by Gill Paul
For two centuries Russia had been expanding southwards in search of a naval base on the Black Sea which, unlike its Baltic ports, wouldn’t freeze over in winter. But once it acquired Ukraine and the Crimean peninsula, and moved south towards the Danube, it was set for a head-to-head conflict with the Ottomans. In October 1853 Ottoman Sultan Abdülmecid I declared war on Russia, confident he could expect British and French backing, and straight away suffered a humiliating defeat when one of his naval squadrons was wiped out by the Russians at the Battle of Sinope and 3,000 Turkish soldiers killed. It was as shocking in its day as Pearl Harbor would be in 1941, with significantly more casualties. British and French ministers prevaricated throughout the winter of 1853–54 trying to clarify their war aims, which in essence were vague and flimsy, based on fear of Russian expansionism and, in the case of Napoleon III, a desire to bolster French prestige and reinforce his grip on power. Ultimatums were issued and finally, in March 1854, Britain and France declared war on Russia and began to muster their troops.
Britain hadn’t been at war since 1815, when Wellington’s army famously defeated Napoleon I at Waterloo, but a certain military arrogance persisted from those glory days, which reality on the field of battle soon belied. The British commander Lord Raglan, who had fought at Waterloo, was now doddery and indecisive; in fact, he often got confused and thought he was fighting the French rather than the Russians. Little was known about the topography and climate of the regions they sailed to, and there were catalogues of errors from the start. The long delay while the troops camped at Varna in summer 1854 gave the Russians ample opportunity to retreat from the Danube area and fortify Sevastopol – and also allowed the fierce spread of the cholera epidemic that killed over a thousand men before a shot had been fired. The Zouave troops of North Africa knew to prevent cholera infection by boiling water before drinking it but the fact that the disease was water-borne was only just occurring to John Snow, a physician in London, and did not reach medics at the British or French camps.
The war could have ended after the Russians retreated from the Danube, but this would not have justified the vast expense in transporting so many men out there (the French had 400,000, the British 250,000). Instead, the commanders decided to destroy the Russian Black Sea fleet based at Sevastopol, so as to bring lasting security to the Black Sea area (or at least that was the hope). The embarkation from Varna began, but the British and French high command got cold feet about a full-on attack on Sevastopol and landed at Kalamita Bay, thirty-three miles to the north. There was no resistance at first, and when they finally engaged with Russian troops at the Battle of Alma on 20th September 1854, it was a victory for the allies despite chaos on the field due to lack of clear leadership. Already there were supply problems: heavy clothing and spare supplies had been left behind at Kalamita Bay, ambulance carts had not yet been shipped from Varna, and there were no hospitals in which to treat the wounded.
The Battle of Balaklava, fought on the 25th October 1854, is still much debated by military historians. The Russian attack was initially successful in driving Turkish troops from their redoubts on Causeway Heights, but the second line of defence, the Sutherland Highlanders, would not give way, and when the British Heavy Brigade charged in, the Russians were forced to retreat. However, as they fled they were taking big guns from the captured redoubts and Lord Raglan ordered the Light Brigade to stop them. Unfortunately, the vague, misleading order was mangled as it passed through a string of five officers (including the rival Lords Cardigan and Lucan) and the Light Brigade charged into the North Valley instead of the South, right into the sights of the Russian artillery. Of the 661 men who rode out that day, 113 were killed, 134 wounded, 45 taken prisoner, and 362 horses were lost as well. However, the Russian cavalry were so spooked by the courage of the British cavalry that they were reluctant to face them again, so some historians think the accidental charge was not without its benefits in the long run.
The Russians tried once more to prevent Sevastopol becoming encircled at the Battle of Inkerman (5th November), which they lost. But winter arrived with a fierce storm on 14th November that sank thirty of the allies’ supply ships. It soon became clear that they must besiege Sevastopol through the winter of 1854–55 without adequate shelter, food or medicine. It was a calamity – and one that could so easily have been avoided.
