The Mud March

On 9 February 1907, over 3,000 women set off through London to argue – politely – that they ought to have the vote. It rained. Of course it rained. As they marched from Hyde Park Corner to Exeter Hall in The Strand, the streets turned to mud, covering boots and skirts and petticoats with a tidal mark of brown. 

By the time they came home, the speeches were done, the banners were folded, and every hallway in Bloomsbury smelt of wet wool. Someone somewhere would have to deal with the aftermath. Someone had to deal with that. 

While the newspapers no doubt sneered at whether ‘ladies’ should march at all for such a cause, especially in such weather, the washtubs filled, the irons heated. Some of those skirts would be handed over to the housemaid or sent out to the laundry. For others, the mud stains would be tackled at their own kitchen sink, hands became raw as the scrubbing was done. “Mud March” quietly became the “Mud, Soap and Elbow Grease Week” for whoever was standing nearest the laundry basket. 

History remembers the slogans and the statistics. The laundry bill was impressive too.