Although I know a good deal of Edith Cavell’s story because of her links with Norfolk and her burial at Norwich Cathedral, I hadn’t realised that she had trained at the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel. She had applied in 1896 to be a nurse practitioner at the hospital at the age of 30 and she trained under the leadership of the hospital’s matron Eva Luckes. This was Whitechapel in its gritty Victorian prime, all soot-stained streets, overcrowded housing, and the lingering reputation of Jack the Ripper’s handiwork still hanging in the air. It wasn’t exactly the sort of place you moved to for its charm and craft beer options. She was known for being conscientious, which in nursing terms usually means ‘worked twice as hard for half the recognition.’ Her superiors noticed, and so did her patients. She remained at the hospital until 1901 when Luckes nominated Cavell for the position of night superintendent at St. Pancras Infirmary.
The plaque on the building, which is now used by the London Borough Council of Tower Hamlets and I won’t go on about the integrity of its mayor, Lutfur Rahman, and I will instead let Wikipedia do that. It’s perhaps hard to find a greater contrast of the morals of public service than Edith Cavell and Lutfur Rahman, but this isn’t a political blog and so I will limit myself.
