Miss Hancox finished her article with ‘great praise’ for the people who had come forward voluntarily to help the over-stretched district nurses and doctors. She reports that the wives of some of the prisoners of war did ‘most valuable nursing work in looking after the families of the stricken sick people’. And in November, the Committee of the Sheffield District Nursing Association passed a vote of thanks to the nurses ‘congratulating them on the splendid way they had risen to the occasion.’
Similar reliance on volunteers and heroic efforts from health professionals was taking place in Leicester. Miss M Knox Mearns described how her nurses ‘struggled along for the first fortnight in October without any extra help, all the staff working from nine to eleven hours a day’, until the local Medical Officer of Health closed the schools, and the school nurses and health visitors swelled the ranks of the district nurses. He also appealed in the local newspapers for help in the homes of the sick, and the response was ‘fairly good.’
‘It was a great boon to be able to send help to those very sad cases where all in the house were ill, some dead and others dying’, Miss Knox Mearns wrote to the Queen’s Nurses’ magazine. ‘The majority of helpers were just splendid. They did not mind what they did – scrubbing floors, washing clothes, cooking food etc – was all one to them… Fortunately only four of my own nurses had influenza, and that very lightly, but I was not so fortunate in those sent to help; every day or two one dropped out, until at the end of a fortnight only two were left.
All the organisation was done from the Home, and it entailed a great deal of hard work, as new cases were always coming in and more help had to be arranged. We had more offers for day than for night work, consequently we had to move our night staff about, giving the staff a rest where it was most needed. We had a few men for nights also, and we were very glad of them for the delirious male patients.’
The Leicester District Nursing Association may have been relatively unscathed by influenza amongst its staff; but elsewhere the epidemic did claim victims amongst the Queen’s Nurses, who were the mainstay of care for affected families. Early in 1919, the Council of Queen Victoria’s Jubilee Institute for Nurses passed a unanimous resolution in appreciation of the ‘self-sacrificing and devoted services’ done by Queen’s Inspectors, Superintendents and Nurses during the epidemic. The Queen’s Nurses’ magazine reported the resolution, and a statement from the Council, under the heading ‘Our Roll of Honour’:
‘The call came to them at a time when staffs were depleted, when no help could be had and when the workers were almost at breaking point, but they responded nobly. They had already struggled through four weary years, taking the places of those gone for ‘war work’, comforting the sad and sorrowing, tending the wives and children left behind and caring for the mothers and babies of the nation. Yet without hesitation, serenely, and as part of their day’s work, they met the hourly increasing demands on their services and, putting aside their own weariness, fought against fearful odds, often with the doctor unable to visit except at rare intervals, often in overcrowded houses and insanitary surroundings, the dying and the dead together, and often until they themselves went down as victims to the fell disease. Death took a heavy toll, as will be seen below, and sadly will they be missed by many.’
The Roll of Honour starts with Margaret Carroll, a district nurse at Lawrencetown, Co. Galway for five years, who died of flu on 20th November 1918. ‘She did excellent work in the district, where she was beloved by all for her unselfish and untiring devotion to duty,’ the magazine records.
Alice Corns, who died of flu on 23rd November, had only just started at her district at Sale. ‘All those districts where she had worked will mourn her loss.’
Margaret Elliott died on 27th November from heart failure following influenza. ‘She was a capable unsparing worker, whose loss will long be felt amongst her patients in Willington.’
Mary Jones, who died at Worthing on 30th October of pneumonia following influenza , ‘was very much beloved by all her patients and friends, and her loss to the Association is a very great one, for she gave of her best at all times.’
Sarah Lake was Superintendent of the Hulme Home in Manchester before she died on 9th December, ‘and a most successful and useful career in the nursing profession is thus brought to a close. She will be a great loss to the community and is deeply mourned.’
Dorothy Pond, who was on military nursing service, died on 30th October, after three days’ illness, of pneumonia. ‘Her loss is much deplored.’
