by Kate Eastham
‘Ada. Ada Houston. Nice to meet you.’
Ada allowed Elsie to lead her through a number of corridors to her quarters. She was so glad to see the small bed already made up with clean sheets that she fell down on to it immediately, burying her face in the pillow as she had done as a child.
‘I was going to offer you some food or maybe you need to freshen up, but I can see that you are exhausted. You sleep as long as you need,’ said Elsie. ‘I’ll make sure you’re up in plenty of time to see Miss Nightingale in the morning.’
However, Ada needed but a few minutes of complete relaxation away from the questions and steely glare of the woman in the apron before she was ready to turn over, prop herself up and listen to what Elsie had to say.
‘So, young lady, it looks like you had a tough crossing,’ said Elsie. ‘I’ll never forget my passage here, thought I was going to die, puked most of the way, lost so much weight nobody recognized me when I got here. Made up for it since, though,’ she said, taking both hands to grasp the round belly that bulged under her apron and give it a bit of a shake. ‘So, I guess you want to be a nurse,’ she went on. ‘Hope you’ve got a strong stomach, not just for the stuff you have to see and smell but the discipline. It’s strict here. Granted, Miss Nightingale has got this place running like a tight ship, but she’s all about the men, the sick and the injured. If I was one of them, I’d want her looking out for me. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not there washing and bandaging and turning up with her lamp at night, none of that; but she is in charge here and all the nurses are trained by her and carry out her instructions. She sets a very high standard. Such a strong and respectable lady, is Miss Nightingale.’
‘But I thought she sat on the ward at night with her lamp. There are stories about that in the paper. She sits with the soldiers, like an angel.’
Elsie laughed. ‘Well, you know what, the men who write those papers don’t always get the story straight. Yes, she does come down to see the patients and she will sometimes sit beside a soldier who she has concerns about. Her heart is in her work, you see. But that thing with the lamp at night – well, she does come down, but only to check that the nurses have heeded the curfew and are gone from the wards. She won’t stand for any messing between the nurses and the men. You know what men are like once they start to feel a bit better.’
Ada sat for a moment mulling over this new information. Suddenly the world did not seem anywhere near as straightforward as when she’d imagined asking for work from the Miss Nightingale she had in her head. She would have had no worries about meeting that compassionate woman, who worked selflessly with the wounded soldiers, mopping brows, sitting up all night, who would smile and tenderly thank her for coming to the Crimea, who would offer her work tending the sick and maybe tell her personally that she would do all she could to help find her dear brother. But the woman Elsie described sounded quite different.
‘Don’t you be worrying,’ said Elsie, sensing Ada’s concern. ‘If you’re right for the work, Miss Nightingale will make a good nurse out of you, she will that. I remember when we first arrived here: there was nothing but dirt and squalor on those wards. Now look at them – clean and light. She gets the air moving through. You’ll have a challenge, though, doing the work. That first winter the nurses were treating soldiers with frostbite and when they unrolled the bandages toes came off with the dressings. I even found some in my laundry.’
Ada gave a slight groan and started to feel sick.
Elsie laughed. ‘You’ll see all sorts round here. You’ll get used to it.’
Sensing that she needed to change the subject Elsie launched into another story. ‘Have you heard of Mrs Mary Seacole?’
‘No,’ said Ada, interested.
‘Well, she’s a nurse as well and I had her here staying with me one night. Such a lovely, warm person and a wonderful nurse. She came here to meet Miss Nightingale, not looking for a job like you – she’d already asked before she left London and they’d said no. But even though she’d been told that she couldn’t have a job she still came out here anyway under her own steam and now she has her own place in the Crimea, near the front line. She is doing such good work up there. What a woman!’
Ada agreed heartily, though by now exhaustion from the journey was hitting her hard and she felt herself sinking fast into sleep.
‘Is Miss Houston still with you?’ It was morning and the woman who had helped Ada from the cart was standing in the doorway.
‘Yes she is, Sister,’ said Elsie, standing aside so that Ada would be in evidence.
