110th Anniversary of Edith Cavell’s Death

This month is the tenth anniversary of our centennial remembrance of nurse, teacher and humanitarian Edith Cavell. Cavell was executed by a German firing squad on October 12, 1915, for her role in helping Allied soldiers escape from German-occupied Belgium during World War I. The following speech was presented at a remembrance ceremony at Sunnydale School in 2015.
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For most people alive today, Edith Cavell is unknown, or at best a paragraph in some half-forgotten book on WWI. But in 1915, especially after today in 1915, her name became a plea to the entire world to rise up against aggression. In England enlistments doubled for weeks following her execution. In the United States, citizens already angered by the sinking of the ship, the Lusitania, began to view war against Germany as a war for civilization.

Edith became one of the most popular baby names for girls born in those war years. After the war, when her body was brought back to England, there was a full state funeral. Soon, monuments would be made to her. Canada would name a mountain after her, and schools, clinics and hospital wings would bear her name. Edith herself had asked for no monuments, but had hoped to establish a retirement home for nurses. That was done too. Of course with her name attached.

When it happened, Allied propaganda had a heyday with the execution of a woman – a nurse – by a German firing squad. Eventually two versions of the Cavell story would emerge: That of a damsel in distress – an innocent and naïve woman murdered by a heartless and barbaric foe. That certainly was not Edith Cavell. The other a fable of a selfless healer, above politics, unafraid of death, who gladly embraced martyrdom. Edith Cavell was more complex than that. But what’s more – she was human.

But it is likely that these were the stories that moved a donor to pay for an elm tree in Edith Cavell’s memory, which later caused her name to appear on the granite wall in front of this building. All we know of the donor was her name was Mrs. S.K. Waterman of Cactus Drive, Oregon. We can only guess what she believed about Nurse Cavell, but she believed in it strongly enough to take action to pay for a memorial to a woman who had lived and died half a world away.

To get at the heart of the true Edith Cavell, there is a key. It’s her faith. You’ll hear a lot about that, but I’m not here to preach. I’m not here to proselytize. I’m here to talk about a historical figure. In this case the historical figure’s personal and professional life were immersed in her faith, and her decisions driven by her faith. Not mentioning her faith would be as misleading as the propaganda and would rob her story of any coherence.

So, who was she really?

Edith Cavell was born in England in the same year our American Civil War ended. Louis Pasteur was discovering infections could be spread by bacteria. There were very few things respectable women could do outside the home, but in London, Florence Nightingale was opening her nursing school and laying the foundations for professional nursing – something Cavell would carry on as an adult.

In the small rural English village of Swardeston however, not much happened, and her father the Reverend Cavell was the local clergy. The title of vicar gave him and the family some prestige, but not a lot of money. The money Reverend Cavell inherited from his father, he spent building a vicarage that was his gift to the parish and passed out of his hands when he retired.

Reverend Cavell was no stranger to epidemics of cholera and typhoid, which he witnessed while ministering to the poor of London as a young man. When Edith’s younger sister was born, she was named Florence, after Florence Nightingale.
Edith’s mother, Louise was dutiful and conventional, and as loving as her father was stern. The Reverend Cavell taught his children devotion and Victorian conformity, but also an obligation to the poor and service to others. When a big Sunday meal was prepared, the children were often sent to give bowls of food to villagers in need before returning to eat their own supper, which by then was often cold.

Edith attended modest schools intended to “finish” girls from respectable homes. There, she was taught the skills considered appropriate for a young woman of her social class. She learned to cook, knit, embroider and sew. She played the piano and she learned drawing and painting, skills she practiced throughout her life. She had a basic competency in German, and a talent for French, although she never lost her British accent.

She read books from Disraeli to Dickens, but the book that had the most impact, that she kept a copy of throughout her life, was a dog-eared copy Kempis’s “The Imitation of Christ.” In this she underscored passage after passage and marked up pages. Her interest was in the application, rather than the theory of virtue.

From her earliest years, Edith was self-disciplined and serious. She also had a kind of reserve about her that caused people who’d known her for years to admit they felt like they had never truly gotten to know her. She suppressed her emotions and didn’t speak of her personal desires.

