Miss Nightingale's Nurses

by Kate Eastham

  ‘You take care going through the city. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. I’ve got plenty of kin, as you know, but you’re like a sister to me, you truly are. There’s no one like you.’

  Ada felt her eyes welling up with tears and tried to mumble a few words, but she just found herself squeezing Mary’s shoulder a bit tighter and muttering, ‘I know, I know. I’ll be back.’

  In the early hours of the morning Ada pulled her mother’s old red shawl from a box and wrapped it round her as tight as she could. She’d already packed a canvas bag with a few belongings and now she pulled it off the bed and tiptoed through the house to make her way out. For the first time, the baby had been quiet for most of the night, so she crept out, not wanting to risk any slight noise that might set it off.

  As she gently clicked the door shut behind her she felt a sense of relief mixed with a tightness in her belly and a jangling in her head that kept screaming, ‘What the heck are you doing now, Ada Houston?’ She had never been out unaccompanied in the city at this time of day and she was surprised at how cool the air was even though it was now late spring. Spring already; the year seemed to have gone quickly but then it felt like a lifetime ago since she had been seeing in the new year with her grandfather. She would never have imagined that this year of 1855 would see him gone, and her creeping off in the early morning to try and get a passage on a ship, never in a million years.

  In the cool air the smoke of the city hung in the pale, yellow light of the gas lamps, and although Ada felt more alone than she’d ever been in her whole life as she walked away from Mary’s house, she also felt excited. She felt alive.

  Stopping just down the street, she made sure that the bag was secure and that her mother-of-pearl brooch was pinned firmly to her blouse. Then she pulled the red shawl up over her head and held it tightly under her chin in order to hide as much of her face as possible. Mary had told her to do this – it was the safest way for a young woman to get through the city – and she had told her to walk fast and strong and look like she knew exactly where she was going. And not to stop. But she’d already done that.

  She had never walked this route in the early morning light before and once she was out of Mary’s street, it felt much harder to see her way along the pavement and she began to worry that she might take a wrong turn and end up in a bad area of the city. Already she could see shapes of people huddled in doorways or others standing with a smoke. She moved quickly past, knowing they were just vagrants, poor people with no refuge and no hope, huddled on cold stone trying to get some sleep. She knew this but she still feared what desperation might lead these people to do. Checking that her bag was secure again and hidden under her shawl, Ada ploughed ahead, keeping a steady pace.

  She felt sure that she would need to turn off soon down a narrower street – or should she have turned by now? As she got deeper into the poor side of the city she felt her feet sliding and slipping through stuff on the path and the smell that crept through the smoky air was foul. She tried not to think about what might be underfoot or who might be lurking in the shadows.

  Then from out of nowhere three boys stepped in front of her, blocking her way. They must have been in a doorway, keeping very still. She couldn’t see their faces but she could tell by their harsh, breaking voices that they were after money. She was forced to stop; they were not going to let her pass. Ada pulled the shawl closer around her face and held it tight.

  ‘Can ye spare a few pennies, missus,’ said the biggest boy, stepping up a little closer to her. Ada knew that if she made a move to her bag to get out a coin she would be lost. They would be on her and who knew what might happen. She had to think fast, so she slumped her shoulders and mustered a cough, then spoke in as croaky a voice as she could: ‘Let me by, lads, let me by. There’s cholera at our house and I think I’m starting with it.’

  Instantly the boys stepped back. ‘Show us your face then,’ said the ringleader.

  Ada coughed again, and managed a wheezy, ‘I don’t want to do that, that’s the way it’s spread. It’s spread by the miasma, by the air that I breathe out.’

  The boys stepped further back, then one of them said, ‘Come on, Mickey, let’s get out of here. We don’t want the cholera.’

  Then they were gone, stepping back into the smoke and slipping away as quickly as they had appeared.

  Instantly Ada straightened up, pulled her shawl tighter and marched off. She could feel her heart pounding and, spurred on by fear, walked with a new urgency, feeling stronger and braver than she actually was. She followed her instinct for direction and was soon on the right road.

  It was almost dawn when she reached the street where she had been born. There was a light on in her old house and she felt her stomach lurch with grief as she walked by almost holding her breath. But once she had got past and was on the familiar path to the harbour she felt able to relax a little, although this time she had no sense of her grandfather walking with her. She was completely on her own.

  The noise of the harbour, as it grew ever stronger, was so familiar that it did hold some sense of home for her and as she passed through the gates it felt like she was heading towards something that was understood, something that held promise. The smell of the salt air and the clank of the machinery stirred her and she instantly picked up again the excitement that she had felt when she’d come down here with Padraic, when he’d had time to show her around and they had walked by the ships and he had told her where each one was going or where they’d just come back from. She felt her heart swell with pride at how much he had known about the world and its people just by living and working on the harbour.

