 Stories from Parliament, Votes for Women, Part 2 As Lady Constance Lytton, with influential friends, I'd been given special treatment in prison. Would I be treated differently if I changed my appearance and my name? I decided I would join the suffragettes next March of protest, disguised as an ordinary working woman. A woman by the name of Jane Wharton. I went to buy a pair of glasses and the plainest, least fashionable dress and coat and hat, and had my hair cut short. I could tell my ugly disguise was a success. You know, ladies, I think she's actually bought that hat. I felt embarrassed as well as pleased by my disguise. But this was nothing compared to what my fellow suffragettes were going through in prison. Many were now on hunger strike, refusing to take food, and being forced to eat in the cruelest way. So I travelled by train up to Liverpool to join the protest outside the prison, where we knew this cruel treatment was in force. In front of the prison governor's house, Miss Emily Davison spoke to the assembled crowd. The Liverpool who stand up for these prisoners here, let the women do their part. Stay and blockade the governor's house till the prisoners are released. Two policemen seemed to have their eyes fixed on me. I was determined to get arrested and imprisoned, so I began to throw the stones I was holding. Though I didn't throw them at the governor's windows, all I did was drop them over the hedge into his garden. But that was enough. Right, that's it! The two policemen grabbed me by the arms and marched me off to the station. Miss Davison struck one of them on the back, so she was arrested too. I was sentenced to 14 days hard labour. And thanks to my disguise, Jane Wharton, as I now was, received none of the special treatment that had been offered to Lady Lytton. Now I learned exactly what my fellow suffragettes were subjected to. Each day, a wardress brought me all my meals. But as each meal was brought to my cell... I don't want any, thank you. Very well. Then, on the fourth day, a doctor entered my cell with five wardresses. So then... This one's Jane Wharton. Jane Wharton. And this is your fourth day without food? You must be fed at once. But I would urge you to take food willingly. You'll find it much more pleasant. When our government gives votes to women, I shall eat. This is absurd behaviour. All started by that Dunlop woman. Miss Wallace Dunlop began the hunger strikes. And all imprisoned suffragettes now follow her example. Very well. Let's lie her down on her bed. Come on. Why must you women resist? This is no way to help your cause. Then he thrust a tube down my throat. I choked as it reached inside. Down and down it went. Then the sloppy liquid food was poured in. It made me sick in seconds. It seemed an eternity before they took the tube out. I knew that Lady Constance Lytton would not have been treated like this. But ordinary Jane Wharton was a despised, helpless creature. And when she was out of prison, no one would believe a word she said. There were so many Jane Whartons in our land, we had to help them by winning votes for women. Before long, through the wall, I heard the sounds of forced feeding in the cell next to mine. It was almost more than I could bear. But at last the ghastly process was over and all was quiet. Then I tapped on the wall and called out, No surrender, votes for women. And they came an answer from beyond the wall. I think it was Miss Davison. I couldn't be sure. But now, as I think back, I am quite sure of her most famous deed. On the 4th of June, 1913, Emily Davison was at the front of the crowd of the Epsom Derby, with the horse race in full flow. She stepped under the barrier and onto the track. Two horses thundered past her. But as another, the king's horse galloped round the bend. She lunged towards it and was bowled over and trampled under its hooves. Some said it was suicide to bring attention to our cause. But Emily had bought a return ticket to the race. I believe that she had no intention of dying as she did. I believe that she was trying to hang a suffragette flag on the passing horse, so that when it crossed the finishing line, the king's own horse would be flying the slogan, Votes for women. Perhaps it was a turning point. I don't know. It had taken years. But in 1918, women were given the vote. If they were over 30. Perhaps in time, women will have the vote on the same terms as men. Perhaps one day, they will even be elected themselves. I hope for this, at least, that anyone in future times who has the right to vote will use it and will remember the struggles of the suffragettes. Deeds, not words. Deeds, not words.