"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council, my name is Sister Frances of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus, and I am here today to speak on behalf of Reverend Bruce Kenrick, and the work that he has been undertaking here in London since he founded the Notting Hill Housing Trust. Since its formation nearly three years ago, the Notting Hill Housing Trust has been buying and renovating properties and then renting them to those who are most in need. Those who are homeless, those who have become trapped in appalling conditions due to circumstances or neglectful landlords. But, what Reverend Kenrick has come to realise is that these problems are not simply confined to Notting Hill, or even to London. These problems are being harboured in every town and city in the country. In Great Britain today, three million families are living in slums or grossly overcrowded conditions, and nearly one and a half million are occupying houses which have been declared unfit for human habitation. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council, this is simply not acceptable."
Sister Frances was aware of the unease in the room. There were plenty of people sitting before her who were in the position to be able to solve the problems which she was highlighting. She hoped that they were aware of this too. Her wide eyes surveyed the room as she deviated from her script.
"Of course, I hear you say, slum clearance and the building of new housing has been going on since the end of the War. When huge swathes of our cities have been destroyed, yes, it takes time and money to rebuild them. But the War ended over twenty years ago. For most of my lifetime we have been at peace. This mess should have been sorted by now. It needs to be sorted."
Murmurs and shuffling began to ripple through the room. With a firm shake of her shoulders and a toss of her head, Sister Frances returned to her speech.
"The work of my Order, providing nursing and midwifery in the East End, brings us into daily contact with London's poorest, and some of the city's worst housed. I do not need a doctor to tell me that poor quality housing has a detrimental effect on the health of my patients. Skin diseases, lung conditions, digestive complaints, and infant mortality can all be traced back to bad housing. I need not elaborate on how such conditions lead to domestic violence towards, and injuries to, men, women, and children as frustrations boil over. And like Reverend Kenrick, I firmly believe that action on a far greater scale than the Notting Hill Housing Trust has begun to provide needs to be undertaken, here and now. Ladies and Gentlemen, I come here today to talk to you about Shelter."
Sister Frances paused. Again, she scanned the room, ensuring she had the full attention of everyone there.
"Shelter will be a national charity, with the sole aim of providing safe, affordable housing for anyone, and everyone who needs it. With the money that it raises from campaigns, Shelter aims to purchase properties across the country which are structurally sound but fall far below the standards required to be considered a comfortable home. These houses will be renovated, and then rented out at affordable prices. This model that we are proposing has worked with great success in Notting Hill. In its first two years, the Notting Hill Housing Trust managed to purchase twenty two houses, which have been converted into flats for families to rent. A recent fundraising campaign in The Guardian newspaper raised £20,000. Such an impressive sum, gathered from the readers of one newspaper, clearly demonstrates that the public are keen to support our work."
There were murmurs about the room again, though these, Sister Frances reckoned, were murmurs of encouragement, not of disgruntlement. Spurred on by these reactions, she continued.
"But campaigns in the National Press are still not going to be enough. In order to solve this country's housing crisis, this issue needs to be taken to the highest powers, those with the most influence. Ladies and Gentlemen, I stand before you today and I see your influence. I am but a lowly nun and nurse, a servant of God and of his people. You have the power to make a difference in this world, each and every one of you. Mr Wilson and his government needs to hear of our work, not just from me, or from Reverend Kenrick, but from you, and your colleagues in every Council across the country. We need your help. They, the people out there, trudging home each night to a cold, damp, ramshackled dwelling that they must call home, they need your help. Everyone has the right to a shelter, a safe space to call their own. And, this is what Shelter aims to provide. So, join us, lend your support and your influence, and allow us to carry on the good work initiated by the Notting Hill Housing Trust to make a difference across the whole of Great Britain."
Sister Frances paused and surveyed the room for a final time. She hoped beyond all telling that her message had got through.
"I thank you all for your attention, and will now aim to answer any questions that you may have," she finished, refolding her speech into her habit and standing as tall and proudly as she could.
