The Lady and the Lamp

by Jane Smith

  Dr Menzies came to the door of the nurses quarters. There was panic in his eyes. ‘Miss Nightingale,’ he said. ‘There are too many patients. Would you and your nurses help?’

  ‘Of course, Doctor,’ Florence replied calmly.

  ‘Ladies – to work!’

  Carly and Dora looked at each other with a mixture of fear and excitement. At last: time to save lives!

  Florence gave them orders to feed the patients, wash them, and keep them warm. ‘But most of all,’ she said, ‘you must be kind.’

  She put Carly, Dora and Simone to work in the same wards. They marched along the corridor carrying buckets of beef tea and jugs of water. There were so many patients now that the beds even lined the corridors. Inside the ward, they were greeted by the moans and smells of sick men.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do it,’ Dora whispered, her face turning green.

  ‘You can,’ Simone said, patting her on the shoulder. ‘You’re the bravest person I know.’

  ‘Really?’ Dora asked, surprised. It wasn’t like Simone to be so kind.

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Really,’ Carly agreed. She wasn’t feeling very brave herself, but she didn’t want to show it. She marched across to a window and looked out to the sea beyond. ‘Anyone want some fresh air?’ she asked, tugging at the latch. It wouldn’t budge.

  ‘They don’t open,’ said a voice from the bed beside her. ‘None of them open.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Carly, dismayed. She looked down at the man who had spoken. He looked young – he wasn’t even old enough to grow facial hair. There was a grimy bandage on his arm and another on his head. His face was pale and sweaty, although the room was

  freezing. Carly didn’t know where to start.

  ‘Can I have some water?’ the man begged.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, pouring some water into a cup for him.

  The man was called James and he was sixteen. He was the son of a poor farmer, he told Carly, and he had signed up for the war because he needed the pay. He had been wounded in battle, but his injuries weren’t severe. It was the fever that had brought him to hospital.

  Carly spooned beef tea into his mouth and sponged the sweat from his forehead. She took the filthy bandages off and – with dread – inspected the wounds beneath. The injury on his head wasn’t much more than a graze, but the cut on his arm looked as if it needed stitches. She made a mental note to ask Florence about it. She cleaned his wounds and put fresh bandages on them. She wanted to give the soldier more water, but there wasn’t enough to go around. When he had eaten, he drifted off to sleep. Carly left him to help the other patients.

  They worked hard all day, changing bandages, washing sheets, feeding the patients, and sometimes just holding their hands when they cried. By the end of the day, Carly was hungry, filthy and tired.

  ‘That’s it for the day, ladies,’ Florence said when night fell. ‘Off to bed.’

  ‘But who will look after the men?’ Carly protested.

  Florence frowned. ‘No females are allowed in the hospital at night. Except for me, of course.

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts!’ Florence turned sharply and marched down the corridor.

  Dora sighed. ‘I’m exhausted. There’s no point arguing.’

  Simone and Carly rose to follow her out of the ward. Carly was worn out. She felt bad about leaving the sick men – but what could she do? She was only one person, and there were so many of them. But as she trudged out the door, a voice called her.

  ‘Miss Mills!’ It was James, the wounded farmer. ‘Please sit with me!’

  Carly turned to look at him. He was halfsitting in bed, shivering, sweating, and reaching out to her.

  Carly bit her lip. ‘Just give me a minute,’ she said to Simone and Dora.

  ‘You’ll get in trouble,’ Dora worried.

  But the young man called out, ‘Please, Miss Mills!’

  ‘I’m coming,’ Carly replied, with a despairing look at Dora.

  Dora nodded. ‘We’ll tell Miss Nightingale that you’ve gone to bed, if she asks,’ she said.

  Carly dragged a stool beside James’s bed and sat. He sagged back onto his pillow. She put a hand to his forehead; it was hot and sweaty.

  ‘Will you read to me?’ he said through chattering teeth.

  There was a book of poetry under his pillow. He pulled it out and handed it to Carly. She sighed and held her lamp up to shine upon the pages. James closed his eyes as she read aloud.

