Elizabeth and I

Thanks to Congleton Museum for this photograph. https://www.congletonmuseum.co.uk/    

Another day dawns and already the traffic is passing by. For years now the road has connected Congleton and Buxton. Today there is a slight buzz of expectation as a visitor is coming; please excuse me if I don’t get excited, so many people have been here, especially when Elizabeth was alive.

Many visitors now are interested in Elizabeth, her life and her legacy. Plenty to tell and I can claim to know more than most. I watched her struggle, both personal and public, as she fought for radical change in the laws that kept women subservient. Oh yes, I recall when women were totally at the mercy of the men in their lives, and no legal protection.

There were nights I stood here ready to greet her from the many journeys, wrapping my warmth around her. I provided sanctuary and peace, especially when so many were against her. Even some local folk objected to her lifestyle, resistant as she was to marriage. I remember the day she stayed here while her beloved brother got married down the road. She refused to enter a church and hear her future sister-in-law promise to honour and obey her husband.

Elizabeth and Ben were a happy couple who equally resisted marriage, although eventually they had to give in. Some people were highly critical of Ben but only I knew what happened behind closed doors. Life wasn’t easy but they always loved and supported each other. The lack of money and her being a workaholic made life together tough. I used to get frustrated when they spent the little money they had on publishing, campaigning and travel; the fight for women’s rights always came well above their needs, or mine.

The worst time was the mill fire. It destroyed so much. I stepped in and played my part; in fact, I have never fully recovered from the weight of the loom. Elizabeth worked tirelessly alongside Ben and the few workers they kept on. But it was obvious that despite their valiant efforts the business was doomed.

Hardship followed and we all shivered through the cold, too many empty fireplaces. It was sad watching them suffer. I often heard it said that they were too proud to accept help from friends.

Over the years I have heard a lot said. Please, not the line about walls having ears, such rubbish. Feelings and vibrations have told me so much. Joy, sadness, anger – I have felt it all. Elizabeth held strong views and was highly argumentative; sadly, this sometimes led to friendships breaking up, but as always her views on how to gain women’s rights dominated.

The fight was tiring for me too. So many early mornings, up before dawn and spending hours at her desk reading reports and writing papers. And letters, oh so many letters. Her views winged their way around the globe, encouraging others and learning about how to gain support. How many hours have I watched her sitting at her desk? Too many.

After the sad death of Ben, and as Elizabeth was growing older it was good to hear how the young activists – suffragettes they were called – welcomed her to their rallies. I was heartened to see the pleasure she took in this and the bouquets she brought home were truly beautiful.

It’s awful to think that in the end I played a part in her downfall. She fell on the stairs and never recovered.

That was all over a hundred years ago. Since then I have been divided in two and now put back together. The current owners, dogs too, care about me and it’s lovely to feel so valued in my old age.

I am proud that I was part of Elizabeth’s life. I will never forget her and how she changed the world for women. Sorry, must go, the visitor is arriving. That’s nice, she has stopped to look at my blue plaque; put up over 30 years ago they got Elizabeth’s year of birth wrong, but that’s unimportant, what matters is what she achieved.

Visiting the house was a great pleasure and it spurred me on to write this piece from the perspective of the house.

This house has inspired others to pick up their pen. At the recent unveiling of the statue Lily Smith read her poem CW12 2DW – you can read this at https://elizabethelmy.com/stories/

Pictures from my visit

Here is a picture of silk removed from the walls during recent renovations of the house. Holding a piece of cloth woven by Ben or Elizabeth I was almost moved to tears; this single piece of cloth made her feel so close.

The staircase today. A few weeks before her death Elizabeth had a fall and moved to a home near Manchester.