Women in the war
We know about the experiences of women during the Crimean War because so many of them wrote memoirs of their time there: among them Journal Kept During the Russian War by Mrs Henry (Fanny) Duberly, in which, as I have reflected in my story, she seems more concerned about her horse than about the soldiers’ wives; The Autobiography of Elizabeth Davis, A Balaclava Nurse, by the woman I have fictionalised as a friend of Dorothea’s; Nurse Sarah Anne: With Florence Nightingale at Scutari, by Sarah Anne Terrot, from whom I have ‘borrowed’ the stories of some patients; and, of course, Wonderful Adventures of Mrs Seacole in Many Lands, by the indomitable Mary Seacole. Some doctors also left memoirs, including George Lawson’s descriptive Surgeon in the Crimea. Florence Nightingale did not write a memoir but her time there is amply documented in her letters, and her views on medical matters are quite clear from her Notes on Nursing, published in 1859.
My major characters are inventions but most of the minor ones are historical: Captain Bill Cresswell of the 11th Hussars and his wife Adelaide are genuine (although I changed the circumstances of his death); Mrs Williams and Mrs Blaydes both served as ladies’ maids to Mrs Duberly; the women around Florence Nightingale (Mrs Bracebridge, Mrs Roberts et al.) were real people, as were most of the officers mentioned, and the British ambassador Viscount Stratford de Redcliffe and his wife were key figures in the war. I have taken a few historical liberties: for example, there is no record of a woman as young as eighteen accompanying the troops and it is probably unlikely, but I wanted Lucy to be especially vulnerable so allowed myself dramatic licence.
The soldiers’ wives and nurses were a hardy bunch, but they were challenged to the extreme in circumstances that were wildly outwith anything they had experienced in Victorian England. Slowly, and with much bungling, by spring 1855 the British army managed to get a supply chain in place for the British camp by building a railway from Balaklava through Kadikoi. They also built an intercontinental electric telegraph network that meant news from the front could be received in London within a few hours instead of days. And photographs were sent back by Roger Fenton, the first-ever war photographer, although there were no action shots because of the long exposure times he needed (some examples of his work are shown below).
Improvements in conditions were partly driven by the reports of W.H. Russell, the first independent war reporter; certainly it was his coverage of the aftermath of the Battle of Alma that led to Florence Nightingale being sent out to Constantinople to take charge of treatment of the wounded. Although the death rate at her hospital in Scutari was far higher than elsewhere, mainly due to its situation on a festering cesspit, she set standards that would revolutionise the nursing profession. Her health was permanently weakened by the bout of fever she caught in Crimea in May 1855, which modern doctors suspect was brucellosis caused by consumption of infected meat or milk, but she continued to be an influential force until old age.
The second year of war
Sevastopol was well-protected by fortifications on Malakhov Hill and a number of forts, including the Mamelon and the Redan. Assaults on these between March and June 1855 led to high numbers of casualties on all sides for absolutely no military gains. In August, the Russians once again attacked Balaklava but were defeated at the Battle of Chernaia, under a force that included Sardinian troops sent by Victor Emmanuel II of Piedmont-Sardinia. (He hoped his involvement would persuade the French to help him to obtain Italian unification, which they duly did.) On 5th September a huge French bombardment led to the long-awaited capture of the Malakhov and the city fell on 9th September, but not before many of its able-bodied citizens had escaped
across a 960-metre pontoon bridge to the north side of the harbour, setting the military stores on fire before they left. The allies entered Sevastopol to find the historic city in ruins, and while the French soldiers took to pillaging the treasures, the British quickly found the alcohol stores.
For the regiments that had been besieging Sevastopol, the war was over bar the waiting, but it continued on several other fronts: in Kars (modern-day Armenia), in the Baltic, and even with a skirmish or two over in the Pacific, while the allies worked out what they wanted in a peace treaty. The terms signed at the Treaty of Paris in March 1856 were that Russia handed back all territory seized from the Ottoman Empire and gave up her claims to be protector of the Empire’s Christian subjects, while the Ottoman Sultan promised to respect both his Christian and Muslim subjects. The Crimean peninsula was restored to Russia on the understanding that she would not build military ports there and that warships would no longer sail in the Black Sea. (It wasn’t long before the Russians conveniently forgot this clause, and they were at war with the Turks again in 1877.)
The estimates of those killed during the Crimean War are 450,000 Russians, 120,000 Ottomans, 95,000 French, 20,813 British and 2,000 Sardinians – the vast majority of them (80 per cent in the case of the Brits) due to disease and neglect rather than battle wounds. It’s a war that should never have happened, and quickly became a byword for military incompetence: what one historian called ‘more than two years of fatal blundering in slow motion by inept statesmen’.
