"Fine lot o' sportswomen; I wish 'em luck!" exclaimed a major of an exclusive line regiment as the tail of the great suffrage procession of 10,000 women passed one of the Service clubs in Piccadilly yesterday afternoon and became merged in the crowd.

He spoke for London. His views were those of the vast majority of those who thronged the streets. They had gone out, so far as one could judge, with vague ideas of the attitude they intended to adopt. It was touch and go. A false move on the part of the women might have caused a storm of "boos" and a hurricane of ridicule. There was no false move. They marched as if they meant business. They looked as if they wanted votes, and meant to have them, whoever said "No", and on their faces was a smiling consciousness of triumph which disarmed all the potential hostility of the rowdy section of the crowd.

The women made London their own. They gathered in their thousands on the Embankment. Motor-cars, brakes and cabs drove up every moment laden with women who wanted to demonstrate.

At the first bang of a big drum, the procession started, marching at a quick step between the close lines of spectators. It was a critical moment. Would the crowd be sympathetic or would they jeer? With a fine eye for the picturesque the women settled the matter for themselves. They marched with spirit. They carried themselves with the air of people who meant to win. Here and there they encountered knots of opponents. The moment these groups declared themselves, bodies of socialists assembled close by, cheered every touch of red on the flags and reduced themselves to hoarseness giving cheers for the social revolution.

The procession was a new thing to London. The crowd was half bewildered – but entirely convinced – by the number of women wearing academic regalia. Some feeble jokes were attempted as medical sections passed, but the women doctors, wearing their scarlet gowns and hoods, looked so completely indifferent that the ridicule changed to admiration.

Some striking figures were seen. Lady Frances Balfour, who is indirectly connected with the blood royal on one side, and a distinguished political family on the other, dared all the glances of Piccadilly, and marched from Charing Cross to the Albert Hall. Miss Emily Davies LLD, frail but determined, set the pace bravely along the streets. She was one of the women who presented the first women's suffrage petition to John Stuart Mill many years ago.

But the finest sensation of all was created by the Florence Nightingale banner. By special permission of Queen Victoria, the magic word "Crimea" was charged on Miss Nightingale's arms – just as if she had been a regiment. Nurses in uniform carried this honourable banner.

The veterans of the Service Club bared their heads with reverential homage as this noble memorial came in view; and the crowd, quick to catch an emotion, ceased from their joking and bared their heads as well.

This is an edited extract