Category Archives: Social History

The Cheshire Lunatic Asylum 1854-1870 – Part 2.1

Chester Lunatic Asylum in 1831, two years after it was built. From Hemingway’s History of the City of Chester.  Source: Wellcome Institute Library via Historic Hospitals, Cheshire

 

The 1829 Building, built as Cheshire’s first lunatic asylum, as it is today (What3Words ///tiger.manual.waving)

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When I posted Part 1, I divided it into two (part 1.1 and part 1.2), to prevent page loading problems, and have done the same with Part 2. Both parts are too long for a blog, and when I have the time during the winter I will probably put them on a website of their own. Part 1 introduced the Chester Lunatic Asylum and discusses the general background to lunatic asylums in England and Wales from the 18th century throughout the 19th century, including medical and legal approaches to a growing problem, as well as some scandalous cases of illegitimate incarceration.  Part 1.1 also addressed some of the terminology used in these two parts (such as “lunatic,” “asylum,” “idiot” etc) that are considered pejorative today, but were part of the standard vocabulary of the Victorian period.

Part 2 focuses at the Chester asylum itself, the name of which changed several times since its foundation as the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum in 1829.  Again, it has been divided into two parts, mainly because of the number of images used, which would take too long to load if I left it as a single piece.  This is part 2.1.  Part 2.2 is here.

As I have said in Part 1.1, I first became aware of the Chester Lunatic Asylum when I was doing some research into 19th century suicides in Chester as part of a larger and ongoing project about Overleigh Cemetery, and found that most of the suicides had been deemed to be insane at the time of their deaths.  This lead me to find more about how insanity was handled in the area, and I discovered that there had been a lunatic asylum at Upton in Chester, something that most long-term Chester residents probably already know.  I found that the original asylum building and some of its related structures were still standing, and began to look into the asylum and its history.

The Cheshire Lunatic Asylum was a public institution that opened in 1829 to house pauper lunatics as well as a limited number of paying private patients.  The asylum opened on a 10 acre site to accommodate 45 women and 45 men, reflecting the fairly even numbers of both men and women at asylums in the 19th century. The asylum grew throughout the 19th century into the 20th century, and eventually occupied a significant area of over more than 55 acres.  The term “pauper” covers a range of people.  Some were genuinely very impoverished; others were employed but their were unable to afford asylum costs.

The emphasis in the following post is on letting the asylum speak for itself as much as possible.  I have made extensive use of quotations from the annual Report of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendents.  This was a legally required document, produced by every asylum to account for itself in terms of both performance and financial management for the period of the previous year.  There is an immediacy to the original material that provides a vivid sense of the asylum.  The reports used here cover a period of 16 years, between 1854 and 1870.  A new medical superintendent had been installed at the asylum in 1853 following a very negative report by the Visiting Commissioners in Lunacy, so the 1854 report marks the beginning of a new era.

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The location of The 1829 Building. Source: streetmap.co.uk

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Prosperity and poverty in 19th century Chester

Because the Chester Lunatic Asylum was built primarily to cater for paupers, it seems useful to provide a very brief summary of the nature of poverty in Chester in the mid 1800s, the period in which the reports used for this post were produced.

Chester Railway Station. Photograph by Tanya Dedyukhina, CC BY 3.0. Source: Wikimedia Commons

The Victoria History argues that the mid-19th century “was Chester’s most successful period between 1762 and 1914” and Handley describes the 1860s and early 1870s as “relatively buoyant,” unlike other regions in which hunger riots had broken out.  Although the Industrial Revolution did not transform Chester in the same way that it did elsewhere in the northwest, it left its mark.  Although the river Dee had been an important artery connecting Chester to the sea, and had once had a prosperous shipbuilding industry and marine port, silting eventually undermined its important role.  This meant that throughout the 19th century the emphasis on water-borne trade shifted to Liverpool. With the declining importance of Chester as a port and the arrival of the railway in 1840, the Chester canal system became largely redundant. The railway, with today’s station opening in 1848, provided temporary work for both engineers and unskilled labourers and more permanent work for a much smaller number.  A varied economy helped to spread the risk of low industrialization compared to other areas. Light industry was organized mainly in the canal basin and railway areas, expanding south of the river to the Saltney area. Industrial activity was represented by engineering companies, metal manufacturing, steam mills, a lead works, an anchor and chain works, three oil refineries and a chemical works amongst other enterprises.  Craft trades continued to thrive, including tailoring, shoe-making, milliners, dressmaking, bookbinders, cabinet makers, jewellers and goldsmiths.  Domestic service was an important source of employment for the less well off, in both the town centre and the suburbs, as was gardening.  Retail and related services such as banking and insurance grew in importance.  Tourism became an important source of income thanks to the railway, and Chester was a popular shopping destination. Chester’s expansion of commerce and light industry included roles for unskilled workers, but although many of these might earn enough to support themselves and their families, they were able not to afford such luxuries as health care, including private asylums, and it was often difficult to find job security.

Chester’s prosperous image concealed an underbelly of poverty, with dreadful insanitary conditions concentrated in slum areas known as “the courts.”  Whilst St John’s parish became particularly notorious there were patches of poverty in the Boughton, Newtown, Hoole and Handbridge.  The  Irish Famine of 1845-52 drove starving people out of Ireland, and Chester received a large number of impoverished Irish refugees, including entire families, many of whom moved into the poorer quarters of Chester, with a concentration around Steven Street in Boughton.

Population by year in 19th Century Chester. Source: John Herson 1996, Table 1.1, p.14

Unsurprisingly the population grew on the back of all this activity.  Figures have been provided by John Herson as follows, showing how during the period of the asylum the population grew and continued to grow after the Victorian period, as shown in the graph to the right.  Michael Handley points out that pauperism increased at an even greater rate than population growth, with an increase in vagrancy as well, causing problems for all institutions that provided support for the poor.

From the mid-18th century Chester developed a strong line in charitable and philanthropic activities, with a new workhouse, infirmary and various other institutions supporting paupers.  Pauper children could be subsumed into the general population of the impoverished. Although charity and church schools took in some of the poorer children, the most impoverished and vulnerable, sometimes the children of criminals and certainly in danger of becoming criminals themselves, were not at first provided for.  Some of them entered the workhouse, and others were taken into the lunatic asylum, but the problem of pauper children was eventually recognized by Chester philanthropists and three free schools for known as “ragged schools” were built.  In 1900 a children’s home was built just outside Chester on Wrexham Road, which still stands, now converted to residential use.

The Chester Workhouse on the Roodee. Source: Chesterwiki

One of the last-resort solutions for those who were out of work and unable to support themselves was the workhouse. The workhouse was not an intentionally punitive institution before the New Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834, but afterwards became a means of driving the able-bodied poor back into employment, becoming notorious for their harsh policies and conditions.

The first Chester workhouse was established in 1575 just outside the Northgate and more parish workhouses were established after the Workhouse Test Act of 1723. From 1793 and 1869 poor relief was administered by the Chester Local Act.  In 1790 nine Chester parishes joined forces to become an incorporation governed by the mayor, justices of the peace and a large committee of guardians, and took control of the workhouse from the city council under a 99 year lease at a fixed annual rate.  The workhouse was on the Roodee, with the river in front of it.  It was flanked by a gasworks on one side and a timber yard on the other, with the the railway eventually built behind it.  The New Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834 imposed new rules on workhouses, but the Incorporations like Chester’s were largely exempt and Chester refused to release control of the workhouse, maintaining its independence. After 1845 workhouses  were subject to inspections in the same way as lunatic asylums, and there were frequent negative remarks in the reports.  As Handley put it, the Chester workhouse “deteriorated from inadequate to calamitous as the population rose by 66% from 1831 to 1871, accompanied by increased pauperism,” and there had been no new accommodation added since 1834.  The Incorporation only gave up its right to run the workhouse in 1869, and at that time the Incorporation became the Poor Law Union.  In 1871 it absorbed the Great Boughton Union.  Between 1874 and 1878 a new union workhouse was built in Hoole with a separate infirmary and school, and the old Roodee building became a confectionery works. The entire Hoole establishment was eventually converted to use as a hospital in 1930, and became the Chester City Hospital in 1948.
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The medical-institutional context in Chester in the 18th and 19th centuries

The Bluecoat School, Chester, which became temporarily became a hospital in 1755. By Dennis Turner, CC BY-SA 2.0. Source: Wikipedia

By 1829, when the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum opened in the Upton area of Chester, the city was becoming well supplied with institutions that took in the poor, the sick and those suffering with mental illnesses.

The Victoria History for Chester lists a number of medical institutions from the 18th century.  In the early 18th century a charity dispensing medicines to the poor was set up in 1721.  In 1753 an endowment enabled the establishment of the General County Infirmary. It was temporarily based in the Bluecoat School at Northgate, receiving out-patients in 1755 and in-patients from 1756, moving to its new site facing City Walls Road in 1761, with fever wards added in 1784 and remodelling carried out in 1830.  A dental surgeon joined the hospital in 1853 and an ophthalmic surgeon was added in 1885.  Nearly all the positions were unpaid, with work being carried out on a charitable basis.  The hospital also began to treat patients from beyond the city parishes, as well as paupers from other institutions including the county gaol, the workhouse and those being held in police cells.

In 1798 Dr Griffith Rowland funded the Benevolent Institute, a subscription charity that provided midwives for poor women.  Temporary isolation wards for infections diseases were established for outbreaks of cholera in 1832, 1849 and 1866 but in 1899 a permanent isolation hospital was opened for 46 patients, supplemented by temporary accommodation during outbreaks.  A homeopathic institute was established in Lower Bridge Street in 1855 followed by a free homeopathic dispensary in 1878.

Table from the 1868 “Report of the Commissioners in Lunacy to the Lord Chancellor” 1868 showing Chester pauper lunatics not in asylums. It is not surprising, looking at this, that in 1871 a new asylum was opened in Macclesfielld in 1871.

Workhouses inevitably admitted those who became sick or experienced injuries, as well as the insane and those with learning difficulties.  At the Chester workhouse, the sick were either visited by Chester Infirmary medical staff or were admitted to the infirmary itself.  In 1861 the Poor Law Board published a record of the names of 29 adult paupers who had been inmates for a continuous period of five years or more, of whom 9 had a weak mind (31%) and 2 were subject to fits (5.9%).  Fits could be a sign of epilepsy, but were treated as bouts of madness.  There was no strategy for dealing with the sick and the mentally ill.  Handley’s verdict is that the board “simply responded to the pressure of circumstances,” not adding a an infirmary until 1842.  The new Chester workhouse at Hoole provided a ward for imbeciles and lunatics in its own block in the late 1870s.   After 1834 workhouses were supposed to send their mentally ill patients, and those with learning difficulties, to the local asylum, but this did not always happen as the cost of referring patients could be higher than retaining them, particularly when an infirmary or a lunatic ward had been built.

According to the Victoria History, two private asylums are recorded on Foregate Street in 1787 but otherwise the only provision for the mentally unwell was the workhouse,Lunatic asylums for paupers had been built elsewhere in England, after the County Asylums Act of 1808 which permitted the use of county funds and the raising of rates to pay for them.  Few asylums were built at this time but they included Norfolk in 1814, Lincolnshire in 1820, Cornwall in 1820 and Gloucester in 1823.  The County Asylums Act of 1828 gave county magistrates the right to take out loans to help pay for asylums, and tightened up administrative procedures and overall accountability.  The Cheshire Lunatic Asylum followed in 1829.  It was not until 1845 that the Lunacy Act of that year made county asylums compulsory.  Andrew Scull, having ruled out a direct correlation between industrial cities and large asylums, suggest that expanding market economies and commercialization were more influential, and this does seem to mesh with conditions in Chester, where prosperity was on the rise of the merchant class and new light industries.

Sketch of the original plan of the Chester workhouse at Hoole. Source: Chester – A Virtual Stroll Around the Walls

In 1837 the Poor Law Commissioners estimated that there were 2780 (20%) “Pauper Lunatics and Idiots” in pauper lunatic asylums, 1491 (11%) in private asylums and 9396 (69%) in workhouses or on outdoor relief (figures assembled by Alistair Ritch).  Mentally ill patients, and those with learning difficulties were frequently exchanged between asylums and workhouses, as well as between different asylums.  In Chester, the workhouse sent its violent and difficult mentally ill patients to the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum, but also received those who were deemed to be long-term and incurable but harmless in return.  This was nearly always due to over-crowding and although there were guidelines and criteria for what sort of patients should be held in each institution, it was not always possible to follow these, and decisions were often based on what was needed at the time, rather than being informed by laws, regulations or specific strategies.  The New Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834 determined that dangerous patients were to be sent to the asylum, along with those who might be cured, and incurable harmless patients could be retained in the workhouse, but beyond these broad distinctions, the criteria for which patients should go to the workhouse and which the asylum, and who was in charge of the decision-making process, were never fully delineated.  The Lunacy Amendment Act of 1862 lead to many workhouses building new wards for the intake of lunatics and those with learning difficulties.

 

The opening of the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum 1829

The 1829 Building at the Countess of Chester Hospital, the former lunatic asylum

The Cheshire County Lunatic Asylum opened in 1829 as a public treatment centre for those with mental illnesses, catering for the entire county. It had capacity for 90 patients, half of them men and half of them women, consisting of 70 paupers and 20 private patients.  When I first looked up the asylum online to see what it had looked like, I was surprised that the exterior had the appearance of an elegant and stately neoclassical building, looking very much more like a property attached to a country estate than the intimidating prison-type establishment that I had been expecting.

The number of new admissions at the asylum from 1829 to 1870

The asylum had been built as the result of the County Asylums Act of 1828, which gave county magistrates the right to build new asylums.  The Act did not make building of county parishes obligatory, and many counties did not bother until the 1845 Lunacy Act, which did make the building of county asylums compulsory.  This makes the Chester lunatic asylum of 1829 something of a pioneer, built only a year after the 1828 Act.   The need for the asylum was proved as patient numbers rose and the asylum itself began to expand to meet a demand that grew throughout the period.

The annual rates could be used to pay for asylums, and rates could be raised to absorb the cost.  Ongoing costs were paid for, per patient, by the parishes, townships and unions from all over Cheshire whose Relieving Officers sent patients to the asylum.  Relieving Officers were responsible for the managing the relief of the poor in parishes.  Sometimes asylums were additionally supported by town council grants and charitable donations, and the Chester asylum benefitted from both.  Small numbers of private patients were also included, and these contributed to the asylum’s overheads.  The patients who worked in the asylum as part of their treatment eventually helped move the asylum towards self-sufficiency, with both men and women making most of the clothing and bedding in-house.  Men additionally helped with building alterations, whilst the asylum farm in which patients worked helped to provide the patients with food.  A charitable fund was eventually set up to help those who were discharged from the asylum to re-establish themselves.

Listing of asylum departments provided by Hemingway in 1831, p.229

The former editor of the Chester Courant newspaper and author of History of the City of Chester, from Its Foundation to the Present Time, Joseph Hemingway, writing in 1831, two years after the asylum opened, describes the institution as follows:

A short distance from the road on the left, stands a large building, erected under the direction of the county magistrates, as a county lunatic asylum. This benevolent institution was raised at the expense of the county; to which that never failing source of revenue, the river Weaver, materially contributed. It occupies, with its gardens, airing grounds and roads, ten statute acres of land, which was purchased from the late Revr. Sir Philip Egerton, Bart. The terms for maintaining lunatic paupers belonging to the county are 7s.6d. per week; and – those beyond its limits, 10s. The unfortunate inmates of a higher class are provided, for by special agreement. . . . Ll. Jones M.D. is the physician, Mr. W. Rose, medical superintendent, and Mrs. Bird, matron of the institution.

Plan of the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum 1828. Source: A History of the County of Chester: Volume 5, Part 2

The Chester lunatic asylum was a brick-built 17-bay building with stone dressings retains its elegant neoclassical exterior.  It was designed by the County Architect, William Cole jr., and bears a strong resemblance to the 1751 St Luke’s Asylum in London. It was started in 1827 and completed in just two years.  There were three main arrangements chosen for asylum designs: the single corridor type, in which individual wards and rooms were connected by one main corridor in the same building, centralized star-corridor arrangements where a central building was connected to outer buildings by a series of corridors, and pavilion types in which separate buildings were all built on the same site.  The Chester asylum was of the first type, built with a main corridor that drew the two sides together, with men on one side and women on the other, divided by the central administrative block.  Additional separate buildings were added on the site as required.

A suggestion of the extent and dating of the asylum as it grew from 1839 to 1936, with the red section including the original 1829 building. Source: History of Upton-by-Chester

The resemblance to wealthy country estates on the outside was merely aesthetic.  Interiors were modelled on institutions like workhouses and hospitals, combining a dignified and attractive external appearance, representing civic pride, with the requirements of large and complex institutional operations.  Requirements included food acquisition, preparation and production; cleaning, sanitation and laundry; exercise indoors and out; entertainment and sport; supply of clothing and bedding; furnishings; specialized areas for treatment and segregation; confinement; medical oversight including the provision of drugs; the sourcing and accommodation of management, supervision, nursing personnel and attendants (also known as keepers); and on-site religious guidance.  It is clear that whoever employed William Cole or was very familiar with the current thinking about asylum design and building requirements for patient treatment.  Cole’s layout was based on long corridors connecting both sides of the building with the central area and two wings (known a return ranges).

The central 3-storey section of the building under the brightly coloured pediment contained the administrative offices, a chapel, and housed the medical superintendent, the matron and the bedrooms of senior staff.  The design in the pediment consists of a central coat of arms  showing the three sheaves of Cheshire  The rest of the building was 2-storey and stretched either side of the central block.  The interior consisted of wards and rooms that were connected by corridors, with men on one side and women on the other.  Basements ran the full length and as well as containing functional areas like the laundry, bakery and kitchens, also housed some of the more uncontrollable patients.  Flanking wings (return ranges) were parallel to the main drive that extended to Liverpool Road and either side of the drive were “airing courts” where patients could walk and benefit from fresh air and carefully chosen plantings.  There was provision within the building for a hierarchy of administration and nursing, food storage and kitchens, a bakery, a laundry, spaces for recreation and exercise, secure rooms and equipment for restraint (abolished at the asylum in 1854) and isolation, areas for specialized treatments as well as nurses’ accommodation, a boiler house and a splendid brick-built water tower (the latter recently restored, located on Frost Drive, in the middle of a housing estate, indicating just how much the asylum’s footprint has now been reduced).   There were two lodges, one at the main road where the head gardener lived with his wife, the latter working as entrance keeper.  Another lodge was located in front of the great court and its main gates, and was managed by the head porter.

Every year the the annual Report of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendents recorded details of repairs to the interior and exterior of the building, and on the whole the building seems to have been well built and maintained, with both practical considerations and quality of life being taken into account.

As the asylum expanded several times to meet the growing needs of growing inmate population other architects were brought in develop it.  It was first extended to the rear in 1849 and again between 1857 and 1863. The 1863 development was designed by Thomas Penson and unlike the original building was gothic revival in style, reminiscent of Penson’s earlier 1858 Crypt Chambers on Chester’s Eastgate Street.  Most of the additional buildings have now been demolished and replaced by both newer hospital buildings and housing, but the asylum building that opened on 25th August 1829 and the former 1856 Grade II listed 6-bay chapel have both survived, now in use for other functions, as well as the later water tower that replaced the hand-operated pump.  One of the former epileptic treatment villas dating to around 1912 is still standing, but boarded up and fenced off.

The rear of the 1829 Building

The annual Report of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendents for 1854 comments that following the appointment of a new medical superintendent in 1853, improvements were required for the care of patients and these were of a very basic nature.  Essential improvements, for example, included clothing, bedding and cutlery.  That raises questions about the standards of care and the attention to patient environment between its establishment in 1829 and 1853, but after that it seems clear that the emphasis was very much on the approach advocated by William and Samuel Tuke, Robert Gardiner Hill and others, who developed the “moral approach” that attempted to treat patients as individual members a community, reducing punitive treatments and eliminating mechanical restraints.

Reflecting its complex history, the 1829 Cheshire Lunatic Asylum underwent a number of name changes. The  National Archives list them as follows:

  • 1855 Cheshire Lunatic Asylum
  • 1899 Cheshire County Lunatic Asylum
  • 1921 Cheshire County Mental Hospital (when Cheshire County Council assumed responsibility, for the first time dropping the word “asylum” in favour of hospital, reflecting a change in attitude to care for the mentally ill)
  • 1948 Upton Mental Hospital (when the new NHS assumed responsibility)
  • 1950? Deva Hospital
  • 1965 West Cheshire Hospital
  • 1984 Countess of Chester Hospital

It should be noted that different sources list different dates and names.  The annual Report of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendents, for example, does not record a change of name between 1855 and 1869.  In 1870 however, in the report for 1869, the name was changed from the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum to the Chester County Lunatic Asylum.

Thomas Nadauld Brushfield in later life. He was appointed in 1853 and remained at the infirmary until 1866.  Source: Wikipedia

Far more nebulous in the records than name changes are the different regimes that operated throughout the asylum’s history, under different superintendent, physicians, matrons and the body of staff responsible for supporting patients and handling patients directly.  The ideological lead of a superintendent in any asylum was all-important, but so was the availability of resources and the willingness of those financing an institute to make them available at different times for repairs, expansion, new equipment, better quality food and medicines, and higher salaries.  These annual reports demonstrate how oversight by the Committee, its Chairman and the visiting Lunacy Commissioners were important to the maintenance of standards.

A number of different superintendents were employed at the asylum between 1854 and 1870, the period that this post covers.  In 1853 Thomas Nadauld Brushfield M.R.C.S. (Member of the Royal College of Surgeons) (1828 – 1910) was appointed, remaining in the office for thirteen years until 1866, becoming the first resident Medical Superintendent.  Having completed his university studies in medicine, he worked for a period at the Bethnal House Asylum in London, the conditions of which horrified him.  From his Chester Asylum reports, it seems that the experience encouraged him to become a follower of the moral treatment ideology, which he implemented in numerous ways at the Chester asylum, including the implementation of a regime of treatment without mechanical restraint.  Beyond the asylum, he made a significant contribution to the understanding of Roman Chester, recording and publishing the hypocaust of the aisled exercise hall and hypocausts belonging to the Roman fortress baths in 1863, when the Feathers Inn was demolished.  His 106 page report in the Chester Archaeological and Historial Society (founded 1849) accompanied by photographs that have been He left in 1866 to become the Medical Superintendent at the new Brookwood Lunatic Asylum in Woking, Surrey, which opened in 1867 with a capacity for 650 patients.

