Prometheus Journal is proud to republish two pieces of writing from Sylvia Pankhurst (1882-1960), originally published in The Workers’ Dreadnought – transcribed by L Wilkinson.
Pankhurst remains a touchstone figure in the history of British Marxism. Radicalised through her experiences campaigning for votes for women, she continued to organise amongst the working classes of East London. Through this, her East London Federation of Suffragettes (ELFS) evolved into the Workers’ Socialist Federation and the short-lived Communist Party (British Section of the Third International).
Often remembered as one of the targets of Lenin’s ‘Left-Wing’ Communism, Pankhurst’s wider political struggles are often neglected. Pankhurst explored how the struggle for democracy in Britain and the class struggle interlinked. At a time of mass-compromise on anti-militarism in 1914, she pushed for an anti-militarist politics in Britain. Pankhurst was an anti-imperialist, crucially as a supporter of the Easter Rising in Ireland. Finally, Pankhurst was an unrelenting partisan in the class struggle, particularly where it interlinked with gender and housing. Pankhurst’s The Workers’ Dreadnought, carried pieces which attempted to chart and intervene in the working-class struggle in East London at the start of the 20th Century.
The Parties in the Streets describes the organisation of street parties in late 1919 following the conclusion of the armistice in World War One. Pankhurst uses the example of a street party put together by the local parents to make a simple point – that ‘organising’ is not the practice of a select chosen, but is a set of skills that can and will be practiced by everyone. This undergirded her wider belief that the struggle for suffrage and ultimately communism, would come from the mass activity of the working-classes themselves.
Co-operative Housekeeping is a two-part fictional account of housing and collective work following an imagined British revolution. It reflects Pankhurst organising experience amongst the working classes of East London. Furthermore, its descriptions of collectivised housework and childcare, amongst other forms of social reproduction, reflect the experiences of the ELFS during the First World War, where they organised collective provision of various necessities. It constitutes a speculative fiction rooted in the everyday struggles of workers, particularly working-class women, and how society could be reorganised.
The Parties in the Streets
Published August 16th 1919 – The Workers’ Dreadnought
During the war the men living in the Bow streets formed themselves into patrols, keeping vigil night after night in case of air raids. When the Armistice put an end to their labours they held a party for the children of the neighbouring streets in the W.S.F. Hall at 400 Old Ford Road. But now the mothers are giving parties—Peace Parties—to the children, not in a hall [in] this lovely weather, but in the open street, and the idea is spreading like a fever from street to street. Last Saturday we saw the wonderful party that the mothers of Appian Road had organised. We could hardly believe our eyes. All the greyness was gone. From innumerable strings stretched across the street hung numberless paper pennants, all in pale colours -— white, pink, lilac, green, blue—so many, so many of them, as gay and light as a forest of almond blossom. The walls of the houses were all covered with decorations, from as high as the top of the ground-floor windows one could see no bricks at all, they were covered by lace curtains, striped muslins, of many colours, and all sorts of draperies, and hanging from all the windows were the bright, strong, primary colours of the Union Jack and other national flags. There were mottoes over the doors, such as: “Peace, Peace! All are Welcome.” Beside the open doors stood small tables, which had been brought out to serve as stands for flowers, photographs, and other ornaments. Right down the street, in the middle of the road, were trestle-tables, covered with white cloths decorated with flowers, and loaded with cakes and bread and butter. 172 children, all dressed in clean pinafores, were at tea, and the mothers were waiting on them, whilst fathers, grandparents and other friends were sitting in the doorways watching them. Two men, with highly painted faces, dressed in curious gay garments and posing as a country man and woman, were strolling up and down amusing everyone. Some of the mothers were wearing best dresses and clean, white aprons, but some had a wonderful fancy costume, having a mob cap, a bodice of broad red and white striped cotton material, a short, blue cotton skirt, with the name “Britannia” stitched upon it, and low shoes tied, with red white and blue.
There were no parsons, district visitors, or social workers amongst the throng: the whole affair had been organised by the mothers of the street. One of them was now reading out to the group at each table in turn a bunch of letters and telegrams of good wishes, which had been received. She said that she had written to Buckingham Palace for a message. The King’s Secretary had replied that it was a most unusual thing for the King to send a message to a public gathering of that kind, but that if a telegram of congratulation were sent to him no doubt it would be replied to, “So if the King wants a telegram,” she said, her voice broken by annoyance, “he has got it, I sent one off at two o’clock, but I haven’t had an answer yet.” But neither the children nor the majority of the adults were worrying about a Royal greeting. This was their very own party, organised by themselves, and they were charmed by its prettiness and gaiety.
We, too, were well pleased, for we saw in these parties the germ of the co-operative life that will arise when the Social Revolution comes.
The people of the poor, little streets of Bow have begun by organising children’s parties: some day they will organise the Soviets.