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Sister crisply. ‘Miss Nightingale will see you now.’
‘Good luck, dearie,’ said Elsie as Ada got up to leave.
‘Thank you for your kindness,’ said Ada, giving Elsie’s hand a squeeze as she passed by.
‘Come along,’ said Sister. ‘Miss Nightingale is a very busy person. Her time is precious.’
Ada followed along behind Sister. She really did set quite a pace, and her own legs were still a bit wobbly. They went along several corridors, then through a long room with beds down the side occupied by men, some with bandages round their heads or legs. All seemed quiet. There was a very bad smell.
She tried out a small smile at one of the men, who seemed to be staring at her, but his expression did not change and it made her feel silly and uncomfortable.
Then they were out through the long room and into another corridor and then a different area of the hospital, where the smell was less obtrusive. Sister stopped abruptly at a door and bowed her head as if listening for something inside. Then she knocked on the door and Ada heard a faint voice call for them to come in.
Sister opened the door and stood to the side for Ada to enter.
‘Miss Nightingale, this is the girl who arrived yesterday. As I mentioned, she has no papers.’
Then she was gone, closing the door behind her. Ada stood, still rather unsteady, in front of a slender woman in a dark grey gown who was writing in a large leather-bound book. Something about the woman’s sharp demeanour made Ada understand that she must be quiet and still and wait.
Miss Nightingale took her time completing the entry in her book. It looked like some kind of ledger with numbers and calculations but Ada couldn’t be sure. She found herself staring at the neat hair and perfectly placed lace cap. Ada felt her heart racing.
At last Miss Nightingale placed the pen decisively on a pad next to the ledger. Ada was impressed by her precision of movement. Then she looked up and fixed Ada with a gaze so piercing that she thought this earnest woman with a pale face might be able to see right through to her very soul.
Ada could not speak. She was completely at the woman’s mercy.
‘Sit,’ she said at last, indicating a chair to Ada’s left.
Ada sat, making an effort to straighten her back and look alert.
‘I am Florence Nightingale,’ said the woman, fixing Ada again with those bright eyes that shone with intelligence. ‘I believe you are looking for work here as a nurse and that your letter of introduction has been lost on the ship.’
‘Yes,’ said Ada, unable to get out more words before Miss Nightingale ploughed on.
‘I am afraid that we have no positions vacant for nurses at present, and, in fact, I have had no correspondence whatsoever with regard to your appointment. Therefore there is nothing here at Scutari for you. I’m sorry.’
Ada felt very strongly, now that Miss Nightingale’s eyes were upon her, that she knew everything there was to know about Ada Houston and the real reason why she was seeking work at the hospital.
‘What I can do,’ Miss Nightingale continued more kindly, ‘is give you a letter to take up to Balaklava hospital. They are always looking for nurses up there.’
Ada tried to say, ‘No, I need to be here,’ but Miss Nightingale held up a hand to silence her. Then she opened a small drawer at the side of her desk and neatly slipped out a piece of paper, picked up her pen and dipped it in the in
k pot.
Turning her bright gaze back to Ada she simply said, ‘Full name?’
For a moment Ada thought she might have forgotten even that and she stumbled a bit with her reply.
‘Sorry: Miss Ada Houston.’
‘Training?’
Now Ada really was stumped. ‘Well, I’ve not had any real training but I did look after someone in their own home who was sick.’
Miss Nightingale held up her left hand and Ada fell silent. ‘No training,’ she said as she wrote the detail into her letter. ‘You see, that’s the difference. All my nurses are properly trained. We feel here that it is important. We need to set the right standard. You should be all right in Balaklava, though; they take all sorts. However, Sister Mary Roberts is up there. She was one of mine. Excellent nurse. Miss Smith is up there also; she is in charge, but I will address this letter to Sister Roberts – she knows more about what is going on and what needs to be done.’
