Florence Nightingale Page #3

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these...crimes, as you call them?

A Royal Commission, ma'am.

A Royal Commission?

Nothing less than a Royal Commission

will bring out the truth.

lt's our sacred duty to the Crimean dead.

And if l may, Your Majesty,

it is also a heaven-sent opportunity to reform

the entire hospital system of the nation,

not just of the army...

Beg your pardon, ma'am, of your army.

Forgive me, ma'am,

it has been a lifelong dream of mine.

We shall...think about it.

Remarkable woman.

l wish we had her at the War Office.

l'll convey that sentiment to the Minister, ma'am.

Good.

Oh, and as to that Commission.

Yes, ma'am, l doubt whether

it's in the best interests of...

May l finish?

Ma'am.

We do want our brave soldiers

to receive the very best care.

Please see to it.

The Commission?

The Commission, Prime Minister.

A difficult meeting.

l'm afraid the Queen was somewhat taken aback

by your proposal.

- Oh.

- Yes, a Royal Commission.

That could have consequences, ramifications.

- Well, l had hoped...

- And you were quite forceful.

l'm sorry, but...

However, l did prevail upon Her Majesty

to change her mind

and she has graciously agreed to allow the

Commission go forward under my supervision.

Thank you, my lord, thank you very much.

Yes, l remember one evening at the Verneys'

you were very eloquent

on the subject of nursing and so forth.

A worthy cause.

- Now, one minor detail.

- Of course.

l would like you to submit your evidence to me

in the form of a report, a confidential report.

There are...susceptibilities to be considered.

- Are we agreed?

- Yes.

Agreed!

Good.

Give my regards to your charming mother.

l hope to have the pleasure of seeing you

at the Devonshires' next weekend.

Oh, l'm afraid you won't see me.

l'll be writing my report.

Excellent.

To work, then.

(Muffled voices)

The suite, ma'am.

The room, ready and waiting for you.

Er...please if there's anything

that you need...

Thank you.

They want a report from me, do they?

Then they shall have it.

This room shall be my War Office.

My family always stay here

when we come to London.

The fine old Burlington Hotel.

This room is ample,

and compared with my lodgings in the Crimea,

utter luxury.

But how could l sleep in comfort when so many

of my children lie in unmarked graves?

l call them ''my children'', those ordinary soldiers

who died in pain and silence, uncomplaining.

Though the officers called them brutes,

the scum of the earth.

My children!

What a tale l have to tell!

How eager and proud they all were

when they first set out.

The very names of those regiments

made our hearts beat faster.

The Royal Dragoons,

the Grenadier Guards, the 93rds,

the lnniskillings, the Coldstream Guards,

the Royal Fusiliers.

Off they went with their brand-new rifles

and pretty sparkling uniforms...

..off to teach the Russian bear a lesson.

The finest army in the world, we thought.

lnvincible, we thought.

Back home in a month...

..we thought!

Come on, everybody, let's hear it for

our brave British boys in British uniform!

(Applause)

Trumpet fanfare

l don't believe it! ls it?

Oh, no, it isn't!

AUDlENCE:
Oh, yes it is!

You're right!

lt's our lightning, frightening, fighting,

Light Brigade!

(Applause)

Bravo!

Oh, we're the glorious Light Brigade!

The put-the-Russkis-to-flight brigade

For glory, Queen and country too

We draw our steel and shout haroo!

The lightning, frightening, fighting

Light Brigade

Who never, not ever,

no, never have been afraid

Oh, we're the glorious Light Brigade!

The put-the-Russkis-to-flight brigade

You've never seen soldiers like us before

Who boldly charge as the cannons roar

The lightning, frightening, fighting

Light Brigade

Who never, not ever, no...

(Explosions)

(Screaming)

An army that had spent more time on

the parade ground than on the battlefield,

commanded by a dear old gentleman whose last

taste of action was Waterloo, 40 years before.

This force, incredibly,

due to the heroism of the common soldier,

won three battles against huge odds.

But the cost.

And those blundering generals.

l know this much.

lf any woman had managed her kitchen

the way our generals managed that campaign

she and her entire family would have been

reduced to the poorhouse in weeks.

As it was, the British Army was reduced to

a regiment of living skeletons,

dressed in rags, crawling with vermin.

And if they were wounded or got sick,

worse was waiting -

a death house in the shape of

the military hospital at Scutari.

(Water drips)

(Explosion booms)

The casualties mounted

and the death rate soared.

Thousands died of disease and neglect.

But the soldiers were writing home,

and The London Times sent out

its best reporter.

Before long, the appalling truth was known

in every English parlour.

Only then did we begin to understand the full

horror of what our men were going through.

Listen to this.

''lt is with feelings of anger and surprise

that the public will learn that no preparations

have been made

to care for our wounded in the Crimea.

Not only are there not sufficient surgeons,

there is not even linen to make bandages.

Arriving at the hospital, they lie in their

own waste, covered by a single blanket,

eating meat raw, stiff with salt

or rotten with maggots.

Not over breakfast, dear, please.

Let me see.

Excuse me, Papa.

At last l knew what l must do.

All my training could now be put to use.

But l needed an ally.

So l wrote to my dear friend, Sidney Herbert,

now a powerful member of the war cabinet.

As it happened, a letter from him

crossed with mine in the post.

HERBERT:
Dear Miss Nightingale,

l have recently been receiving letters from ladies

offering to go out to the Crimea

and give medical care to our injured troops.

l know of only one person in England capable of

organising and directing such a scheme.

Yourself.

l suggest that you start interviewing

likely candidates as soon as possible.

Well, l wrote back immediately.

''Dear Mr Herbert, l have already begun.''

Which was only partly untrue.

l started the next day, only to discover

that while many called themselves nurses

few were fit to be chosen.

And why do you feel yourself qualified?

Well, when l read about it in the newspapers,

l cried buckets,

(Sniffs) and buckets,

and buckets.

Well, l just thought of those poor, poor boys,

how they must miss a woman's touch.

Pardon?

Well, l never did mind hard work

and l'm not easily shocked.

l just do my best and carry on.

Well, l won't deny,

the money will come in useful.

l take it we do get paid?

Good. How much?

How old?

Um...just turned 1 7...

..l think.

lt's my back. And my knees.

They're not what they used to be, you know.

At our convent in Bermondsey

we see every kind of disease and deformity.

You are a Catholic order, l believe?

We make it our business to save the body first.

Then and only then do we attend to the soul,

if that's what concerns you.

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