Ann Sowerbutts passed away on 14th November, at Hayward’s Heath, where, with the exception of a year on military nursing service, she had worked as a Queen’s Nurse since 1913. ‘She won the hearts of all classes by her devotion to duty and her kindly bearing, and deep expressions of regret were heard on every hand when her death became known, while many eyes were dimmed with tears as she was borne to her last resting place.’
Mary Welch died on 27th November from pneumonia following influenza. ‘She was a faithful and devoted nurse who will be greatly missed at Woolwich, where she was working as a Senior at the time of her illness and death.’
Two former Queen’s Nurses, Charlotte Brooks and Annie Wood, who had recently returned to work on the staff of the Kensington District Nursing Association, were taken ill and both died on 8th November, from the effects of influenza. ‘A short funeral service was held at St Mary Abbotts’ Church, and this was attended by Members of the Committee and by friends of the Nursing Association as well as the Nurses in the Home.’
By the end of 1919, when Florence returned to England, the worst of the pandemic was over, though it officially ended in mid-1920. Mabel and Florence, and the nurses of the Hammersmith and Fulham District Nursing Association, had survived unscathed. With their education in germ theory and hygiene, and experience of nursing infectious diseases over many years, they may even have been able to laugh at an item reported in the Queen’s Nurses’ magazine in 1919 under the heading ‘Sugar and Influenza’:
‘In view of the gloomy anticipation of another influenza epidemic, prevalent in some quarters, it is interesting and cheering to see that Dr Soltau Fenwick, speaking in London on the subject the other day, gave it as his opinion that “the people who died last year from pneumonia following influenza, did so largely from heart failure due to insufficient sugar. Sugar and fat were essentials, and people were underfed especially in these two articles. This year there was no earthly reason why any influenza epidemic should find us ready to collapse.”’
But for Florence, there was little time left to enjoy the peace. She celebrated her 55th birthday on 10th January 1920. On 12th January, she stepped onto the train at Victoria Station for the journey to St Leonards and a holiday with friends, and was found barely conscious in her compartment two hours later. Less than three weeks into the new decade, Florence would be dead.
Chapter 20
‘A woman we could ill afford to lose’
Mabel had nursed enough seriously injured patients to know that Florence’s death was inevitable. Her friend had remained deeply unconscious from the first evening after the attack. The open head wounds left areas of her brain exposed, and pieces of bone had been driven into the brain itself. She was terribly vulnerable to infection; and, as she was unable to move herself, her lungs began to succumb to pneumonia, making her breathing more and more difficult.
The senior surgeon of the East Sussex Hospital, Dr Cecil Christopherson, visited Florence twice a day. He was an experienced doctor who had qualified in London more than 30 years before. But for all the expert care that he and his colleagues could provide, and all the advances in diagnostics and treatment, he did not believe that Florence could survive her injuries.
On Tuesday 13th January, the Hospital Secretary notified the Matron in Chief of Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Reserve of Florence’s condition. A note was made in her service record: ‘News received of dangerous condition of Miss F N Shore in East Sussex Ho
spital Hastings, owing to violent assault in train’. A further telegram of enquiry from the War Office received a graver report on Thursday 14th: ‘Very much regret to inform you that Miss Shore in weaker condition practically lifeless.’
On the same day, the Daily Telegraph reported the attack and Florence’s grave condition; but also added that, on the evening of her admission to the hospital, she could ‘make a few incoherent sounds and move her arm when asked to do so.’ On Friday 15th January, the West London Observer had the full story of the attack, and some background information about Florence. Her aunt, Baroness Farina, who had visited the hospital and talked to Mabel Rogers, was quoted as saying that she could not think of any motive for the attack other than robbery:
‘She was wearing a valuable diamond ring, and a gold necklet, but had very little money with her. A box containing other jewels had been broken open and all the valuables were stolen, the ring having been torn off her finger.’ The report concluded: ‘Up to the time of going to press, Miss Shore remains unconscious. Miss Rogers, superintendent of the Hammersmith Nursing Association, is watching by her bedside.’