Miss Nightingale then signed the letter with a well-controlled flourish, blotted the ink, folded it with precision and slipped it into an envelope. Handing it to Ada, she called for Sister, who must have been waiting at the other side of the door.
‘Please make sure that Miss Houston is escorted back to the harbour. She is going up to Balaklava and I believe that there is a ship leaving this afternoon. Thank you, Sister,’ and Miss Nightingale turned back to her ledger, immediately renewing her focus on whatever important work lay before her.
Ada opened her mouth to try and speak but there was nothing that she could say and Sister gave her a terrifying glance. As Ada left the room her mind was reeling. I will have to go, I will have to go up to Balaklava, to that circle of Hell! I must get a message to the army wives and let them know where I am going, ask them to send me word straight away to Balaklava hospital if they hear anything of Frank.
‘Do you have any luggage?’ Sister asked as they walked.
‘No, just this bag,’ said Ada.
Sister twisted round to see the canvas bag slung over Ada’s shoulder. ‘Highly irregular,’ she said. ‘I suppose your trunk was lost at sea also.’
‘Yes it was,’ said Ada with a touch of defiance in her voice. ‘Terrible storm that was.’
Ada noted a slight squaring of Sister’s shoulders as they continued to walk, all the time knowing that somehow she would have to get a note to the army wives. How could she do it? Then she saw the shape of Elsie heading down another corridor and she broke step from Sister to chase after the washerwoman.
‘Elsie, Elsie!’ she called after her, like she was some long-lost friend.
‘Yes?’ said Elsie, turning around. ‘How did you get on? Did you get a job?’
‘No, not here but they’re sending me up to Balaklava.’
Elsie immediately crossed herself and then opened her mouth to speak but Ada had to cut her short; it was only a question of time before Sister realized that she wasn’t in tow and came looking. ‘I need you to do something very important for me, very important. Please, please can you get a message to some friends who came in with me on the last ship from Liverpool. They are staying at the home for English army wives. Do you know where it is?’
‘Yes, yes, I know the one. What’s the message?’ said Elsie with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.
‘Tell them that Ada has been sent up to Balaklava so that if they do hear any news about my brother – Frank Houston – they must send word immediately to Balaklava hospital.’
‘Got it,’ said Elsie, just as Sister shouted down the corridor: ‘Come here at once! This is highly irregular. Miss Nightingale has ordered you to leave immediately for Balaklava. Immediately!’
‘Good luck, dearie,’ said Elsie, ‘and don’t worry. I’ll get the message delivered for you. Frank Houston, your brother, send a message to Balaklava, right?’
‘Yes,’ said Ada, giving the washerwoman a big kiss on the cheek before hurtling back down the corridor to meet the glare of Sister, who looked just about ready to explode with rage. ‘Very irregular,’ she said yet again. ‘You will be well suited to Balaklava.’
As they continued their march to the door of the hospital Ada began to feel relieved that she was being shipped out to another place. Even though it was on the front line, close to the fighting, it might not be quite as hostile as working here in Scutari.
6
‘Beggars in the streets of London were at that time leading the lives of princes, compared to the life of our soldiers in the Crimea when I arrived.’
Florence Nightingale
Back at the harbour, Ada found that the ship going up to Balaklava was, of course, the Golden Fleece. She clambered aboard and found the deck busy with sailors preparing to set sail. It looked like she had got back just in time. The purser saw her straight away and made his way over, and immediately Ada produced the letter from her bag so that he would know exactly what she was doing. She smiled to herself. She didn’t even know what she was doing yet; she had no idea if going up to the front line was the right thing to do – the thought of it was already terrifying – but she recognized that she didn’t seem to have any other option. She needed some kind of accommodation and a means of supporting herself and at least she trusted Elsie to get word to the army wives. And, who knew, maybe Frank was in Balaklava after all.
And there was another thing: she had the letter that was a recommendation for work, and it had been given to her by Florence Nightingale, the famous Lady with the Lamp. And what if she could help out and maybe learn to be a proper nurse? What if she could do something good to help with the injured soldiers while she was looking for Frank? She could almost see herself in the uniform, the grey dress and the starched apron, carrying her own lamp and sitting by a bedside, and for the first time in a long while she began to feel a sense of real purpose.