Co-operative Housekeeping
Part 1 – Published August 21st 1920 – The Workers’ Dreadnought
Oh, yes, I am a genuine convert to Communist housekeeping, Co-operative housekeeping I prefer to call it, and to Communism also. I was absolutely against it before I had tried it. I declared I would never submit to it. Indeed, I was quite prepared to resist and to persuade all the women in the street where I lived to resist with me — really, I was quite militant about it!
And now you’ve settled down to it?
Oh, no! I’m an enthusiast! And I didn’t just submit — all I did was quite voluntary. I only took part in it, gradually, as I discovered its advantages.
How did you begin?
Well, I shall tell you. Of course, you know that before the Revolution, this was a very poor and overcrowded district. It is quite transformed now, but the streets that used to be here were nothing but slums. When my husband was killed in the war, and I had only the pension to depend on, I had to give up our house and moved into two rooms in one of the wretched little houses near here. Even though my husband’s firm had made me an allowance up to the time of his death, I had so many debts to meet that I had to sell most of the furniture and I had a most miserable time. After the war, prices kept rising and things got worse and worse for every one, at least for every one in my position — as of course you know — but when the Revolution came, I was utterly opposed to it. I thought the Communists were perfectly dreadful people, and I went to all the meetings that were held in this district against them. After the Soviets were set up, I was a passive resister, as far as I dared, and without making any sacrifices. I took all I could get in the way of benefits, but I wouldn’t help the Soviets and Communism the least little bit. As two of the children were under six, I had the option of doing my own housework, instead of working at anything else, and although I had been a telegraphist before I was married, and though I simply loathed housework, I chose to do my own work at home, so that nothing I did should assist the Soviets in any way.
When I heard that they were beginning to build Co-operative houses, I wouldn’t even go to look at them. Then some one in our house got small-pox, and I was terrified: I rushed to the Soviet Health Office, where I’d declared I’d never go, and begged the Commissary there to help me to get away. She was most kind; indeed, I needn’t have gone there, for she already knew all about us, and was making arrangements for us to be motored to an isolation home, where we could be kept under observation till all possibility of our developing the disease had passed. I was so sure we’d caught it, and so terrified of it, that I’d have submitted to anything; but if it hadn’t been for the fright, I should have thoroughly enjoyed the time in the isolation home. The children liked it immensely. We had a lovely sitting-room and garden all to ourselves, a nice little bedroom each, and all sorts of books and games. The food was excellent, and it was delightful to know that one need have no anxiety about paying for it. It was the first country holiday we had had for years.
When it was time to leave, we were told that our house had been condemned as unfit, and would soon be pulled down. I was asked whether I wanted to go back to London, or whether I would rather go to live in one of the new Village Communes. I said I preferred London, and I was offered rooms in the new house where I now live. I said I wouldn’t go into a Co-operative house, and that I didn’t want rooms found for me, but would choose my own. I was given a card for three nights in a Soviet hotel near Liverpool Street, and I said I’d be sure to find rooms to suit me in that time.
Things were not organised then as they are now. Lots of people were still living in the old houses, and to a certain extent, in the old way, partly because the Soviets hadn’t had time to build new houses and make Communist arrangements for every one. House accommodation was all rationed by them, however, and for myself and the three children, I was entitled to a minimum of three rooms, but I couldn’t find as much as one room anywhere.
I soon gave up looking round on my own account, for every one seemed annoyed at being bothered about the matter, and told me to go to the local Soviet Housing Bureau, where the officials could tell me in a few moments what rooms were available in any part of London. So I had to go to the Bureau. The Secretary there was most obliging, but she couldn’t offer me rooms anywhere, except in a Co-operative house; the old houses were being condemned as fast as the people could be got out of them, and only Co-operative houses were being built. I had expected the women would all object to Co-operative housekeeping; but it seemed they were simply clamouring to live in Co-operative houses. The people who were living in fairly good houses were naturally made to wait for accommodation in the new Soviet houses, until the inhabitants of the condemned houses had been provided for. However, the Secretary said that as I was opposed to Co-operative housekeeping, she would be able to arrange for me to exchange rooms with some one living in an old house by and by; but this could not be done for some time, because there was so much moving going on, or that people had to wait their turn to have their furniture removed and their rooms decorated through the House Committees. She toId me I should probably have to wait three months before such an arrangement could be made.
The only thing for it was to go into a Co-operative house for the present. ‘But you can live independently if you want to in some of the Co-operative houses, and I shall arrange for you to go into one of those. We have rooms that would just do for you in a Co-operative house, quite close to where you were living,’ the Secretary said.
She wrote the address on a card and handed it to me. I took it, though I knew exactly where the house was; it was the one I had helped to persuade the neighbours not to visit.