Dr Brushfield was replaced by H.L. Harper M.D. who had been Assistant Medical Officer for the asylum and was now promoted to Medical Superintendent at the asylum for 1866 and 1867.  Harper resigned in 1867, although it is not stated why in the relevant report.  Harper was replaced by John H. Davidson M.D. in 1868, the former Assistant Medical Officer for the previous 12 months, who was still in the position when the online reports end in 1870.  Davidson’s promotion left a vacancy for the Assistant Medical Officer, which was filled in 1868 by Dr Arthur Strange of the Gloucester Asylum.  Davidson is notable for his 1875 publication A Visit To a Turkish Lunatic Asylum, when he was apparently still Medical Superintendent at the Chester asylum.

Two dragons, each clutching a white feather and supporting the Chester coat of arms.

 

Primary Sources

Records consulted in this post

Most of the documentation for the Chester asylum is held by Cheshire Archives and Local Studies, which has not yet digitized the asylum’s records and which is closed until 2026, so for the time being the records are unavailable.  Fortunately, there are a set of the Reports of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendents available for download on the Wellcome Collection website, covering the years 1854 to 1870.  Considered both individually and together, these do have some very interesting information to impart.

Also available are the Reports of the Commissioners in Lunacy to the Lord Chancellor collated and reported on by the commissioners responsible for public asylum oversight, which were sent to the Lord Chancellor.  Not all of these are available for the period in which the Chester asylum was operating in the 19th century, and not all of them mention the asylum, but there are some useful references in those reports that I have located, dating from 1854 to 1870.

Use has been made of records of deaths at the asylum from Overleigh Cemetery provided by Christine Kemp’s research, which she has recorded on the Find A Grave website. Chris’s research into Overleigh Cemetery has provided information about some of those asylum patients who were buried from when the Cemetery first opened in 1850.  This includes information inscribed on graves, plot details, and newspaper reports about some of the deaths concerned.
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Records that have not been consulted

Title page of the of the 21st Report of the Commissioners in Lunacy to the Lord Chancellor 1867 (for the year 1866)

This overview of the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum is obviously incomplete without access to other records.  The most important are the Asylum’s own records, which are held at the Cheshire Archives and Local Studies and will not be available until 2026.  In addition, I have not yet managed to gain access to the data held by the Riverside Museum in Chester where other archives that have not yet been digitized are held.

The majority of this post has been based on the Report of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendents, but as mentioned above I have only have only been able to access the records for the years 1854 – 1870, and this means that it is impossible to make any statements about long-term trends from 1829 to the end of the 19th century.  Given how much data is in these reports, to which I have barely been able to do justice, it is probably just as well!  In addition, although the reports include accounting information, I have not attempted to tackle this source of data, because accounting is not one of my skill-sets, although I have included a few screen grabs to show what sort of data is available.

Originally I had intended to use both Reports of the Commissioners in Lunacy to the Lord Chancellor, in which the reports submitted by individual asylums and the visiting inspectors were collated into a single annual report on the state of lunatic asylums. I had also planned to use newspaper reports from online archives. Unfortunately, this post is already very long, so that plan has been shelved for the time being.

Doubtless records from other institutions will also come to light, such as workhouse and other asylum archives that detail patient transfers to and from the asylum.

 

Information available from the annual Visitor and Superintendent Reports

In 1845 the new lunacy laws required that the Commissioners of Lunacy should report to the Lord Chancellor on the state of every public asylum.  Reporting requirements were therefore standardized at the same time.  Part of this reporting process included a report made by every asylum for the Lunacy Commission and this was collated into an overall report for the Lord Chancellor.  Accordingly, each year the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum produced its Report of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendent of the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum, presented  to the General Quarter Sessions of the Peace and submitted to the Lunacy Commissioners.  The chairman of the asylum’s committee, the medical superintendent and the two visiting lunacy commissioners, as well as sometimes the chaplain, all contributed to this annual report.  As most of this post is based on these reports from 1854 to 1870, below is a brief description of the format of these reports.  I have used the earliest as an example, which was published in 1855, but covered the year 1854, twenty five years after the asylum first opened.  Although the reports could presumably be massaged to provide an acceptable face, after the Lunacy Act of 1845  the combination of record-keeping and oversight by the committee responsible for the asylum, together with visits by the Lunacy Commission, helped to make public asylums more accountable than they ever had been before.

The Cheshire Lunatic Asylum report for 1854.

The title page changed very little from year to year.  It shows that the report is made to the General Quarter Sessions of the Peace, and that this took place at Chester Castle on the 2nd July 1855.  The General Quarter Sessions of the Peace, usually abbreviated in reports to to “the Quarter Sessions,” were local courts in England and Wales presided over by Justices of the Peace and held four times a year.  The PRESENTED BY stamp was signed by the incumbent medical superintendent for the asylum, and was counter-stamped by the Royal College of Surgeons.  Later, the county arms were added to the bottom of the report.

The report goes on to present narrative accounts of the state of the asylum for 1854. After the reports for 1854 and 1855 these were standardized to include a statement by the Chairman of the committee that oversaw the asylum, another by two commissioners of the Lunacy Commission and an account of the main points of the year by the Medical Superintendent.  These are followed by a series of statistical tables, including information about patient numbers and activities, and accounting information.  None of the patients are mentioned by name in either the accounts or the tables and there are very few references to individual patients unless one had escaped, committed suicide or was otherwise a particularly notable case.

The running order of the individual contributions to the report changed from year to year, although the format of the statistical tables was very rarely altered.  In the 1855 report for 1854 the first of the reports was by the Committee of Visitors, which gave an overview of what they believed to be the most important aspects of the year’s main findings including building works and the associated costs.  A number of personnel retirements were also associated with costs for pensions.   Concerns were expressed about the number of admissions during 1854 and the fact that the building would have to be further expanded if numbers were to continue rising.  In future reports the Chairman made a separate statement, but in this report the Committee of Visitors report was countersigned by the chairman.

An excerpt from Dr Brushfield’s 1855 report for the year 1854

This was followed by the Medical Superintendent’s statement.  For 1854 this went into some detail under 16 side-headings: Admissions; recoveries, deaths; general health; suicidal cases; general paralysis; restraint; escapes; employment; amusements; exercise beyond boundaries; diet; dinner and services; clothing and bedding; night attendants; and removal of heavy guards (the latter referring to window guards).  The headings could change slightly from one year to the next depending on what was deemed to be the most important information for a given year.  In some years accounts were very much shorter than in others

To give a flavour of the superintendent’s statement, Dr T.N Brushfield notes that at the beginning of 1854 there were 102 patients, 52 men, 50 women; by the end of 1854, counted on January 1st 1855, there were 254 patients (108  men and 146 women) as well as 102 new admissions of which there were a greater number of men than women.  Interestingly Brushfield comments the importance of a speedy referral to the asylum of mentally ill patients so that they could be treated effectively.  This reflects a widespread view in the alienist community that speedy referral was key to any hope of a cure.  Brushfield adds that many of the new admissions were in such a poor physical state that both dietary improvements and stimulants had to be employed but that even when there was bodily improvement, in the cases of patients admitted in such poor physical condition “the mind remained in an impaired condition.”  Only 64 patients were discharged, and 30 died.  Of the deaths, representing 8.92% of the patients under treatment, 30% of them were victims of “general paralysis,” far more common in men than women, and on which more later. 42 suicidal patients had been admitted, 26 of which had actually attempted suicide, more of them men than women, and in several cases unsuccessfully attempted again after admission.  “Several” patients had escaped, but all had been recaptured in less than a day.

Dr Brushfield goes on to comment on the general conditions of the asylum.  He reports, for example,  that “the clothing has been much altered in character and made warmer and more cheerful looking.  The bedding has been considerably improved; the number of straw beds diminished; the straw pillows altogether disused, those stuffed with flock or coir have been substituted.”   Other fundamental improvements included improved diet “of a less liquid nature” (but including the introduction of beer for women as well as men!), and improved dining equipment:  “Dinner and Services:  Earthenware plates, crockery, cups and metal spoons, knives and forks have been supplied to the whole of the inmates in place of the tin plates, horn cups and wood spoons which were in use until the early part of the year.”

These were very basic improvements in the quality of everyday life for patients, but would certainly have been appreciated.  There was a matter of pride in the fact that restraints of all forms had been “entirely abolished.”  Although this had been actioned in 1853, this was in accordance with new rules rather than an independent initiative.  However, the approach that was taken was very much the initiative of the asylum.  Instead of being restrained, patients were given a new sense of direction.  Men were employed in activities relating to the maintenance of the building and the grounds, whilst women took over from tradesmen the making and repairing of clothing and similar needlework.  One of the subsequent tables lists the works undertaken by both men and women.

The first of the statistical tables in the 1854 report

Next, there are 18 numbered tables that record key details about the asylum, its patients and accounts.  These are particularly useful as they can be compared from one year to the next.  Even when the template changed slightly, most of the tabulated data was retained in much the same format, with data separated for men and women:  I) Admissions, discharges and deaths during the year; II) Admissions, discharges and deaths relative to the month of the year; III) Civil State – Admissions; IV) Ages at time of admission; V) Duration of insanity prior to admission; VI) Occupations of those admitted; VII) Religious persuasion – Admissions; VIII) Bodily condition – Admissions; IX) Form of mental disorder – Admissions; X) Supposed cause – Admissions; XI) Analysis of suicidal cases – Admissions; XII) Suicide attempts; XIII) Duration of residence of those discharged and relieved; XIV) Causes of death; XV) Ages of patients who have died; XVI) Duration of treatment of patients who have died; XVII) List of articles of clothing made and repaired during the year;  XVIII) Extract from daily account of patients.

Finally there are a set of unnumbered tables that related to the asylum’s accounts.  These tended to vary from year to year, but their intention was to capture income and expenditure for the period.  Tables that floated from one year to the next were The Average Cost Per Head Per Week of Patients and the Balance Sheet.
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The Balance Sheet for 1854

 

Insights from the Visitor and Superintendent Reports for 1854-1870

I have divided this section into some of the themes discussed in the reports, although by no means all, to give a sense of what sort of things were important both to the visiting inspectors and to the superintendent who was in charge of trying to secure more resources for the asylum.
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Ideology

Robert Gardiner Hill. Source: Wikipedia

Statements in many reports address the ideology of the asylum and indicate that aspects of the moral treatment approach were incorporated from at least since 1854, as per the report for that year:  “it may be stated as an axiom, that everything within the bounds of an Asylum which tends to create a cheerful impression on the minds of the inmates, is certain to have a highly salutary effect.”   Most impressively, according to the report of 1855 all forms of restraint were abolished by the new Medical Superintendent, Dr Brushfield, from 1854 in accordance with new rules, and “nor has there been the slightest reason to regret such a step having been taken; it is certain that its disused has been a beneficial effect on the minds of those patients who, at an time, had been the subjects of it.”  This followed in the footsteps of pioneers in the care of patients with mental illnesses like William and Samuel Tuke and (1732-1822 and 1784-1857 respectively) and Robert Gardiner Hill (1811-1878).

In line with this ideology, in 1854 a team of artisans was employed to work with patients, and various entertainments were arranged including weekly dances, a daily newspaper, periodicals, and a library that was occasionally updated with new titles.  As Laura Blair explains on the Asylum Libraries website:

Within nineteenth-century asylums, attitudes towards reading were expressed as medical directives, framing reading as both a potential cause of, and cure for, mental illness. As the print culture of the era rapidly developed, with a massive increase in periodicals and newspapers following the mid-century period, asylum professionals sought to facilitate an ‘ideal’ engagement with texts. Preliminary research indicates that reading was considered an important part of patients’ leisure and was often regarded as medically therapeutic.

Suitably calm patients were accompanied on walks outside the asylum, on local roads and lanes, giving them both exercise and a wider view of the world and sometimes were even taken to local events.  The range of in-house activities was extended in 1855:

Late 1890s painting “The Retreat” by George Isaac Sidebottom, showing patients at leisure in the asylum founded by William Tuke in 1796. Source: Wellcome Collection

ln the summer months bowls, skittles, quoits, bat and ball, &c., are enjoyed by the males; and on fine clays parties of both sexes, accompanied by attendants, have frequently taken long walks beyond the Asylum boundaries. Reading, and various in-door games have been encouraged as much as possible. The weekly ball has been kept up regularly throughout the year; and while serving to relieve much of the monotony of residence within the walls of an Asylum, it has also tended in many instances to produce a great amount of self-control. By a large number the weekly gathering is invariably looked forward to with much pleasure

Patients were engaged in a very wide range of tasks that supported the asylum, indoors and out, both helping the asylum’s financial burden and giving patients a real sense of purpose, such as working in the gardens and farm, or sewing clothes and bedding.  The 1857 report for 1856 expressed real concern that as the building works came to an end, to which male patients had been contributing,  there would be a hiatus in very beneficial activity:

As the alterations and additions to the building are on the point or completion, a great source or employment will soon be lost to the patients, and although the laying out of the airing courts, remaking roads, &c., may afford work for the next few months, yet when these are finished the present quantity of land is by no means sufficient to keep in active employ the increasing number of inmates, and us no form of labour conduces so much to the recovery of a patient as that derived from ordinary farm and garden operations, it is highly to be desired that more land should be obtained as early as possible.

Examples of the types of employment engaged in by male and female patients at the asylum, from the July 1855 report, over two pages. Source: Wellcome Collection

Accordingly, in 1859 the provision for outdoor employment was significantly expanded, providing work for many of the patients and additional produce for the Asylum kitchens:

The additional land, now under cultivation, has not only increased the means of employing the patients in healthy outdoor work, but has caused a greater variety of employment – a matter of as much importance as employment itself. A sufficient quantity of potatoes has been grown to furnish the requirements of the Asylum until the next crop comes in; hitherto, a large quantity has always had to be purchased. In addition to several acres of beans, peas, mangolds [Swiss chard], etc: 5 acres of grain crop, and l l acres of grass have been harvested by the Patients without any extraneous help. The hay-field contributed materially to afford for a time recreative employment for all the patients and attendants, ordinarily engaged in artizan employments of a sedentary nature; and some of our best haymakers were to be found amongst the Tailors and Shoemakers.

The area employed for the gardens and farmland continued to expand throughout the reports, until this report at the end of 1870, which gives a good idea of the scope of the operation:

Garden and Farm accounts from the 1870 report

In 1862 plans were revealed to establish a voluntary school and bible classes for those patients “who are in a condition to profit by such instruction,” and in 1863 a schoolmaster was appointed to attend twice a week,” with the most beneficial results.”  The school was operated by the chaplain and was divided into two, one for men and one for women, and was operated as a leisure facility, rather than an enforced activity.  It was quite popular, and for those discharged paupers who had had minimal education, if any, would provide them with addition skills such as reading, writing and basic arithmetic.

The report for 1863 contains the usual update from the visiting Commissioners In Lunacy and is a useful example of how they were always searching for improvement in patient conditions:

The state of the inmates of the old wards in both divisions was less satisfactory. Their clothing was not good; and there was an absence of tidiness and comfort.  The proportion of feeble, helpless, and paralysed cases, is unusually great; and they require a larger amount of individual care on the part of attendants. Their sluggish faculties should be stimulated by continuous efforts to rouse and occupy them. There should be reading aloud among them. A few of the more intelligent patients who might not object to help in amusing this unfortunate class should be brought into their wards, and others of the more capable who are here should be removed to No.6. We learn from Dr. Brushfield that a considerable additional supply of pictures for the walls, and of games and objects of amusement, are in preparation for the wards of the old building. The patients to whom we have been adverting require a better provision of this kind.  In both infirmaries, which are not cheerful rooms, the furniture is poor, and a small well-directed expenditure would go far to brighten them up.

At the same time, however, 1863 was also the year in which a croquet lawn was established, a billiard and several bagatelle tables were added to the indoor entertainments and the Prince of Wales’s wedding day on March 10th was celebrated with a fete and a display of fireworks “so arranged as to he witnessed by nearly every patient in the Asylum.”

Similarly, the 1865 report for 1864 described the continued support of Dr Brushfield’s work to provide better conditions for patients.  This included  the enlargement of the Recreation Hall, as well as the domestic offices underneath.  The Recreation Hall was now very spacious and well ventilated, could hold up to 400 people and during the day could be divided into two, so that one part could be used for daily prayer led by the chaplain as well as other sundry activities; the other was used for sewing activities of the women patients.  During the evenings, the entire space could offer large scale indoor activities for the patients.

Title page of the 1870 report

In 1870, in spite of the rising numbers, the asylum appears to have continued with attempts to keep its patients busy and, for those for whom it was possible, entertained:

Numbers of the patients of both sexes have been steadily employed in such work as they have been capable of performing, or which has been considered likely to conduce to the improvement of their bodily or mental health. Excluding those under medical treatment in the Infirmary wards, nearly two-thirds of the patients have been regularly and industriously employed. In addition to their ordinary amusements and recreations, which, with some slight variations, were much the same as those alluded to in my Report for the preceding year,-many of the patients of both sexes were, at my request, kindly permitted by Signor Quaglieni to visit, free of charge, his Grand Italian Hippodrome when in Chester last Spring. About sixty men and an equal number of women, both under the care of Attendants, were also at the Regatta on the River Dee, where they conducted themselves with remarkable decorum.

The approach to the management of the asylum, which sought to treat patients as members of a community by providing them with useful occupations and amusements, almost certainly helped some of the asylum members to regain their stability, but this largely depends the nature of the mental illness.  Although certain health issues might be addressed, mental health was still very poorly understood, and although kindness and activities were certainly an improvement on punitive institutions, there was a very long way to go before many mental illnesses could be alleviated or remedied.
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Upgrades to the asylum during the period 1854-1870

One of the most important aspects of daily are of patients was the maintenance of the buildings and facilities, and the expansion of both to meet increased demand throughout the period.  The increase in new admissions annually meant that in nearly every year alterations had to be made and new extension had to be added.

The 1855 Report of the Committee of Visitors and Superintendent of the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum for 1854 submitted by Superintendent T.N. Brushfield is of particular interest as it is a year in which policy changes occurred, and gives an impression of a much less comfortable regime before this year.  The report notes the successful completion of “alterations and additions paid for by a grant of £6500” (to put this into perspective, according to the National Archives Currency Converter, this is equivalent to about £521,209) in today’s money.  This included enlargement of kitchen and workhouses, newly erected laundry, washhouse, workshops and stables.  There is also mention of “an ample supply of water” but no explanation as to what the problem with the existing water supply might have been. There was also an increase of attendants and nurses from 15 to 23, as well as the addition of a night watch in the women’s wards.

In spite of the improvements, in 1854 more patients required treatment than the asylum had capacity to take, which is probably not surprising given that the asylum was taking in patients from all over Cheshire.  The decision was made to further enlarge the building to take 300 patients, to add a new chapel (the existing one was both too small and deemed to be unsafe) and, now that the law required that a medical superintendent be resident, to add a new superintendent’s house near to the main building.  New furnishings would also be required for all these improvements.  For all this work £12,000 was required, nearly double the work that had just been completed, for which a grant was obtained from the Quarter Sessions, with the intention of ensuring that the asylum should be “equal to most of the modern institutions in the kingdom.” 

In the 1856 report for 1855 there was bad news about the state of the building, but at the same time progress was also made:

The Committee regret to have to state that on proceeding with the alterations, the dry rot was discovered to have entered the flooring of several of the wards, and the additional expense incurred thereby will be considerable. Steps were immediately taken to stop its progress, and they hope the funds placed at their disposal by the Quarter Sessions will be sufficient to cover the entire expenditure. The want of additional land principally for the purpose of more fully employing the patients having long been felt, the Committee made application to Sir Philip de Malpas Grey Egerton for a portion of his land adjoining that of the Asylum, and succeeded in obtaining about six acres on the north side, and which they have taken at an annual rental of £8 per acre. The several workshops erected during last year have also afforded increased facilities for employing the patients so that the whole of the male and female clothing is now made up by them, articles of furniture manufactured for the use of the establishment, and some of the ordinary repairs clone to the building. This employment of the patients bas been attended with the most beneficial results to the parties so occupied, as well as of considerable advantage in a pecuniary point of view.

Even with these improvements, the report for 1855 expressed the concern that the asylum would soon be unable to accommodate the numbers of patients that might, on the basis of the experience of asylums across England, be expected in the coming years.

The chapel built in 1856 to serve the lunatic asylum

In the 1857 report for 1856, the Chairman of the Committee of Visitors was particularly pleased with the end to four years work:

In submitting a report of the proceedings of the past year in connection with this Establishment, your Committee have much pleasure in stating that the various alterations and additions which have occupied a period of nearly four years, have at length been brought to a close, and it is gratifying to them to observe now that the arrangements are quite complete, that they consider the Building has been made equal to most of the more modern Institutions, and appears well adapted for the care of the Insane, according to the recent and improved methods of treatment.

The most recent upgrades included:

      • A Chapel, capable of accommodating 300 persons
      • A commodious house for the Superintendent
      • Carpenters and shoemakers shops and coal Stores
      • Enlargement of the wash-houses and launderette with the addition of a dining room
      • A Steward’s Office, and spacious Store Rooms
      • Reboarding of 4 yards in the new wings, occasioned by dry rot
      • Reboarding of old Chapel, and conversion of the same into a Recreation Hall
      • New bathrooms and lavatories in four wards

The original estimate of £6000 was found to be insufficient, and a further £2000 was applied for.

Admission numbers 1849-1855

In 1856 the report for 1855 had commented on the rising numbers of re-admissions from 1849 onwards, recording how increases in patient numbers represented a considerable challenge to the capacity of the asylum, and recommending more alterations to prevent overcrowding, and listed the previous years’ admissions to make the point.  These concerns about increased patient admissions and re-admissions were vindicated in the 1857 report for 1856 when it was noted that although the asylum was now capable of holding 300 patients, it would actually be “full to overflowing,” had the committee not issued a notice to the unions and parishes that referred patients to the asylum to notify them that “no cases could be admitted except those which were curable or of recent origin.”  The question was posed, in the same report, whether a new asylum should be built at the other side of the county (i.e. east Cheshire) to address the problem of incurable patients, or whether, instead, yet another expansion be made in the existing asylum.  It stated that a decision was now a matter of urgency.  At this stage, the proposal for a new asylum was clearly rejected because Parkside Asylum near Macclesfield did not open until 1871.  Instead, in October, a grant of £6,000 was obtained for the purchase of 21 acres of land from Samuel Hill, Esq. “at which time it wi1s stated that probably a further application for a similar sum, and for the same purpose, would shortly be made.”  Sure enough, the Committee offered the asylum “around 45 acres of land, together with the house and buildings on the same, at £250 per acre, being £50 per acre less that that recently purchased, part of which belongs to Sir Philip Egerton and part to S. Hill, Esq., and to enable them to buy which an application will be made for a grant of £11,500.”  This enormous expenditure was deemed to be “highly desirable” when presented to the Court of Quarter Sessions.