Maybe she was a complete fool to think that she might be able to do that kind of work, but there was one thing for sure: if she was to have any chance of finding her brother she could not go back to Liverpool without giving it a go.
As she leant on the rail and stared down into the harbour, she felt the presence of someone nearby. Glancing to the side she saw the young man in a brown tunic whom she had mistaken for Frank. She was glad to see him, his vague familiarity making her feel better. He still looked a bit like Frank but this time it was no shock to her and she was pleased to see him.
‘How far is it to Balaklava?’ she asked one of the sailors.
‘Well, miss,’ he said with a serious face, ‘that all depends on how the weather goes. There can be bad storms in the Black Sea and we need to sail right the way up to the Crimea. It’s quite a distance, you know, quite a way.’
‘How many days would you expect then?’ asked Ada, trying to get some idea.
‘Well now, last time I made this run, it took us about six days, yes, about six days, I think.’
Ada had had no idea it would be so far. Seeing her concern the sailor added, ‘But it might be less. As I say, it depends on the weather. At least you’ll have plenty of room down there, miss, we aren’t taking any other passengers apart from a few soldiers who have come out of the hospital. Poor buggers have got better so they’re being sent back up there to go and get shot at all over again.’
Ada flinched at his grim humour.
‘They won’t be bunking down with you, miss, they’ll be with the lads. And we still have some of the horses to deliver up to Balaklava, plus supplies. That lad over there, the one as keeps looking at you, he’s one of the grooms for the horses.’
‘Is he?’ said Ada, feeling her face flush and not needing to look over to see which young man the sailor was referring to. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I’ll go down below now and sort out my bunk.’
The sailor gave her a small salute and she headed straight below decks without glancing up.
Ada lost track of how many days the journey took, but thought in the end it was five. She was pleased that she didn’t need the bucket this time – she seemed to hav
e maintained her resistance to seasickness – and they didn’t hit any more storms.
The day they arrived in Balaklava, the excited shouts of the sailors told her they were coming into harbour. Gathering her things together and making sure she had the red shawl, she took one last look below decks before climbing up the ladder for a final time.
The bright light of the Crimean sun shone down on her as she came through the hatch, and as she squinted up into the blue sky she felt that she was climbing through to a new life.
Up on deck, her legs began to feel weak again and she needed to cling to the side of the ship. The light was strong and very bright and she was blinking like some underground creature. Looking around she could see that the small harbour was bristling with the masts of dozens of ships moored close together. The town itself seemed to be made up of a number of squat buildings surrounded by low hills. Strangely, she couldn’t see any trees. Ada was eager to get on dry land and gazed longingly at it, but the dock area was so packed with people she wondered how on earth she would be able to get through. The crew had spilled out on to the harbour and were busy unloading. She waited as long as she could but when she started to get bumped and jostled by the crew as they carried stuff ashore she knew it was time to make a move.
Gingerly, she made her way down the gangplank. Then she stood on the dock at Balaklava, clutching her canvas bag and struggling to remain upright, as the smell of horse muck, rotting fruit and effluent and a barrage of noise hit her full in the face. Her legs, once more unused to solid ground, felt for the roll of the ship.
The heat of the sun beat on her face and without the shade of a bonnet she was unable to see much at first. Then, as her eyes began to adjust to the bright full sun, brighter than any summer that she could have imagined back home, the chaos around her began to feel more real. The horses that had survived the journey danced around, snorting, wide-eyed and slicked with sweat, throwing their heads up in fear and yanking at their halters. A woman screamed as one pushed into her, knocking her off her feet as it backed away from its handler and almost fell into the waters of the dock. Men in uniform shouted; women stood in groups arguing. All around Ada there seemed to be laughter and people jostling one another, tussling with their bags, bumping into each other.