The Baroness talked to several different newspaper reporters, telling them about her niece’s childhood, her nursing career and her heroic conduct during the war:
‘My niece, as a child, was the sweetest girl I have ever known’, she told the Daily Mirror. ‘And she preserved that sweetness throughout life. As she grew up and understood the glorious story of Florence Nightingale, ‘The Lady of the Lamp’, after whom she was named … Florence was inspired with its romance. She felt that destiny called her along the same path.’
Pneumonia, the old enemy of the bedridden patient, was taking its toll on Florence. As the long Friday wore on, the War Office contacted the hospital again, asking about her condition. The reply, sent that night by the Hospital Secretary, stated simply: ‘Very much regret to inform you that Miss Nightingale Shore passed away this evening.’ She had died at five to eight in the evening, with Mabel Rogers beside her.
Miss Smith, from the QAs, wrote a letter of condolence on behalf of the nursing services to Florence’s formal next of kin: her brother, Brigadier General Offley Shore, now living in California. Then Florence’s QA file was stamped ‘Closed’, on 17th January.
On Monday 19th January, Florence’s body was taken from the East Sussex Hospital to Christ Church, St Leonards – the town where she had planned to spend her week’s holiday with friends. Her coffin was placed at the entrance to the chancel, between rows of lighted candles, and remained there overnight. The next day, a hearse would take the coffin to London for burial. But before Mabel could accompany her friend on her final journey, she had a grimmer and more challenging role to fulfil: she was the first witness at the opening of the inquest into Florence’s death.
‘Hastings Train Mystery’ ran the headline in the local paper. ‘Borough Coroner Opens Inquest, and Pays his Tribute to the Dead Nurse. Miss Rogers gives Interesting Narrative. How the Fatal Coach came to be Selected. Friend’s Motor Ride at 3a.m.’
The inquest opened at five o’clock on Monday 19th January, less than 72 hours since Mabel had watched Florence die. In a gesture of professional kindness and solidarity, one of the hospital nurses sat beside Mabel throughout the proceedings. The papers described ‘Nurse Shore’s friend’ as a ‘pathetic figure’, tall, grey-haired and pale-faced, being helped in and out of the court by the nurse.
The Hastings Borough Coroner, Mr W J Glenister, was accompanied at the hearing by his deputy, Mr H Davenport Jones, and the Coroner’s officer, Detective Inspector Ruse. In fact, the room was full of uniforms. As well as the hospital nurse, police officers from the three investigating forces were also there: Superintendent Vine from the East Sussex Constabulary in Bexhill, where Florence’s injuries had been discovered; Detective Inspector Haigh and Detective Sergeant Sharpe who had been called in from Scotland Yard by the local police; and Superintendent J J Jarvis and Detective Sergeant Vickers from the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway police force. The LB&SCR also had its own solicitor present, Mr E Capel Rutherford.
A jury of eleven men (as inquests require one fewer jurors than criminal trials) was sworn in. The jurors – Arthur Perry, George Farmer, William Baker, William Latter, Walter Budd, Norman Jepson, Horace Walker, Sidney Mont, Frank Cruttenden, Douglas Mastin and Frederick Wicks – chose Wicks as their Foreman. They had earlier viewed Florence’s body in the mortuary, and they expressed their sympathy at the hearing. The LB&SCR solicitor was also quick to make a statement, assuring everyone that the Company was making every effort to assist the Coroner, and expressing ‘deep regret and sincere sympathy’ on behalf of the Company to the relatives and friends of the deceased ‘unfortunate lady.’