The 1858 report for 1857 described some streamlining activities.  For example, the erection of a new chimney shaft, the provision of a water supply in case of fire, and the conversion of “several small inconvenient airing courts into larger ones” were undertaken.  At the same time, the problem of under-capacity was again considered.  Although new admissions had decreased, this was only because capacity was at its absolute maximum and there was nowhere to put new patients.  It was concluded that the extension of the Chester asylum would be much more cost-effective than the building of an entirely new asylum:  “new Asylums generally cost from £150 to £200 per Patient, whereas the new buildings proposed to be erected will only cost £40.”  Accordingly, £10,000 was requested for the erection of a building to accommodate 100 male patients, another to accommodate 100 women, the ventilation of the wash-house, and alteration of drying closets as well as a house for the chaplain and a wall to enclose the land purchased from Sir Philip Egerton.

In 1860 it was identified that there was an urgent need for more hot water for bathing and washing laundry. A new steam engine and boiler was installed at a cost of £1353.00 in the same year, and was reported to be a success.  The 1862 report for 1861 noted that the asylum was now capable of housing 500 patients, the works including the enlargement of both the Steward’s House and Entrance Lodge, and the erection of additional farm buildings.  The extra capacity at the asylum actually resulted in unused space, and the decision was made to make the most of the unused capacity by seizing the opportunity to charge private patients who were unable to afford more expensive solutions, with the addition of a new set of rules that would be applicable to these new more privileged patients:

After due deliberation, it was deemed desirable to offer the advantages of the Asylum to patients which are to be found, in considerable numbers, among the middle classes,
but whose means will not permit them to pay the high terms of respectable private establishments where, alone, the same advantages of skill and care can be obtained as are afforded in County Asylums.

Excerpt from the 1862 asylum report

In 1862 alterations were minimal but “a new and commodious staircase in the male division” replaced one “which was exceedingly dark, and to a certain extent dangerous,” and a new dwelling was built for the head attendant at the end of the new female wing.  In both cases, male patients helped to carry out the work as part of the asylum’s policy to keep patients busy and entertained, and to enable to to practice existing skills and learn new ones.  The asylum was not full to capacity, and this gave Dr Brushfield the opportunity to take in patients from other asylums, for which he could charge a healthy markup.  40 patients were taken in from Stafford, for a period not less than one year, and others were transferred from asylums in north Wales due to the Denbigh asylum being full to capacity.  The charge made for each patient was 14s per week, “while the weekly cost per patient only amounts to 8s.2d.,” and this actually paid for much of the furnishings in the new building.

1864 saw the erection of a new dedicated gas works, built by Messrs. Porter and Co., of Lincoln, at a cost of £754, actually coming in just under budget, and in 1864 the Recreation Hall and the domestic offices beneath it were expanded, increasing the capacity of the Hall to 400 persons, which was considered very important for supporting patients during the winter, as well as providing a work space for the female patients.

Temporary buildings were erected to meet the need in 1867 to provide additional accommodation for 50 paupers.  At the same time the high numbers of residents 481 at the beginning of the year, with 156 admissions over the course of the year, with only 59 discharges) required considerable improvements to the engine and pumps that supplied water to all the buildings of the asylum.  In 1868  the report claimed that “in no former year has so much been done to repair, make better, embellish and render convenient the interior of the building” including refitted water closets and the addition of gas purifiers.  Outdoors a walkway around the boundary was extended, aiming to make a mile-long walk for patients, and a new orchard was planted.  More alterations were made in 1869 with “additional store-rooms, slop-rooms, bath-rooms, urinals and water-closets”.  Adding to the quality of life were objects that might provide interest (“statuettes, pictures, birds, plants etc” as well as chintz valances fixed to window openings).

In 1870 the report demonstrated how ongoing work continued to be required, including new measures to improve the asylum.  Points 1-6 are shown in the report below.

1870 asylum report bullet point improvements first page.  Two other points, 7) and 8) add that the door locks between male and female wards had been changed, formerly having been the same on each side, and that machinery in the laundry room had been overhauled, resulting in considerable improvements to overall efficiency.

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These various excerpts demonstrate how the asylum was improved from year to year between 1854 and 1870, not merely in terms of repairs to the building, but also in terms of attention to the quality of life of patients.
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Admission numbers into the asylum

A table from the 1855 Cheshire Lunatic Asylum Report covering 1854

During the year of the  1854, the year following Dr Brushfield’s appointment, it was reported there had been an average of 255.75 inmates, with 102 admitted in that year, 52 men and 50 women, of whom 42 were reported to be suicidal, with 26 having made suicide attempts prior to admission.  The age range of new admissions included two children between the ages of 5 and 10 (the youngest), and up to five adults between the ages of 60 to 70 years old (the oldest).  Eight of the new cases were complicated with epilepsy and nine with “General Paralysis.”  The total number of patients had risen at one point to 266, which had exceeded the capacity of the asylum, and never fell below 240, so the report recorded the decision to extend the building, to build a new chapel (which was built the following year) and, in order to conform to the latest Lunacy Act which required that the Medical Superintendent should be resident, a new house was to be built on the site to house him. These measures would remove the chaplain and superintendent from the asylum itself to provide more room, and the new building works would further increase capacity.  The figure for those remaining in the asylum on January 1st 1855 was 254, made up of 108 males and 146 females.

The report for 1855 similarly notes down numbers, including a patient’s escape:

On January 1st, 1855, there were in the Asylum 254 patients (108 males and 146 females); 125 were admitted in the course of the year – 52 were discharged as recovered, 29 as relieved, 5 as unimproved, 1 escaped, and 31 died, leaving in the Asylum on 1st January, 1856, 26l inmates, of whom 119 were males, and 142 females.

The report adds that because of the building works, which required some wards to be vacated, the asylum was often “inconveniently crowded,” but the decision was made not to refuse admissions of any new cases.  The 1855 intake was broken down as follows, by age:

Ages at time of admission in 1855

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Admission numbers varied from one year to the next, but the overall trend was one of rising admissions.  Where these apparently fall in some years, this was usually not due to any lack of demand but because the asylum was full to capacity.  By the mid 1860s there was now a great deal of focus on the growing patient numbers and how best to accommodate them, and the greater part of the 1864 report is dedicated to this serious issue.

The number of admissions in 1864 was greater than during any previous year since the Asylum was opened. . . The Committee, at their Monthly Meeting in September, finding that the female division was more than full, having then 256 inmates, and being capable of accommodating only 250, gave notice to the Authorities of the Stafford County Asylum to remove, as soon as they possibly could, their female patients. Since then, ten of them have been taken away; and it is expected, that in a very short time all the Staffordshire patients, both male and female, will be removed to the new Staffordshire Asylum, now ready for their reception. Supposing, then, the whole of the Staffordshire patients to be removed, and those belonging to the City of Chester continue to be accommodated, there will then remain 209 males and 222 females in the Asylum. But if the increase of the Cheshire patients go on in the same ratio as in the past year, and the City of Chester patients remain as now, in one year the female wards will be filled, and in another the male wards also. It therefore becomes a question for the Court of Quarter Sessions to take into their consideration, and that without much delay, what further accommodation shall be provided for the Pauper Lunatics of the County; and to the consideration of this question the Committee are desirous of calling the especial attention of the Court.

Marital status of patients at the time of admission in 1861

Dr Brushfied put this down not to a growth in population but to the Poor Law Removal Act of 1862, which changed how patient maintenance was paid for.  Instead of separate Townships footing the cost, it was imposed on Parish Union funds, meaning that more patients were sent to the asylum rather than to private asylums or the workhouse.  These concerns were shown to be valid.  In the 1867 report on 1866, for example, the male wards were too full to take any new cases.  It had been attempted to find spaces for them in the asylums at Denbigh, Stafford, Heydock Lodge (the latter a private asylum established in 1844 and licensed to hold 450 patients), and other asylums in the region, but no spaces were found.  It was only with the discharge or death of patients that new places became available, and these were filled instantly.  The Chairman that year was pessimistic:

Taking 40 as the average increase of lunatics per annum remaining in the Asylum, and calculating that it will take three years to erect and finishing the new building, there will be at that time 120 patients ready to occupy it.

It was concluded that if no provision could be found at Chester, excess patients would have to be moved to other asylums (if available), at extra expense, or to transfer them to workhouses.  In 1865 Dr Brushfield was so worried about admission numbers that in July he felt the need to  issue a special report to consider whether additional accommodation should be supplied.  In 1868 admission numbers were down, but only because the Committee had refused to admit certain patients due to overcrowding.

By 1870 the new Medical Superintendent, John H. Davidson, recorded that the number of patients in the asylum at the start of the year had reached 526 patients, of which 255 were men and 271 were women.  During 1870 a further 165 patients were admitted, of whom 91 were men and 74 women.  The total number of patients admitted in 1870 was 691, of whom 346 were male and 345 were female.  On the 1st of January, 1871, 536 remained, of whom only 17 men and 30 women were judged to be curable.

Other sources indicate that from 1870 the numbers continued to rise, even after Parkside Asylum in Macclesfield, east Cheshire was opened  in 1871, in part to provide relief to the Chester asylum.

CONTINUES IN PART 2.2

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Splendid stained glass patchworks at Plas Newydd, Llangollen (#2)

Introduction

Plas Newydd with Castell Dinas Bran on the hill behind it

A few weeks ago I posted about Plas Newydd in Llangollen, a fabulous extravaganza of wood carvings, stained glass, decorative wall coverings and plaster ceilings.  This period of creativity and imagination spans 1780 to 1910.

Initially the collection and installation of this patchwork of decorative arts was initiated by two ladies, Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Sarah Ponsonby who had left their respective homes in Ireland and settled in the house between 1780 and 1831.  General John Yorke owned the house from 1876-1890 and ran the house as a visitor attraction, building on the creativity of the ladies to ensure that the spirit of the house was not only maintained but elaborated.  As well as converting the kitchen in the cottage to the “Oak Room” he also added a new wing in much the same spirit, (and in which a new kitchen was located). Subsequently the cotton broker George Hunter Robertson and his brother (who owned the house from 1890-1910) also maintained the house and added their own extension.  Both new extensions were demolished in the 1960s due to dry rot. Today Plas Newydd is very well maintained by Denbighshire County Council.

This post, part 2, is dedicated exclusively to the stained glass at Plas Newydd.  You can read about the remarkable cottage and its equally remarkable owners, together with visiting details, on my previous post here (part 1).  In part 3, I have looked at the the “delftware” tiles, the leather wall hangings, the Lincrusta wallpaper and the plasterwork ceilings, which you can find here.  


The stained glass at Plas Newydd

Stained glass windows are an inspiring, beautiful and rewarding form of art.  Their kaleidoscope colours form vibrant designs which sparkle in the sun and embellish the interior with a bewitching light [Trevor Yorke 2022, p.5)

The stained glass in the attic, formerly Mary Carryll’s room

The stained glass at Plas Newydd is a bright and brilliant patchwork of colours and shapes, a mass of fascinating detail.  The emphasis is not on attempting to recreate an authentic sense of a former era, but on using combinations of usually unrelated colour and texture to create new artworks that are light-filled, colourful and charming.

The stained glass was first collected by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby in the late 1700s, and their collection consisted of fragments of glass from various periods, from both secular and religious buildings, all assembled in leaded panels, set within window openings.  The glass is a riot of fabulously luminous colour and texture and is also a colossal mixture of rich  detail.  The use of traditional lead channels that hold the glass pieces (called “lead-cames”), together with the placement of the pieces in Gothic-style windows, connect them to the idea of a gothic past, but it is not anything that medieval observers would recognize or understand.  Some of the pieces are obviously upside down or lying sideways, and different periods of glass are combined in the same lights.  Every room in which it is used brings bright colour, humour and interest to the space.

A page focusing on Plas Newydd from Mostyn Lewis’s 1970 survey of stained glass in North Wales

So far it has been impossible to determine a source for the stained glass, other than unconfirmed but plausible suggestions that the oldest fragments may have come from the nearby Valle Crucis Cistercian abbey.  A 1970 survey of the stained glass at Plas Newydd by Mostyn Lewis attempted to date the most significant fragments as part of his survey of stained glass in North Wales, described below.  A lot of the glass was found to date to the 17th century, but the entire collection spans the late 15th to the 20th centuries.  All the dates quoted below are supplied by Mostyn Lewis’s book.  I have not found any more recent assessment.

All the photographs of the stained glass in this post are my own.  I was unable to see all of it due to curtains hanging across some window openings, and because there are rooms that are not accessible, particularly the dressing room on the other side of the main bedroom (which used to be open to the public as a small visitor centre but is currently under refurbishment), so there are gaps.  Where I have been unable to match Lewis’s descriptions against the visible glass, I have excluded his observations, except where he describes glass that is now actually missing due to breakage.

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Dating the stained glass

How stained glass is dated

Rose ensoleillée, c.1500. Library

In spite of the apparent chaos of the Plas Newydd fragments, there are clues about the dating.  Although the lancet-shaped windows make it clear that the original idea was to loosely emulate the Gothic, most of the glass is post-medieval. Mostyn Lewis dates the earliest glass to around 1460 (the saint’s head with yellow halo below in the library back wall, right window, shown below) and 1470 (the rose ensoleillée in the library, central window, right), but most of the glass is later and there are fragments dating from the 20th century (the latter including the faux heraldry in the main bedroom and second bedroom, shown left).

Lewis’s dating scheme is based on his identification of different manufacturing methods and painting techniques used over the course of the history of stained glass from the medieval period to the 19th century.  There are also some clues in the subject matter itself.  Heraldry, for example, was only added relatively late to the portfolio of designs.  To understand how Lewis came to his conclusions it is worth having a very quick look at the relevant parts of the history of stained glass.

Coloured glass, conventionally referred to in Britain as stained glass, includes a variety of techniques, with new methods added over time.  Changes to this basic formula provide a terminus post quem  (an earliest possible date) for types of glass as new innovations began to offer more opportunities for stained glass artists and artisans to explore new styles and approaches.

Saint’s head with a silver-oxide halo across two panes from c.1500 (right window, library). The fragment of halo above belongs to a different image. Also heavily eroded fragments, showing details of a canopy with pinnacles and finials, all said to have come from Valle Crucis c.1460.

Glass is made from silica sand combined with a flux (a substance that lowers the melting point of silica) and a stabilizer to produce a material that is durable. During the Middle Ages different metal oxides were incorporated into the fabric of the glass itself.  Copper oxide was used to create reds, gold was used to create deep ruby reads, cobalt oxide produced blues, cobalt and manganese oxide produced  purples, and iron oxides provided greens and yellows.  Impurities in those metal oxides lead to variation in those colours.  This is known as pot-metal glass.  Pot-metal glass was not made in Britain throughout medieval, Tudor and Stuart periods, and was imported from French and Flemish regions.

Whilst hot, molten glass can be manipulated and shaped by tools and a glass blowing iron.  There are two main methods of blowing glass into a sheet by gathering molten glass on the end of a blowing iron. The ‘crown’ method involves turning the blowing iron while blowing. The centrifugal force produces a spun disc, thickest in the centre where the blowing iron is joined. Whilst still hot the crown is cut away from the blowing iron and left to cool. Using the ‘cylinder’ technique the molten glass is blown into a balloon-like shape. During the annealing process the ends are cut off and the muff, as it is known, is scored down the middle and then re-heated to form a large flattened sheet. [Ely Museum p.5]

Glass could then be painted with a dark oxide to show details such as facial features and folds in fabric before being re-fired to again fix the colour.  Each panel of coloured glass in a design was separated by lines of lead with an H-shaped profile that provided the slots into which the glass was inserted (called “lead-cames“), after which the lead was soldered to form a matrix.  To waterproof the panes, a black putty was inserted into gaps between the glass and the lead.

To keep matters simple I have based the following quick overview of some of the landmarks in stained glass production on Roger Rosewell’s history of the subject in his 2012 book Stained Glass (see Sources), focusing on what can be seen at Plas Newydd.

Upside down duck showing a useful example of the silver oxide stain, from yellow to deep orange, indicating multiple applications of silver stain and multiple firings. Dining room.

Gothic stained glass, familiar from the most elaborate cathedral to the most modest parish church was originally inspired by the abbey church of St Denis near Paris, dating to the 1140s, with its lancet windows filled with coloured glass. In England this found early expression in Canterbury Cathedral (1170) and York Minster (1180-90).   As windows increased in size and complexity to meet the demands of medieval ambition, increasing volumes of stained glass more glass were required to fill the openings.  This reached an apotheosis with Sainte Chapelle in Paris in the mid 13th century with its glorious soaring lancet windows that captured sunlight, converting it into multiple rainbows of colour.  As window openings became more complex, stained glass artists were asked to fit glass within often intricate stone tracery shapes such as trefoils and cinquefoils.

Against this trend towards luxuriant richness of colour and content, a form of glass called grisaille was introduced into abbey churches of the Cistercian monastic order from the early 13th century.  “Plain glass was seen as symbolizing the truth and purity of God, and less likely to distract monks form their prayers,” producing “a silvery light conducive to prayer and contemplation” (Rosewell 2012, p.17).  This began to appear in other churches too, allowing in more light and framing other designs.

A major innovation was introduced in the early 14th century with the use of a silver salt solution that was found to produce a stain which, when heated, would produced colours between yellow and deep orange.  This had a profound influence on stained glass production, introducing unprecedented flexibility into the design process.  It was adopted on the continent and found its way into England by the 1320s.  Instead of each colour being separated by lead, a larger white panel could be painted with the silver oxide, sulphide or chloride stain before being fired to create larger, more complex images.  A nice example from Plas Newydd is the saint’s head with halo, above right.  Multiple coatings of the silver oxide resulted in darker colours, from dark yellow to orange.  You can see the effect of this on the upside-down duck, above right.  Eventually the silver was applied to blue glass to create green.  These innovations also meant that heraldry, which began to be popular in churches in the 13th century, and background patterns became much easier to produce over the coming centuries.

The gold stars on red backgrounds are two of three fragments in the library demonstrating abraded red flash, a technique innovated in the 14th century, dated by Lewis to c.1500.

Another innovation of the 14th century is what is referred to as “flashing and abrading,” in which white glass was coated (flashed) with a thin layer of pot-metal coloured glass on one side, before being fired to fuse the two together.  This was more translucent than pot-metal glass, allowing more light to pass through and allowing  gradations of colour and shading, particularly helpful with the deep and somewhat impenetrable red of pot-metal glass.  Byetching it (abrading)  it was possible to achieve rich patterns in the colouring.   There is an example of this technique at Plas Newydd using the same technique shown above on the red background with gold stars.  Grisaille now began to be replaced by small clear glass diamond-shaped “quarries” that featured naturalistic images including flowers, leaves, insects and birds, and their use extended into the 15th to 17th centuries.  For the first time, inscriptions in stained glass are in English as well as Latin.

As stained glass became an essential feature of architecture, and influence from illuminated manuscripts began to make an impression in the late 14th to early 16th century, new approaches to images were explored.  Nature was represented in more realistic ways so that leaf and flower types were recognizable, faces were also painted with more realism.  Canopy images, which had begun to appear in the late 12th century became increasingly elaborate in the 13th and 14th centuries.

This detail of the main dining room window shows a cleric with a mitre, with the curtailed text beneath and, on blue, a fragment of the IHS monogram.  All are dated by Mostyn Lewis to the end of the 15th century/beginning of the 16th century.   At far right, top, a “rose ensoleilée” (a rose contained within sun rays) is dated to around 1470.

In the later 15th century, stained glass now extended into the homes of the newly wealthy middle classes. In churches, images of canopies in stained glass, bits of which can be seen at Plas Newydd, were often “spectacular confections” with “carved bases and capitals  elaborate side shafts, traceried windows, battlements, flying buttresses, turrets and pinacles” (Rosewell, p.24).  Lead dividers were considered more intrusive than helpful, and their presence was minimized where possible.  Brushwork became more important, with the use of shading and improvements in draughtsmanship with the further development of realistic rather than stylized depictions of human anatomy and nature, and the addition of more patterning, although canopy images were retained.  Architecture and landscapes began to appear, including the use of perspective to suggest more realistic depth of field.  Quarries, the small diamond-shaped windows pieces mentioned above, were now stained with the emblems of flowers, birds, leaves, insects and heraldic themes. The oldest piece of stained glass at Plas Newydd as identified by Mostyn Lewis is the “rose ensoleilée,” which he dates to 1470, and is shown at top right of the image.

Small pane in the library, showing a man and woman in period costume with a lamb on a gold oval between their heads, done in a painterly style. Dated by Lewis to the late 16th-early 17th century. Library, central window.

Between 1500 and 1540 the Renaissance began to influence British stained glass via Burgundian and Flemish artists, with painterly approaches and the introduction of receding perspectives in both landscape and architectural scenes.  A good example of the use of perspective at Plas Newydd is in the Exhumation scene in the Dining Room (see below). 

The first half of the 16th century was a turbulent century for stained glass in Britain, with Henry VIII ordering images of St Thomas Becket to be destroyed in painting, sculpture and glass.  The Dissolution, beginning in 1535, and the subsequent Reformation were responsible for even more destruction; A lot of stained glass was lost after Henry VIII suppressed British monasteries, granting them to his favourite followers, and many of these new private owners demolished church buildings in order to build new country houses.  Under Henry VIII’s son Edward VI (reigned 1547-1553) the proscription against idolatry and relics, particularly the royal Injunction of 1547, resulted in more targeted destruction. Because of the expense of replacement, this practice largely ceased under Elizabeth I (reigned 1558-1603), but very little new glass was being produced.  

From the mid-16th century into the mid 1600s an important innovation in Europe was the development of translucent enamel paints formed of powdered ground glass mixed with a medium that was painted on to glass and fired to fuse them, just as though the glass was canvas, making lead unnecessary.  It was incredibly versatile, encouraging a more painterly approach that departed from traditional stained glass styles and making heraldry on glass far easier to produce.  As its introduction coincided with Louis XIII’s invasion of Lorraine in 1636 and the destruction of the glass works, meaning that French pot-metal was no longer available, enamel paints became the only affordable solution to coloured glass.  

In the mid 17th century Britain was plunged into Civil War and between 1649 and 1660 became a commonwealth before the restoration of the monarchy under Charles II.  During the subsequent Civil War, stained glass was again targeted.  This was followed by a period of considerable change in church architecture with a different paradigm introduced in the late 1600s and throughout the 18th century,  when light and airy interiors began to be preferred and stained glass was no longer a dominant element.  There was no stained glass, for example, in St Paul’s Cathedral.  The parallel fashion for heraldry helped to sustain the stained glass industry as heraldry became a medium for expressing social status and ancestral values.  The majority of the heraldic glass in Plas Newydd belongs to the 17th century.