When we got here, every one treated us most kindly. The Secretary of the House Committee said she was sorry I meant to live independently, but she was quite ready to help me to do it as comfortably as possible. She offered us a sitting-room, a bedroom for me, one for the two youngest girls, as they were under school age, and one for Ethel, as she was going to school then, also a bath-room, kitchen and scullery. She said they’d fit me up a larder on the roof garden and have an electric copper and iron, and a mangle put in the scullery, as I was determined to do the washing myself, and to do it in my own rooms.
‘And now will you come to choose the furniture?’ she asked me.
‘But,’ I answered: ‘I’ve got furniture of my own. I want my own things.’
She looked disappointed: ‘Wouldn’t you like to choose something that would really suit the rooms?’ she said. ‘The inmates here have all been so kind in letting me help them to choose something in keeping with the place. I’m rather proud of the result. Wouldn’t you like to see over the house?’
‘I’d rather have my own things,’ I said, very stiffly; but I felt rather ashamed; she’d been so kind. So I said: ‘All the same, I’d very much like to see the house.’
She brightened up again at that. Of course, she knew I’d never be able to hold out for my shabby old furniture once I’d seen what she had to show me. She took me through flat after flat — every one different, and every one so charming, I could hardly believe my eyes and I felt how silly I had been to insist on having my own shabby, ugly, old things.
After we had seen about a dozen flats, the Secretary, took me across the garden — I was astonished to find what a lovely garden they had made in so short a time — and out into the street, where I saw a great new building with a big sign: ‘Soviet Furnishing Depot.’ We went in and she told the store-keeper there that we wanted to look at furniture. ‘You know you’ll have to get some things for the present. It will be ever so long before your furniture will be fumigated and brought over, and, in any case, these rooms are larger than you were in before, so you would need some extras anyway,’ she said to me.
I made no further objections, but just threw myself into the business of getting the prettiest things I could find. The Secretary was very helpful, and always insisted that I should have the nicest and most serviceable things. The woodwork and plaster had purposely been left uncoloured for the incoming tenant to choose how it should be done. The Secretary got my card for the hotel extended for a week, in order that our rooms might be decorated before we moved in.
So I found myself in a Co-operative house.
Part 2 – Published August 28th 1920 – The Workers’ Dreadnought
I haven’t described our Co-operative home to you. It is built round a square garden and there is another garden round it. There is also a garden on the roof. The dining- room and kitchen are on the top floor. The school nursery, crèche, and children’s garden is at the end of the block of buildings. There are a tennis court, croquet lawn, a hall for meetings, concerts, dances, and so on, a sewing room, workshops for all sorts of crafts, a library and gymnasium, and two big summer houses in the garden, one of which is for the older children. (…)
I had only just got upstairs again when there was a knock on our door and some one called ‘Cleaners?.’ ‘Not here,’ I said, and I heard them go on to the next door. Then I peeped out and saw some young men and women in blue overalls. They had all sorts of machines I had never seen before with them, including a thing I recognised from pictures I had seen as a vacuum cleaner. I felt sorry I had missed the chance of seeing it work. But presently, one of the young women came back and said she thought my flat had been missed out by mistake. I just opened the door and let them come in with the vacuum cleaner and all the rest of their tackle, so that I could see how the cleaner worked.
Ethel, careless little minx, had made some nasty black marks on the new carpet, through not cleaning her muddy shoes when she came in I had wiped up the mess as best I could, but the marks still showed, and I thought I should have to wash the corner of the carpet with soap and water. When the cleaner had passed over the place, the marks had quite disappeared. It seemed quite a miracle to me then.
I was just beginning to wash — I hate washing — I loathe housework — when one of the young women in blue said: ‘Look.’ we do it like this!’
Before I could interpose, she began packing the plates into a rack in a cupboard over the sink — I had wondered what that cupboard was for. When she had put them all in, she turned a tap that sent streams of hot water over them. She could make it soapy or plain. When they were clean, she turned on another tap that sent a gust of hot air over them until they were dry. ‘You can leave them in these until you want to use them again,’ she said, ‘but I should do as little as possible of that up here if I were you — it’s much nicer having meals in the common rooms.
I had put some of the children’s pinafores to soak. ‘Oh don’t do that. We get those done in the laundry; if you don’t mind, we’ll take them down in the tub as they are. We’ll let you have it back later.’ ‘Frank, will you please carry that tub into the trolley for me; it has to go down to the laundry?’ ‘I see you know how to use the electric cooker. Mary has done the pans for you. If you want to do them for yourself at any time, just use the automatic pan cleanser as soon as you’ve finished with them; turn that on for a few seconds, so, then that, that, and that, so, so, and so you’ll find it only takes a few seconds — but really, I shouldn’t bother with cooking up here, if I were you.
The place was now all spick and span: it would have taken me the greater part of the morning to do the cleaning, and now in a few minutes it was finished, and far better than I could ever have done it. I stood there feeling a fool and uncomfortable, as though I were having the work done for me under false pretences.