Following school, she became a governess to a family in Belgium, a job arranged by her father. It matched her temperament, but she left after a year to accompany her family on a trip to Germany, where her father had studied philosophy and theology years earlier. Afterwards, she went on to Belgium, where again she was a governess.

Although all this allowed her to immerse herself in new cultures, she never considered being a governess a permanent career. She wrote to her cousin “Someday, somehow, I am going to do something useful. I don’t know what it will be. I only know that it’s something for people. They are, most of them, so helpless, so hurt and so unhappy.”

By the 1890s, Edith’s sisters Florence and Lilian were training to be nurses. This was something new. A generation earlier, nursing was for the “too old, too weak, too drunken, too dirty, too stupid, or too bad to do anything else” But beginning with Florence Nightingale, the stigma of nursing being for persons of low character was slowly lifted, and it was now possible for women from respectable families to attend.

This was still a time when the wealthy paid for in-home care, and hospitals were for the poor, and most would not take patients they couldn’t cure. The impoverished and terminally ill went to the workhouse to die. Paralleling the professionalization of nursing were improved standards of care for all. Nursing was not just about medicine. It was about social justice.

Edith’s first stint in nursing was as a fever nurse. To qualify she had to have some sort of education and be of satisfactory character, that was all. Fever hospitals were a response to epidemics that periodically swept through large cities. They were for patients with typhoid, cholera, scarlet fever, smallpox, diphtheria, whooping cough, influenza, tuberculosis and measles.

Patients were to be admitted regardless of ability to pay. The idea was to remove these people from the population to prevent the spread of the disease. And once isolated, treat. Edith learned the features of infectious diseases, and how to differentiate them. She learned what was known then about the transmission of infection, and methods then used to prevent transmission. In the seven months she was there, 278 patients died, mostly children. It was a dangerous job. Of the staff in those seven months, one nurse died of pneumonia, nine staff caught scarlet fever, and four came down with diphtheria.

After that experience, Edith Cavell set her sights on becoming a trained nurse. Based on letters of recommendation from the fever hospital, Edith was accepted as a probationer nurse London Hospital, a hospital that served London’s notorious East End slums. It was what was known as a charitable hospital, dependent on private funds and charity. There she would nurse children with rickets and scurvy, rough working men with lost limbs, and destitute women in pregnancy.

It was also a teaching hospital, and there Edith worked under the tutelage of Eva Lückes , who had in turn been a friend and student of Florence Nightingale. Lückes was determined to make the London a center for excellence in nursing. She arranged lectures from the medical staff on anatomy, surgery and physiology. Among other things her probationers learned bandaging, chemistry of food, hygiene and theoretical nursing. Their day began at 6:15 in the morning and ended at 8:30 at night.

Then, in the summer of 1897, an epidemic of typhoid fever broke out in Maidstone England. Among the many responders, six of Lückes nurses were sent to help, including Edith. Patient survival depended on nursing efficiency and strict rules to contain the disease. In the end, of 1,847 who contracted the disease, only 132 died, a very low mortality rate for the era. Edith and the other nurses would receive the Maidstone Medal for their work – the only medal that Edith would receive in her lifetime.

After a short stint in private nursing, Edith would move back into the front lines of nursing and in 1899 was made Night Superintendent at St. Pancras, a Poor Law Institution for destitute persons where one in four would die of a chronic condition. At Shoreditch Infirmary, where she became Assistant Matron in 1903, she became a pioneer in the new concept of follow up work by visiting patients after their discharge.
In 1906, Edith went to Manchester to take a temporary position as acting Matron at one of the Queen’s District Nursing Homes. Here, she juggled red tape, personnel shortages and budget, while learning to deal with mining accidents and illnesses related to mining. It was only in 2002 that a brass plaque commemorating Edith’s work in Manchester was found in a local scrap yard.

In 1907, Edith was approached to supervise a new endeavor. Dr. Antoine Depage was an innovator and reformer who had been impressed by the English model of trained nurses as described by Florence Nightingale. In Belgium, nuns had been responsible for the care of the sick and however kind and well intentioned, they had little or no training for the work. Dr. Depage wanted to open the first modern school for nursing in Belgium and needed an English nurse who spoke French and knew the Belgian culture.