Detail of one of the attic windows, all dated to the 19th century

The Gothic Revival of the 19th century was accompanied by the Pre-Raphaelite, Arts and Crafts movement and Art Nouveau, all of which influenced the style of imagery in stained glass in both ecclesiastical and secular contexts.  Romantic and sentimental depictions of faces and nature were common, and there was a renewed interest in Gothic shapes and images, although these tended to have a distinctly Victorian twist.  Whilst original medieval techniques were revived for some glass, including pot-metal glass, there was also a production line approach to the manufacture of a lot of stained glass that undermined the overall quality and originality of glass.  William Morris and some of his Arts and Crafts circle emphasized the importance of a personal end-to-end approach, as well as medieval methodologies.  In addition to being installed in churches in vast numbers, stained glass continued to be used in domestic, civic and corporate buildings.  All of the glass in the attic in Plas Newydd is judged by Lewis to date to the 19th century, although it is also possible that some of the yellow-stained pieces were earlier.

 

Dating the Plas Newydd stained glass

In this panel the robin and fly, the face with leaves, and the bowl of vegetables and fruit, with a very delicate butterfly to their right, are all thought by Lewis to be Dutch and dated to the early 17th century.

The survey of the glass by Mostyn Lewis in his 1970 book on stained glass in North Wales notes different stained glass manufacturing techniques identifiable in the fragments.  He found that a lot of the stained glass at Plas Newydd, like most of the wood carving, dates to the 17th century, even though the area was particularly rich in 15th and early 16th century glass. Perhaps this supports the idea that most of the glass was obtained from dealers who were much further afield, rather than on a piecemeal and ad hoc basis from local sources.  There are also pieces from around 1500, some from later in the 16th century, and some which may be from the 18th century, as well as some that Mostyn Lewis says may be from the early 20th century.

Lewis also notes that although there are British examples of stained glass, much of the glass was Dutch or Flemish in origin.  For example, Lewis believes that the “beautifully-painted fragments of birds and flowers” in the library at Plas Newydd are probably Dutch because they closely resemble examples in paintings.  As well as the fragments, the few complete panels are probably also Dutch or Flemish. The multiple lights that make up the single conception in the dining room (which Lewis refers to as the “Anteroom”) was signed F. Struis, and is dated by Lewis to around 1870,

Themes

Fragment of a scene showing either an exhumation or a burial, dated by Mostyn to the 17th century. Dining room.

There are suggestions from the subject matter about the type of buildings from which the stained glass may have derived. The fragments unsurprisingly contain a lot of religious themes, presumably having come from churches, and there are suggestions, unconfirmed, that some of it was taken from Valle Crucis.  The bearded man with a halo further up the page (library, far right window), in greys and yellows, and the beardless man on an orange background, with a halo and mitre (library, top centre), may have been sourced from church contexts.  It seems probable, as well, that the monochrome scene that Lewis suggests shows the exhumation of a bearded man (although I am not sure why it cannot equally be seen to show a burial) in the dining room, the Flagellation of Christ scene in the main bedroom, and the figure of Mary Magdalene with yellow hair and a blue dress in the Oak Room (on the left as you walk in) were similarly sourced from religious buildings.  There are many similar fragments dotted throughout the house from different periods, including at least two fragments showing the IHS Christogram, and various parts of Gothic-style canopy.

Mary Magdalene holding Christ’s feet at the base of the crucifix. Oak Room

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Instantly recognizable in this mixture of fragments are the three wheat sheaves against a blue background, a feature of the coat of arms of of Chester and Cheshire. Upside-down blue peacock feathers are a delicate and lovely feature.

Although stained glass is most often thought of as being associated mainly with church architecture, during the Tudor period it became commonly employed in civic and domestic contexts where it often took the form of heraldry, where it could be employed to capture and validate family history and ancestry, help to establish new institutional identities, or reinforce the historical legitimacy of older ones, such as guilds or local government institutions.  For example, in the library Lewis says that the heraldry mainly represents descendants of Llywelyn Aurdorchog in northeast Wales including Eyton, Evans of Oswestry and Wattsay (now Wynnstay), Bromfield and, probably, Lloyd of Llangollen Fechan. A nice piece in the main library window shows the three golden wheat sheaves of Chester and Cheshire on a deep blue background.  Some of the heraldry is thought to be fake, such as in the bedrooms.

Other themes focus on the natural world, and could have come from either religious or secular contexts, some of which are very fine, like the spider’s web and plant with fruit shown and a butterfly just below;  the robin with a fly above it next to an ornamentation featuring root vegetables, also shown just below; the peacock feathers shown immediately above, and the upside-down duck in the dining room shown further up the page.  These, however, could have come equally from ecclesiastical, civic, commercial or domestic contexts.

 

 

Collecting the stained glass

Main window in the library, separated into shapes that emulate lancet window arches. An orange ecclesiastical figure tops the composition, and the central panel is flanked by heraldic shields

Lady Eleanor, who kept journals, some of which survive, and Sarah Ponsonby, some of whose letters are also preserved, failed to write down why they suddenly began collecting carvings and glass, but in the case of the stained glass it is quite likely that they were impressed by the examples at Brynkinalt near Chirk, where they were occasional visitors, and which is also described by Mostyn Lewis in his book on stained glass in North Wales.  The Plas Newydd glass is also mentioned in various contemporary letters and travelogues.  The earliest reference that I have found to date is a year after they moved in, in November 1781:

John Jones’ servant came this morning from Oswestry with a casement window of painted Glass, the arms of Trevor, Owen, and Godolphin family with their different quarterings, a present from Mr Owen of Porkington.

On January 8th 1790 Lady Eleanor’s journal states that they were looking at prices of stained glass from Mr Eginton in Birmingham:

Prices of stained glass – Blue, Green, Purple 5/6 per lb – Yellow 7/6 – Orange 11/7 – Deep red 13/6 – made by Eginton at Soho (Square) Birmingham  – One pound generally measures about a foot square – best mode of purchasing it would be to cut Patterns of Paste board to fit the Frames and write on Each pattern the Colour wanted.

Millar, James; Francis Eginton (1736/1737-1805); Birmingham Museums Trust; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/francis-eginton-173617371805-34319

This almost certainly referred to the what their friend the poet Anna Seward reffered to as the “prismatic lantern” that was installed as an arch between the dining room and the library,  Mr Eginton may also have been a supplier of salvaged glass, but even if this was not part of his remit he may well have been able to put the ladies in touch with someone who could supply them.

The journal for May 1790 adds a note to suggest that at least some of their stained glass was the result of gifts from visitors:

Mr and Mrs Garden brought a present of stained glass. They have resided at Orleans these four years

Another reference dates to 1792, when a visitor, Katherine Plymley, noted that in the library there was “a compass window with a great deal of painted glass,” which could refer to any of the oriel (or bay) windows fitted with stained glass.

It was in 1794 that the ladies wrote a letter to Mr Eginton of Birmingham regarding the manufacture of what their friend Anna Seward referred to as their “prismatic lantern.”  It seems certain from the above that the ladies had started collecting stained glass in the last decade of the 18th century. [All the above references are quoted on the Early Tourists in Wales website].

Chapter House window openings at Valle Crucis. Source: Hughes, January 1895

There is no indication in the journals or letters about the original sources from which the glass derived.  There are unconfirmed suggestions that some of the medieval glass came from the nearby ruined medieval Cistercian abbey of Valle Crucis, and from which the ladies are said to have liberated both a statue and a font from rubble within the abbey precinct.  The Cistercian monastic order, which in the 12th century had prohibited stained glass, had relaxed its rules by the mid 14th century, particularly impacted by the Black Death, so the abbey, which had a bookroom elaborate door flanked by ornamental window openings in the late 14th century also, in the early 1500s, now included an elaborate abbot’s hall and chapter house.  There are also records of lavish entertaining too. As Greene puts it “Valle Crucis had become unrecognisable as a Cistercian abbey in comparison with its early thirteenth century beginnings” (p,108). At the same time, in this process of relaxed values, new stained glass could have been added.  At the end of the 19th century painted glass was reported in Archaeologia Cambrensis in July 1894 and then again in October 1894, uncovered during archaeological excavations. It was only found in small amounts, but it does indicate that it was once there to be found:

The late 14th century book room, attached to the Chapter House, at Valle Crucis near Llangollen. No in-situ glass survives at the site.

July 1894:
Under the roots of an old sycamore-tree, close to_the buttress, he also came upon a quantity of old glass of different periods (some very early, and some of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries), which has since all been set in a small frame, and is now in the Museum attached to the Abbey.

October 1894:
Of painted glass several fragments have been discovered by the Rev. H. T. Owen, the present custodian. Many of these are so far decayed that it is impossible to make out even their pattern, but some perfect pieces have been found. Those in the best state of preservation were discovered immediately outside the north aisle-windows. Amongst these fragments are the representation of a foot, several fleurs-de-lys, and many pieces of single coloured glass, for the most part blue. The remainder of the glass found was in the ground outside the eastern windows of the presbytery. All this glass, however, is much decayed. Some fragments of glass were found in their old leading. All the specimens  seem to belong to rather a late period; and probably, when first erected, the windows were glazed with white glass, and it was not till the Cistercians began to set the old regulations at defiance that the painted glass was introduced.

I have worked my way through all the excavation reports of the 19th century, including one from 1846, as well as the 1970 excavations by L.A.S Butler (all listed in Sources), but none of them found anything but rare fragments of glass.  All of these reports of course post-date the ladies, although they coincide with the occupations of the house by Mr Robertson (1890-1910), but indicate both that coloured glass was found, and that it was only found in small quantities.  This neither rules in nor rules out that the any of the owners of Plas Newydd acquired their medieval glass from Valle Crucis prior to the excavations, and still leaves the possibility open.

Strawberry Hill House. Source: Wikipedia

Whatever odds and ends may have come from Valle Crucis, most of the glass was much later in date, and much of the glass was probably sourced from at least one dealer rather than relying exclusively on local availability.  Collecting old fragments of wood, glass, stone and plasterwork was not as unusual as it might initially seem.  Even in the 17th century it was not at all unusual to keep costs down during the building of a new house, or during the updating of an older house, to import salvaged components. The French Revolution of 1789 and the disruption it caused in western Germany and the Low Countries, included the pillaging of monasteries and churches, created a supply that met the growing antiquarian demand for old glass, carvings, sculpture, and furniture.  Salvage became a lucrative trade in the 18th and 19th centuries, either when a building’s interior was remodelled, when a home or church was demolished, or when an impecunious owner sold glass and other decorative arts to raise funds. A new brand of middlemen developed in England to meet the demand, importing looted decorative arts in bulk and making it available to the new brand of wealthy collector.  In the mid-18th century Hugh Walpole, son of Britain’s first Prime Minister, created a vast and elaborate extravaganza with Strawberry Hill House, including a patchwork of stained glass from both England and abroad.

Modern glass was also available to purchase, and some of the Plan Newydd glass was contemporary with either the ladies or later owners.  It has already been noted above that Eleanor’s journal records prices of stained glass from Francis Eginton.  A letter to Mr Eginton regarding the cutting of the glass for the prismatic arch (from the dining room into the library) is quoted further below, but is a clear indication that the ladies were not confined to local sources for either stained glass or specialist work that they required.  The same letter states that Mr Eginton should forward the completed assignment to Shrewsbury where “they may prepare the joiners for putting up the work accordingly,” which again confirms that they were able to use dealers and craftsmen much further afield than their immediate area.

Detail of the panel of Charles V and the Chevalier de Bayard in the dining room (the full panel is shown further down the page).

The fragments identified as post-1831 (the date of Sarah Ponsonby’s death) were clearly installed by later tenants.  For example, there is a piece of glass in the attic that is clearly Pre-Raphaelite in inspiration, placing them in the mid- to late-1800s, again after the deaths of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby.  All of the glass in attic room, formerly Mary Carryll’s room (d.1809), was dated collectively by Lewis to the 19th century but the Pre-Raphaelite style head suggests that these windows may have been installed from the mid-1900s, the Pre-Raphaelites having assembled in 1848 (although active as individuals prior to this date).  It would anyway have been unusual for a bedroom actually in use to have blocked off a good view with uninterrupted stained glass.  It seems at least possible that the attic glass was installed after the deaths of both ladies when the room was no longer used as a maid’s bedroom.  Two other examples are the elaborate window showing Charles V and the Chevalier de Bayard and the roundel showing the Adoration of the Shepherds, both dated by Lewis to 1870.  This suggests that they were installed either by General Yorke or Mr Roberts.  Pieces assigned by Lewis to the 20th century would, if correct, date their installation to the period when the house was occupied by Mr Roberts or a later resident.  This includes the faux heraldry in the two bedrooms.

 

Complete pieces

As well as fragments assembled into patchworks, there are a small number of windows that were installed intact, of which the one below is a particularly good example.  Showing Charles V of Sweden and the Chevalier de Bayard, it is surrounded by Classical style “grotesques,” fantastical images that show mythological beasts and figures that are part-human and part-plant with wings. It was signed F. Struis Antwerp and was dated by Mostyn Lewis to around 1870 (but apparently based on an earlier style).   Charles V inherited a peaceful kingdom and proceeded, as Holy Roman Emperor from 1500-1558  to define his rule by engaging in warfare.  The Chevalier de Bayard was a renowned French late medieval military leader.  Other than being notable warriors, the two were unconnected.  The window has been repaired in at least one place, possibly two.  Most obviously, the legend under the image of Charles V is incomplete, and the panel replacing the gap is obviously a sympathetic repair; in a similar style the colours of the foliage in the paintwork on the heraldic shield at top right seems inconsistent with the other images on the panel.

Roundel showing the Adoration of the Shepherds, c.1870.

In the second bedroom, known by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby as the State Bedroom, there is a very nice roundel showing the Adoration of the Shepherds, which Lewis dates to c.1870.   The use of the lead divides the scene sympathetically, outlining rather than interrupting the main subjects, and it is well painted with realistic facial details.  The face of the Virgin Mary has some Pre-Raphaelite romance in its design, but is delicate, not drifting into some of the excess romanticism of the period.  It retains a sense of the quiet dignity and intimacy of the imagined moment.  The limited use of rich colours provides interest and directs attention towards the primary participants in the scene, without dominating.

 

Fragments

The Oak Room

There are two window openings in the Oak Room.  The first, on the left as you enter the room, consists of two sections divided into two lancets (gothic-style points) and at the end of the room in a niche, a smaller window has been arranged a single lancet.   The stained glass is confined to the window corners, providing interest and colour whilst still allowing light into an otherwise very dark room.

The most prominent pane in this set is the yellow-haird and bearded man with orange cloak and staff, but it is not known who he represented. On the left of the image are a pair of scissors tied with a bow and what Lewis describes as “a fat Magdalene” with yellow hair and a blue dress, holding Christ’s feet. Lewis dates these to the 17th or 18th century and suggests that they are “Continental.”

 

This is a more mixed set with at least two faces and some indistinct pieces, which Lewis again dates to Lewis dates to the 17th or 18th century , “Continental.”

 

The niche in the Oak Room consists mainly of fragments of yellows and oranges on white.  Lewis does not mention this in his book

 

The Dining room

With its leather wall-coverings and glass cabinet, and its simple fire surround, no overmantel, but decorated with delftware tiles, the dining room is a very attractive space that feels quintessentially Victorian.  Most of this is due to General Yorke who, when he bought the house in 1876, not only replaced the kitchen with the Oak Room, but remodelled much of the dining room, adding Lincrusta wallpaper and plan dark oak panneling beneath, and probably the stained glass panels showing Charles V and the Chevalier de Bayard (shown above).  Most of the colour in the room derives from the lovely corner panels filled with fragments of stone glass which, like the Oak Room, were installed by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby and define the appearance of the lancet-shaped window tops.

Plas Newydd dining room, set up with loose-leaf folders and laminated pages in English and Welsh for visitors to read

The two windows overlooking the formal garden at the front, installed by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby, are rectangular windows that have been divided into lancet shapes, each with two corners containing stained glass fragments, just like the Oak Room.

Dining room glass

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Lewis does not comment much on the left window, saying simply “Continental, yellow stain, coloured enamels,; some British, c.1500.”  He offers more information on the right window:
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Right window, top left corner:

The dominant image in the top left corner appears to show the exhumation of a bearded man. The man overseeing the process may have been a monk. Two women are shown at left. Lewis believes that it dates to the 17th Century

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Right window, top right corner:

The main fragment in this corner is on its side, showing a finely painted circumcision scene with a baby on a red cushion, a bearded man with headdress and tasselled cloak, and another with a white collar. A third, with a head covering, holds a knife. Red stain and coloured enamels were used.

From the Dining Room into the Library: Prismatic arch

Dining room side of the prismatic arch

One of the features most celebrated by visitors to Plas Newydd during the tenure of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby was the richly coloured illuminated door arch, a wooden arch-shaped container formed at the top of a door leading from the dining room into the library.  On either side of this arch, and underneath it, is stained glass, within which lamps were lit to bring out the luminosity of the glass.  It was a wonderfully innovative feature, that was mentioned by visitors to the house in their journals, letters and travelogues.  Even better, the Early Tourists in Wales website quotes a letter sent by the ladies to a Mr Egington of Birmingham who made it for them:

1794, 14 March
Letter from The Ladies, Llangollen Vale. 14th March, 1794 to Mr Eginton.
Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby are under a necessity of troubling Mr Eginton in regard to a door light of stained glass which Mr Eginton is making for them, according to  a design and directions forwarded to him the 2nd February by Mr Tudor [upholsterer?] of Shrewsbury, and which they shall esteem as a particular favour Mr Eginton completing without loss of time, as a longer delay than the middle of next week will be of the most serious inconvenience to them.  They further request he will inform them by a line, addressed, within, to Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, Llangollen, near Oswestry, what day it leaves Birmingham and may be expected at Shrewsbury that they may prepare the joiners for putting up the work accordingly.  Mr Eginton’s speedy attention to this request, will much oblige the Ladies”.
Provenance: From the 19th century album of Emma Marshall of Penworham Lodge, Preston. Emma was the daughter of William Marshall, landowner and cotton manufacturer and was related by marriage to the Miller family of Baronets, M.P.s and landowners.
http://www.owenandbarlow.com/pd-the-ladies-of-llangollen-autograph-letter.cfm
[Source: Early Tourists in Wales]

Underside of the prismatic lantern

In 1795 poet Anna Seward (the so-called “Swan of Lichfield” wrote a letter in which she described the archway, giving it the name “prismatic lantern:

The ingenious friends have invented a kind of prismatic lantern, which occupies the whole elliptic arch of the Gothic door. This lantern is of cut glass, variously coloured, enclosing two lamps with their reflectors. The light it imparts resembles that of a volcano, sanguine and solemn. It is assisted by two glow-worm lamps, that, in little marble reservoirs, stand on the opposite chimney-piece, and these supply the place of the here always chastized day-light, when the dusk of evening sables, or when night wholly involves the thrice-lovely solitude.

In 1796 Seward followed up her appreciation of the arch, amongst other features in a 29-stanza poem called Langollen Vale, the style of which is romantic, sentimental, and somewhat florid.  It contains the following stanza describing the impact of the arch:

How sweet to enter, at the twilight grey,
The dear, minute Lyceum of the dome,
When, thro’ the colour’d crystal, glares the ray,
Sanguine and solemn ‘mid the gathering gloom,
While glow-worm lamps diffuse a pale, green light,
Such as in mossy lanes illume the starless night.

[posted on the Early Tourists in Wales website]

 

Library side of the prismatic arch


The Library

Back window

The library extends outwards into the rear garden, giving the room a more substantial and refined air than the other, smaller rooms in the house.  Although partly concealed behind curtains, this is the biggest single display of stained glass fragments in the house.  It is difficult to see details clearly without a zoom lens or binoculars, but it certainly rewards some contemplation, with multi-period and multi-themed pieces all fitted into a bewilderingly attractive ensemble.

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Plas Newydd library

 

 

A charming detail of the main library window showing “Morning,” presumably one of a series. Lewis provides no further details.  I have tried searching for the poem online without success.  If anyone has any information about it please let me know.

Fayre Nymphe whose chast and fragrante beautyes runne
A course yt honours and prevents the sune
Tis thou yt breaking through ye lightened ayre
Comst first ahead and shakst day from the hayre
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Two sets of four heraldic devices in the library, with another isolated example above the lower set.  The lovely wild boar at top left probably dates to the early 18th century.

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Detail of the library window with mixed fragments including, at bottom right, two portrait-style images.  The black wyvern with a kinked tail and a crown around its neck, standing on a red pillow, is very nearly identical to one at Brynkinalt in a window with a number of heraldic and other pieces at the head of the stairs in the Great Hall.

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Detail of the Library window with a winged animal, a headless ostrich on an orange background, a red-headed green parrot eating a cherry, a yellow star on a red background (abraded flashed glass) and what looks like an artichoke (symbol of prosperity, hope, love and fertility), as well as a heraldic shield that is one of a set of four.

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First landing

A pretty roundel of rich glass is at the top of the stairs, forming the pattern of a flower in red, green and black.  The glass rest of the glass is transparent, letting in light over the staircase and the surrounding carvings, and offering views over the rear garden.

At the top of the staircase

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The main bedroom

Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby shared the main bedroom, an arrangement by no means unusual in the Georgian period.  They used the adjoining dressing room and the bedroom itself in the evenings to update their accounts, write journals and letters.   The windows mix transparent glass and stained sections, providing both colour and light.  The heraldry in the windows is, according to Mostyn, modern and probably invented for decorative purposes.  Pieces of the light green glass surrounding some of the heraldry is textured in a style that was not introduced until the 20th century.  There are however older fragments in the top panels, probably Flemish dating to the 17th century.  

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Lower half of a female figure, probably 17th century Flemish

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A detail of the window showing a fragments of the Flagellation, with Christ tied to a pillar being beaten, with architectural details in the background. Probably 17th century Flemish

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Modern heraldic glass in the main bedroom (left)

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Lion rampant heraldic shield

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The second bedroom (the state bedroom)

This is very like the main bedroom in both design and the fragments chosen for their brightness and colour, and also includes heraldry framed in fragments, which Lewis places in the 20th century.

The second bedroom

 

Stained glass in the second bedroom with faux 20th century heraldry

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Stained glass in the second bedroom

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Stained glass in the second bedroom with faux early 20th century heraldry

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The first floor landing leading to the attic

As in other part of the house, three rectangular windows have been given a gothic appearance by the addition of lancet-shaped frames.  In the corners made are floral and leaf shapes using pot-metal glass that provides a particular richness to the windows..   Inserted into two of the windows are identical botanical motifs, each surrounded by other fragments, all framed. The right hand frame has rounded corners at the base to look a little like a heraldic design.Lewis gives a probably date to the mid-19th century.

