All language subtitles for Abandoned.Engineering.S13E06.Episode.6.1080p.UKTV.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-FFG_track3_[eng]

In Poland,
an imperial bastion

provides the backdrop
for powerful propaganda in the US.

A successful film
in favour of the Germans

could really have changed
the course of the war.

In New Jersey, a powder keg
of injustice set to explode.

In those conditions it wouldn't
take much to kick off a riot.

A remote outpost in Namibia

built to exploit
the desert's riches.

A discovery in these dunes
changed this region for ever.

And in England,

a haven of privilege
harbours radical fugitives.

It was a common occurrence to have
the police knocking on the door.

Decaying relics,

ruins of lost worlds,

sites haunted by the past,

their secrets
waiting to be revealed.

In central Poland are the battered
remains of a once-feared complex.

You've got this big walled facility
hulking over the river.

Really what's striking
is the variety of styles.

This was clearly something
that was worked on over the ages.

You can see casemates designed
to protect gun emplacements

and ammunition storage.

We can see all of the signs
that this is military construction.

Inside you have these rows of beds,

and it's clear this place
could have really held

thousands and thousands of people.

You really are well prepared
to guard the entire region.

This was once a key battleground
in an era-defining conflict,

a place you wouldn't expect to find
a pair of outsiders from the US.

Two Americans and their sports car

happened to be pinned
right in the middle of a war

between two great powers.

Yet their mission could have
dramatically changed the outcome.

It had the potential

to bring the United States
into the First World War

on the German side.

Elzbieta Wiercinska knows the
secrets of this imposing structure.

This is Modlin Fortress.

Its origin dates back
to the early 1800s,

when Europe's great powers
fought for control of this region.

Napoleon defeats
the Kingdom of Prussia in 1806

and then he takes possession
of much of what is today Poland.

As Napoleon's power grew, he looked
to dominate even further east.

Napoleon is going to
invade Russia in 1812,

and he needs a firm base

to push off from, to attack.

So he starts to build this fortress

with all of the very best
French military technology.

However, the Russians captured the
fort in 1813, only a year later,

after pushing back
Napoleon's advance.

And so this state-of-the-art
French fort

suddenly becomes
a state-of-the-art Russian fort,

and they modernise the fortress

to oppose any reconquest
from the west.

For the next century, Modlin
Fortress and its surrounding area

remained firmly under the control
of tsarist Russia.

But in 1914,
when the First World War broke out,

it found itself on the front line

between the warring
German and Russian empires.

A year in to the global conflict,
this far-flung stronghold

was thrust into
the international spotlight

thanks to a brash journalist
from Chicago,

Wilbur H Durborough.

He was working for the Newspaper
Enterprise Association,

and they decided they needed
a man on the front,

and Durborough
leapt at that chance.

He wants the new medium of cinema

to become a tool of documentation.

He is going to create a documentary

about World War One
on the eastern front.

But Durborough wasn't going to
cover the war from the perspective

of the allied forces
of Russia, Britain and France.

He was going to embed
with the Germans,

who had their own motives
for granting him access.

This was a really interesting time
in American history

because the United States
was still neutral in World War One.

American entry into the war on the
side of Britain is not guaranteed.

But English-language propaganda
coming from London

all about German war crimes,

some of which are true,

is turning American public opinion
against Germany.

The last thing Germany needed
was for the US to join the war

in support of Russia's ally,
Great Britain.

The German government
wants American journalists

to the tell the German side
of World War One in America.

A successful propaganda film
in favour of the Germans

could really change
the course of the war.

In March 1915, Durborough and his
camera operator, Irving Guy Ries,

set sail for Europe.

When they arrived one week later,

the pair drove to Berlin
in Durborough's beloved sports car

that he insisted on
taking with him,

complete with stars and stripes.

Before long, arrangements were made

to take the filmmakers
to the eastern front of the war.

By July 1915, German forces
are pushing Russians back,

and Durborough and Ries
are right there with them.

We're getting a real glimpse
of everyday life

of German armies in action
on the eastern front.

But as the Germans advanced,
one thing stood in their way -

Modlin Fortress.

This was really one of the biggest,
most impressive,

most modern fortifications
of its day.

In theory, it should have been
an impregnable fortress.

Modlin had been designed not only
to protect the soldiers inside

but to withstand a drawn-out siege.

