THICK WHITE FOG, AT FIRST NOTHING VISIBLE AND THEN THROUGH
THE STIFLING HEAT the FOG IS REVEALED AS BILLOWING CLOUDS of
STEAM hanging like a blanket over a vast laundry floor with
row upon row of WOMEN washing, pressing and folding endless
linen, in continual repeat from vat to hot press to basket.
Women do not have the calmness of
temperament or the balance of mind
to exercise judgement in political
Through the rising clouds of steam, WOMEN ironing, MRS VIOLET
MILLER [early 40s] amongst them.
POLITICIAN 2 V/O
If we allow women to vote, it will
mean the loss of social structure.
Women are well represented by their
fathers, brothers, husbands.
HOUSE CROWD V/O
POLITICIAN 3 V/O
Once the vote was given, it would
be impossible to stop at this.
Women would then demand the right
of becoming MPs, cabinet ministers,
FOR DECADES WOMEN HAD PEACEFULLY CAMPAIGNED FOR EQUALITY AND
THE RIGHT TO VOTE.
THEIR ARGUMENTS WERE IGNORED.
IN RESPONSE, EMMELINE PANKHURST, LEADER OF THE SUFFRAGETTE
MOVEMENT, CALLED FOR A NATIONAL CAMPAIGN OF CIVIL
THIS IS THE STORY OF ONE GROUP OF WORKING WOMEN WHO JOINED
INT. WASHING ROOM. LAUNDRY. BETHNAL GREEN. LONDON. 1912. DAY.
THE LOUD BELLOW of a FACTORY BELL. Women begin to file out.
MAUD WATTS [20’S] scrubs a deep washing vat, as the last
LAUNDRY WORKERS drain from the floor.
Maud - take this up to the West
MR TAYLOR [40’s] with irritation, throws a parcel at her, a
central London address clear on the front. It slams hard into
her chest, winding her a little.
It’s meant to be there by six.
MAUD nods, sweat and steam blotting her clothes.
Delivery should have picked it up.
EXT. YARD/STREET. LAUNDRY. BETHNAL GREEN. 1912. DAY.
MAUD stepping out through the iron gates of the laundry,
clearly the last to leave. She hurries off towards a waiting
BUS gripping the parcel tighter.
EXT. STREET. CENTRAL LONDON. 1912. DAY.
The SWIRL and BUSTLE of the street on the edge of closing
MAUD gets off the bus, still gripping the parcel. She weaves
her way past the human ebb and flow.
Fleeting glimpses of SHOP WINDOWS, HOTEL DOORWAYS, a DOORMAN
lets out an ELEGANT LADY, her MAID close by. Several boxes
and shopping bags alluding to an expensive shopping trip.
A STIFF BACKED NANNY, MISS WITHERS, wheels a Silver Cross
pram, a few yards behind MAUD.
MAUD crosses the street.
The SQUEAK of the pram wheel underscores.
EXT. SHOP. STREET. CENTRAL LONDON. 1912. DAY.
A WINDOW display catches MAUD’S eye, showing the peak of
fashion in 1912. A perfect family scene, mother, father and
son by the beach, all dressed in bathing suits.
ON MAUD quietly marvelling- as her eyes scan over the
display, drinking it in.
A clock overhead creeps towards 6pm.
A POST MISTRESS, MISS SAMSON stands seemingly reading a
magazine at a newspaper stall.
MISS WITHERS only inches behind MAUD now. She pulls back the
baby’s blanket to reveal... no baby, but stones. She whips a
stone out and hurls it-
VOTES FOR WOMEN!
The SHATTER of a shop window right next to MAUD. MAUD turns,
shocked and bewildered by the sudden anarchy as she ducks for
cover, clasping the parcel to her breast-
HANDS whip out stones from deep inside fur muffs. FINGERS
unfasten handbag clasps pulling out hammers, mallets, rolling