First floor landing

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The Attic (Mary Carryll’s Bedroom)

All of the stained glass in the attic has been dated by Mostyn Lewis to the 19th century, although some of it might feasibly be earlier.  This would have blocked the view over what in the days of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby was a field but is now the formal yew tree garden.

 

 

The Dressing Room (State Room) and the rest of the attic

The dressing room has been closed all season to date, so I have not been able to look at and photograph the stained glass.  Hopefully I will be able to do this at some point in the future, as the room is currently being refurbished.  As well as Mary Carryll’s room here are other rooms at the very top of the house, the attic level, that are not open to the public so I have not been able to include those.
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Lost glass

When talking about the glass in the dining room, Lewis comments “Much of the early window glass has now disappeared, but there are fragments dating from c.1500.”  He does not elaborate on this, but it does imply that there was glass in at least one room that has been replaced, although it is not stated when these replacements might have been made or why a replacement would have been required.

Above the front door was a roundel, now clear glass, which once held a mermaid, which sounds charming, and which he dated to the 17th century, but was already damaged when Lewis was writing in 1970 and has now apparently been removed, or has been lost:

Mermaid, orange hair, yellow tail, holds mirror on which their are arms (unidentified)

In the library Lewis describes a piece of glass that has been lost, which is such a shame as it sounds like a classic:

Until recently, delightfully vulgar fragment of a man with trousers down, telling off two others, one sitting on basket (all that remains), probably Flemish early C.XVII; now destroyed, whether by stone of naughty child or by umbrella of prude, I do not know. (p.121)

Fascinatingly, in 1818 G.H. Steele wrote in his travelogue A Three Weeks Tour into Lancashire, Cheshire and North Wales, that there was “a beautiful greenhouse the front of which consists of beautiful stained glass.”  It was also mentioned in the auction catalogue that followed Sarah’s death.  I would have given much to have seen it!

Finally, it is not known exactly what either of the wings added by General Yorke and Mr Robertson looked like, but this postcard shows a room, which although it looks very like the library in some ways, does not look like the stained glass ass it is today.  General Yorke ran the house as a museum, so the postcard may have dated to this time.

At first glance I thought that this was the library at Plas Newydd, but I am not at all sure if it is.  The stained glass does not look quite right.  The contents of the room certainly post-dated Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby and probably date from the time of General Yorke. Source: RCAHMW

Final Comments

Stained glass in the library

Plas Newydd is an absolute rock-star of a house, full of colour, light, and original creativity.  It belongs not only to the inspiration of Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby but also to subsequent owners who built on the remarkable legacy that the ladies had built.  The stained glass was probably the earliest of the steps taken by Lady Eleanor and Miss Ponsonby in their long history of collecting and installing salvaged decorative arts, beginning almost as soon as they arrive in the 1780s; their collections of wood carving only seem to have begun in 1814.  Their experiences of collecting stained glass may well have set their other collections in motion.

Whether or not the eclectic and diverse stained glass can be considered to have artistic merit is entirely subjective and a matter of personal taste.  Writing in 1968 John Harries made the following comment about mixed stained glass:

Many pictures in galleries have been retouched or repainted in surprisingly large areas, and we do not think a great deal worse of them for that.  But what of those windows where a light, or window opening, has been made up of assorted panels or figures, roundels and shields, bits and pieces of borders and patternwork by the same artist – even by different artists, for from different churches? . . . The result would be interesting but ridiculous.  And yet a surprisingly large number of windows are like this . . . They are often still enjoyable. [Harries 1968, 1980, p.5]

Pointing to the “rich colour and beautiful drawing of detail” Harries believes that it says “much for the robustness of stained glass” that it retains its beauty in spite of its removal from its original context.  This is exactly the case at Plas Newydd where the stained glass is frequently referred to as a jigsaw, but unlike a jigsaw it was never intended to form a coherent and recognizable whole.  Instead, if an analogy is needed, then it is more like a patchwork, with attractive but random pieces joined together to create a beautiful and unique artistic creation, full of wit and imagination.

Visiting

For visiting details, please see my previous post about Plas Newydd here.  As well as the splendid house, there is a limited amount of free parking, an excellent cafe and lovely stream-side walks with wild flowers.


Sources

With thanks to stained glass specialist Aleta Doran (www.aletadoran.co.uk/) for sending me material to help with my understanding of the background history to stained glass manufacture and development – and for untangling my confusion about grisaille glass!

Books, booklets and papers

Wild boar, probably early 18th century. Library

Butler, L.A.S. 1976.  Valle Crucis Abbey:  An Excavation in 1970.  Archaeologia Cambrensis 125 (1976), p.80-116

Fleming, John. and Honour, Hugh 1977, 1989 (2nd edition). The Penguin Dictionary of Decorative Arts. Viking

Greene, J. Patrick. 1992. Medieval Monasteries. Leicester University Press

Harries, John 1968, 1980 (2nd edition). Discovering Stained Glass. Shire Publications Ltd.

Harris, John. 2007. Moving Rooms. The Trade in Architectural Salvages. Yale University Press

Hicklin, John 1847.  The “Ladies of Llangollen,”
as sketched by many hands; with notices of
other objects of interest in “That Sweetest of Vales.”
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/20810/20810-h/20810-h.htm

Hughes, Harold 1894.  Valle Crucis Abbey. Archaeologia Cambrensis, 5th Series, Vol.XI, No.XLIII, July 1894, p.169-185

Hughes, Harold 1894.  Valle Crucis Abbey. Archaeologia Cambrensis, 5th Series, Vol.XI, No.XLIV, October 1894, p.257-275

Hughes, Harold 1895.  Valle Crucis Abbey. Archaeologia Cambrensis, 5th Series, Vol.XII, No.XLV, January 1895, p.5-17

Lewis, Mostyn 1970. Stained Glass in North Wales up to 1850. John Sherratt and Son Ltd.

Mavor, Elizabeth 1984.  Life with the Ladies of Llangollen. Viking (hardback). (Published by Penguin in 1986 in paperback as A Year with the Ladies of Llangollen)

McRae Thomson, Aidan 2018. Stained Glass. Amberley Publishing

Osborne, Harold (ed.) 1970. The Oxford Companion to Art. Oxford University Press

Osborne, Harold (ed.) 1975. The Oxford Companion to the Decorative Arts. Oxford University Press

Rosewell, Roger 2012. Stained Glass. Shire Library

Veysey, A. Geoffrey and David Freeman 1988.  Plas Newydd and the Ladies of Llangollen. Glyndwr District Council.  (Based on the booklet by Veysey, County Archivist for Clwyd County Council, published in 1980.  Two sections were substantially updated by Freeman in 1988 – the Oak Room and the Ladies’ Bedchamber).

Yorke, Trevor 2022. Victorian Stained Glass. Shire

 

Websites

Brynkinalt Estate
https://www.brynkinalt.co.uk/

Early Tourists in Wales
Plas Newydd Home Page
https://sublimewales.wordpress.com/attractions/mansions-and-grounds/ladies-of-llangollen/
Descriptions of Plas Newydd and the Ladies of Llangollen
https://sublimewales.wordpress.com/attractions/mansions-and-grounds/ladies-of-llangollen/descriptions-of-plas-newydd-and-the-ladies-of-llangollen/

The Leiden Collection
Young woman in a niche with parrot and cage
https://www.theleidencollection.com/archives/artwork/GD-105_young-woman-in-a-niche-with-a-parrot-and-cage_2023.pdf

Roaringwater Journal
Netherlandish Glass in Ireland
https://roaringwaterjournal.com/2023/09/24/netherlandish-glass-in-ireland/

The Stained Glass Museum
Glossary
The Development of Stained Glass in England

https://stainedglassmuseum.com/glossary

West Midlands History
Francis Egington. Designer and Glasspainter. By Martin Ellis, Curator of Applied Art, Birmingham Museums Trust (no date)
https://historywm.com/file/historywm/e04-a15-francis-eginton-89236.pdf

 

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Valle Crucis Cistecian Abbey, founded 1201

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==

Cheshire Lunatic Asylum: The development of lunatic asylums – Part 1.2

Cheshire Lunatic Asylum 2024

This is the second part of my post about the background to English lunatic asylums, prior to focusing on the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum in Chester.  To make the pages manageable, I have divided part 1, looking at the mental health background to the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum and other lunatic asylums into two.  Part 1.1 was posted here a few minutes agoPart 1.2 carries on below, following directly from part 1.1. A version of parts 1.1 and 1.2,without images, can be downloaded as a single PDF here  (27 pages of A4)   Sources and references for all posts can be found here.

Part 2 will focus on the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum at Upton in Chester and will be posted in the next month or so, when I’ve sorted out the images.

Timeline of reform after 1830

After the opening of a number of public asylums in the early 1800s, including the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum in Chester in 1829, several others began to be erected, including those in Dorset, Leicestershire, Shropshire and Montgomery and Devon, all by 1845, the year in which the County Asylums Act was passed.  Private asylums still outnumbered county and charity asylums, some small and catering for a handful of patients, whilst others like and Ticehurst in Sussex (opened 1792) the purpose-built Brislington House near Bristol (opened 1806) were fully comparable in size to county asylums.

The First Middlesex County Asylum, Hanwell. Source: London Historians’ Blog

The most important innovation in the early 19th century had been the “moral treatment” that had been introduced by Philippe Pinet in Paris and by William Tuke in York, was influential on other asylum owners and designers.  One of the most innovative of these was Methodist Dr William Ellis.  Having learned the practice of moral treatment at the Sculcoates Refuge in Hull, in 1817 he was employed as superintendent at West Riding Pauper Asylum at Wakefield, with his wife Mildred as matron, where he practised the same approaches. His successes led to his appointment at the new Hanwell Asylum in Middlesex in 1832, with his wife again employed as matron.  In each case patients were exposed to conditions that emulated family life and the manners of polite society, with treatment consisting of activities, entertainments and employment both indoors and out, using physical restraints only where strictly necessary. Social reformer Harriet Martineau, was impressed with how, when she visited, she saw a patient going to a garden to work with his tools in his hand, how a cheerful patient rolling in the grass with two other patients had been chained to her bed for seven years before arriving at Hanwell, and in shed in one of the gardens patients were cutting potatyes for seed “singing and amusing each other.”  Ellis resigned in 1838 in a disagreement with the overseers of the asylum over their decision to extend the asylum for a much greater patient intake, convinced that his methods could not be successful in a much larger institution, as well as their plans to change how the asylum was managed.

In 1832 the Royal Commission carried out a survey of how the Poor Law was generally implemented throughout all counties, and who benefitted.  The findings were published in 1834, and concluded that existing workhouses and almshouses were too sympathetic and generous, as well as too costly, to be sustainable. The report contained a long list of recommendations that set out to deter paupers from claiming relief by redefining the workhouse as a tool for reducing the costs of caring for the poor.  The survey formed the basis of the new 1834 poor law.

In terms of social reform the new Poor Law, which was introduced to replace the Elizabethan Poor Law of 1601, represented a backwards step.  The Act, adding to the 1723 General Workhouse Act and the 1774 Madhouse Act, lead to even more lunatics being absorbed into workhouses, where all inmates were treated far more punitively then before. According to the 1834 Poor Law Amendment Act (“the New Poor Law”) workhouses of a new type would be built to deter vagrancy and the dependency of able-bodied men, women and children on handouts, ensuring that only those who were suffering from desperate necessity would seek a workhouse place. The Act was introduced to reduce the cost of the poor by putting them to work in fixed indoor locations, removing beggars, vagrants and itinerant paupers from the streets, its main mechanism of which was the workhouse. However, although orphanages and infirmaries were also built, the workhouses were punitive places, built to discourage the idle from attending them.  They provided deliberately uncomfortable living conditions, splitting of husbands from wives and parents from their children.  To enable parishes to finance the new workhouses, the new poor law allowed for the creating of parish unions.  Over 350 new workhouses were built within five years of the Act to cope with those who were unable or unwilling to find work.

The 1834 Act also laid down that dangerous lunatics, insane people and imbeciles were not to be kept in workhouses and should be moved to new asylums that should be built without delay, as per the Act of 1828, to receive them.  In practice, however, partly because it cost less to house lunatics in workhouses than asylum, and partly because asylums were often overcrowded, an alarming number entered workhouses.  In some workhouses special wards within workhouses for the insane were added, and these were often used as repositories for the mentally ill, as well as imbeciles and idiots, the debilitated elderly (particularly those suffering from dementia) and the physically disabled.

The Chester Union Workhouse in 1861, recorded on workhouses.org, included 29 long-term inmates (continuous living for five years or over) of whom nine (31.03%) were deemed to be of “weak mind” and two (6.9%) were “subject to fits” (the latter relevant because epilepsy was considered to be a form of insanity until the late 19th century).  Interestingly, the incorporated union of Chester’s nine parishes was exempt from the 1834 act, and Chester did not accept a Chester new Poor Law Union until 1869.  There is clearly a lot more work to be done in Chester between the lunatic asylum and its workhouses.

The 1820 Lincoln Asylum. By Elliott Simpson, CC BY-SA 2.0. Source: Wikipedia

New reformist practitioners continued to make their mark in the treatment of lunatics, mainly in private asylums for the wealthy, but also in the county asylums. In 1820 the subscription-funded Lincoln Lunatic Asylum was opened, and in 1837, under Edward Parker Charlesworth and Robert Gardiner Hill, became notable for being the first English asylum to formally abolish the use of mechanical devices for restraint, with the results recorded in  the asylum’s annual reports. This approach was influenced by the death at the asylum in 1829 of patient William Scrivinger, who was strapped to his bed overnight in a straitjacket and was found dead from strangulation in the morning.   In 1838 Robert Gardiner Hill, who became house surgeon at the asylum, delivered a lecture to The Mechanics’s Institute, Lincoln, advocating the care of the mentally ill without recourse to restraints, which was subsequently published and circulated and became influential on other asylum superintendents who were interested in treating symptoms rather than merely detaining patients.

Tabulated records of restraint from the Lincoln Lunatic Asylum in 1830 (click to enlarge).  Wellcome Collection.

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In 1839 John Conolly moved to Hanwell Asylum in Middlesex to take over from William Ellis as its third superintendent.  As superintendent he took Ellis’s policy of only using restraints when unavoidable even further, following Robert Gardiner Hell, and in his first report from the asylum claimed that the banning of restraints, replaced by “kindness and firmness” had produced a much better environment for patients. He believed that supervision by specially trained attendants and nurses, consistent regimes and pleasant surroundings were essential.  His treatment regime was reported by The Times on several occasions, an the asylum was visited by influential figures in society. Although many other alienists were sceptical about non-restraint, the positive publicity soon influenced other asylums who began to follow the lead originally set by Robert Gardiner Hill, but publicized by Conolly. Following his resignation from Hanwell in 1844, after a disagreement with the Metropolitan Commissioners in Lunacy, Conolly published his latest opinions on the subject of managing lunacy.  These included his 1847 The Construction and Government of Lunatic Asylums and Hospitals for the Insane and his 1856 The Treatment of the Insane without Mechanical Restraints.  His 1849 A remonstrance with the Lord Chief Baron touching the case Nottidge versus Ripley clearly stated his belief that eccentricity, excessive passion, signs of moral failure, gambling what should not be tolerated, and any person’s behaviour that was “inconsistent with the comfort of society and their own welfare” were sufficient to merit certification and committal to an asylum.  This position was one of intolerance to any behaviour that might contravene strict ideas of social conventions.

Male and female patient employment records at the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum for the year 1855 (click to enlarge) (Wellcome Collection).

The new forms of treatment that attempted to return people to society put great emphasis on the value of manual work, much like the influential 6th century Benedictine monastic ideal, so some asylums built and managed home farms in which patients worked, and indoors encouraged involvement in art, crafts, sewing of clothes and other items of use within the asylum, and help with the maintenance of the asylum buildings.  Airing courts provided leisure access to fresh air and vegetation, and sporting activities were arranged.  Indoor leisure activities included games, indoor sports, reading material, the ability to engage in art, music, dance and theatre, and there was in-house provision for access to religious guidance

The 1842 Poor Law Commissioners Act introduced by social reformer Lord Ashley (later Lord Shaftesbury), extended the authority of London’s Metropolitan Commissions in Lunacy to the entire country and expanded its staff. Its remit was extended for a trial three-year period to all types of care institution in all parts of England and Wales where lunatics might be held, and this in turn led to the 1844 report of the Metropolitan Commission to the Lord Chancellor.  This report described poor conditions and treatment, and expressed concerns about illicit certification and the continued incarceration of those who had recovered.

Portrait of Harriet Martineu. Source: Wikipedia

An indication of how much work still needed to be done to care for the insane was an article published in 1834 by Harriet Martineau, one of Britain’s first sociologists, who asked whether lunatic asylums really needed to be as dreadful as they so often were, contrasting it with the pioneering attitude of Dr William Ellis and his wife Mildred at the new Hanwell Lunatic Asylum, which opened in 1831:

It is commonly agreed that the most deplorable spectacle which society presents, is that of a receptacle for the insane. In pauper asylums we see chains and strait-waistcoats, – three or four half-naked creatures thrust into a chamber filled with straw, to exasperate each other with their clamour and attempts at violence; or else gibbering in idleness, or moping in solitude. In private asylums, where the rich patients are supposed to be well taken care of in proportion to the quantity of money expended on their account, there is as much idleness, moping, raving, exasperating infliction, and destitution of sympathy, though the horror is attempted to be veiled by a more decent arrangement of externals. Must these things be? (my italics).

A two year investigation by the Metropolitan Lunacy Commissioners was followed by the 1844 Report to the Lord Chancellor which, like its predecessors, highlighted the abysmal conditions in many of the establishments that  that housed lunatics:  “Twenty-one counties in England and Wales had neither public nor private asylum. Profiteering was rife in the private sector; such public asylums as existed were often defective in terms of site, design or accommodation” [Mellett 1981]. The 1844 report seems to have had rather more significant impact than some of its predecessors, timed as it was with Lord Ashley’s continued and vigorous campaigning to provide for pauper lunatics.  The Socialist Health Association records that in 1844 there were around 20,600 lunatics in some form of institution or private care in England and Wales, of whom only 3800 were private patients.  Over 16,800 were classified as paupers.

Edward Wakefield’s 1815 statement about the value of recommending a change to the law to make new asylums compulsory. Source: Wellcome Collection

In 1845, following the 1844 report, Lord Ashley was able to push through the important Lunacy Act and the County Asylum Act.  Importantly, every county was given compulsory responsibility for the provision of a county asylum funded by rates, instead of making it optional as in the 1808 Wynn’s Law.  This was a measure that Edward Wakefield, reporting to the 1815 Select Committee had suggested be implemented, and it had taken 30 years for the recommendation to be acted upon.  The Act required the transfer of mentally ill people (defined as lunatics and idiots) from workhouses, where over 6000 were recorded in 1847, to these new or existing asylums.  It became a legal requirement that both a new Board of Commissioners for Lunacy and regional Justices throughout England and Wales should regularly visit places where lunatics were held, in prisons and workhouses as well as hospitals and both the old and new asylums, for both private and public institutions.  Locally appointed Committees of Visitors would oversee the ongoing operation of asylums, and an annual report would be submitted to the Lunacy Commissioners.  It was now also a legal requirement that asylums record admissions with basic demographic information about the patient, the reason for admission, details of the disorder, treatments and ultimate outcomes (i.e. discharge or death, including suicide).  These were to be inspected at least annually by the Commissioners and regional Justices.  In practice, the Act was not supported with funding or resources, and many of its measures proved difficult to implement and enforce, although it was responsible for the growing number of asylums throughout England and Wales.  Again, improvements to certification processes were made.  In 1847, reporting on their progress, the Commissioners noted how their workload had expanded, emphasising their role as a central resource for asylums:

Excerpt from the Table of Contents for the Further report of the Commissioners in Lunacy 1847

We have found it necessary to carry on an extensive correspondence with numerous parties, some demanding· the interposition of our authority, in reference to cases of supposed abuse; many requiring information, and many others neglecting or misinterpreting· the salutary provisions of the Acts of Parliament; and in the course of this correspondence, numerous questions (some of much nicety and difficulty) have been submitted to us;  we have also found it necessary to enter into long and difficult investigations.

The commissioners were undoubtedly patting themselves on the back in this piece of text, demonstrating the value of their new role, but the rest of the report suggests that since the passing of the 1845 Act they had been very busy assessing the network of public and private asylums for which they were now responsible, gathering extensive amounts of data to inform their decisions.

In 1853 John Bucknill (1817–1897) became the first editor of the Asylum Journal, which became the Journal of Mental Science.  Bucknill held the position until 1862.  The Journal eventually became the British Journal of Psychiatry and is still publishing today. This provided a forum for interested parties, mainly those connected with asylums, to put forward their ideas and instigate discussions.  Ideas about madness and lunatic asylums also filtered into the British Medical Journal.

Asylum Journal 1855. Source: Internet Archive

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Another set of laws were introduced with the intention of improving matters throughout the second half of the 19th century.  The 1853 Lunacy Amendment Act outlawed hearsay evidence from the process of certification, meaning that doctors were no longer able to depend on the accounts of those who were asking for patients to be admitted to asylums.  The certification process required that doctors only included behaviour that they had themselves observed at first hand, another measure towards prevention of wrongful confinement.  The 1862 Lunacy Act enabled patients who had received care for mental illness in the past to enter asylums on a voluntary basis to receive treatment.  Special permission had to be sought from two lunacy commissioners, but this recognized that the treatment of mental health should not be exclusively enforced and custodial.  It also allowed for greater fluidity of transfer of patients between asylums and workhouses.  The Annual Report of the Lunacy Commission for the same year noted that physical restraints were no longer in common use and that isolation was preferred as a viable alternative.  In 1867 the Metropolitan Poor Bill was designed to recognize harmless “imbeciles”, those with learning difficulties in London workhouses and asylums, and to provide them with specialized establishments. In 1874 the rising costs of asylum management were recognized by the government who introduced a grant allocating 4 shillings per week per person sent to the asylum. This presumably also assisted with moving appropriate inmates from workhouses to asylums.