They built this water tower
but they disguised it,

using decorative facade to kind
of camouflage it from the enemy.

They also built
a grain storage facility

in the middle of the river,

which was a really cool idea

because this meant the grain
was safe from any invading forces.

So the Russians
had provisioned this fortress

to hold out against the Germans
for months.

A victory at Modlin Fortress

would be a massive military success
for Germany.

But officers knew their troops

could be stuck outside
in the trenches indefinitely,

while a 90,000-strong
Russian garrison

was secure inside the fortress.

A long siege was the last thing
that the Germans wanted.

They wanted to make their way
to Russia as quickly as they could.

The stalemate was also bad news

for the two US filmmakers
embedded with the German army.

So Durborough and Ries
face the prospect

of filming hundreds
of German soldiers sitting still,

staring at hundreds
of Russian soldiers.

The siege of a fortress
is going to be terrible film.

German high command had hoped

that compelling coverage
of their sophisticated manoeuvres

would help their overall objective

and convince the US
to stay out of the war altogether.

As the siege wore on,
their hopes were fading fast.

And then the Germans had the most
amazing stroke of good fortune.

If you saw this sort of movie, you
would think it had gone too far.

A Russian officer
was touring the outworks

and is captured by a German patrol.

Amazingly, he had
detailed plans of the fort

with annotations marking
where the weakest spots were.

I mean, you could not make this up.

On the 10th of August, 1915, the
assault on Modlin Fortress begins.

If the Germans had tried
to bombard the whole fortress,

they'd have got nowhere.

Because the Germans can focus,
they are able to blast a way in.

The Germans pound
the two weakest parts of the fort,

reducing them to rubble,

and then they launch
an all-out assault.

Thousands of German infantry
breached its innermost defences.

In just ten days,
Modlin had fallen.

It's a huge loss for the Russians,
and it spells the end of their plan

to use this place
as a kind of hurdle,

slowing up the advance
of the German army into Russia.

The defeat was a coup
for the Germans,

and the American filmmakers decided
to take some creative licence

to cement the victory.

They were instructed not to film
German emperor Kaiser Wilhelm II,

and they say, "The hell with that.
We're Americans" and they film him.

Having taken the bizarre initiative

of plunging themselves
into a warzone,

these two fellows
are able to get back to America

with their film and their car,

and they're heroes.

On The Firing Line With The Germans
premiered in Milwaukee

in November 1915.

While it received good reviews,
many people thought

it was a piece of propaganda
that lacked objectivity.

For a number of reasons,
but chiefly

because of German submarine attacks
on American shipping

that was crossing the Atlantic,

this confluence of factors
leads the Americans

to join the war against Germany

despite the efforts
to make the Germans look

like a heroic party
on the eastern front.

When Germany was finally defeated,

Modlin Fortress became
part of newly independent Poland.

It remained key
to the nation's defences

until it finally shut down in 1995.

Wilbur H Durborough's film
lay forgotten until 2016,

when it was restored
by the Library of Congress.

This is a really foundational
piece of war documentary

because today we take for granted

that we're going to see all kinds
of video footage of combat.

But it really begins over 100 years
ago in World War One.

In the suburban streets
of Newark, New Jersey

hide the decaying remains that, for
some, became a symbol of rebellion.

We're just a half-hour
from downtown Manhattan.

It's a pretty typical street

with office buildings
and a hospital across the way.

But you'll notice one block

is a little bit more dishevelled
than all of the others.

You can barely see in
through all the overgrown trees

spilling out into the street.

Through the foliage you can spot
the walls of an imposing building.

The construction within
is falling apart,

but evidence of its original
function still lingers.

You can see different wings
and sections

and the foundations
of a few structures.

There's holes in the roof,
rusty metal bars,

and vegetation is working its way
through the windows.

Despite all this decay,

you can still make out
what this building once was.

It's the long corridors and barred
doors. They're a dead giveaway.

During a decade of change,

the violent struggles taking place
outside this jail

would permeate its walls.

New inmates were pouring in,
and the jail was full to the brim.

One of those new inmates, within
the course of one generation,

his family's narrative arc
would go from solitary confinement

to the mayor's office.

I grew up four or five blocks
from here in downtown Newark.

I was always really interested
in abandoned structures,

particularly that speak to
moments in American history.

Myles Zhang
is an urban historian and artist

with a lifelong passion
for this building.

