Florence Nightingale is a very familiar name, but in my 70 years of life I’ve never troubled to learn more about her than that she was a pioneering nurse who began her career in the Crimean War, where she came to be known as ‘the lady with the lamp’. Now that I’ve read this biography, I’m a bit flabbergasted by my own ignorance.
Hers was a life of service and struggle that is nothing less than superhuman. Her efforts to free herself from the bonds of family duty were protracted and difficult, both because of the vehemence of the family’s resistance to her plans and because her own exacting conscience had to be convinced. When she was at last at liberty to learn the business of nursing, there wasn’t much training to be had. Four months of medical training in Germany may have been the extent of her formal instruction. She took on the management of a charity that cared for sick gentlewomen, and proved her competence to certain persons with political influence.
When Britain went to war in the Crimea, she secured backers and recruited nurses for the provision of nursing services for the army. She was ever mindful of the potentially disastrous political consequences for the project if her nurses misbehaved; she placed great stress upon their moral character, and had insisted upon absolute power to dismiss any nurse who didn’t live up to her high expectations. She was never one to be telling the army what should be done, but instead took up opportunities to demonstrate ways in which her nurses could improve the condition of the sick and wounded, such, for instance, as feeding them adequately and appropriately. There was plenty of resistance from members of the medical establishment, but her practical approach won her some important allies. Her cause was greatly assisted by revelations in the radical Times newspaper of the shameful neglect of the wounded. The French army, with more or less adequately resourced medical services and Sisters of Charity to do the nursing, provided a benchmark that put the British army to shame. Public outrage led to the setting up by The Times of an appeal for the benefit for the sick and wounded, and Florence Nightingale as the chief reformer on the spot found herself in control of a vast fund. Often the biggest obstacle to resourcing the work of caring for the sick was hidebound military bureaucracy, and many times sending an agent to Constantinople to obtain supplies with money from the fund was the only viable way to get things done. Her access to resources was a key factor in her growing influence with the army.
When the war was over, she threw herself into the work of lobbying for a Royal Commission to examine the sanitary condition, administration, and organisation of barracks and military hospitals and the organisation, education, and administration of the Army Medical Department. She was able demonstrate with statistics that soldiers in barracks, vetted for good health on entering the service, were, even in England let alone on foreign postings, significantly more likely to die of disease than the general population. She was an early and very persuasive collector and user of statistics. There were years of work in the business of army reform, and in time her health broke down; she became bed-ridden, but she continued working.
From her bed she set about the reform of civilian hospitals, and of workhouse hospitals, and the administration of India, which encompassed sanitation agriculture irrigation and more. She wrote detailed and authoritative submissions to Parliament, on everything from the design of barracks to policy on managing venereal disease in the army. She controlled the training of nurses, and gave advice upon the establishment of district nursing services. Such was her mastery of the subject matter of India, that newly appointed Viceroys and other colonial potentates went to her to be “educated”. Of course she was never able to carry all before her. There were plenty of setbacks, what with the fall from office (or occasionally the death) of individual dedicated colleagues or changes of government. Time and again she wrote to friends claiming that her life’s work had been a failure, without seeming to have noticed that through her efforts reform had become the fundamental issue of the political agenda.
Eventually she started to slow down, I think in her 70s. Her working years had been a time of unremitting and often solitary labour, with very little joy and a great deal of frustration and heartbreak. In later life her natural good spirits returned and, for the first time since her youth, she became conscious that she was happy. She hadn’t appeared in public since she returned from the Crimean War, and though adored for her work on behalf of soldiers she was widely believed to be dead. But among those who knew her, family and friends and colleagues, she was dearly loved.
It is the quality of the mind of Florence Nightingale which I think will remain with me after reading this book; the moral qualities of duty and generosity were married in her to a critical intellect comparable to that of, let us say, a Marie Curie. Just to give a rather left-field example of intellect, her friend the classical scholar Benjamin Jowett, by way of encouraging her to take some time out from business, sought her assistance in revising his translation of the Dialogues of Plato, which she did and provided commentary which he claims to have made use of in his own published commentary. I’ve been chipping away at Latin for years, but if someone asked me to comment on their translation of Cicero’s philosophical writings I’d run away as fast as I could.
I bought my copy of this book at a Lifeline Book Fair. I’m always a little tickled to read a book with a price printed on it in £ s d. It means it has been waiting on a shelf somewhere for over half a century, and this book, it turns out, has never been read: there were uncut pages. It’s a sort of time capsule.
I could go on and on. By the way, Cecil Woodham-Smith is a woman, Cecil Blanche Woodham-Smith. Her account of the Irish potato famine is recommended reading; not the last word on the subject, I’m told, but the foundation upon which later authors usually find it necessary to begin. It’s on my reading list.
You should read Woodham-Smith’s Florence Nightingale. It’s a meticulously documented account of a truly extraordinary life.