Unfortunately none of the above measures were successful in introducing genuine state-sponsored social responsibility and reform.  As late in the 19th century as 1873 the British Medical Association expressed its views on the existing state of asylums:

There are no public institutions which lie so open to attack as lunatic asylums.  They are necessary evils; they interfere with the liberty of the subject; they are costly in erection and maintenance; and they are, as a rule, managed with doors more closely shut than those of other hospitals.  There also hangs about them in the mind of the public an air of mystery, and the memory of bygone evils is by no means erase.  When all these factors of unpopularity are taken into account, it is not difficult to see why the complaints of those who have been subjected to their discipline are listened to with avidity. [BMA August 2nd 1873, p.120]

Sadly, as the century advanced and passed into the 20th century, the number of admissions into asylums increased and the earlier idealistic and more personalized approaches became impossible to implement.  The 29th Annual Local Government Report of 1900 stated that in 1860 50% of insane paupers were in county and borough asylums, and 25% of them in workhouses.  By 1900 there were 75% in asylums and just under 20% in workhouses.
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Public anxiety about lunatic asylums in the mid-late 19th century

Louisa Lowe, incarcerated even though later judged to be completely sane. Source: a digitized copy of Blighted Life, in the Wellcome Collection

Whilst the role of lunatic asylums was widely discussed in Victorian medical journals and works produced by alienists, each promoting certain methodological and ideological approaches, there were also publications that spoke to the general public, representing concerns with the alienist profession and describing clear infringements of what we would now think of as the human rights of those who had been illicitly incarcerated.  Wrongful incarcerations fell into two main categories.  First, there were those individuals who had been incarcerated forcibly when sane, sometimes as the result of collusion between family members and medical professionals.  Secondly there were those who had been admitted to an asylum under a legitimate certificate, but continued to be detained long after they had recovered their senses.  Part of the problem lay in what did or did not qualify as sanity but, as discussed above, there were also cases of malicious incarceration and corrupt collusion for financial advantage.

There were two primary channels of information about such cases  to the general public.  Both national and local media took up the stories of those who had been illicitly confined in lunatic asylums, whilst some of the victims published their own accounts. Examples of the latter are John Perceval’s  A narrative of the treatment experienced by a gentleman during a state of mental derangement (1840), Rosina Bulwer-Lytton’s A Blighted Life (1880) and Louisa Lowe’s The Bastilles of England, Or The Lunacy Laws at Work (1883).  Some publications were anonymous, former mad-house inmates fearing derision or stigma.  One author, “A Sane Patient,” wrote My Experiences in a Lunatic Asylum (1879), and another was written by “A Clerical Ex-Lunatic:” The private asylum: how I got in an out: an autobiography (1889). As well as describing the circumstances under which they had been admitted and in which they lived, some also urged government change to existing laws.

News article excerpt about Lawrence Ruck in The Leader, no.440, August 28th 1858, p.862. Source: Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition

Although there were exceptions, the means by which the media became aware of such cases was largely via formal inquisitions. In 1858-1859 there were four cases that caused a media sensation and a public panic about illegitimate certification: Rosina Bulwer-Lytton, Mary Jane Hepworth, Reverend William Leach and Lawrence Ruck.  Inquisitions were legal mechanisms by which those held in private asylums could apply for permission to take their cases in front of a judge and jury to attempt to prove their sanity.  Witnesses could be called to give testimony for or against a patient’s sanity, both personal and professional. These were very expensive and the cost fell on the applicant, so was available only to the very wealthy.  Because these people often belonged to elite families or were associated with public figures, they could be of great public interest.   Inquisitions were held in public, in any venue large enough to accommodate them, in coffee houses, bars and taverns, and any member of the general public or media was free to attend.  Juries were men, often magistrates or others who were sufficiently educated to assess both medical and legal arguments.  In the cases of Bulwer-Lytton, Hepworth, Leach and Ruck, all four had been confined in asylums, but during inquisition had been judged sane.  Rosina Bulwer-Lytton had a particular gift for publicity and succeeded in winning many newspaper publications to her side to publicize her grievances.  The highly publicized scenario where a family member, colluding with an asylum owner and sent attendants to bundle a sane victim into a carriage to be locked up, their basic human rights denied them, caused real public anxiety.

Report of the Alleged Lunatics’ Friend Society 1851. Source for report: Wellcome Collection

The newspaper publications and first-hand accounts about individual cases were supplemented by the work of pressure groups. Three groups were formed to promote the causes of patients in asylums, more or less consecutively, all started by those who had direct experience of illegal detention in lunatic asylums: The Alleged Lunatics’ Friends Society (an informal grouping until 1845 when they became organized), the Lunacy Law Reform Association, and its splinter group The Lunacy Law Amendment Society.  At the same time, Georgina Weldon attracted many followers in her campaign against illegal incarceration and detainment in asylums, having gone into hiding when her estranged husband attempted to have her committed. Whist in hiding she was declared sane by two independent physicians. All these activists wrote letters to influential people, took out newspaper adverts, distributed pamphlets and spoke extensively in public in attempts to influence government action to reform lunacy laws.  Although they were rarely successful at pushing through legal reform, they were very good at generating publicity for their causes, drawing attention to the financial motivations of both those who might benefit from certifying a relative and the asylums admitting them, and the callous tyranny of some of the asylum owners and staff.  They also acted to take up individual cases where sane people remained locked up in asylums.

Inevitably, in spite of attempts to force through legal and social reform, changes in the law always lagged behind the need for reform.  For every energetic reformer there were many more places that continued to follow easier, less labour-intensive means of confinement, and although individual reformers and medical representatives attempted to improve asylum care, there were continuing problems of unnecessary and illegal incarceration and detainment, sometimes as a result of collusion between relatives and asylum owners, causing ongoing anxiety in contemporary society.
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The criminally insane

Lithograph by JR Jobbins in 1840 showing the assassination attempt by Edward Oxford on Queen Victoria. Source: Meisterdrucke

In 1800 when James Hadfield attempted to assassinate George III in the belief that the death of the king would initiate the Second Coming of the Messiah, he was charged with treason. However he was judged to be non compos mentis (not in his right mind) due to severe head injuries incurred during his service as a soldier.  This verdict of insanity was followed by the the Criminal Lunatics Act, which required that criminal lunatics should be detained in county jails, and lead to the addition of a new criminal wing be Bethlem to house the criminally insane.  A number of high profile cases followed, and in 1840 Edward Oxford fired a pistol at Queen Victoria and Prince Albert as they were travelling in an open carriage on Constitution Hill in London, and although he was tried for high treason, was found not guilty by reason of insanity.  He was sent to the criminal wing at Bethlem.

Daniel M’Naghten photographed by Henry Hering in around 1856. Source: Bethlehem Hospital Museum Archives via Wikipedia

A decisive case was that of Daniel M’Naghten who, in 1843, attempted to kill Prime Minister Robert Peel, but mistook Peel’s secretary for the Prime Minister, shooting and killing him.  M’Naghten suffered from paranoid delusions, thinking that the Tories were persecuting him and were planning to murder him. He was acquitted on the basis of insanity and confined to Bethlem asylum.  This lead to the M’Naghten Rule (or M’Naghten Test) which provided criteria for assessing whether or not someone was insane at the time that a serious crime was committed, to assess whether or not someone was criminal liable.  Only when the test has been completed in all its parts can a person be deemed to be criminally insane.

One of the best known 19th century inmates of both Bethlem was was the remarkable professional artist Richard Dadd R.A., who was incarcerated first in the ward for the criminally insane in Bethlem in 1843.  Dadd, after exhibiting signs of violent and delusional behaviour when travelling in the Middle East went to stay with his parents to recover but, believing that he was acting under the orders of the Egyptian God Osiris, murdered his father whom he was convinced was possessed by the Devil.

Richard Dadd, painting whilst incarcerated in an asylum in 1856. Source: Wikipedia

These cases paved the way for the establishment of the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum, which opened in 1863 in Berkshire, and which remains in use today.  Oxford, M’Naghten and Dadd were all transferred to Broadmoor in 1864.  M’Naghten died in 1865 but Dadd continued to paint throughout there until his death in 1886 at the age of 68.  Edward Oxford, who showed no ongoing signs of insanity, was offered the opportunity to be relocated to Australia in 1867, and duly took up the offer, settling, marrying and living out his life in Melbourne, later publishing a book about the city.

Much of the intention of earlier laws in this respect was re-formalized in the Trial of Lunatics Act of 1883, in which any offence committed whilst a person was deemed to be insane, and therefore according to the law not responsible for his actions at the time when the act was committed, a special verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity should be returned. This law was updated several times, most recently in 1991.

Day room for male patients at the Asylum for Criminal Lunatics, Broadmoor, Sandhurst, Berkshire. Source: Wellcome Collection

A broken system

Excerpt for a page from the 21st Report of the Commissioners in Lunacy for 1866, published in 1867. Source: Wellcome Collection

In the later half of the 19th century, it was becoming clear that the optimism of both medical and legal professions the 1840s was dwindling fast, and that the asylum system was failing to keep up with demand.  The 21st Report of the Commissioners in Lunacy in 1867 indicated that 90% of patients in public asylums were considered to be incurable.  Writing only three years later in 1870, Dr Andrew Wynter, former editor of the British Medical Journal, commented that “Our whole scheme for the cure of lunatics has utterly broken down.”  Although it was convenient to hold large numbers in facilities where they could be dealt with in a consistent and organized way, the numbers of those who entered far exceeded the numbers of those who left.  Overcrowding was a serious problem for most public.  The emphasis inevitably shifted from treatment and cure to containment, order and bureaucracy.  This succeeded in dividing lunatics from society, but did not address the root cause of the the problem – the analysis and cure of mental illness.  Those who might have been treated and restored to their families were lost in the sheer volume of inmates who required maintenance and management.  Wynter referred to this as “brick and mortar humanity.”

Plan for Caterham and Leavesden 1868, both serving the London area. Both were opened by the Metropolitan Asylums Board in 1870, and within five years demand far exceeded capacity, requiring new building works to accommodate the influx of new patients . Source: Wellcome Collection

There were only two practical solutions to overcrowding in asylums.  The first was to return non-violent patients to their families or to send them to workhouses.  The second was to expand existing asylum buildings and facilities and to build new asylums.  Although workhouses continued to take in lunatics and idiots, expansion and new building were the most frequently adopted solutions.  It is to this period that the first of the vast dedicated developments were built, with their own water and gas works, their own fire brigades, cemeteries and other urban-type facilities.  These were located in rural locations, where asylums could be conveniently separated from the rest of society, and where land was relatively cheap. The earliest examples of these vast enterprises were built to serve London and its environs, and include Colney Hatch in Middlesex (opened in 1849 for 1000 patients), Leavesden and Caterham (both opened in 1870 for 2000 patients each), Caterham, and Claybury County Asylum (opened in 1894, also for 2000 patients).

Claybury County Asylum, now converted into apartments. Source: Wikipedia

It was not until nine years later that the 1886 Idiots Act created specialist asylums for individuals with learning difficulties beyond the London area.  Important distinctions were made between lunatics on the one hand and harmless idiots and imbeciles (those with learning difficulties) on the other.  The intention was to take the opportunity to care for them and provide basic education and training so that idiots were treated neither as lunatics that needed to be confined nor as indigent vagrants.  Following this, the 1890 Lunacy Act the certification of alleged lunatics was moved to the jurisdiction magistrates as well as doctors.  It also made the provision of free mental healthcare available, but as the majority of the population could only access free psychiatric care if they were certified insane and agreed to be admitted to an asylum, the stigma of certification and the requirement for confinement were significant deterrents to people volunteering to receive the help they needed.  More than any previous law, the 1890 Act helped to prevent medical collusion to incarcerate patients wrongfully.  Whereas only medical certification had been required before, a civic official such as a magistrate or Justice of the Peace was now required to certify madness.  The Act also took measures to prevent the licensing of new asylums, aiming to inhibit the further licensing of private asylums, which it was hoped would lead to the eventual demise of the private asylum.

An inspection of the formerly progressive Hanwell in 1893 described depressing conditions, concluding that it would be surprising if any of the patients were to recover given the type of care they were receiving in fairly dismal surroundings.  Even more regrettably, the untested idea that mental illness could be passed from one generation to the next fed into the horrible theory of eugenics.   New surveys continued to be carried out, reports continued to be submitted and new laws continued to be introduced, modified and implemented, but it is a sad fact that neither medicine nor the government, via changes to the law, managed to provide convincing support for a growing section of society that was still not well-understood.
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After the Victorian period

Graphic to accompany the one-man play Shell Shock, performed at the National Army Museum to mark Mental Health Awareness Week in 2019. Source: National Army Museum

I have not ventured into post-Victorian approaches to mental health in this post, but it was very far from a story of continual improvement of care and cure.  There was still a very long way to go to even begin an understanding mental illness, and to standardize, in a scientific way, the treatment mental illness in psychiatric units. Sigmund Freud’s end-of-century theories of psychology were squabbled over for decades.  The First World War’s executions for “shell shock” as a judgement of cowardice remain deeply shaming.  In the inter-war years psychiatrists began to take a more experimental and interventionist approach to treating mental illness. Several new so-called “heroic” physical therapies were introduced, based on the belief that mental illness had a physical basis in the nervous system or the brain. These included insulin coma, chemical shock, electro-convulsive shock therapies and, most radically interventionist, lobotomization.  Egas Maniz’s experiments with prefrontal lobotomy remain profoundly disturbing.

The abandoned Denbigh Lunatic Asylum. Photograph by Steve R. Bishop. Source: Everywhere from Where You are Not

It will come as no surprise to those who follow the news that there are still serious problems, not merely in official provision of mental health care, but in care homes for the elderly, including those recuperating and convalescing, and those who had been persuaded to hand over power of attorney.  There were dreadful examples of people being released from long-term incarceration in the 1950s and 60s who had been admitted for minor criminality and socially disruptive behaviour, and although they had become institutionalized were found to be completely sane.  The use of vast repositories for the mentally unwell was abandoned without, however, a clear strategy for handling those who still needed help.  This was followed by a policy of caring for the mentally unwell within the community, pushed through during the 1980s, which often failed to provide families and local care centres with sufficient resources to make this fully viable, placing great strain on families and support mechanisms.  The tyranny of some institutions was revealed in a number of scandals and was a theme explored in relatively modern times in the 1975  film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  Documentaries in care homes in recent times demonstrate how this problem still persists in some places.

Ancona House. Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services unit at the Countess of Chester Hospital, Chester

Today the madhouse or lunatic asylum has become a psychiatric hospital or a psychiatric unit in a general hospital for those with manageable symptoms, or a specialist secure facility for the violent and criminally insane.  In the Victorian period medical understanding and psychiatric ideas were only beginning to be proposed and tested, and this continued well into the Edwardian period and beyond, with medicine and the law both playing  important parts in how mental illness and suicide were understood, diagnosed and treated.  The research remains ongoing.  There is still no viable solution, or set of solutions, to the problem of coping with mental illnesses. The subject of how to care for those suffering from mental illness is far from resolved.
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Final Comments on parts 1.1 and part 1.2

William Tuke’s “The Retreat” in around 1796. Source: Wikipedia

In spite of being divided into two parts to make it easier to digest, this quick and dirty summary of the state of mental healthcare in the 18th and 19th centuries inevitably smooths out some of the kinks in that often convoluted story, over-simplifying some of the many subtleties.  This account represents a very short summary of a very complex topic.

From the late 18th century mental illness represented a growing issue for a society that was developing a broad social conscience. In spite of many reforms to poor laws and a number of new Acts of Parliament to govern asylums, governments were slow to respond to either public pressure or their own specially commissioned reports, and stories of unlawful detainment in some places and frightful conditions in others failed to produce change that was both meaningful and timely.  The role of workhouses in the handling of the mentally ill continued to be important, with patients shared between workhouses, workhouse infirmaries and asylums, in spite of legislation designed to make the responsibilities of each much more transparent, which is an area that needs to be much better understood.  It was only towards the end of the 19th century that those with learning difficulties, termed imbeciles and idiots, were seriously treated in the law as a separate problem requiring different types of care.  The topic of children in lunatic asylums is not much discussed, but records show that at least some were admitted, as they were to workhouses.

John Conolly, looking rather self-satisfied. Source: Wikipedia

Sometimes those who were supposed to represent the pinnacle of care and reform are described with a rose-tinted filter.  For example, Edward Long Fox and his sons, running one of the most expensive private asylums in the country, were accused in the writings of patient John Perceval, son of the murdered prime minister Spencer Perceval, of incarcerating their more troublesome patients in truly dreadful conditions where they were subjected to beatings, threats, manacles, strait-vests, freezing water baths and other punishments and indignities.  The alienist John Conolly, a national figurehead of ethical and human approaches, was found guilty in court of taking money for signing legally binding certificates that retained patients in private asylums to which he was employed as a paid consultant.  One of these patients was found, by jury to be sane and the investigation highlighted the risk of consultants being paid by asylums for certifying patients.  He also often took credit in public for introducing non-restraint in England, in fact an innovation of Robert Gardiner Hill at Lincoln, and at Hanwell asylum had a very low cure rate.  Another example is Lord Ashley, later Lord Shaftesbury, generally and fairly acknowledged as an important voice for mental healthcare reform but sometimes remarkably intransigent. He often blocked or delayed changes that would have made important differences that would have lead to improved quality of life and greater transparency and justice in the asylum system.  This was a particular problem given that Ashley had been elected the lifetime head of the Commission for Lunacy, a position that he did indeed hold until his death in 1885.

By the end of the century the dream of personalized care of the mentally ill by engaging them in social activities within attractive contexts was largely abandoned.  The “moral treatment” approach had depended not only on sufficient numbers of attendants to manage patients with kindness and empathy, but those who had a genuine interest in caring and treating.  The 1870 Annual Report of the Lunacy Commission recorded that 122 attendants had been dismissed in 1869 for manhandling patients roughly or violently, and it is not at all surprising that as new patients were admitted in increasing numbers, the sheer volume proved difficult to manage:

The number of people certified as ‘insane’ soared.  The asylum created demand for its own services.  Less and less people ever left, and more and more arrived.  In 1806 the average asylum housed 115 patients.  By 1900 the average was over 1,000.  Earlier optimism that people could be cured disappeared.  The asylum became simply a place of confinement. [Disability in Time and Place, Historic England, Simon Jarrett]

Leavesden Hospital in Abbots Langley, Herts., opened 1870. Source: Leavesden Hospital

Governments as well a local organizations began to invest in creating larger institutional solutions for paupers whose symptoms indicated the sort of social deviance and/or danger to self that could not be countenanced without intervention.  However. the recognition of mental illness and the acceptance that it should be handled by the state caused its own problems as more people were incarcerated and management of mental illness became, like contemporary prisons, more of an issue of how to maintain order than how to provide cures.  Unlike most prison sentences, there was no release date for mental patients, who could be held indefinitely and sometimes were.  An indication of how urban areas in Britain were overwhelmed by demand was the new Metropolitan District Asylum built between 1868 and 1870 as Leavesden Hospital in Hertfordshire, which was designed to house 1500 patients, after which it continued to expand to cope with the ever growing need to provide care for the mentally ill.  Like other asylums of this period, it is more like a small town than a hospital.  Sadly, many asylums once again became associated with confinement and bureaucracy rather than attempts at cure and rehabilitation.

The perception of mentally ill people changed over the course of the Victorian and Edwardian periods as psychiatry developed as a specialist branch of medicine, swinging between biological, congenital and neurological explanations on the one hand and emotional-psychological explanations on the other. The degree of subjectivity lead inevitably to disagreement and contradictory opinions, with very little indication of how to choose between the variety of different ideas held in different asylums.  The legacy of 19th century mental health medicine, law and care seems to be one of a continued struggle to fully comprehend the complexities of mental illness or to devise suitable ways of treating them sustainably.  As Mike Jay says in his book This Way Madness Lies, “While the asylum as an institution is now largely consigned to the past, many of the questions it struggled so hard to address still persist.”===

Click here for the references for this post

 

Full 1-hour documentary about the situation within mental asylums at the time of the closure of many of them

Out of Sight, Out of Mind – The Leavesden Asylum Story
Leavesden Hospital History Association

 

Cheshire Lunatic Asylum: The development of lunatic asylums – Part 1.1

The 1829 Building, built as Cheshire’s first lunatic asylum

 

Beginning with nine voluntary institutions, the asylum movement rolled across the 19th century English landscape like an avalanche gathering pace. The ‘mentally unsound’ were moved in ever greater numbers from their communities to these institutions.  From 1808, parliament authorised publicly funded asylums for ‘pauper lunatics’, and 20 were built. From 1845 it became compulsory for counties to build asylums, and a Lunacy Commission was set up to monitor them. By the end of the century there were as many as 120 new asylums in England and Wales, housing more than 100,000 people.

Historic England:  The Growth of the Asylum – a Parallel World

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Introduction

As part of my ongoing series looking at Overleigh Cemetery, I asked Christine Kemp of the Friends of Overleigh Cemetery about the suicides she knew of in Overleigh Old and New Cemeteries.  In the 19th century suicide was more often than not deemed to be the result of temporary insanity.  Looking into how suicide was handled in the 19th century lead me to the discovery, probably very familiar to most Chester residents, that there had been a “lunatic asylum” where the enormous site of the Countess of Chester Hospital is now located at Upton.

The rear of the 1829 Building today

The Cheshire Lunatic Asylum was a public institution established to house pauper lunatics as well as a limited number of paying private patients in 1829.  The asylum opened on a 10 acre site in 1829 to accommodate 45 women and 45 men, reflecting the fairly even numbers of both at asylums in the 19th century.  It grew throughout the 19th century and eventually occupied a significant area of over more than 55 acres.

The exterior of the earliest building remains in situ, and has the appearance of an elegant and stately Georgian-style building with a small Classical portico, looking very much more like a the remnant of a country estate than the intimidating prison-type establishment that I had been expecting.  An elegant façade was typical of 19th century asylums.  Today the asylum building is still an active part of the Countess of Chester Hospital, officially named “The 1829 Building” (Grade 2 listed), housing a number of departments including Adult Mental Health, Physical Health and Brain Injury Services, as well as the GP Blood Test DepartmentWhen I was sent to the Blood Test department last year it was some consolation that I was being jabbed in the arm in a place of significant history.

The chapel (Grade 2 listed) was built in 1856 to serve the lunatic asylum, and still on the site although used for a different purpose

Most of the other buildings associated with the asylum have now been demolished, but nearby are the asylum’s 1856 chapel (Grade 2 listed) and the fenced-off and boarded-up remains of what I believe was “the villa,” the 1912 building for treating epilepsy (which had been treated as a mental illness up until the early 20th century). The recently restored water tower also remains.