When I think about
why this needs to be preserved,

it's the story that this building
allows us to tell.

It's a story of the common people
that are held behind bars.

This is the Old Essex County Jail.

It opened in 1836,

a period when the population
of Newark was rapidly expanding.

It cost about $70,000 at the time,

and that was the largest
municipal expense.

It makes this the oldest government
building in Essex County.

It was designed to be
state-of-the-art

by the famed architect,
John Haviland.

He's known as the father
or the inventor

of the form of the modern prisons.

He designs a prison that isolates
people in individual cell blocks

in confinement
for long periods of time

in the hope that maybe
this makes them better people.

In later years,
two additional wings and a hospital

were added to his design.

But as the population
of Newark grew,

the jail would become
disproportionately overcrowded.

Over the course
of the 20th century,

over six million African Americans

would leave the south
for the north and the west

to escape the harsh reality
of Jim Crow laws and segregation.

But in Newark, the predominantly
White population wasn't welcoming,

and police arrests among African
American newcomers were high.

By the 1930s, I believe
Newark is about 20% or so Black,

but the prison population
is 70% Black.

So you see increasing
incarceration of Black men.

With more and more African
Americans coming north, by 1967

Newark had become one of America's
first majority Black cities.

Although Newark's population
was now mostly African American,

the city's law enforcers
remained overwhelmingly White.

This imbalance
would soon reach a tipping point,

and the Old Essex County Jail
would be caught in the crosshairs.

By the 1960s,
the jail had really deteriorated.

Decades of overcrowding

had led to poor, poor conditions,

and it was about to get much worse.

Tensions between law enforcement
and Newark's Black community

were rising.

During the long,
hot summer of 1967,

over 150 urban rebellions broke out
all over the country,

and in July
Newark reached a boiling point.

During a traffic stop,

a Black cab driver
was arrested and brutally beaten,

sparking a week
of protest and violence.

In total, 26 people were killed
by the National Guard

and 1,400 were arrested

in what became known as
the Newark Rebellion.

Many of those people were taken
to the Essex County Jail.

Activist Fredrica Bey
is a Newark resident

who remembers the rebellion.

Two of her siblings
were also incarcerated

at Old Essex County Jail.

The tombs,
it was called in Newark.

Of course, tombs
is for dead people,

and my brothers and the people
who were confined here...

I mean, "We're in the tombs,"

while they are living.

And I had to come here and
put my head on this dirty screen.

And when I left out every time,

I'd have this dirty screen print
in my forehead.

And to think about it...
it makes me angry.

On the first night
of the Newark Rebellion

controversial writer Amiri Baraka
was also thrown in the jail.

An influential poet, Black activist
and native of Newark,

Baraka has attracted criticism

for including anti-Semitic
elements in his work.

To many, he was one of the greatest
Black writers of his generation,

but to some his writings reflected
violence, misogyny and homophobia.

Baraka had been pulled over
by the police, fiercely beaten

and charged with carrying a weapon.

Amiri Baraka got his head bashed in
by the Newark police.

He shed blood
and was locked up in this place.

And he did it while he was
advocating for us, for Black folk.

To be willing to give your life
for your people...

I honour him.

Placed in solitary confinement
when he entered the jail,

he detailed his experience
years later in his autobiography.

He recounted
watching through a window

while inmates screamed helplessly

as police shot down people
in the streets outside.

After he was released,

Baraka never stopped campaigning
for the people of Newark.

That was a volatile time.

The Newark rebellions,
I remember that.

It definitely changed things,
the rebellions did.

I remember I got my first real job
after the rebellion.

Things opened up.

But Newark's lawmakers
still hadn't addressed

the injustices inside the jail.

There was severe overcrowding
in the Essex County Jail.

A jail designed
for 200 or 300 people

at that point had over 500 people
confined here.

In some of the cells right here,

cells barely four feet wide
by six feet deep

would have two people confined here
in rooms without electricity.

So people are locked in their cells
and in this narrow corridor here

24 hours a day for weeks on end.

In those conditions it wouldn't
take much to kick off a riot,

and in 1968 the violence spilled
over into Essex County Jail.

Several of the inmates
in the west part,

when it's time to go back into
their cells at the end of the day,

they said, "We're not going back.
We're spending this time outside."

So they set fire to the place.

Over the course of two hours,

the inmates
clashed with the wardens,

breaking furniture
and setting fires.

