WALTON GAOL, LIVERPOOL: MY THIRD IMPRISONMENT
Elsie Howey and I waited together at the Bridewell Police Station for the greater part of that day (Saturday, January 15). Towards evening they took us away in a partition van, alone, to Walton Green Gaol, we arrived at about 7 o’clock at night. The other prisoners must have journeyed here when we did, though by a different van, for we were all together again when we were to give our names, vocation, etc., to the prison warders. We stood up by a wall, all in a row, and waited our turn. The prisoner with the white boa and the apparently white gown, I was able to see closely and by a high light. The boa was in imitation fur and extremely dirty, the white dress was of some thin cotton, nearly transparent; it was open on her chest and she seemed to have hardly any clothes underneath. I did not like to think what she must have suffered this wintry day, in and out of the icy cold police station cells. The effect of the drink was wearing off, and she waved her head about as though she had a very bad headache; all her cheerfulness had gone. Poor little thing, I felt extremely sorry for her, she had been given plenty of the best brandy and she had done what was wanted of her; the next day she found herself in prison. When her imprisonment was over, in all probability, to go the same road of drunkenness and prostitution would seem the only one open to her.
There were several other prisoners besides those we had seen before. Some were so familiar with the place that they reeled off their age, religion, birthplace, calling, without waiting to be asked, and then walked through into a large hall in which were the waiting cubicles. Suddenly I felt awed, a feeling of supremest pity almost took my breath away. Passing in front of me into the larger hall was a woman of great beauty, her features were intensely refined, and in every part of her there seemed to be some great determination, not in respect of the prison she was in now, that was only part of it, but with regard to her life of shame that went before; the whole face and figure were virtuous and good. The other woman who had come over from Ireland was not there, but this was the one, I felt quite sure, who was “wanted by the police.” I had not heard her tell anything to the officer, I had not seen her till that moment, and I never saw her again, but I shall never forget her face which will rest always on my memory, beautiful, commanding, and of an absorbing sadness.