A lot was learned from it, as is almost always the case with wars. After-effects included the abolition of the purchase of commissions in the British army in favour of promotion on merit; the institution of professional nursing training and qualifications; many military, engineering and medical advances; the abolition of the monarchy in France in 1870; and it was probably the spark that led to the end of serfdom in Russia and eventually to the Russian Revolution that overthrew the Romanovs in 1917. Some of the Turks, who had played gracious host to the Western allies, became influenced by Western ideas but there was also resentment at the disrespectful treatment they received from the British and French. In every country involved, citizens began to criticise the aristocratic classes who ruled them and ethnic groups across the region began to demand self-government.
The Ottoman Empire continued to decay and it wasn’t long before cracks appeared in the fragile peace – cracks that would ultimately rupture and lead in 1914 to the First World War.
The port of Balaklava
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Mrs Fanny Duberly (on horseback) with her husband Henry
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The town of Balaklava with the General Hospital on the hill to the right
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Officers’ graves on Cathcart’s Hill
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A cavalry section of the British camp, looking towards Kadikoi
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The cookhouse of the 8th Hussars
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Acknowledgements
Eleanor Dryden, my editor, came up with the inspired suggestion that I write about the Crimean War and has made suggestions at several stages of the writing of this novel that I think have greatly improved it – so huge thanks for all your support, Eli! The rest of the Avon team – Victoria Jackson, Claire Power, Paraston Khiaban, Katie Reeves, Kate Watson, Natasha Williams and Charlotte Dolan – are smart, professional lovely women and I always adore working with them. Thanks also to Keshini Naidoo, my sharp-eyed copy-editor, and to Jo Marino, publicist supremo at the aptly named Light Brigade.
Karen Sullivan, now the brave owner of brand-new publishing company Orenda Books, has been my first reader for many years now and she never fails to come back with the wisest insights into my outlines and early drafts. She has developed the knack of telling me tactfully when she doesn’t like a character or thinks a plot strand doesn’t work, and she is always right, without fail. I couldn’t do it without you, Kar! For this novel, I also had valuable early comments from the fabulous David Boyle and Kirsty Crawford, writers for whom I have immense admiration, and my truly wonderful agent Vivien Green: I’m so grateful to have such a brilliant team behind me.
Laurette Burton, author of The Royal Corps of Signals, and her husband Cedric Burton of the Royal Signals Museum, advised on military ranks in the 1850s. I’m indebted to them for their advice and apologise that I didn’t always follow it to the letter when it got in the way of my story.
Necip Berne, a good friend of my family, did the translations into Turkish, for which I am extremely grateful.
My wonderful friend Piers Russell Cobb conferred with his friend, pianist Charles Owen, to advise me on the pieces that a young lady might have played in the 1850s, and I’ve adopted all their suggestions. Bless you both! There’s a Spotify playlist entitled “No Place for a Lady” should you want to listen while you’re reading.
I’m extremely grateful to Natasha McEnroe, director of the Florence Nightingale Museum, and her colleague Holly Carter-Chapell for fact-checking the text relating to nursing history, Miss Nightingale and the Barracks Hospital. Their comments were invaluable. The 8th Hussars Museum in Warwick was useful, as was the Old Operating Theatre in London, which made me wince with its collection of Victorian surgical instruments. And I am particularly indebted to Helen Rappaport and Orlando Figes’s books on the Crimean War: they are among my favourite historians, both eminently readable and utterly trustworthy.
A special mention to friends at the Hampstead Heath Women’s Pond: I swim there year round, and find the changing-room chats with fellow swimmers endlessly inspiring. What a great bunch of women!
And finally, my love and thanks to Karel Bata. It’s always useful to get his film-maker’s perspective on plot and character – and he also makes me lots of cups of tea.
About the author
Gill Paul is a London-based writer of historical novels and non-fiction books and articles. Her novels include Women and Children First, which tells the story of Reg Jones, a first-class steward on the Titanic, and The Affair, which takes place on the Cleopatra film set in Rome in 1962 as Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton fall in love. Her non-fiction includes a series of Love Stories which is published right around the globe: World War I and World War II Love Stories and Royal Love Stories are among the seven titles available. She is generally found at her computer all day, except at lunchtimes when she swims year-round in an outdoor pond.
To find out more about Gill Paul, please visit gillpaul.com, or on Twitter @GillPaulAuthor.
By the Same Author
Women and Children First
The Affair
We Sink or Swim Together
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