They burn a hole in the roof and
the fire department is called in.

In the aftermath of the riot,

over 100 inmates
were transferred to other locations

in order to try to
ease the tensions.

Finally the city was forced

to deal with the jail's
overcrowding problem.

It built a large, modern facility
on the outskirts of town,

and in 1971
the original jail closed down.

Today the Old Essex County Jail
stands as a powerful reminder

of Newark's struggle
with injustice.

Some of the activists
that fought for change

and were incarcerated here

still inspire hope.

Baraka's career would go on
to span some 52 years.

Baraka's influence on Newark
lasted generations.

Almost 50 years after he was
locked up in Essex County Jail,

his son, Ras Baraka,
was elected mayor of the city.

NO SOUND

Baraka went on to serve the people
of Newark for multiple terms.

In Namibia, the desiccated remains
of a settlement sink into the sand.

It's a foreboding landscape

where the Namib desert
clashes with the Atlantic Ocean.

You can just about notice
a train track,

and just a few miles down the line

a lone station
in the middle of nowhere.

Why would anybody have any reason

to run a small-gauge railroad
through this area?

At the end of the line,

a series of ramshackle remains
may yield the answer.

It's the last place in the world
you'd expect to see a town,

but there are signs
of a settlement.

It's a collection of houses,
some of which are residential,

that have been taken over
by the sand to such an extent

that there are sand drifts in the
inner hallways of these buildings.

But there's also rusted machinery
littering the ground.

When people come
to a desolate place like this,

there's usually a very good reason
for them to be here.

Today, this site sits in an area
called Das Sperrgebiet,

"the forbidden zone".

Local historian Heinz Manns
has special permission

to access this restricted area.

This railroad was built

by the German government
for the German army

to move their armament
to the interior of the country

and to do business
with the interior,

to do trade with the local people
of Namibia at that time.

The railroad was completed in 1906

and ran from the coast
into the heart of Namibia,

which the Germans called
South West Africa

and had controlled since 1883.

The Germans established this colony

in an attempt
to counter the British,

who had established
the South Africa colony.

In 1907, a young railway surveyor
from Germany

decided to come
to this desolate outpost

hoping the arid climate
would help to cure his asthma.

August Stauch
worked for the railroad,

and he had a team of workers
under him

clearing the railroad track
of dune sand.

He was the station master,
you can call it.

He came here for health reasons,

but soon
he found himself on a quest

for something far more lucrative.

There was supposed to have been
diamond finds in the area,

but nothing was ever confirmed.

He just couldn't let go
of that idea

that somewhere hidden in these
sands were precious gemstones.

Stauch was scorned by geologists,
who'd already scoured the area.

But he remained determined.

He instructed his workers

to keep an eye out
for gemstones in the sands.

Well, Zacharias Lewala
was one of the workers

clearing the railroad track.

He came to August in the morning

and said, "Mr Stauch, look,
I found a pretty stone."

Stauch took it and
scratched the glass of his watch.

It left a deep cut.

It confirmed
what he had long suspected -

that there were diamonds
in the sands of Namibia.

Stauch also had them tested
at a government laboratory.

They all came back
confirmed as genuine,

and the diamond rush was on.

Between June and December 1908,

40,000 carats' worth of diamonds
were found

and prospectors were buying up land
as fast as they could.

By 1912, the industry
had grown so quickly,

a town was built to support
the flourishing trade.

It was called Pomona.

Over the next few years,

prospectors would pull nearly
five million carats from the sand,

worth almost $20 billion
in today's money.

Pomona was the richest area
in diamond mining.

There were teachers here, there was
a doctor here, two hospitals,

340 permanent employees.

That included wives, children, everything.

Pomona was complete
with a mess hall, a school,

even a bowling alley to make the
German employees feel more at home.

To get the right people
to work here, to get the expertise,

you have to look after the people.

This was a very well thought-out
mining town,

not unlike the mining towns that
you'll see in the American West.

But not everyone who came to Pomona
found such comforts.

This is part of
the labourers' quarters,

the workers,
the two-year contractors.

Each one had
his own little cubicle.

They could park their stuff on top
there, their personal belongings.

This is where they lived
for two years.

800 local labourers
did the manual work,

the brutal task of searching
for diamonds in the sand.

These rickety sheds
and rusting machinery

were designed
to assist the process.

These are the classifiers.

These were used to sift out
the diamond gravel.