  The ward fell silent. The men were too sick and weary to talk. They slept and whimpered and tossed in their beds. Hours passed and Carly read on. The rhythm of the poetry made her sleepy.

  Footsteps on the tiles startled her. She looked up and saw a circle of light approaching.

  Florence stood in the doorway, holding a lamp. She looked like an angel, so calm and gentle.

  ‘Miss Mills—’ she began, but Carly cut in.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Nightingale, but this soldier was so scared and lonely, and he wanted me to read to him ...’ Carly trailed off, sitting up tall and waiting for Florence to give her a tongue-

  lashing. Florence was kind, but she could be harsh when she was angry.

  But Florence glided to James’s bed and put a hand to his forehead. ‘His fever has gone,’ she said softly. ‘He’s asleep. Come on, you need sleep too.’

  Carly tucked the book back under the pillow carefully, so as not to wake him. ‘Are you sure he’ll be OK?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Florence said with a soft smile. ‘He’s well again.’

  Carly beamed at her, feeling light with relief. She followed Florence back to the dormitory, crashed into her bed and fell fast asleep.

  Florence was right; James recovered quickly.

  ‘It was you who saved me,’ he told Carly. She blushed with pride, though she wasn’t really sure it was true. Still, the important thing was that he was well again and would soon be home on his father’s farm.

  But not everyone got better. In fact, sickness spread through the hospital faster than they could hold it back. The nurses worked every minute of the day, and Florence worked twice as hard as anyone.

  ‘How does she do it?’ Dora asked as they trudged down the corridor at the end of another long day.

  Dora’s looking smaller than ever, Carly thought. All this work is wearing her out.

  ‘She’s amazing,’ Simone said.

  It was true; Florence was amazing. She was hard-working and efficient, but she never forgot to be kind. Every night, Florence walked along the corridors of the whole hospital, checking on the patients. ‘The lady with the lamp,’ they called her. ‘The ministering angel’.

  The soldiers loved her. But the doctors did not. They didn’t like having a woman telling them what to do.

  ‘She’s so brave,’ Simone went on. ‘The way she stands up to those doctors. I’d be terrified.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Carly said. ‘You’re not scared of anyone!’

  Simone looked oddly at Carly, as if she was going to say something, but she changed her mind.

  A shout made them jump. ‘What was that?’ Carly asked.

  The shouting was coming from the next ward.

  ‘Dr Menzies,’ Simone replied.

  The girls crept closer to the door to listen.

  ‘How dare you interfere!’ the doctor bellowed.

  ‘How can I not?’ they heard Florence reply. ‘Dr Menzies, these men are our patients. We owe them care and respect.’

  ‘We owe them nothing! No one forced these men to come to war. They chose to be here.’

  ‘Pfffft! They’re still humans.’

  ‘Barely!’ he said with a snort. ‘They’re just scum from the lower classes. Ignorant drunks.’

  Carly and Dora looked at each other in horror. How dare he!

  ‘Well, I have to disagree,’ Florence replied calmly. ‘I believe that all men are worthy - especially the poor. And it’s our job to help them. And it’s your job to mak
e sure they get the supplies and treatment they need.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Our government is sending food, clothing and medicines – so why aren’t we receiving them? Where are they going? The supplies are just sitting in storage somewhere, or being stolen – who knows? The men are starving and they’ll never get well if we don’t get those supplies. We’ve got to fix this!’

  ‘What would you know?’ the doctor ranted. ‘You’re just a silly woman!’

  This was too much for Simone. She lifted her chin and stormed into the ward. Carly and Dora, fearing the worst, scurried in after her.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Simone shouted, ‘but Miss Nightingale is much smarter than you!’

  The doctor turned to Simone. His face was blotchy with rage. ‘And who are YOU—’

  ‘My name is Sim—Miss Shaw. I am a nurse. And I have some ideas that will stop your patients from dying, if you can be bothered to listen.’

