takes in the group of assembled women stamping their feet, imitating Christabel's protest.
Christabel throws her hands in the air like a sporting champion, but Adela turns away. Emmeline calls after her. Darling, what's wrong? Adela looks like she might cry. We shouldn't be celebrating going to prison. It's not something I'm proud of. It was awful. I just want to go home. Are you going to come? She's the leader of this organisation. She can't just leave.
Adela, we've made the national press. We're actually making inroads. Deeds, not words. Emeline watches Adela turn, a look of disgust on her face. Adela, I'm sorry. Emeline has made her choice. She's vowed that from now on, disruption will be a cornerstone of everything the WSPU do, even if her youngest daughter never speaks to her again.
Okay, so in every family, different siblings have distinct personalities. So Adela is basically the non-aggressive one. Yes, I mean, she's a really complicated character. She doesn't want to get involved in this sort of direct action. She definitely doesn't want to go to prison again.
But a really interesting part of her is that she's a socialist and so she feels frustrated with this movement's focus on middle-class women and their neglect of the working class. Yeah, and you don't want siblings in the same political movements. It never works out, as the Milibands will tell you. Three weeks later, the Houses of Parliament. Emmeline pulls her coat around her as she braces against the driving rain cutting across Westminster Bridge.
She glances down at the darkness of the river. Whilst above her head, she brandishes a placard with the scrawled words, Women's rights are human rights. Over 100 WSPU women flank her. OK, so this is really starting to grow in popularity. Yes, and they are starting to grow in popularity. The Pankhursts are kind of pop stars. They're glamorous. They've got charisma. They are a PR machine.
Emmeline and the WSPU have spent weeks interrupting meetings and campaign rallies, repeatedly asking candidates if they will support votes for women. Now Emmeline and the WSPU are marching on Parliament to demand a meeting with the new Liberal Prime Minister. Emmeline glances at Christabel at her side, head bowed, determination etched on her face. She tries to banish thoughts of Adela at home alone.
All the friends who have stopped speaking to them. Emmeline raises her hand as they turn into Parliament Square Gardens and approach the entrance. But as they arrive at the door to the main lobby, it's blocked by a police officer. Sorry, ladies, no women allowed. Emmeline doesn't understand. That has never been the rule before. The officer briefly steps aside to let a man through. New policy. Emmeline tries not to panic.
The assembled women look at her with expectant faces. She can't back down. She's sick of women being treated like this by men in power. She marches to the door, pushing past the police officer. She forces her fingers into the wet metal of the handle and wrenches it open. Adrenaline rushes through her as warm light spills out through the gap in the door.
But before she can open it further, she feels hands on her arms, nails digging into her skin. She's yanked backwards, her fingers prized from the handle, the door slamming shut again as an officer shoves her to the pavement. How dare he touch her? Emmeline jumps to her feet and before she can think, she's pulling her arm back. And with all the might she can muster, she hits the policeman square in the face.
Everything shifts to slow motion. The surprised look on his face as he stumbles backwards, blood on his mouth, the gasps of the women behind her. She doesn't care. All she feels is rage as a horde of officers, batons raised, come tumbling down on her. And Emily realizes even disruption isn't enough. The entire machine is broken, rigged against her and every other woman.
Now there's only one option left. Blow up the system.
Welcome to the Offensive Line. You guys, on this podcast, we're going to make some picks, talk some s***, and hopefully make you some money in the process. I'm your host, Annie Agarne.
So here's how this show's going to work, okay? We're going to run through the weekly slate of NFL and college football matchups, breaking them down into very serious categories like No offense. No offense, Travis Kelsey, but you've got to step up your game if Pat Mahomes is saying the Chiefs need to have more fun this year. We're also handing out a series of awards and making picks for the top storylines surrounding the world of football. Awards like the He May Have a Point Award for the wide receiver that's most justifiably bitter.
Is it Brandon Ayuk, Tee Higgins, or Devontae Adams? Plus, on Thursdays, we're doing an exclusive bonus episode on Wondery Plus, where I share my fantasy football picks ahead of Thursday night football and the weekend's matchups. Your fantasy league is as good as locked in. Follow the offensive line on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can access bonus episodes and listen ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus.
From Wondery and Samizdat Audio, this is the first episode in our series, The Pankhursts. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all our dramatisations are based on historical research. If you'd like to know more about this story, you can read The Suffragette, a history of the women's militant suffrage movement by Sylvia Pankhurst. Suffragettes, the fight for votes for women by Joy Marlowe.
Working Class Suffragette by C.M. Talbot and The Remarkable Lives of the Suffragettes by Diane Atkinson. British Scandal is hosted by me, Alice Levine. And me, Matt Ford. Written by Jess Green. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our story editor is James Maniac. Sound design by Rich Evans.
For Samizdat, our producer is Chika Ayres. Our senior producer is Joe Sykes. For Wondery, our series producer is Theodora Leloudis and our managing producer is Rachel Sibley. Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Chris Bourne, Morgan Jones and Marshall Louis. Wondery.
Scammers are best known for living the high life until they're forced to trade it all in for handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit once they're finally caught. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the host of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of some of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away.
We've covered stories like a Shark Tank certified entrepreneur who left the show with an investment but soon faced mounting bills, an active lawsuit filed by Larry King, and no real product to push. He then began to prey on vulnerable women instead, selling the idea of a future together while stealing from them behind their backs.
acts. To the infamous scams of Real Housewives stars like Teresa Giudice, what should have proven to be a major downfall only seemed to solidify her place in the Real Housewives Hall of Fame. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers early and ad-free right now on Wondery Plus.
Hey, I'm Mike Corey, the host of Wondery's podcast, Against the Odds. In each episode, we share thrilling true stories of survival, putting you in the shoes of the people who live to tell the tale. In our next season, it's July 6th, 1988, and workers are settling into the night shift aboard Piper Alpha, the world's largest offshore oil rig.
Home to 226 men, the rig is stationed in the stormy North Sea off the coast of Scotland. At around 10 p.m., workers accidentally trigger a gas leak that leads to an explosion and a fire. As they wait to be rescued, the workers soon realize that Piper Alpha has transformed into a death trap. Follow Against the Odds wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on Amazon Music or the Wondery app.