NEVER let it be said that Tessa let the sisters down. Ms Jowell had every reason not to go to yesterday’s wonderfully mad singsong to mark International Women’s Day. In fact, the rumour was that she had been advised not to attend because she might look stupid. But she must have realised that looking stupid was, actually, the least of her worries this week. Besides, if the suffragettes could go to jail, she could go to a singsong.

It must be said that, if God is a woman, she let the side down badly yesterday for the weather was appalling. It began to rain heavily as the few dozen female MPs gathered in front of Emmeline Pankhurst’s statue in the park next to Parliament. Soon they began to drip like wonky taps. Women used to fight for the vote, now they were fighting for an umbrella.

Tessa arrived just in time, already damp around the edges. At first I thought she had a bodyguard but then realised her snarling protector was Chief Whip Hilary Armstrong. She should retrain as a bouncer immediately.

The ceremony was halfway between a tree-planting and a Brownies singsong. But the whole thing had been organised, as one would expect, with the military precision of a church flower rota. One woman with a handsome woven basket handed out elegant red rose boutonnières. Another distributed full colour “Order of Ceremony” programmes. A few men, who were immediately given “honorary sister” status, mingled in their midst. One cradled a guitar.

Labour MP Barbara Follett jumped up, waving her bedraggled lyric sheet. The song was called The Women Are Marching On and was to be sung to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. The original had been written by a woman and now Ms Follett had a confession to make. “This has been written by my sister, Ken Follett!” she cried. “And they don’t even quite scan!” The assembled parliamentary sisterhood giggled. I am not being sexist: they did giggle, and why not? They were about to serenade a statue with a feminist marching song that had been written by a man (and a trashy novelist man at that). Plus the conditions WERE laughable. We could not have been wetter if the event had been held in a swimming pool.

Babs started to sing and Tessa et al joined in. “My eyes have seen the women in the Commons and the Lords,” they warbled, the rather rudimentary chord strumming of the guitar providing vital background guidance. “They have trampled out the prejudice that was so long ignored! They have lit the torch of liberty and justice is restored! Their truth is marching on!”

The second verse loomed. Remarkably, it was even worse. “Suffragettes said all were equal in a true democracy,” they sang, some actually in tune. “In the teeth of opposition they campaigned for you and me! As they died for their convictions, let us live for equity! Their truth is marching on!”

When it was over (the word hallelujah had never seemed more apt) someone shouted “ONE MORE TIME” and, incredibly, they obeyed. When Tessa left she was trailed by TV crews shouting questions at her. They were all but head-butted by the Chief Whip. As it ended, right on cue, the rain began to ease.

Times Recommends

• Times Christmas appeal: Letter from the Editor
• Conferences — what a waste of money
• Schools supremo learns a painful lesson