  The doctor’s frown deepened and his lips parted in a sneer. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and deadly. Carly’s heart thumped. Even Florence looked worried. For once, she had nothing to say. ‘Go on, little girl,’ the doctor said.

  ‘Well,’ Simone began. ‘You won’t get anywhere unless you clean this place up. Let some fresh air in. Clear up the rubbish in the courtyard – especially the dead horses and dogs lying around – and flush away the dirty water. And for goodness’ sake, do something about the sewage. If you just leave human poo hanging around in a hospital room, you’re asking for trouble.’

  The doctor huffed so hard that Carly feared he would pass out.

  ‘Miss Shaw,’ Florence warned. ‘Thank you for your advice. You may leave us now.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Simone!’ Florence barked.

  Simone jumped.

  ‘Come on,’ said Dora, grabbing Simone’s arm and dragging her away.

  When they were in the corridor, Simone stamped her foot. ‘Why won’t they listen?’

  ‘I understand,’ Florence said later to the girls when they were back in the dormitory. ‘Believe me, I know how frustrating it is to be a woman. There are so many limits to what we’re allowed to do.’

  ‘It won’t always be like this,’ Carly said.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Florence said. ‘But in the meantime, we can’t give up. We can’t give in to anger. We just have to keep trying.’

  ‘Men don’t take us seriously. How can you stand it?’ Simone asked.

  ‘I remind myself every day of my purpose. I was brought up in a wealthy family and I was expected to marry and do nothing with my days but go to parties, make polite conversation, play the piano—’

  ‘Well, that was never going to work,’ Simone said. ‘I’ve heard you play the piano.’

  Florence smiled. ‘I know. It’s just not the life for me. I want more from life than that. It’s not my purpose just to be happy or amusing. I want to be useful. Happiness will follow.’

  There was a knock on the door. They looked up to see a man with hooded eyes and a thick moustache. ‘Miss Nightingale?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes?’ she replied.

  ‘My name is Dr Sutherland,’ he said. ‘I’m from the Sanitary Commission. I’ve been sent to clean up the hospital.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Florence replied.

  ‘About time,’ Simone said.

  John Sutherland and his helpers got to work straight away.

  They buried the dead animals that lay around the grounds. They built sewerage systems to flush away the dirty water, and paved the ground to stop it from turning to mud every time it rained. They spread disinfectant. They put holes in the roof and smashed windows to let in fresh air.

  Simone was annoyed. ‘He’s only doing what I said they should do. No one listens to me.’

  ‘At least the hospital’s being cleaned up,’ Dora reasoned.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Simone.

  In the meantime, Florence was sorting out the problem of supplies. She bought food, clothing and medicines with her own money, and she tracked down the missing government supplies. She kept records to make sure that nothing went missing again.

  ‘I just wish the war was over,’ Dora said. ‘I’m so tired.’

  Carly turned worried eyes to her friend. Dora had become quiet, thin and pale. Even her freckles were fading. Carly realised with a shock that it had been a long time since she had seen Dora’s sweet gap-toothed smile. ‘We can go back,’ she said. It was strange, but they had been working so hard that they had no time to think about their real lives. The twenty-first century seemed ... well, it

  seemed centuries away!

  ‘No!’ Simone cried. ‘We still have work to do.’

  Dora nodded slowly and sadly. ‘Simone’s right. We have to keep going. Florence isn’t giving up ... and neither can we.’

  Carly said nothing. Now that the idea of going back to modern times had come to her, she couldn’t shake it. She wanted to stay and help Florence; she wanted to save the soldiers. But she also longed for a soft bed and a hot shower – for comfortable clothes and fresh fruit. She wanted to sit in front of the TV and eat chocolate and worry about nothing more than what to watch on Netflix. Most of all, she wanted some lotion to relieve the itch of her lice bites.

  And she wanted to see Dora smile again.

  Summer came and went, and autumn crept in. Soon the winter chill set in, and the girls lit stoves in the wards every day to keep frostbite away. No one said anything about going back to the present. They didn’t have time even to think about it. They were too busy working. Soldiers came, got patched up, and went back to war.