Then the Coroner addressed the jury, with an extraordinary and apparently unrehearsed speech of praise for Florence and regret about her death:
‘She was a lady of philanthropic disposition, a nurse of many years’ standing and had devoted herself to tending the sick and people wounded in the War,’ he began. ‘She had been on service abroad for some four or five years, and was one of that band of noble women which it was left to the War to disclose to us. She had been brought up in philanthropic surroundings, and had devoted her life with self-abnegation to those suffering from illness or in any other cause in which she could assist them. She was a noble woman, a woman we could ill afford to lose. She was, I believe, well known to officers of the Army, and was highly respected and esteemed by everybody who came into contact with her.
It seems exceedingly hard that a lady of this character, whose life had been devoted to others, should lose her life under these distressing circumstances. We can express our sympathy with her relatives and friends, but it is exceedingly difficult to know what to say. It may assuage their grief to know that, not only we here, but the whole country, mourns with them in their loss. I should like on your behalf, and on my own behalf, to express our deep sympathy. I am speaking from the bottom of my heart. I am not using any set phrases or form of words, but say what I feel. We deeply regret this calamity that has happened.’
Glenister went on to instruct the jury about what would happen in that particular hearing, aiming to protect Mabel Rogers, and to limit her ordeal.
‘I need not ask you’ he said to the jurors, ‘whether you join in this expression of sympathy to the devoted lady who has been in assiduous attention upon this poor woman from the time she came to the Hospital until the end … it is your right to ask questions, questions that are material, but I suggest that you should confine any questions simply to elucidating anything which may occur to you in some way tending to the identification of the deceased. The lady who will give evidence before you will be called upon a future occasion, and then you will be able to put any questions or points that are not quite clear.’
With that, Mabel was sworn in, and the Coroner began his questioning to establish the identity of the deceased. He asked Mabel to confirm her own address, at Carnforth Lodge, Queen Street, Hammersmith, and that she was the matron in charge of the nurses’ home. ‘And you have known the deceased for many years?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ Mabel replied simply. ‘How long?’ asked the Coroner. ‘Nearly 26’ was the response.
The Coroner established Florence’s full name, her profession as a nurse, and her age: 55. To the question ‘Where did she reside?’ Mabel explained that Florence had lived at Carnforth Lodge since her demobilisation from active service in the QAs in November the previous year, barely two months before the fatal journey to Hastings. Florence’s relatives were named by Mabel as her brother in California, and an aunt and cousins in England. Then the questions turned to Florence as a person.
‘What was her disposition?’ asked the Coroner. ‘Was she reserved?’
‘She was very reserved and very quiet, but cheerful.’
‘As far as you know she had no enemies?’
‘No, none at all.’
‘As to her physique, was she strong?’
‘No, I should not say she was, but she had been stronger in recent years,’ Mabel told him: an interesting answer, referring to a woman who had done five consecutive years’ front line work as a war nurse. Next the Coroner focused on the events of the days leading up to Florence’s death.
‘Did she spend Sunday 11th inst. with you?’
‘She was with me, but she came down to Tonbridge for the day and returned the same evening to me.’
‘She went to Tonbridge on Sunday 11th inst. and returned in the evening to Carnforth Lodge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you know that she had arranged to pay a visit to St Leonards on the 12th inst, a week ago today?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you go with her to Victoria Station? The South Coast Victoria Station?’
‘Yes.’
‘She was going to catch the 3.15 train?’
‘The 3.20.’
‘To St Leonards?’
‘To Warrior Square.’
‘What time did you get to the station?’
‘I think it was two minutes after 3 o’clock.’
‘Did you look out a carriage for her?’
‘I selected one of the back coaches. There was only one seat back to the engine and a lady said that was taken, so I went to the next one. I put her into the first compartment of the next carriage – the last coach. The train pulled into the station while we were there.’
‘Was it a smoking compartment?’
‘No.’
‘Was the compartment empty at that moment?’
‘Yes.’
‘What luggage had she?’
The Nightingale Shore Murder Page 18