After the cleaners had gone, I decided I would do my shopping and take Rene and Laura with me, but they were nowhere to be seen in the garden, and I called and searched till a nurse came out of what I found to be the baby’s garden. She told me that two fresh pupils had come unannounced to the nursery school, and that these were probably the children I was looking for. ‘You’ll find they’ve made themselves quite at home with us!’
I went with her and discovered Rene and Laura. Rene was doing musical exercises with some other children, who were following each other round and round on a circle painted in white on the floor. Rene was pointing her toes and dancing along like a little peacock! Laura, I could see through a doorway in another room; she was wearing another pretty, new overall, with an apron over it, and was helping to wait on some little girls and boys who were sitting at a table, having buns and milk.
I called to my children. Rene looked over her shoulder and tossed her head at me laughing. ‘I can’t mother, I’m too busy.’ Laura didn’t even hear me. I went for Laura first, took the dish of buns out of her hands, and began to undo the apron. She screamed and cried.
One of the teachers came to me. ‘Won’t you let your little girl stay?’ ‘No, I will not!’ I called Rene again, while I wrenched off Laura’s overall; she was resisting with all her might. Rene took no notice of me until one of the teachers told her to go to me. I dragged my children away. They were both crying as hard as they could, and the worst of it was, they wouldn’t stop when I got them home.
When Ethel came in from school, her first question was: ‘May I go to dinner with the other children?’ I told her, ‘No.’ She pouted and grumbled that she didn’t want ‘a nasty old dinner all by ourselves.’ She took the part of Rene and Laura, who were still sulking and crying. ‘Why can’t you let them go to the nursery school, where they’d enjoy themselves and learn something? I think it’s too bad of you, mother!’
Presently, Ethel burst out: ‘Our school is quite different since we went away — all been done up; you wouldn’t know it; and the lessons are much nicer; all the teachers are new; I’m going to learn the piano, and French, and all sorts of things. Everything’s better than it used to be!’
When she was in the doorway, ready to go, she went on again: ‘I don’t care what you say, mother, I’m going to have tea with the other children; I’m going to see what everything’s like. I’m not going to live all to ourselves. I’ve been hearing all about it from the other girls in playtime, and I think it’s lovely, whatever you say, so there! You told me they were horrid people, but they are not — and why don’t you try it yourself, mother? The other girls’ mothers like it.’
She banged the door, and then opened it for a moment, smiling, and shaking her head at me. ‘Now mind, I’m not coming in to tea!’ I was so much astonished, I just sat and looked at her; then I called:
‘Ethel, Ethel!’ but she’d gone scampering downstairs.
Another hour’s crying and nonsense from Rene and Laura was too much for me, and I thought, after all, it was only sending them to school a few years earlier, and they’d soon get tired of it, anyway. So I washed their faces and brushed their hair, and let them run into the nursery school with a message: ‘Mother says we can come now.’
After that, I felt very uncomfortable — every one else was working, and I had nothing to do. The children didn’t like coming home to meals, they kept running off to have their’s with the other children; the cleaners came in every morning. I was still getting an allowance as a working housekeeper, but I felt I was getting it under false pretences, and I wondered whether it wouldn’t be stopped on that ground.
One day, when a member of the House Committee came to ask why I didn’t put out my basket of things for the mendery. I said that I’d done all my mending, but I’d help to mend someone else’s things in the mendery, if they’d have me to work there. She said yes, they’d be glad to have me; but perhaps I’d like to see some of the other neighbouring workshops too; she offered to take me that afternoon, if I’d like to go, and I agreed.
When we got to the mendery, I felt ashamed of what I’d been calling mending, for the menders there were making the things look as good as new. Much of the work was done by machinery. I saw that it was a new trade that I’d have to learn. It was the same in the kitchen and the laundry; it was all run by experts, and I realised that I had not learnt to do anything properly. I told my guide how I felt. ‘Every one feels like that at first,’ she said, ‘but you’ll soon learn.’
After we had seen the domestic workshops serving our house and others near it, we went to see the boot and clothing factories, a book bindery and finally a pottery. The pottery fascinated me, and when we came to the china- painting room, I said: ‘If only I could learn that! I’ve been wanting to work at something like that all my life.’ ‘But why not?’ said my guide. ‘You can begin learning the trade to-morrow.’ And so I did. I got myself engaged the same afternoon.
That evening, I threw all my reserves away. I went with my children to supper in the Household Common Room, played tennis with some of the other inmates, and finished up, with a dance on the roof.
Since then, I have tried to be a Communist and to help the Communists in every way that I can. I am so fortunate in my work; I do enjoy it! I like the Communist life in every way, and I’m anxious to see it made more complete. I hope it will soon spread all over the world.
There are the children! Let us go to meet them.”