So these machines
were hand-operated.

The first process worked with
the material shaking in the water,

so the heavy stuff
goes to the bottom.

Diamond is
the heavier material around.

That's what they were looking for.

It was painstaking work,

and for those who toiled
under the desert sun

it exacted a punishing toll.

The Germans
overseeing the operation

treated the local labourers
with distrust.

For the mine owners,
there was the constant paranoia

of workers smuggling out diamonds
with them,

and they went to extreme lengths
to prevent this.

They were checking you
inside and out

to see whether or not
you were stealing the diamonds.

Some suspect they forced
the workers to take laxatives

to make sure, even if
they swallowed the diamonds,

they couldn't hold on to them.

By 1914, Germany was in control

of a third of the world's
diamond supply.

August Stauch,
the man who started it all,

had become rich
beyond his wildest dreams.

Germany's great diamond rush
would soon grind to a halt.

On the night of August 4th, 1914,

the radio station at Luderitz
received a report

that Germany and Great Britain
were now at war.

During the war they were allowed
to mine minimal scale

just to sustain themselves.

But the companies
didn't operate, really.

Within the year,

Britain's South African
colonial troops invaded Namibia,

forcing the Germans
to abandon the town.

They took everything they could,

and they also destroyed
a lot of stuff,

the same with the railway line,

so it didn't
fall into the enemy's hands.

By the end of the war,

the defeated Germans had lost
control of Namibia and the mine.

In 1919, the German-born
industrialist Ernest Oppenheimer

took control of Pomona.

Operations continued until
deposits ran out in the 1930s,

and the town was left deserted.

Pomona turned into a ghost town

because, with the disappearance
of the people,

the desert reclaimed
what belonged to it before.

Meanwhile, the man who started
Namibia's diamond rush

met a similar kind of fate.

August Stauch
was a millionaire overnight,

but he did a lot of
wrong investments.

He died a poor man.
He had no money.

Today, prospectors in Namibia
have reached new frontiers

in their continuing search
for diamonds.

There is still mining
going on around, sporadic,

but the main diamond mining
is happening in the sea now,

so it's offshore.

After being uninhabited
for so long,

today the region around Pomona

has some of the highest
biodiversity in the country.

Its unique desert plants,

reptiles

and herds of antelope

led to the area's preservation
as a national park in 2009.

To the northwest of London, England

a ghostly manor house gives
little hint of its radical past.

It's a beautiful
sandstone building.

It stands at the end of a quarter-
mile-long tree-lined driveway.

The brickwork is crumbling
but you can still see

that this place must have been
a real sanctuary.

Inside there are trappings
of privilege and wealth.

We've got these fine plasterwork
ceilings, opulent woodcarvings,

stone-framed windows.

This might seem like a place
that would be a home

for upper-class aristocrats

who would resist
any kind of social change.

But this mainstay
of the Establishment

was once pivotal to a vicious
struggle for civil rights.

It was a real hotbed for one of the
most important battles of its day.

It was a common occurrence to have
the police knocking on the door.

Amanda Pitcairn
has a deep family connection

to this sprawling estate.

This house was owned
by my great-grandparents.

When I was growing up, I heard
lots of stories about this place.

I've never been here before.
This is my first time.

It's really exciting
actually to see it

because I recognise it
from photographs.

This dilapidated mansion was once
home to Agnes and Henry Harben.

Harben was very wealthy

because he'd inherited a fortune
from his grandfather,

who had built up
the Prudential insurance company.

At the time,
in the homes of the elite

strict rules of etiquette
were still being followed.

This is the room that was
pretty much a male preserve.

Men would sit and drink port
and smoke cigars and tell bad jokes

until they got very drunk.

This is Newland Park,

a 550-acre estate and 50-room house

with rigidly manicured gardens.

But, despite appearances, Henry
Harben was far from conventional.

He was basically what my mother
calls a smoked-salmon socialist.

He didn't see any contradiction

between his lifestyle
and his political leanings.

He made friends
with all sorts of radical people

regardless
of their social background.

Henry and Agnes Harben turned
their home into a kind of salon

where people with new ideas,
people interested in social change,

could gather and discuss
the kind of world

they wanted to see in the future.

The first decade
of the 20th century

was a time of unprecedented
reform in society.

This was a period of great
liberalising in social norms,

an embrace of a more egalitarian
approach to life.

