The Diaries of War - Crimea 1854

The Diaries of War

The Crimea, 1854

Of all the stages of the Crimean War, none were more traumatic than the siege of Sevastopol. Morale was low as were supplies. We had to try and execute a siege with only 50 men, and many of them were struck down with the ailment that the army doctor pessimistically described as ‘being dead’.

To try and trick the inhabitants of the city that a large fighting force was at it’s gates we made dummies from straw bales and the abundant water melons which grew in the surrounding fields, as well as holding continual loud conversations with ourselves in which we always assumed no fewer than three roles each (in different voices).

One of the soldiers was so successful at this feat that he impersonated an entire garrison on the western perimeter single-handedly. It was only when he entered into both sides of a drunken debate on the morals of the conflict and ended up shockingly stabbing himself to death after sneaking up on himself under the cover of darkness, that our cover began to slip.

Such a death may seem futile to the non-military mind but it just shows how little they know. It’s just this kind of gallant sacrifice, for no gain whatsoever, which is the backbone of the British Army. Some may say that the Charge of the Light Brigade at waste of life, but the name ‘balaclava’ lives on in the currently fashionable natty woollen head garments, even if their usefulness as helmets was somewhat exaggerated by the quartermaster of the day.

But when personal loss outweighs the overall gain then the true heroism of the achievement shines through. When the enemy sees that our soldiers are prepared to be slaughtered outright in search of increasingly glorious battlefield defeats, then they will surely retreat in fear. But what good ever comes out of war I hear the Liberals cry. Well apart from some splendid battlefield paintings, which much be a huge comfort to the widows, the Crimean War brought about a huge advance in medicine.

Florence Nightingale, a nurse who overcame the handicap of being a woman, revolutionised the way the patients are treated in hospitals. Before her intervention, hospitals were full of unclean and slavering unhealthy men - and those were just the doctors. But all that changed after ‘The Lady With the Lamp’ set about cleaning the wards and more importantly, ensuring that patients were clean also.

It was astounding to witness the change in attitude among the troops. Men would rather have bitten off their own tongues than visit the field hospital in the past. But once word got around about Florence personally bathing the wounds of soldiers, these proud hardened men were seeking treatment for a whole manner of wounds – a surprising number of which seemed to be located in either the upper leg or lower abdominal regions. One unfortunate chap suffered from one such mysterious ailment on no fewer the 328 separate occasions during the conflict. But he was a hardly fellow who, in spite of his ‘wound’, always seemed to be smiling whenever I saw him. That’s the positive effect of being in the greatest army in the world.

I remember promising one nervous mother who was waving goodbye to her five newly enlisted sons that we would make a man out of all of them. Sadly all five were mere cannon fodder and were all blown apart on their first day of battle. But the army is true to its word, and after gathering as many of their bodily pieces as we could muster, we had just about enough to make a whole man out of the lot of them. And I think you’d agree that you can’t say fairer than that.