Election Day

Political activism was in her DNA.  Her grandmother Millie had been a member of the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) and a militant fighter for her cause of votes for women.  One of her earliest memories were of the tales her grandmother would tell her on dark and stormy nights  by the coal fire in her front parlour of marches and demonstrations calling for women’s suffrage.  On the darkest of night, when her father would be out at ‘The Club’, her grandmother would share darker tales from the more militant days of the WSPU.  Tales of stone throwing, setting fire to post boxes, chaining to railings, ripping up the greens on golf courses beloved of the men in power.  She understood that her grandmother was impressing on her voting is a privilege, hard fought for by sisters who came before you.  

Her mother, Gladys, was born in 1918, the same year as the Representation of the People Act finally granted the vote to women over the age of 30 who met a property qualification.  This was always a thought which bemused her.  She knew almost by heart how Millie had spent the year celebrating the passing of the Act, but very little about the by the way of a celebration of the arrival of Millie’s daughter.

She tried to explain this to the new girls who the home had brought in to care for her.  They needed to register.  To vote.  And to help her vote.  This was hard fought for.  Important.  “yes love, we know, but for now shall we sort your breakfast. I’ve got to get this floor done by 10?” was the response.

Her mother, Gladys, had kept up the tradition.  A trade unionist, she had her own version of Millie’s marches tales.  With a photo of Barbara Castle on prominence in the parlour, Gladys had marched for equal pay.  Whilst her working life in the textile mills had ended before the 1970 Equal Pay Act was passed, Gladys had never given up on the fight.  She remembered how great it had felt being part of those meetings, those marches which Gladys had taken her to as soon as she could stand on her own legs.

She tried again with the girls dishing out breakfast.  Are you voting then?  “No love, what’s the point?  They’re all the same them lot.  Do you want juice or a cuppa?”. 

“I want the TV on, morning politics please”.  This caused some surprise, not Homes under the Hammer?  “No, I want the news on please”, OK Love, News it is.

The manager came to see her.  The girls told me you keep asking them about voting.  “Yes, I’ve always voted” she said.  “I want to vote”.  We can get you a postal vote, we will post it for you.  “No, I want to go to the polling station.  I’ve always voted.”  Love, that’s not a good idea.  We’d need to sort staffing out to go with you, and you’d need to go in your wheelchair which means we’d need to sort transport.  And what if you catch a cold whilst you’re out.  I’ll get you a postal vote.  You wont miss out.

She cried that night.  She was frustrated that they weren’t listening.  She’d always voted.  Millie and Gladys would be turning in their graves if they thought she wasn’t voting.  Why wouldn’t anyone listen and help?

A new girl had started, young, enthusiastic, called Megan.  Kept getting in trouble for taking too long on the rounds. Megan had heard that she wanted to vote.  The trouble she was causing over this was the talk of the handover sessions.  Megan asked, why is voting so important to you?  Someone was listening to her!  So she told her.  She told her everything.  Millie, Gladys, the marches, the campaign meetings.  Megan listened.

The manager came to see her.  OK, I’ll get you there.  I hadn’t realised how much this mattered to you.  My daughter Megan told me though.  She’s new here.  She wants to take you.  I’ve said she can.  I’ve spoken to your daughter who has agreed we can use some one to one hours to get you to the polling station. 

It was like waiting for Christmas, but better.  She watched every bit of news.  Stayed up late in her room watching the campaigns on the news.   It was thrilling. 

When election day came, Megan came for her after the morning rounds were done and with help from one of the kitchen guys who also did transport runs with the mini bus they helped her into the bus.  There was a bit of a queue when they got to the polling station at the community centre.  There was a buzz in the queue.  General chat taking place with the polling clerks and candidates agents.  She loved it.  So much more interesting than sitting in the communal lounge at the home!  When it was her turn, she confirmed her address, then with help from Megan she went into the booth.  She took her time over it, wanting the moment to last for longer before she had to return to the home.  Megan then moved her over to the ballot box, where she posted her paper.  

On the bus back to the home, she asked, “Can we sit up and watch the result?”  Yes, said Megan.  I’d like that.  I’ll square it with my mum.  After I’ve voted though.  I need go to go after my shift.  It’ll be my first time voting. 

They sat up together in the communal lounge that night with others from the home.  Special permission had been given to watch the results show.  Megan had arranged for extra blankets, tea and toast for everyone who wanted to stay up.  At some point she drifted off to sleep.  She woke up to BBC Breakfast reporting the results.  It was a good day.