So in the 1900s,
Henry and Agnes became involved in

one of the biggest issues
of the day.

All women,
regardless of social class,

were still barred from voting.

It's almost hard to remember today,
but the world's great democracies,

like Britain, like the US,

they weren't actually
all that democratic.

In both Britain and America

women had been fighting for the
right to vote, known as suffrage,

since the mid-19th century.

But after decades of
getting nowhere with politicians,

a new, all-female group would
emerge and take Britain by storm.

Emmeline Pankhurst was this very
dramatic leader of the movement,

a real magnet for press attention.

Emmeline had been an ardent
campaigner for women's suffrage

for decades.

But her increasing frustration
with peaceful tactics

had forced her to form
a more radical action group.

This was a very different
type of organisation.

Fed up of broken promises
given from men in power,

only women could join.

They began a campaign
of direct action

with the motto "Deeds, not words."

In an attempt to belittle them,

a journalist labelled them
"suffragettes",

as opposed to "suffragists",

which they sort of embraced
and took as a badge of honour.

Agnes was a member
of the suffragette movement

and totally committed to it.

Henry funded the cause
to a great extent.

The Harbens frequently played host

to Emmeline Pankhurst
at Newland Park.

Henry used his inherited assets to
bankroll the nationwide movement.

But as women's rights
continued to be denied,

the suffragettes became
increasingly militant.

Emmeline Pankhurst proclaimed that
it was her duty to break the law

in order to bring attention
to their plight.

Women started smashing windows,

setting post-boxes on fire.

They even chased after Winston
Churchill with a horsewhip.

Then it escalated, and the fight
got very intense and ugly.

Bombs were sent to the homes
of government officials.

In their minds, their actions
were completely justified.

In response, many hundreds of women
were arrested and imprisoned.

In protest, the women began
a campaign of hunger strikes.

If one of these women
were to die of starvation,

it would be a political disaster
for the country.

So the government began a policy
of force-feeding the women.

A warden would restrain a woman,

take a rubber tube, put it down
her nostrils into her throat,

sometimes directly
into her stomach.

Women broke teeth.
They were injured.

Emmeline Pankhurst's sister
actually died

after being force-fed in prison.

This was exactly
the kind of attention

the government wanted to avoid.

So they changed their tactics.

So hunger strikers would be kept
until they were extremely weak,

and then they'd be released
long enough to recover,

and then they would
get picked up again

and serve out
the rest of their sentence.

Emmeline Pankhurst herself was
constantly arrested and released,

as many as 12 times
in the space of 12 months.

Once released, many suffragettes
escaped to Henry and Agnes's home.

My great-grandparents
would have felt angry

about the treatment
of the suffragettes

and the way
they had been brutalised,

and they would do anything to help.

And these poor women
were in a bad way.

They had this huge place and there
were women with nowhere to go,

so they offered their home.

Newland Park became a place

for the malnourished women
to hide out and recover.

For the suffragettes,
fresh out of prison,

coming here was like
stepping into another world.

The suffragettes were
from a different class, basically,

and they would not
have been used to

the sort of lifestyle
that was led here.

This is a testament
to my great-grandmother,

who would have done her utmost
to make them feel welcome.

But rumours of the Harbens'
involvement in the movement

led police right to their doorstep.

A well-timed tip-off allowed Agnes
and Henry to conceal the fugitives.

This is where, in the cellars,

is where they hid Emmeline
Pankhurst and more suffragettes.

The story was that they hid them
rolled up in lino in the cellar.

Well, it feels so much like a...
like a cell, actually,

that they must have felt
they were back into jail.

Thanks to their hideout
at Newland Park,

the suffragettes were spared
a return to prison.

A year later, the outbreak
of the First World War

transformed society's view of women

and confirmed their place
in a changing world.

Male politicians
could no longer claim

that women were unfit to vote.

If they could work in munitions
factories and drive ambulances,

why couldn't they
walk into a voting booth?

In 1918, the government
finally conceded

and the process of
allowing women the vote began.

But life at Newland Park
wasn't so successful.

Agnes and Henry separated

and their home changed hands
several times

before it eventually
fell into disrepair.

Today, developers are turning
this valuable real estate

into a complex of luxury homes.

It'll feature Harben Drive

and a central statue
of Emmeline Pankhurst,

ensuring the importance of this
site to a vital social movement

will not be forgotten.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media