  She found herself stopping in her tracks to admire the great Albert Dock that had been opened just a few years ago, and remembered Grandfather telling her that it would make Liverpool the finest harbour in the land. In the early morning light, the huge slabs of granite that had built the quayside seemed to glow, and the cast iron and brick of the warehouses soared above her. She felt almost overwhelmed by the beauty and the strength of it all.

  She stood for a good five minutes just looking.

  The waterfront was packed with a forest of masts but she could easily pick out the Golden Fleece, the ship that the old docker had told her about yesterday. She could see that it was busy with men loading goods, and there seemed to be some commotion going on in front of it. As she walked closer she could make out a clump of women on the quay who seemed to be arguing with someone.

  She moved closer to see what was going on. The party had a number of big bags packed with bottles, some packages and a trunk. The seaman that they were arguing with seemed to be telling them that they could not take all of the luggage on board the ship. They would have to leave the bags with the bottles that looked like brandy or some other strong liquor.

  ‘But we are only five now,’ said one of the women. ‘One of our party is missing, so that means there is one less body on board so we should be able to bring all our bags.’

  ‘Not these,’ said the seaman, pointing again at the bottles.

  Ada knew what he was up to; she could see it in his eyes and the way he looked at the bottles poking out of the bags. And she also knew that this might be her chance to blend in with some travelling companions.

  She stepped forward and called to the group, ‘Yoo-hoo! I’m here, sorry to be late.’

  The women looked round as one, all with blank expressions.

  Ada knew that she would have to be quick so she moved in straight away and squared up to the seaman.

  ‘Is there some problem with our arrangements?’ she said.

  ‘There is indeed,’ he said, trying to make the most of his height as he stood above Ada.

  ‘So what exactly is the problem?’ said Ada. ‘And before you answer, my man, I want you to know that a close relative of mine has a very important position in the Dock Traffic Office, so unless you have something to say that is an official order, I suggest you keep quiet and allow me and
my party to board the ship.’

  Ada did not know where that speech had come from but she seemed to have modelled her approach on Frank’s description of some of the grand ladies he had seen on the harbour, how they spoke and how they looked down their noses at a young ruffian like him. He had made her laugh many a time taking off those women. The seaman looked flabbergasted and tried to answer back, but clearly could not find the right words.

  Ada was straight back at him. ‘I suggest you allow us to board then, my man, and we will, of course, be taking all of our luggage with us.’

  He stood back and the party of women followed Ada up the gangplank.

  As soon as they were below deck and out of earshot, the women turned to Ada and started laughing.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said when the laughter at last died down.

  The women burst out laughing again and one of them said, ‘You’ve gone and done it now, miss! We’re army wives, off to the Crimea, to the war.’

  ‘What!’ said Ada, although she knew exactly where the ship was going – she just didn’t want them asking any questions about her decision. A decision that she wasn’t beginning to regret, exactly, but one that she knew, in her heart of hearts, she should have taken more time to consider. She knew that if they started questioning her then her resolve would weaken further and she wanted to do this; she would not be able to live with herself if she hadn’t done all that she could to find her only kin. Even though that brother of hers could be so bloody moody and annoying at times, he was still her brother.

  ‘Do you still want to come with us?’ said one of the women.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ada as firmly as she could. ‘And what’s more I have money here to pay my way.’

  The women didn’t argue as Ada tipped out most of the coins from her pocket, the last of her grandfather’s money. Then they rallied round her, telling her not to worry, they’d look after her. They were on their way to a place called Scutari; that’s where most of their husbands had ended up. And it was the place where that nurse, Florence Nightingale, had her hospital.

  ‘I know about Florence Nightingale,’ said Ada, remembering again how impressed she’d been by the stories her grandfather had told her. And at least she could take some strength from the story of Miss Nightingale; if she could go out there with her lamp, then any woman could. Despite this, her mind was still flying all over the place, wondering what she had done.

  ‘Are you a nurse?’ one of the wives asked.

  ‘Not really,’ said Ada. ‘No, I just need to get away from Liverpool.’

  Sensing that Ada did not want to tell them any more, and with a woman’s understanding of how many reasons there might be for someone to flee, the group seemed to be satisfied with that.

  ‘Just one question,’ said another of the women, ‘are you with child?’

  Ada blushed instantly. ‘No, definitely not,’ she said.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ said the woman, and, seeing Ada’s red face, continued, ‘I just had to ask because where we’re going you certainly don’t want to be birthing a child.’

  ‘One more question,’ said another of the group, who had stepped forward and looked like she might be in charge, ‘what’s your name?’

  ‘Ada, my name’s Ada Houston.’

  ‘Well, Ada, don’t let this lot riddle you with questions – sometimes they don’t let up. I’m Sarah … this is Emma, and this one, the one that’s trying to delve into all your private affairs, she’s Greta. Now, let’s get you sorted, see if we can find you a bunk. And any minute now the purser will be down to take all our names and put them in the record. Just let me do the talking.’

  Ada nodded. She already felt that she could trust this group of women.