Although it would have been great to jump into the story of the Chester Lunatic Asylum without delay, the background information was absolutely necessary to make any sense of that story.  In part 1, I have tried to do provide a sufficiently detailed background to give a sense of how the Chester Lunatic Asylum fits into the full history of mental health care in the 19th century.  In part 1 (split into part 1.1 and part 1.2 to make it easier to manage, but both posted on the same day) I look at the background history of what were known as lunatic asylums in the 18th and 19th centuries, with some additional brief comments on how this overlapped with workhouses.  Sources and references for all parts can be found hereA version of parts 1.1 and 1.2,without images, can be downloaded as a single PDF here (27 pages of A4)

In part 2 (also split into two parts) I discuss the Chester asylum itself, built in 1829, the name of which changed many times over the period of its use as an establishment for treating mental illness. Part 2 has been written and will be posted as soon as I have added in the images, probably next week.

Many thanks to historian Mike Royden for sharing his knowledge about the Tudor and Victorian Poor Laws and workhouses.  You can find out more about Mike’s research on his History Pages website.
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18th and 19th century terminology and its limitations

From at least the 17th century the terms “madhouse” and “lunatic asylum” were terms employed to indicate a place that confined the mentally ill.  These institutions were differentiated from hospitals that dealt with more conventional medical problems where attempts were made to treat rather than confine patients.  The term “asylum” was originally used to refer to places of refuge, retreat and sanctuary, but up until the late-18th century the lunatic asylums were generally custodial in character, often keeping inmates in very poor conditions, and were usually referred to as mad-houses. By the 19th century an asylum was generally an establishment that made claims to treat as well as confine inmates.

Terms such as “mad” and “lunatic,” as well as “idiot” and “imbecile” are now considered to be pejorative, as well as imprecise, and are no longer used in medical, psychiatric, sociological, legal or political contexts today.  In the Victorian and Edwardian periods, however, these were the standard terms used for those who suffered from some form of mental illness that incapacitated them emotionally or cognitively, temporarily or permanently, along a continuum from violent or otherwise harmful behaviour to mere learning difficulties.  The term “insanity” was also in common usage, but has not been entirely excluded from modern usage.  All terms are used throughout this post, reflecting the usage of the 18th and 19th centuries.

Insanity in the 18th and 19th centuries could include a vast array of conditions including delusions, paranoia, self-harm, hysteria, mood-swings, visions, speaking in tongues, irrational violence against others, senility, alcoholism, epileptic fits, dementia, mania, depression and suicidal behaviour. Even eccentricity, such as spiritualism or unconventional social behaviour, was sometimes interpreted as incipient lunacy and could lead to illicit confinement.

The earliest owners and overseers of mad-houses were known as “mad-doctors,” a term from which 19th century asylum owners attempted to distance themselves.  The later specialists in mental illness who claimed (and in some cases did) focus on treatment and cure, who were the predecessors of today’s psychologists and psychiatrists, were known as “alienists.”   The term derives from the idea of mental alienation.

When the only practical solution to lunacy was incarceration, it should have been a priority to establish a set of universal definitions for the unmanageable symptoms of lunacy, but without a centralized approach to this problem, none were forthcoming.  This lack of agreement about what did and did not constitute madness is exemplified by the case of Mrs Catherine Cumming who was abducted from her home and taken to York House Asylum near Battersea in London.  After a period of incarceration and a long legal battle, she was declared sane by a jury, and released.  When Thomas Wilmot, who had signed her lunacy certificate, was asked what he thought lunacy was, he replied that he had never seen a reasonable definition. One of the most notable features of the Cumming case was the number of medical experts called as witnesses, nineteen of them, including such notable names as John Conolly, Sir Alexander Morison and Dr Edward Monro.  As Sarah Wise summarized:

After the Cumming case, it was once again noted by most commentators how unsatisfactory it was that nineteen eminent medical men could give widely differing opinions of what constituted soundness of mind, tailoring their learning according to what ‘side’ in the dispute had hired them. One alienist had claimed that Mrs Cumming was a monomaniac, another that she was an imbecile, and yet another that she was perfectly sane. . . How safe was anyone when the experts had such divergent views of insanity? [Inconvenient People, p.177]

Individual conditions now required names so that patients could be labelled, statistics logged and cases discussed.  For example, research by Hill and Laughurne, based on 1870s records from St Lawrence’s Asylum in Bodmin (Cornwall), identified the most common conditions suffered by those admitted at the asylum.  Although the main reasons for admission were recorded as mania, dementia, melancholia, moral insanity and the combination of manic behaviour and dementia, it is not at all clear what these terms represent.  Hill and Laughurn tentatively apply the following attempts to suggest modern equivalents:  mania probably representing overactive episodes; dementia, which appeared to  include loss of cognition, memory loss, intellectual deficit, schizophrenia and losses of concentration; melancholia, which seems to have mainly indicated underactive episodes relating to depression; moral insanity (unspecified) and the combination of manic behaviour and dementia, which possibly describes bipolar disorder.

Similarly, a table from the 1855 report for the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum, for both males (M) and females (F), shown below, records that the overarching symptoms in that year were mania, melancholia, dementia and amentia (defined as idiocy and imbecility), and these were further sub-categorized by the presence of epilepsy, general paralysis (also known as general paresis), and suicidal propensity.

The “Committee of Visitors and Superintendent of the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum Report” of 1855, showing Reasons for Admission. Wellcome Collection

Unfortunately, the terms for mental illnesses are not used consistently from one institution to another, meaning that mapping them on to modern conditions can be very difficult.  The term dementia, for example, covered a variety of symptoms relating to mental illness at St Lawrence’s and Chester, but has become rather more precisely defined today.  Epilepsy was subsumed into the general category of mental illness until the later 19th and early 20th century when special epilepsy treatment centres were introduced, intended to be more domestic and less institutional.  Suicidal behaviour, with the multiplicity of potential causes and symptoms, even now sits in a somewhat liminal area between mental illness and the ability to make coherent decisions, blurring boundaries.

Admissions, Discharges (Cured and Relieved) and Deaths for Cheshire County Asylum, 1860. Source: Wellcome Collection

Another of the many challenges to understanding how lunatics were assessed was that there were no criteria for how a successful cure could be identified.  In York the Tuke’s compassionate asylum The Retreat, it was assumed that anyone who had been released was cured if they were not readmitted, but not only could this represent wishful thinking without additional data, but it sidestepped the task of creating behavioural or other measures that might be used in asylums to determine whether or not someone ought to be released or detained.  Like other asylums, the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum annual records show that each year a number of patients were released from the asylum, but it is impossible to know what this actually means, as there are no recorded criteria for determining whether or not a patient had been cured or, for example, sent home because they were not necessarily cured but were not dangerous to themselves or others (usually referred to as “relieved” rather than cured). The failure to define criteria to measure the success of treatment and recovery was a serious problem once patients were certified insane and committed to an asylum, because there was no universal agreement about how recovery could or should be recognized.  As well as being imprecise, the lack of clear definitions and criteria was potentially an invitation to corrupt or merely sceptical asylum owners to hold patients indefinitely.

For more on these and other terms see Historic England’s Glossary of Disability History.
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Practical problems associated with early mental illness

Engraving by T. Bowles 1735. “In a lunatic asylum, and in the company of a variety of other deranged individuals, a half-naked Ramble Gripe, his wrists chained, is restrained by orderlies.” Wellcome Collection Reference 38347i

Depending on its severity many forms of mental illness, and conditions like epilepsy that were interpreted as occasional bouts of madness, could be intensely distressing for the families and friends concerned.  Not only were the symptoms apparently incomprehensible and might seem  to be completely random, but they contravened social norms and conventions in a society that placed great value on normative behaviour.  It might be very difficult to manage the situation if symptoms were particularly acute, requiring physical intervention. Mental illness drew unwanted attention, could attract derision and social stigma, and might prevent family members from marrying due to fears of hereditary contamination.  Depictions of insanity in drama, literature, art, newspapers and magazines only inflated stigma and misunderstanding.  Unfortunately, until the 18th century there was very little official support for mental illness.  In rural locations families who could not keep a mentally or otherwise disabled family member at home could pay for their mentally ill relatives, including those with learning difficulties, to be cared by villagers or at local farms in need of income, sometimes providing indigent widows with a means of generating income. There was no official record of mentally ill people cared for at home.

Wealthy families could either hire an appropriate person to join the household to care for the afflicted individual, or send them to a private home or a privately run asylum where a frequently unqualified person would charge a fee to take the problem off a family’s hands.  Families with middle class and reliable working class incomes might depend on any home-based family members, usually female, to provide care, but less expensive privately run houses might again provide a solution. Private mad-houses only began to become prevalent from the 17th century, and operated as lucrative businesses, unlicensed, unregulated and without oversight, there were mad-houses priced for most pockets.  They were often owned or managed by individuals with no qualifications and run without any medically qualified person in attendance.  Even when operated by physicians or surgeons, these titles covered a multitude of sins and might mean anything from someone who was genuinely attempting to treat ailments to a quack doctor who was little better than a profiteering snake-oil salesman.

At the main gates to Bethlem at Moorgate were two sculptures, which just about say it all: “Melancholia” and “Raving Madness” (in chains) in 1689 by Caius Gabriel Cibber. Source: Wellcome Institute via Wikipedia

For pauper families, a lunatic family member was an even greater burden.  Lunatics whose families could not support them were forced to resort to begging.  These were amongst the most isolated and vulnerable people in society. The pauper insane were undifferentiated from other paupers, including vagrants, tramps, beggars.  Many found themselves in workhouses, and workhouses continued to have a role housing those will mental illnesses well into the 19th century.  Other less fortunate pauper lunatics would be incarcerated in prisons, particularly when violent.

The first charitable mad-house was the 1247 Priory of Our Lady of Bethlehem in London, which had taken in the insane from the early 15th century as a monastic duty.  For most of its life it was a small institution, with a capacity of few more than 40 individuals, but by the mid 19th century it was suffering from overcrowding.  Following the Great Fire of London in 1666 the largest public asylum investment in dealing with lunacy was the 17th century was in the new Bethlehem (also known as Bethlem and Bedlam), which opened in Moorfields on the edge of London in 1676 for 120 patients, with additional extensions added as it reached capacity.  Conditions were notoriously dire until the early 19th century.

Outside London care was organized under local parishes in a highly decentralized way, and these would sometimes provide accommodation for those who, through no fault of their own, were unable to support themselves.  Charitable asylums began to appear throughout England in the early 18th century, first in Norwich and London, then in Newcastle and Manchester by the middle of the century and, towards the end of the 18th century, others in York, Leicester, Liverpool and Hereford.
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Perceptions of lunacy in society in fiction and theatre

Gustave Doré illustration of Don Quixote in 1863. Source: Wikipedia

Accounts of madness appear in both Old and New Testaments, where they often provided a moral allegorical aspect to  religious narratives.  As literacy and theatre became increasingly popular, insanity became a major literary device in drama and poetry from the Elizabethan period.  This helped to spread an idea of insanity that was something both alien and dark, but at the same time eerily recognizable in the real world, creating both curiosity and fear.  The dramatization of madness appealed to the same sense of  fascination, aversion and suspense that horror and science fiction genres generate today.

Many playwrights used madness to add dramatic emphasis to a number of their plays including Christopher Marlowe’s Dr Faustus (first performed c.1594), Thomas Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy (first performed 1587), Shakespeare’s Hamlet (first performed c.1601), King Lear (c.1606), and Macbeth (first performed c.1611),  Webster’s Duchess of Malfi (first performed 1614) and John Fletcher’s The Pilgrim (first performed 1621).  The novel Don Quixote (c.1605) by Miguel Cervantes, which depicted outright insanity as the main subject matter, was first translated into English in 1612, with a more popular version in 1700.   In the 18th century Tobias Smollett also translated Cervantes but also offered his own treatment of madness in Sir Launcelot Greaves (1760). Samuel Richardson explored his own versions of female madness in Clarissa (1748) and Sir Charles Grandison (1753).  In the late 18th and early 19th century George Crabbe’s poetry makes frequent reference to madness, and his poem Sir Eustace Grey (published in his collection of 1807), set in a “mad-house” and framed as a conversation between a patient, a doctor and a physician, examines the decline of a sane person into insanity. 

The more he felt misfortune’s blow;
Disgrace and grief he could not hide,
And poverty had laid him low:
Thus shame and sorrow working slow,
At length this humble spirit gave;
Madness on these began to grow,
And bound him to his fiends a slave.

Engravings of a series of William Hogarth’s The Rake’s Progress paintings, published in 1735, include this scene from a lunatic asylum, with wealthy female visitors looking on. Source: Wikipedia

Visual depictions are dominated by William Hogarth’s famous Rake’s Progress, which included a scene showing the Bethlem the asylum as a deranged and frenzied environment viewed by two wealthy ladies visiting the asylum to enjoy a spectacle of curiosity.  Although painted in the early 1730s it was engraved in 1755 after which it was widely distributed.  Satirical cartoonists, building on the work of Hogarth, became very popular in the 18th century, of whom James Gillray is by far the best known, although there were many others.  The satirical publication Punch shared many of these, and it was by no means unusual for them to depict politicians and other senior figures as madmen, some of them chained up in lunatic asylums, showing slapstick, scatological and often puerile visions of a flawed society.  As Cartoonist Martin Rowson says:

Bethlem Hospital, London: the incurables being inspected by a member of the medical staff, with the patients represented by political figures. By Thomas Rowlandson 1789. Source: Wellcome Collection Ref 536228i

Personally, I believe satire is a survival mechanism to stop us all going mad at the horror and injustice of it all by inducing us to laugh instead of weep. . .  That’s why, if we can, we laugh at both those things, as well as being disgusted and terrified by them. Beneath the veil of humour, there’s always a deep, disturbing darkness. [The Guardian, March 2015]

References to behaviour that seemed ill-suited to the rational world, particularly amongst politicians and the social elite, were easily ridiculed by reference to lunatic asylums, which played on the fears of society as well as on its inclination to deride the sane.

The Woman In White by Wilkie Collins, first serialized in 1859 before being published as a book. Source: Wilkie Collins Information Pages

Madness was a recurring theme in 19th century literature and British Victorian fictional literature continued to offer insights into how society perceived lunacy.  Works include Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë (1847); The Woman in White (1859) and the short story Fatal Future (1874) both by Wilkie Collins; Charles Reade’s Hard Cash (1863); Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson (1886), and Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891), to name but a few.  Insanity also finds its way into many novels and stories by Charles Dickens including the short story A Madman’s Manuscript (1836, from The Pickwick Papers) and the novels Bleak House (early 1850s) and Great Expectations (1861).  

Madness was also featured in opera, particularly adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays, and those by Gaetano Donizetti who made particular use of madness as a device. Donizetti’s Anna Bolena of 1830, in which Anna (Anne Boleyn) goes mad in the Tower of London as she awaits execution, suffering delusions) was premiered in London 1831. Donizetti’s 1838 Lucia de Lammermoor, based on Sir Walter Scott’s 1819 novel The Bride of Lammermoor, in which the eponymous heroine goes mad when her brother forces her into a loveless marriage, was first performed in London in 1836, with a famous Eccola! mad scene.  Lucrezia Borgia, dates to 1833 and was premiered in London in 1839.  Other well known operas that feature insanity are Vincenzo Bellini’s I Puritani, in which the heroine goes mad when she is abandoned at the altar and in Wolgang Amadeus Mozart’s Idomeneo win which the vengeful Elettra, another woman unlucky in love, goes splendidly mad with grief and rage at the end of the opera.

The mad Bertha Mason as envisaged by F. H. Townsend for the second edition of Jane Eyre, published in 1847. Source: Wikipedia

The above-mentioned functional works by Charlotte Brontë, Wilkie Collins and Charles Reade dealt with wrongful detainment, either at home or in an asylum, bringing a new risk to public attention.  The impact of these fictional works were considerably exacerbated by real-life incidents of wrongful detainment.  Sarah Wise’s book Inconvenient People provides many examples of illicit incarceration and how these were handled.  An early 19th century example is the case of one Mrs Hawley.  It is worth quoting James Peller Malcolm’s 1808 account in Anecdotes of the Manners and Customs of London during the Eighteenth Century Including the Charities, Depravities, Dresses, and Amusements etc to give an example of how the sort of accounts that the public were reading:

Amongst the malpractices of the Century may be included the Private Mad-houses. At first view such receptacles appear useful, and in many respects preferable to Public; but the avarice of the keepers, who were under no other control than their own consciences, led them to assist in the most nefarious plans for confining sane persons, whose relations or guardians, impelled by the same motive, or private vengeance, sometimes forgot all the restraints of nature, and immured them in the horrors of a prison, under a charge of insanity.  Turlington kept a private Mad-house at Chelsea: to this place Mrs. Hawley was conveyed by her mother and husband, September 5, 1762, under pretense of their going on a party of pleasure to Turnham-Green. She was rescued from the coercion of this man by a writ of Habeas corpus, obtained by Mr. La Fortune, to whom the lady was denied by Turlington and Dr. Riddle; but the latter having been fortunate enough to see her at a window, her release was accomplished. It was fully proved upon examination, that no medicines were offered to Mrs. Hawley, and that she was perfectly sane.

This incident lead to a Select Committee investigation appointed by the House of Commons to investigate wrongful detention in private asylums, and lead to Madhouse Act of 1774 (on which more later), which recognized the problem and although it did not do nearly enough to tackle it, set a useful precedent for applying legal measures to madhouses.  Legislation throughout the 19th century attempted to prevent wrongful certification, but there were four highly publicized scandals on illegal incarceration in 1858 that fuelled public fear and even as late as 1890 laws were being introduced to prevent collusion between those attempting to admit sane patients and certain medical men incentivized to receive them.

Introduction to Nellie Bly’s account of her undercover work in an American asylum. Source: Internet Archive

The requirements for committing the poor in public asylums were less stringent.  This was not an elitist measure.  The wealthy were far more vulnerable to family manipulation for self-gain, and as Sarah Wise has demonstrated, men were just as vulnerable in this respect as women.  Pauper lunatics whose families had little financial incentive to incarcerate impoverished relatives, except to reduce the pressure on household costs.  On the other hand the wealthy were universally treated far more kindly than the poor.

In America, Nellie Bly’s late 19th century journalistic account of the ten days she spent on an undercover assignment, incarcerated in an American women’s asylum caused a public outcry similar to that attached to the repeated scandals at Bethlem, the York Lunatic Asylum scandals in 1790 and 1814 and the four highly publicized cases of 1858.  Bly’s experiences were published and widely distributed in book form in 1887.  Nellie Bly, the pen-name for Elizabeth Cochrane Seaman, was a correspondent on The New York World, and her articles and book served to raise awareness of the true horrors that still existed so late in the 19th century on both sides of the Atlantic.

All these different types of medium demonstrate that madness was a powerful artistic and dramatic device, eliciting feelings of both fascination and dread.
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Approaches to lunacy before 1830

The 1676 front page from “The Anatomy of Melancholy” by Robert Burton, first published in 1621. Source: Shakespeare Birthplace Trust

One of the earliest non-fiction books to be published on the subject of mental instability was Robert Burton’s (1577 – 1640) startling and difficult 1621 The Anatomy of Melancholy which ranges freely through all aspects of religion, the Classics and literature to discuss, in a somewhat tangled narrative, a variety of behaviours that he brings together under “melancholy” that he generally equates to madness:

That men are so misaffected, melancholy, mad, giddy-headed, hear the testimony of Solomon, Eccl.ii.12. “And I turned to behold wisdom, madness and folly,” &c. And ver.23: “All his days are sorrow, his travel grief, and his heart taketh no rest in the night.” So that take melancholy in what sense you will, properly or improperly, in disposition or habit, for pleasure or for pain, dotage, discontent, fear, sorrow, madness, for part, or all, truly, or metaphorically, ’tis all one. Laughter itself is madness according to Solomon, and as St. Paul hath it, “Worldly sorrow brings death.” “The hearts of the sons of men are evil, and madness is in their hearts while they live,” Eccl.ix.3. “Wise men themselves are no better.” Eccl.i.18.

This is one of many publications that demonstrate that there was no science-based medical understanding of madness before the later 19th century, partly because there was little understanding of human anatomy or neurology, and partly because of the existence of well-honed model of human biology.  In the late 11th century the published research of Arab scholars came to the west, where it had a colossal impact on how the world was understood and interpreted, offering new explanatory models that were not dependent on Christian conventions or traditional folklore, but were still woefully inaccurate.

The Four Humours and their characteristics. Source: National Library of Medicine

The dominant medical model from the medieval period, echoes of which lasted well into the 19th century, derived from Greek thinking was medical, based on Hippocrates and modifications of Hippocrates by Galen.  Forming the foundation of medieval ideas of biology and the treatment of ailments, these beliefs were based on the theory that humans were were made up of four basic elements called humours, which were characterized by specific properties that had to be kept in balance in order for health and well-being to be maintained. Failure to balance these humours was thought to result in illness and/or mental instability.  This was a powerful explanatory model that appeared to offer solutions but although it avoided some often unpleasant divine, magical and superstitions approaches, with which it lived side by side, it represented a complete lack of understanding of human biology and anatomy.  Various often painful and harmful techniques were employed in attempts to restore equilibrium to these imaginary humours. Some of the treatments were quite literally torturous, intended to draw out or counteract imbalances. Together with explanations citing demonic influence, the humours were an important part of medieval belief that leaked into the 18th and early 19th centuries.  Treatments included restraints long periods of isolation and so-called treatments including purging, bloodletting, food deprivation, hot and cold water immersion and beating to attempt to treat madness with physical measures, and presumably to enforce better behaviour.

The issue of whether or not madness could be treated to reduce or eliminate symptoms became a matter of considerable importance to the royal family and the government at the end of the 18th century.  Beginning in the 1780s, King George III (1738-1820) experienced phases of severe mental disturbance.  This brought with it an interest in research into symptoms of madness at state level.  The king’s medical team included Francis Willis, a former clergyman who owned an asylum in Lincolnshire.  Willis’s treatment of King George indicates that the treatments employed in both private and public asylums were genuinely believed to have a beneficial impact because the king was subjected to the same type of treatment practised to rebalance humours, and which Willis used in his own asylum, including ice baths, purging, enforced vomiting, burns, denial of food, and restraints.  King George appeared to improve after treatment, and Willis was well-rewarded, but the king’s condition worsened again in the early 18900s.  In 1810, perhaps because his illness was exacerbated by the death of his daughter Princess Amelia, he withdrew from official duties, although lived for another 10 years.

