On June 4, 1913, Emily Wilding Davison walked onto the Epsom Derby racecourse during the race and stepped in front of King George V’s horse, Anmer. The collision was devastating—Davison was trampled, the horse fell, and the jockey was thrown. Four days later, Davison died from her injuries without regaining consciousness. Her death became one of the defining moments of the women’s suffrage movement, though debate continues about whether she intended to die or was attempting a daring protest that went tragically wrong. What’s certain is that Davison’s action, captured on newsreel footage seen by millions, brought worldwide attention to the fight for women’s voting rights and made her a martyr for the cause.
Emily Davison was 40 years old when she died, a university-educated woman from a middle-class background who had devoted years to the suffrage movement. She’d joined the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU), the militant suffragette organization led by Emmeline Pankhurst, in 1906. Davison wasn’t a reluctant participant or occasional supporter—she was among the most militant suffragettes, frequently arrested for acts of protest including setting fire to postboxes, smashing windows, and assaulting a Baptist minister she mistook for Lloyd George.
Davison had been imprisoned multiple times and endured force-feeding when she went on hunger strikes, a brutal procedure the government used to prevent suffragettes from starving themselves to death in prison. She’d thrown herself down prison staircases to protest her treatment and on one occasion hid in the Houses of Parliament on census night so she could list her address as the House of Commons. She was fearless, committed, and willing to suffer for the cause.
The Derby, held at Epsom Downs in Surrey just outside London, was one of Britain’s most prestigious sporting events, attended by royalty, aristocracy, and vast crowds. It was the perfect stage for a dramatic protest—guaranteed massive attendance, press coverage, and newsreel cameras. The WSPU had a history of targeting high-profile events, and several suffragettes attended the Derby with plans to disrupt it with banners and protests. Davison went alone, buying a return train ticket (suggesting she expected to come back) and a ticket to a suffragette dance for that evening.
What exactly Davison intended remains debated. Some argue she planned to die, making the ultimate sacrifice to advance the cause. Others believe she intended to attach a suffragette banner to the King’s horse, creating a spectacular protest but not expecting to be seriously hurt. The newsreel footage shows her stepping onto the track as horses thundered toward her, seemingly reaching for Anmer’s reins. The horse struck her, and she went down hard. The footage is difficult to watch—the violence of the impact, the chaos as horse and jockey fell, and Davison lying motionless on the track.
The immediate reaction was mixed. Some spectators were sympathetic, others angry that she’d disrupted the race and endangered horse and jockey (the jockey, Herbert Jones, was injured but recovered; Anmer was unharmed and ran again). The press coverage varied wildly—some papers portrayed Davison as a martyr, others as a dangerous fanatic whose reckless action could have killed multiple people. The anti-suffrage press used the incident to argue that giving women the vote would be disastrous if this was how they behaved.
Davison never regained consciousness to explain her intentions. She died on June 8, 1913, from a fractured skull. Her funeral four days later became a major suffragette event, with thousands of supporters lining the route from London to her burial in Morpeth, Northumberland. The WSPU organized the funeral as a propaganda event, with Davison’s coffin draped in suffragette colors (purple, white, and green), elaborate processions through London, and speeches portraying her as a martyr who’d given her life for the cause.
The impact on the suffrage movement was complex. Davison’s death generated enormous publicity, bringing international attention to the fight for women’s voting rights. The shocking footage of her being struck down appeared in newsreels worldwide, making it impossible to ignore the suffragettes’ desperation and commitment. Many people who’d been indifferent to women’s suffrage were forced to consider why someone would risk (or give) their life for the vote.
However, Davison’s death also reinforced negative stereotypes about suffragettes as dangerous extremists. The government used militant actions like hers to justify repressive measures against the movement, including the “Cat and Mouse Act” which allowed temporary release of hunger-striking suffragettes before re-arresting them once they’d recovered. Some more moderate suffrage supporters worried that violent tactics alienated potential supporters and gave opponents ammunition.
The outbreak of World War I in 1914 transformed the situation. The WSPU suspended militant action to support the war effort, with many suffragettes working in munitions factories, nursing, and other vital roles. Women’s wartime contributions demonstrated their capabilities and commitment to the nation, making the argument against women’s suffrage increasingly untenable. In 1918, the Representation of the People Act gave the vote to women over 30 who met property qualifications. Full equality—votes for all women over 21—came in 1928.
Did Davison’s sacrifice contribute to this success? It’s impossible to say definitively. The war’s impact on women’s roles was probably more significant than any single protest. However, Davison’s action kept the issue of women’s suffrage in the public eye at a crucial moment and demonstrated the depth of suffragettes’ commitment. Her willingness to risk everything made it harder to dismiss the movement as frivolous or unimportant.
Emily Davison has been commemorated in various ways. A plaque at Epsom racecourse marks the spot where she fell. The Suffragette Fellowship erected a memorial at Morpeth. In 2013, the centenary of her death, various events honored her memory, including a memorial service at Epsom and exhibitions about her life and the suffrage movement. She appears in films and documentaries about the suffragettes, her dramatic action providing visual drama that brings the movement’s history alive.
Yet some complexity remains around how to remember Davison. Was she a martyr who knowingly gave her life, or a protester whose action went tragically wrong? Does celebrating her risk glorifying dangerous tactics? How do we balance acknowledging her courage with recognizing that her action endangered others? These questions don’t have easy answers, but they’re important to grapple with rather than creating simplistic myths.
What’s undeniable is that Emily Davison’s action on that June day at Epsom brought the fight for women’s suffrage to national and international attention in ways that speeches and petitions couldn’t. Whether or not she intended to die, her death shocked Britain and the world, forcing people to confront the desperation of women denied basic democratic rights. The dramatic footage of a woman being struck down at the Derby became an enduring image of the suffrage struggle, powerful enough that it’s still shown over a century later.
Davison’s protest and death remind us that rights we take for granted were won through struggle and sacrifice. Women’s suffrage wasn’t granted voluntarily by an enlightened government—it was fought for by people like Emily Davison who were willing to endure imprisonment, force-feeding, and in her case, death. Her action at Epsom, whether calculated sacrifice or protest gone wrong, stands as a pivotal moment when one woman’s desperate action helped change history and brought London—and Britain—closer to democracy for all.
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