The questions were many and varied, ranging from the snide, "why has Reverend Kenrick sent a nun to do his bidding?" to the practical, "who will be prioritised for help?" to the downright unhelpful, "is this not just Socialism?" but Sister Frances maintained her composure and held her own against the barrage. When the interrogation was over, she thanked the Council members once more, and departed the stage, exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure. Once safely alone in the corridor, she unbuckled Trixie's shoes, which had begun to make her feet ache, and replaced them with her own. Slightly relieved to feel herself again, she began to head towards the exit of the Council Offices when a man's voice from behind her called her name.
"Reverend Kenrick," she replied, having turned to face the source of the call.
"You were brilliant!" Reverend Kenrick continued, "truly marvellous!"
"I thought you weren't able to be here," Sister Frances remarked.
"Slight change of plan," Reverend Kenrick replied nonchalantly, "and anyway, the great and the good of London must be sick of the sound of my voice by now," he added, "I watched from the doorway," he finished.
"Do you think I've done enough to make a difference?" Sister Frances asked, shyly.
"You have done your very best," Reverend Kenrick replied, "I've found that in such situations constant, little, pushes to begin with, will result in a bigger push later on, and eventually a happy outcome for all concerned. I've made that sound rather like labour haven't I?" he added.
Sister Frances giggled and admitted, "yes, a little, but it's quite a good analogy."
The two of them walked out onto the street. The autumn sun was attempting to burst through the clouds. Reverend Kenrick looked up to the break in the clouds where a small, thin, beam of light was slipping through and, pointing towards the sky, remarked, "I have heard from a contact at the Beeb that they might be able to provide us with a break in the clouds."
"What do you mean?" Sister Frances replied.
"The Wednesday Play in a couple of weeks time is on a theme rather pertinent for our cause," Reverend Kenrick murmured, "or so they say," he added, cryptically.
"We have a television at Nonnatus House," Sister Frances replied, "but I've never been allowed to sit up and watch The Wednesday Play. It's always on after Compline, during the Great Silence."
"I'd recommend that you watch this one," Reverend Kenrick advised. "Yours is a mixed Community isn't it, religious and laity?" Sister Frances nodded in reply. "Make sure they all know about it."
"What's it called?" Sister Frances asked, "I'll have to ask Sister Julienne, and tell her about it."
"It's called Cathy Come Home," Reverend Kenrick replied, "now," he continued, doffing his hat, "I have many things to attend to, good day to you, Sister."
Three weeks later, Sister Frances found herself sitting in front of the television in the parlour at Nonnatus House. The late evening news bulletin was coming to a close, and she, Trixie, and Phyllis were sitting waiting for The Wednesday Play to commence, each cradling a mug of Horlicks and passing a plate of Chocolate Digestives between themselves.
In the intervening weeks since she had addressed the Great London Council, Sister Frances had not only persuaded Sister Julienne to allow her to sit up and watch Cathy Come Home, but also to donate half the profits from the upcoming Advent Fair to Shelter. She had persuaded Fred, Patrick, and Cyril to work together on fashioning some furniture from scrap wood she had found in and around Nonnatus House, and had the whole house, plus Shelagh and Violet, sewing curtains, embroidering bedspreads, and stuffing cushions to give to those who were moving into new homes with nothing. She had also managed, with a little help from Trixie and Matthew Aylewood, to secure a new flat for Doreen Norris and her two children, allowing them to finally move out of Lisbon Buildings.
The opening credits of Cathy Come Home began to roll, and Sister Frances sat, transfixed.
"Well, that hit home," Phyllis remarked ninety minutes later.
"They've portrayed the whole situation so realistically," Trixie asserted, "so powerfully, yet so sympathetically at the same time. If this doesn't affect people and make them want to make a stand, I don't know what will."
"Reverend Kenrick hoped that it might do," Sister Frances confirmed, "I hope he is right."
A/N: The Notting Hill Housing Trust was founded by Reverend Bruce Kenrick (1920-2007) in 1963 to deal with the appalling levels of social deprivation and bad housing in the area at the time. Thanks to Kenrick, and support from local governments and religious organisations, the housing charity Shelter was launched on 1st December 1966 from the church of St Martin-in-the-Fields, Westminster. The screening of Cathy Come Home on BBC 1 on 16th November 1966, watched by 12 million people, brought the issues of homelessness and poor housing into the public consciousness at precisely the right moment. The charity continues to work to provide help to those who are homeless or badly housed to this day.