Edith hesitated. Nursing, medical standards and structures of care were all advancing in England, and to begin in Belgium would be like going back in time. But it was a challenge that resonated with her experience, zeal and desire to make a difference.

In November 1907, the hospital and training school was formed out of four adjoining houses on a street on the outskirts of Brussels. When Edith arrived she discovered Depage had no support structure or secure funding. She began with five student nurses, and in 1908 she set forth the object of the school: first, to create a profession for women, secondly to forward the cause of science; thirdly to provide the best possible help for the sick and suffering.

Single handedly Edith fought to impose the standards she had known in England, often in the face of fierce resistance. Edith wrote: “The old idea that it is a disgrace for women to work is still held in Belgium and women of good birth and education still think they lose caste by earning their own living.” Resistance also came from doctors who were unaccustomed to trained nurses, and from domestic staff who felt it demeaning to take orders from nurses.

However, by perseverance, the school grew. By 1909 she had 24 student nurses. In 1910 she had sixty from Germany, France, Holland and England as well as Belgium. In that year, she launched Belgium’s first professional journal for nurses, her introductory article: The duty of a nurse. By 1911 she was providing nurses for three hospitals and three nursing homes while providing visiting nurses to 24 state schools. Probationary Nurses in their second year were sent out to train in the various hospitals she staffed.

Her reputation spread. She spoke at the International Congress of Nurses as part of the Belgian legation. And in Belgium provided lectures to the public. By 1914 she was giving four lectures a week to doctors and nurses alike. Soon she found she had more requests for nurses than she had students to fill.

When the war started in 1914, Edith was home visiting her mother, who was by then a widow. She was weeding her mother’s garden when she heard the news of the German invasion of Belgium. She would not be persuaded to stay in England. “At a time like this”, she said, “I am more needed than ever”. While countless thousands were fleeing war, Edith was rushing in the opposite direction.

By August 3rd, 1914, she was back in Brussels, sending the Dutch and German nurses home and impressing on the others that their first duty was to care for the wounded irrespective of nationality. The clinic became a Red Cross Hospital, with German soldiers receiving the same attention as Belgian. When Brussels fell, the Germans commandeered the Royal Palace for their own wounded, but Edith continued to care for sick and injured Belgians.

The Initial German advance was so successful, that the British and French were driven back, with many in both armies being cut off. In the autumn of 1914, two stranded British soldiers, both badly wounded, found their way to Nurse Cavell’s training school and were sheltered for two weeks. Others followed, hoping to avoid falling into German hands and make it to neutral territory in Holland. Eventually an underground railroad was established. This organization lasted for almost a year, despite the risks. All those involved knew they could be shot for harboring allied soldiers.

Edith faced a moral dilemma. As a ‘protected’ member of the Red Cross, she should have remained aloof. But like Dietrich Bonhoeffer in the next war, she was prepared to sacrifice her conscience for the sake of her fellow men. To her, the protection, the concealment and the smuggling away of hunted men was as humanitarian an act as the tending of the sick and wounded.

Edith was under suspicion from the start. For one thing, she was one of a very few British subjects left in the city. Secondly, her refusal to acknowledge the authority of the German occupation was well known. When ordered to register as an alien with the occupation government, she had steadfastly refused.

By August 1915 a Belgian ‘collaborator’ had passed through Edith’s hands. The school was searched while a soldier slipped out through the back garden, Nurse Cavell remained calm – no incriminating papers were ever found. Edith was so thorough that in spite of soldiers being hidden in the school’s basement at night, she managed to keep her underground activities from her student nurses so as not to incriminate them.

Eventually another member of this underground railroad would be fooled by a man posing as someone looking for help to escape and would say too much. Five days later, Nurse Cavell was arrested. During her interrogation she admitted all that she had done, taking responsibility herself where possible. By seeming to cooperate she hoped to spare the others. Edith did not provide any information she thought the German’s didn’t already have, but she unwittingly confirmed much of what they were unsure of. The statements she was given to sign were written in German, which she barely understood, and read back to her in French. That the translation was accurate and she knew how incriminating the documents were is doubtful.

At her trial Edith wore a dark blue skirt and coat with a white muslin blouse. She had been urged by her colleagues to wear her nurse’s uniform in hopes it would encourage mercy. Edith refused. She would not wear her uniform outside of work to impress the tribunal and risk incriminating the other nurses at the school.