  And that was the strange thing: the soldiers did start getting better. Death visited less often – in fact, it hardly came at all.

  ‘In our first winter here,’ Florence told them, ‘about ten thousand of our soldiers died. Now – it’s less than a tenth of that number. We’re winning!’

  It was good news, but they had no time to dwell on it.

  Florence was not always at Scutari; sometimes she sailed away to another hospital closer to the battlefields. She went there to supervise the nurses, but she always came back in a bad mood because she argued with the nurses and her boss. After one of her trips away, Florence was especially down in the dumps.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Dora asked her. ‘You look ... unwell.’

  Florence closed her eyes and sighed. It was true: Florence looked terrible. When she opened her eyes, Carly saw they were red and dull. ‘I’m not feeling great,’ Florence admitted. And then she bent over and spewed on the floor.

  The nurses put her straight to bed. Florence complained of aches and pains, but she told the girls not to worry. She had been ill for a long time while she was away, she said, but she was getting better.

  They all worked even harder to look after Florence, as well as the sick soldiers. There was no time for rest. Sometimes Carly found it hard to remember that she had ever been a schoolgirl.

  Then one day a surprise parcel came in the post for Florence.

  ‘It’s from Queen Victoria!’ Florence said in wonder, peeling back the wrapping. Her jaw fell open. In her hand was a colourful brooch sparkling with diamonds.

  ‘There’s a note,’ Carly said, catching the

  paper as it fluttered to the floor. She handed it to Florence, who read with wide eyes.

  ‘The Queen wants to meet me when I return

  to England!’

  ‘The Queen!’ cried Dora.

  ‘That’s right,’ Florence said slowly, reading the letter. ‘My friend Sidney Herbert held a public meeting in London to tell them about the work we’re doing here. They’ve set up a fund in my name. They’ve asked for donations to fund the training of hospital nurses. They’ve already raised – oh my goodness...’ Florence put a hand to her forehead. ‘They’ve already raised thousands of pounds!’

  ‘Wow!’ cried Simone. She sat down suddenly, putting a hand to her own forehead just as Flor
ence had done.

  ‘Hey,’ said Carly, looking at Simone with alarm. ‘Are you all right?’

  Simone was pale and sweaty. Her hands were shaking. Her breath was coming in short gasps.

  ‘No,’ said Simone. ‘I feel sick.’

  For all the months they had been at Scutari, Carly had worried about Dora. Her little friend had seemed so frail. But now it was Simone -strong, brave Simone – who kept her awake at night.

  Simone was sick – terribly sick. At times she burned up and at times her teeth chattered with cold. Her skin was grey and slimy. She couldn’t eat or drink. She could barely speak. At times, she didn’t even know where she was.

  Carly and Dora sat by her bed for three days and three nights. They washed her, cooled her down, read to her, tried to make her eat and

  drink. Nothing helped. On the third night, Florence came to Simone’s bedside and held her lamp high. The light glowed yellow upon Simone’s face. She was pale and thin, and sweat sparkled upon her forehead.

  ‘Is she dying?’ Dora whispered, with tears oozing down her cheeks.

  ‘Go to bed, girls,’ Florence murmured. ‘What she needs is peace.’ Florence turned and left them in darkness.

  ‘What rubbish,’ Carly said. ‘What she needs is modern medicine!’ She reached into the neck of her uniform, where her shawl was tucked away. She had not taken it off in months and it was stiff and grey with filth. Then she reached with the other hand for the tail end of Simone’s lace ribbon, which was still tied in a bow around her neck. ‘It’s time to leave,’ she said.

  Dora sniffed and smiled her dear, gaptoothed smile. Then she reached for her shawl too. And on the count of three, they tugged on the shawls and the ribbon and then fell into magical, blissful darkness.

  ‘I want Vegemite toast!’ Simone demanded.

  ‘We’re in England,’ Dora complained. ‘There’s no Vegemite.’

  ‘There is, if you look hard enough. You just don’t care.’