  They soon had her settled with them in the cramped conditions deep in the bowels of the ship. The women had food, drink and some blankets. Sarah told her that she was lucky not to be going out with the first wave to the Crimea – they had really packed the passengers in and some had died as a result. They were expecting a few more to join them down there but the biggest party on board would probably be the horses.

  ‘Horses?’ said Ada. ‘I didn’t know they could travel by boat.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Emma, ‘so many have been killed, the army need more.’

  As soon as Ada was settled on her bunk she fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake up until they started to bring the horses on board. Not even in her exhausted state would she have been able to sleep through the shouts of the men, the sound of the hooves and the frightened neighing of the creatures. One of them must have broken loose because she could hear a huge commotion with hooves crashing and slipping on the wooden decking.

  ‘It’s just the horses,’ said Greta, handing her a mug of cold tea, and then Ada remembered that Mary had given her some biscuits for the journey and she brought them out for all to share. They were very dry and Ada smiled to herself as she realized that Mary had inherited Mrs Regan’s curse when it came to baking. The women didn’t mind though; they seemed to be easily pleased. It was early days yet with them but Ada had the impression that this lot didn’t worry about much. She did wonder, however, how anyone could get used to the noise of terrified horses and splintering wood.

  Once the horses had boarded and the noise had settled, Sarah told her that they would soon be underway. Ada felt her stomach tighten and her heart miss a few beats. Even though she had lived by the harbour her whole life she had never actually set foot on a ship, not even when it was moored, let alone when it was actually sailing. She had seen plenty of them coming in and going out every week and she had imagined what it would be like to be on board. And as a child of course she had been enthralled by her grandfather’s stories of mermaids and dolphins and had yearned with a passion for the chance to set sail across the oceans, making up stories in her head about stowaways and pirates. Then as she got a bit older and began to know that it was very unlikely that some young lass who kept house like she did for Grandfather would ever get the chance to go on a voyage, she had ruled it out and accepted that she probably would never see much beyond her city of birth. But what had happened over the last weeks had turned all that upside down and here she was, here she was at last, thrilled and terrified all at the same time.

  She felt the first lurch of the ship under her as it began to move out into the estuary, and Greta grabbed her and hugged her, saying, ‘Here we go, here we go,’ and then, ‘Come on, everybody, let’s go up on top and say our goodbyes.’

  Ada had no choice; she was carried along with the group and before she knew it she was up on deck with the women, waving at the shore and watching Liverpool retreat. As she stood there, her city growing smaller and smaller, leaving all that she had known behind, Ada felt a shiver go right through her body. Some of the wives were excited, some were crying, all of them were leaving Liverpool and all that they had there, and Ada couldn’t help but feel sad. When they were too far out to see much of the city any more she moved with the group back down below to their quarters.

  As soon as she was in her bunk exhaustion hit her again. All of the grieving and then the sleepless nights at Mary’s had drained her of everything. It felt good to lie down in her own space, her own bunk, and be rocked to sleep by the movement of the ship; it felt so good.

  When she woke again the ship was creaking around her and her narrow bunk was swaying from side to side. The women were sleeping and when she looked down there were a number of wooden pails standing ready. Wonder why they’ve provided so many buckets for our toilet, she thought, before drifting off to sleep again.

  Ada had the answer to her question the next time she woke, cold and clammy with a heaving in her belly and her mouth watering. She slid quickly off the bunk and grabbed the nearest pail. Side by side with two of her new friends she heaved her guts up into the bucket, then heaved some more. Climbing back on to the bunk, she thought she was probably done, that she had cleared everything out, but she was mistaken. She was soon back with th
e bucket again, and then again and again.

  She had heard about seasickness but didn’t realize that it was so violent. She had imagined that it was a gentle clearing of the system, then all would be well. In fact, all the passengers down in steerage were at it and for her it lasted a full week. One of the poor women continued to puke, on and off, all the way to Scutari.

  After a full week, Ada began to think that she had entered some new world where she would never stop the sickness and never be able to eat again. She could hardly keep a sup of water down. If it hadn’t been for the army wives taking turns to help her when they weren’t puking themselves she thought that she might well have died.

  Just when she had started to get to a place where she had made her peace with everything and was fairly sure that she would never stop puking and didn’t even care any more, somehow, miraculously, she started to feel better.

  She could keep down some water and even a bit of food but her legs were so weak and she was so unused to the roll of the ship that she had to cling on to something even to stand. Walking was a whole other thing that she didn’t attempt at first. But after a few days she had to get out of the pit where she now lived that smelt of puke and sour breath. She thought that if she didn’t get up to see the sky and smell the air, she might die.

  Greta was regularly up on deck having a bit of banter with the sailors or the soldiers. She offered to take Ada up the first time, not wanting her to go overboard or fall foul of one of the lecherous men who felt it was their right to make use of a young girl on a long voyage.

  ‘Hold on to me,’ said Greta as they made their way to the ladder that took them up to the next level and the next ladder. As Ada started to climb the second ladder she could feel the air coming down the hatch and gulped it in. It was fresh and salty. It was the elixir of life.