There were 35 defendants. The main six, including Edith were seated facing the tribunal with soldiers with fixed bayonets on either side of their chairs. No written charges were presented to Edith’s attorney, who she had never met before the trial. The main charge against Edith was paragraph 90 of the German penal code that defined treason crimes against the fatherland such as “conducting soldiers to the enemy”. Treason carried a death penalty. That she was not a German subject and therefore a treason charge should not apply to her was never debated.

Witnesses say that Edith replied to questions in a low voice and appeared proud, calm and unafraid. When asked if she had harbored French and English soldiers, and if she had helped Belgians of military age escape from German occupied territory she simply replied “yes”.

When asked why she had done it, she replied that it was her belief and theirs that if she had not helped them, they would have been shot.

When asked how many men she had helped to get to the frontier, she said “about 200.”

What the prosecutors chose to ignore was her statement that she was working not to recruit soldiers but to help trapped men get out of a war zone. The questioning took less than ten minutes.

In the end, eight persons, including Edith were given death sentences, the remainder imprisonment with hard labor.
The trial ended on a Friday. When the death sentences were officially read the following Monday, one man crumpled. Another shouted his innocence and had to be dragged out. Edith leaned against a wall, seemingly impassive, although her face flushed. She was to be shot the following morning.

As a neutral country, the American legation in so far as it could, represented the interests of British nationals in Belgium. Both the Americans and the Spanish Legation attempted to intercede on Edith’s behalf. It was to no avail.

The German prison chaplain was kind and gracious. He knew the Anglican Chaplain in Brussels, a Reverend Gahan, and asked if Edith wished him to come to her to take the holy sacrament. This she accepted gratefully. She attended Reverend Gahan’s church.

He then told her that as prison chaplain his duty would be to remain with her till the end, but would she prefer Reverend Gahan to do that instead. Edith said “no, it would be too much for him, he’s not used to such things.”

When Reverend Gahan met with Edith, she told him how her time at the prison had been “Like a solemn fast from earthly distractions and diversions.” She went on to say
“I have no fear of shrinking. I have seen death so often that it is not strange or fearful to me. Life has always been hurried and full of difficulty. This time of rest has been a great mercy. Everyone here has been very kind. But this I would say, standing as I do in view of God and Eternity: I realize that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone.”

They sat on the bed and used a chair as the communion table. Shared wine and wafer, Edith asked for forgiveness of her sins. They spoke of everlasting love. Edith gave voice to her feelings of unworthiness and uncertainty about heaven. She gave him her farewell letters to friends and relatives.

Reverend Gahan said “We’ll think of you as a heroine and a martyr.”

Edith said “Don’t think of me like that. Think of me as a nurse who tried to do her duty.”

Gahan began to repeat the words of the hymn “Abide with me”, and Edith joined in softly

“Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day
Earth’s joys grow dim, it’s glories pass away
Change and decay in all around I see
O thou who changest not, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, no tears no bitterness
Where is death’s sting? Where grave thy victory?
I triumph still,”

Finally Reverend Gahan said, “Perhaps I better go, you will want rest.”

She replied with a dry British wit, “Yes, I have to be up at five.”

The next morning, she was led from her cell. The guards bowed as she passed. She and another of the condemned were taken to the national shooting range at the edge of the city.

Some of the myths of the execution are that Edith swooned, and that the German officer in charge stood over her with a pistol and shot her in cold blood. Another myth is that one of the soldiers in the firing squad was so horrified at the injustice that he threw down his rifle, and as a consequence was also executed. Both do Edith an injustice.

According to witnesses, as the prison chaplain escorted her to the execution post, her steps did not falter. Here gaze remained firm. The chaplain spoke of the grace of God, Edith asked him to remind Reverend Gahan to reassure her mother that her soul was safe.

A soldier bound her to the post. As he began to put the blindfold in place, he saw her eyes begin to well with tears.
The command was given. The shots rang out. Death was immediate. And she was gone.

Ultimately, it is up to us to interpret the narrative of Edith Cavell’s life:

The story of a violent death at the hands of an occupation army,

or the story of a life of compassion – and grace.