By far the most common solution for non-royal lunatics was some form of containment.  As Lucy Series puts it: “A key tenet of the law of institutions is that some people belong in ‘institutions’ (at least some of the time) and others do not.”  Those institutions were designed to separate the mad from their homes and communities “spatially, legally and socially.”  It was  from the late 17th century in London and the 18th century elsewhere in Britain that the problems associated with madness began to be approached by both private enterprise and, more slowly, charities.  Private asylums were unlicensed and unregulated, operating completely outside any legal framework, and as early as 1728 Daniel Defoe (writing under the pseudonym Andrew Moreton) referred to the “vile practice” of incarcerating family members for personal advantage.  Operated as commercial ventures, and often very profitable, they grew in great numbers.  The new 1676 public Bethlem hospital for 120 patients, was designed by Robert Hooke along impressively grandiose lines but it was poorly constructed and deteriorated rapidly, requiring extensive maintenance and repair.  It has become infamous for charging tourists a fee to view the mentally disturbed, a practice not stopped until 1770.  It treated the mentally ill as sub-human, barely better than chained animals, and conditions became notoriously dreadful, not tackled until a new reformist superintendent was installed in 1815.

Seven vignettes of people suffering from different types of mental illness. Lithograph by W. Spread and J. Reed, 1858. Source: Wellcome Collection, Ref. 20076i

As the 19th century proceeded, lunacy or madness was interpreted in different ways, both medical and philosophical, drawing together the brain, the body and the mind in new exploratory but untested directions.  In Britain, as well as elsewhere, physical examination of the skull (phrenology) and the face (physiognomy) were approaches that attempted to find the source of madness in visible physical details, but there was little attempt to develop a scientific understanding of madness or how to treat it.  Britain’s alienist German counterparts, were more closely affiliated with universities and adopted academic approaches, and developed new ideas towards mental illness in laboratory environments where hypotheses formed and tested.  It is in Germany that the term “psychiatry” was first coined in the early 19th century, and from where  many of the innovations in understanding mental illness started to emerge.  In the late 19th century Emil Kraepelin, Professor of Psychiatry at the University of Heidelberg, recognized and described the mental illness dementia praecox, later renamed schizophrenia.  This type of research began to influence some British researchers, some of whose own work was recorded in the Journal of Mental Science.  Linkages between pathological conditions (such as infectious disease), and mental conditions were only recognized in the later 19th century.  For example, the connection between the sexually transmitted infection syphilis and its late-phase symptoms (including mood swings, antisocial behaviour, delusions and seizures) was only recognized in the late 1880s.

There were no medicines available to treat the causes of mental illness.  The only medications available were for the treatment of symptoms, not causes.  Tranquilizers, a certain amount of pain relief and the treatments for fever were the only available forms of relief for patients.  For very violent patients the only measures were sedatives, restraints and isolation.
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The growth of the lunatic asylum 1751-1834

Sketch of the original plan of the Chester Union Workhouse. Source: Chester – A Virtual Stroll Around the Walls

The Old Poor Law (officially the Act for the Relief of the Poor) of 1601 had been instigated during the reign of Elizabeth I was modified but largely changed until the 1834.  It classified paupers as the able-bodied who were unable to find employment, the able-bodied who refused to find employment, and those who due to illness, old age, disability or other infirmities, including lunacy, were unfit for employment and needed relief.  In the 18th century the institutional mechanisms available for the mentally ill who had no family assistance were mainly hospitals, workhouses, almshouses, and prisons each set up to cater for different types of problem and accompanying symptoms.  Some parishes paid for lunatics to be housed in private house, where they could be confined, but public funding of lunatic confinement was unusual.

The problem of poverty and paupers is well represented by the multitude of poor laws that were introduced throughout the Tudor and Jacobean periods.  The church and charitable organizations might assist with payments and household supplies, and even housing for the poor, providing a accommodation and food in return for labour, but such resources were few and far between and did not apply to lunatics.  A much more familiar solution for the pauper insane became the workhouse, an early institution initially set up with the laudable intention of helping the poor on a parish by parish basis, partly funded by the “poor rate”, and which also took in the pauper insane.  Charitable public lunatic asylums, some raised by subscription, were introduced at the end of the 18th century, and became more important as workhouses became more penal in character, but workhouses were still acknowledged places of detention and safekeeping for the insane and the imbecile well into the 19th century.

The 1713 and 1744 Vagrancy Acts distinguished between lunatics and criminals, imposing much less severe treatment on the former, but providing for their detention.  In practice, this meant incarceration in a jail or Bridewell rather than a death sentence.  In 1723 the General Workhouse Act, intending to reduce the ongoing costs of maintenance of unemployed paupers, allowed parishes to erect a workhouse, and judge whether those who were out of work should be sent to the workhouse and to labour for their shelter and food.  They were built all over Britain in their 100s.  Paupers with learning difficulties or mental illnesses were regularly subsumed into the workhouse system due to the lack of any practical alternative. Although anyone could leave, at least in theory, the workhouse was not a place of rehabilitation, and was designed to be sufficiently ghastly to deter people from seeking state help.  Some workhouses had a wing for lunatics, but the conditions were very poor.  Whilst it probably did lead some to seek work, the system penalized those who were genuinely unable to work.

St Luke’s Hospital, Cripplegate, London: the facade from the east. Engraving after T. H. Shepherd. Source: Wellcome Collection, ref. 26120i

A new model of lunatic asylums is represented by St Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics, founded on Old Street in Cripplegate (London), which opened in 1751.  The neoclassical façade favoured by was emulated by several later institutions.  Its first head physician was Dr William Battie, who set himself up in opposition to the barbaric and punitive regime at Bethlem, and published his Treatise on Madness in 1758, describing his contrasting approach.  He distinguished between un-treatable congenital madness and that caused by a social environment, which might be treated.  He was unusual in preferring treatment to constraint, and although his methods were interventionist, his belief that mental illness was treatable and even curable was influential.  He ran a school at the hospital in the hope that this would disperse his teachings and approaches.  Although he took in pauper lunatics, Battie ran the hospital as a profitable commercial venture.

The 1774 Act for Regulating Private Madhouses (and sometimes referred to as the Lunacy Act or the Madhouse Act ) was an early attempt to regulate and manage private madhouses. Public asylums were not regulated by this Act. One of its achievements was the appointment of five Commissioners who were Fellows of the Royal College of Physicians who would inspect private asylums, and although these were only in the London area it was a step towards certification and licencing.  Another important measure was designed to ensure that anyone committed required two referrals by qualified doctors to ensure that individuals were not wrongfully confined by their families.

In 1782 The Act for the Relief and Employment of the Poor (also known as Gilbert’s Act) allowed parishes to form themselves into groups for the purpose of building workhouses exclusively for those unable to work. No able-bodied people were to be admitted.  Although this was not a successful measure, being entirely optional with a poor take-up, it did acknowledge a real need for providing for the physically and mentally infirm.

As William Battie had demonstrated, real change lay as much in philosophical, ideological and humanitarian ideas as medical and legal ones.  The Quaker movement had a strong influence on this idealized way of treating mental illness, and this grew partly out of the death of Quaker Hannah Mills in 1790, less then a month after being admitted to the York Lunatic Asylum (opened 1777), suffering from melancholy.  She was one of some 300 inmates who died there in the 37 years between 1777 and 1814.  Her case came to the attention of the Quaker and wholesale tea trader William Tuke (1732-1822).  Horrified by the facts of the matter, decided to raise funds to build an asylum in which members of the Quaker community suffering from mental health problems could be treated in a new and civilized way.  The result was his own asylum called The Retreat, which opened in 1792. His approach, referred to as the “moral” treatment, was altogether more compassionate and empathetic, based on the belief that a positive physical and emotional environment and good food were key to mental recovery.   A nurturing and therapeutic approach to care was adopted.  Instead of being treated as sub-human or bestial, those who entered the asylum were encouraged to lead lives emulating social norms.  Restraint was only used when strictly necessary, and although patients were confined within an institution, the Retreat attempted to reproduced ordinary home living and encouraged socializing amongst patients to help patients to recover. William Tuke’s son also worked at the asylum, and his grandson Samuel Tuke (1784-1847), published a description of The Retreat in 1813, describing the philosophy and activities of the asylum.  This publication helped to inform other mental illness reformers.

Depiction of “The Retreat,” established by William Tuke in 1792, by George Isaac Sidebottom, a patient at the retreat in the late 19th century. Source: Wellcome Collection RET/2/1/7/5

Following the 1808 County Asylum’s Act known as “Wynn’s Act” after Charles Williams-Wynn, the politician who did much to promote it, Justices of the Peace were given the authority to build county asylums, and to raise finance to do so.  This was optional, not compulsory, and local councils were under no obligation to build asylums. Although some new asylums were subsequently built to enable paupers with mental illnesses to be removed from workhouses and placed in appropriate establishments these were slow to arrive.  Many who suffered with mental illnesses or learning difficulties continued to be taken into workhouses and prisons.  The treatment of the poor continued to be a story of failure to respond to a serious need, whilst the rich were still regularly deposited in private institutions of very variable quality.

York Lunatic Asylum. Source: Wikipedia

In the meantime, the York Lunatic Asylum, first under physician Alexander Hunter, and after his death in 1809 under his assistant Dr Charles Best, continued to take a custodial, punitive and disgustingly neglectful approach to its patients, a fact that Tuke and other York philanthropists attempted to address, partly by reporting cases to the media and partly by infiltrating the board of governors and using this to demand access to the asylum to inspect patient care, finding that although wealthy patients were usually well treated, pauper lunatics were kept in dreadful conditions.  Godfrey Higgins, one of a number of social agitators in York at the time, who had taken a particular interest in the treatment of the insane, used his influence to demand an inspection in March 1814.  When he found locked doors he insisted that they be opened, threatening to break them down himself.  Inside one room he found female patients in what he referred to as “a number of secret cells in a state of filth, horrible beyond description . . . the most miserable objects I ever beheld.”  In another part of the asylum he found “more than 100 poor creatures shut up together, unattended and unsuspected by anyone”.  The case went to court, and a new committee was appointed in 1814, but problems continued to be reported.

Bethlehem (Bethlem) Hospital by William Henry Toms for William Maitland’s History of London, published 1739. Source: Wikipedia

The dire conditions at Bethlem in Moorfields continued to be a disgrace to London.   Even though a decision had been made to replace the Moorfields building with a new one, south of the Thames at Southwark, matters might have gone on as before if not for Edward Wakefield, a Quaker, like the Tukes, an advocate of lunacy reform whose mother had been confined in an asylum.  He had visited the Moorfields site in 1814 and reported on the inhuman conditions that he witnessed there.  Wakefield’s insights were an important part of the Select Committee investigation of 1815, which reported on the appalling conditions that Wakefield had found.

A sample of Wakefield’s contribution to the 305-page report is as follows, which is by no means the most distressing: In the early 1800s it was determined that the Bethlem Lunatic Asylum building in London was no longer fit for purpose, and it was demolished, replaced by a new building in Southwark (which today houses the Imperial War Museum).

American sailor James (sometimes called William) Norris as found in Bethlem in 1815, where he had been detailed for over a decade. Source: Wikipedia

We first proceeded to visit the women’s galleries: one of the side rooms contained about ten patients, each chained by one arm or leg to the wall; the chain allowing them merely to stand up by the bench or form fixed to the wall, or to sit down on it. The nakedness of each patient was covered by a blanket-gown only; the blanket-gown is a blanket formed something like a dressing-gown, with nothing to fasten it with in front; this constitutes the whole covering; the feet even were naked. One female in this side room, thus chained, was an object remarkably striking; She mentioned her maiden and married names, and stated that she had !been a teacher of languages; the keepers described her as a very accomplished lady, mistress of many languages, and corroborated her account of herself. The Committee can hardly imagine a human being in a more degraded and brutalizing situation than that in which I found this female, who held a coherent conversation with us, and was of course fully sensible of the mental and bodily condition of those wretched
beings, who, equally without clothing, were closely chained to the same wall with herself
. . . .
In the men’s wing in the side room, six patients were chained close to the wall, five handcuffed; and one locked to the wall by the right arm as well as by the right leg; he was very noisy; all were naked, except as to the blanket-gown or a small rug on the shoulders, and without shoes; one complained much of the coldness of his feet; one of us felt them, they were very cold. The patients in this room, except the noisy one, and the poor lad with cold feet, who was lucid when we saw him, were dreadful idiots ; their nakedness and their mode of confinement, gave this room the complete appearance of a dog-kennel.
[First report from the Committee on the State of Madhouses, 1815, p.46]

 

The new Bethlem of 1815. Source: BBC Culture

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Wakefield himself was appointed as the new superintendent of the new Bethlem in Southwark and he introduced similar values as those employed by the Tukes at The Retreat.  The new Bethlem opened in 1815 with a wing for the criminally insane, the same year as the Select Committee report on the condition of lunatic asylums.
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Excerpt from Committee Appointed to Consider of Provision Being Made for the Better Regulation of Madhouses in England, Parliament, House of Commons 1815-16. First report from the Committee on the State of Madhouses. London.  Source: Wellcome Collection

The 1815 First report from the Committee on the State of Madhouses of the House of Commons Select Committees highlighted the lack of oversight of lunatics, and the dismal conditions in which patients that pertained in far too many asylums, workhouses and other institutions where lunatics and imbeciles were confined.

The report’s findings are elegantly phrased, but make it abundantly clear that asylums, amongst them some of the most successful institutions of the day violated basic human rights.  The conditions for paupers and even those of better social standing who lacked visitors to make complaints were frequently filthy places of restraint, beatings and both physical and mental cruelty, with overcrowding, freezing cold conditions, lack of sufficient attendants, and poor admission procedures.  Some of the accounts make for really harrowing reading.  The most truly depressing aspect of the report is that although the committee had made heartfelt recommendations for improvements, matters remained largely unchanged because these did not pass into law.

A page from Mitford’s “Crimes and Horrors in the Interior of Warburton’s Private Mad-House at Hoxton.” Source: Internet Archive

Unsurprisingly, matters had not much improved seven years later in 1822 when John Mitford published his eye-opening A Description of the Crimes and Horrors in the Interior of Warburton’s Private Madhouse at Hoxton.  Mitford’s assessment of Mr Warburton, unqualified and cruel, concludes that “[on] a careful exposure of this diabolical establishment, I doubt not all will agree with me in opinion, that these ‘lawless houses under the law’ should be done away with entirely, as a disgrace to human nature. The angel of death moves through them with secret and murderous strides.”  As with Edward Wakefield’s earlier expose of Bethlem in 1815, it is a truly shocking read.

It took another decade before another Select Committee was appointed in 1827, partly due to a scandal concerning conditions and illegal incarceration at Warburton’s Mad-house in Hoxton, and partly due to campaigning by both social reformers M.P. Lord Anthony Ashley (as from 1851 Lord Shaftesbury), and Dorset magistrate Robert Gordon.  This time the Committee’s reports were taken into account and two new acts were passed in 1828. The Act to Regulate the Care and Treatment of Insane Persons in England (also known as The Madhouse Act) appointed a new Commission in Lunacy to improve centralized control over asylums, not merely in London but throughout England and Wales in an attempt to provide consistent oversight.  The Act attempted to tighten up the certification required before a person, either private or pauper, could be admitted to a lunatic asylum, and the Commission was given much greater powers to act in respect of private asylums.  The admission of pauper lunatics now required certification by a Justice of the Peace as well as a physician.  The County Lunatic Asylums (England) Act again encouraged counties to build asylums from ratepayer contributions, and also required that county asylums should send detailed reports on an annual basis to the Home Office.  The Act was updated in 1832, again to attempt to improve the certification process and prevent illegal detainment, making false or inaccurate certification a misdemeanour.

Following the 1808 and 1828 Acts, several new county asylums had been built.  Early examples were Nottingham, Bedford, Norfolk, Staffordshire, Cornwall, Gloucester and Suffolk all before 1830.  It is at this point, to slot it into its chronological context, that the new Cheshire Lunatic Asylum was built, in 1829.

Please click here to go to Part 1.2, the second part of this background to the Cheshire Lunatic Asylum.  The Cheshire Lunatic Asylum itself is discussed in Part 2.
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The Tukes’ Retreat, a private asylum delivering “moral treatment” in York, which opened in 1792. Source: Wikipedia

 

Chester Lunatic Asylum 1831, a public asylum established for paupers, and a few private patients, which opened in 1829. Source: Wellcome Institute Library

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Day Trip: The elegant Augustinian Haughmond Abbey near Shrewsbury

Interpretation board at Haughmond Abbey.  The “You Are Here” text at far right (the south end of the site) marks the location of the interpretation board. The church remains only as a few courses of stone at far left (north) but leaves a clear footprint of its layout.

One of the fascinating ruined monastic buildings that I visited during my October 2024 trip to Shropshire, was the sprawling Haughmond Abbey, just a few miles northeast of Shrewsbury, and very easy to reach.  The Romanesque survivors at the site are particularly delightful, giving the site a charm and subtle glamour that is largely missing from most of the somewhat repetitive gothic establishments that followed.

Haughmond was the first Augustinian monastery that I have visited, and it is unusual in being so large for an Augustinian establishment.  The followers of St Augustine of Hippo, also known as Austins or Black Canons, followed a rather different set of guidelines from those of the Benedictines, Cluniacs and Cistercians and others who followed the Rule of St Benedict, of which more below.  Most Augustinian monasteries were priories, but Haughmond was raised from a priory to an abbey in the mid-12th century, one of only 9 in England to do so, and its ground plan is extensive.  Its design borrows extensively from its St Benedict-inspired predecessors, but there are notable differences too.

The visible remains of Haughmond relate to the buildings founded as an Augustinian abbey in the 1130s, dedicated to St John the Evangelist.  Some documentary evidence is supplied by what remains of its cartularies (collection of charters) assembled between 1478-1487 as well as records of leasing agreements from the 14th to the 16th century, both of which provide information about its economic activities from the 12 century onward.  Further information was provided by excavations. The first of these were carried out by William St John Hope and Harold Brakspear in 1907, and were interestingly financed mainly by public subscription, reflecting local interest in the site.  Part of this was clearance of debris but they found the remains of the 11th century church and  revealed many of the remains of the early church and priory.  When the Ministry of Works in 1933  took over the site they too undertook clearance works and further excavations, at the south end of the site, took place in 1958 . In the 1970s, Jeffrey West and Nicholas Palmer concentrated on the various phases of the abbey church and and surveyed the abbey’s surviving walls.  In 2002 a survey by English Heritage not only found the location of the original gatehouse but located the abbey precinct’s boundaries and many of the features that lay within those boundaries, including important aspects of the drainage system.
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The Augustinians

The earliest known representation of St Augustine from the 6th Century in the Lateran, Rome. Source: Wikipedia

The Augustinian order, like the traditional medieval monasticism that subscribed to the ideas of 6th century St Benedict, looked to an earlier time and an earlier authority on which to base their own approach to monastic living.  St Augustine (354–430) was born in Roman North Africa in 345. Before a visit to Milan he had been closely associated with the Manichean religion before meeting Christian intellectuals in Milan.  On his return to North Africa his own inclination as a Christian was to embrace the monastic life, but he was persuaded to take orders as an ordained priest, partly because Christianity was a minority religion in the area at that time, and although he accepted this role, he also received permission from the bishop of Hippo (now Annaba in Algeria) to create a community of Christian men and women who renounced wealth in favour of a communal life of religious service.  He later became the bishop of Hippo himself.

Augustine’s guidelines were not written down as a single set of rules like those of St Benedict, but were assembled from a letter to his sister a nun, which offered thoughts on how a monastic establishment should be run.  These had no influence on the development of monastic life until the 11th century and it is not known whether the rule itself was rediscovered or whether Augustine’s ideas were simply adopted from his other extensive writings to create a rule carrying the saint’s authority, applicable not only to monasteries but other religious communities, including hospitals.  

The Augustinian monastic organization was founded in the 11th century, with papal approval.  Its monks were popularly known as the Black Canons, canons being members of a monastic community of priests.  Unlike those monastic orders based on the Rule of St Benedict, the Augustinians, or Austins, were ordained priests and were able to leave their monastery to work in the community to carry out pastoral work. The foundation of hospitals was also an integral part of many of the Augustinian establishments.

The central ideas of the rule by the 12th century were that canons should emulate the apostles, abandoning their possessions, leading a celibate, contemplative life that included prayer, in which personal poverty, self-discipline, mutual responsibility and charitable generosity were more important than austerity and seclusion. Augustinian canons could spend time in the community and conduct services in churches.  The maximum number of canons permitted in a single establishment was 24, and at the time of the Dissolution there was half this number at Haughmond.  No two establishments necessarily operated in the same way, although many of the monasteries shared the basic Benedictine layout of the main buildings gathered around cloisters.  Many were very small, usually holding the status of priory, but Haughmond was promoted to an abbey early in its history.  It was unusually large, and was gathered around two cloisters, as well as an infirmary, now lost.
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Entering the site today – orienting yourself

Haughmond Site Plan. Source: Iain Ferris 2010 (see sources at end)

The site is entered from the south where the Abbot’s Hall, private rooms and reredorter (latrine block) are located (at the bottom of the plan at left).  In the medieval period all visitors would only have entered at the opposite end of the site, to the north, where the remains of the church and its two transepts are to be found.  The monastic complex is an integrated whole, incorporating both domestic and religious functions in a single unit, although it grew up over time, advancing from north to south, beginning with the church, in the opposite direction from which you enter.  Repairs and reinventions mean that there are many layers to understand within the abbey complex.

Sandwiched between the Abbot’s Hall at the south end of the monastery and the church at the north end are two cloisters (square arrangements of buildings, each around a central green area).  The two cloisters are separated by the frater (refectory) that makes up the north wall of the southern cloister and the south wall of the northern one.

The official guidebook has a recommended circular route either straight ahead from the entrance, via the Abbot’s Hall, or via the reredorter (latrine block) to the right.  It does help to have a site plan to walk with, either in the guide book or printed out, particularly given that even with experience of previous monasteries, it’s a complex site with some features only surviving to the height of a few courses of stone.
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The development of Haughmond Abbey

A splendid reconstruction of Haughmond Abbey by Josep Casals for English Heritage / Historic England. Source: English Heritage. My annotations based on the plan shown in the Haughmond Abbey guidebook. North is to the left, where the church is located. Click to enlarge

Like most high-status buildings, Haughmond changed considerably over time.  It began in the 11th century as an isolated community. The reasons for the location have not been recorded but the English Heritage survey of the site suggests the following:

[T]he comparative remoteness of the area on the woodland fringe, the shelter provided by the slope and the ready availability of building stone are all valid explanations. However, these conditions apply widely along the foot of Haughmond Hill and so it was probably the occurrence of a number of springs along this particular section of the escarpment which was the determining factor. The need for a reliable water supply for drinking, washing and carrying away waste hardly needs stating but there is also the possibility that the first community chose to settle here because the springs already had an established spiritual significance. (Pearson et al 2003)

Small entrance to Haughmond Abbey from the south, now the entrance for visitors.  The main gateway was at the north.

One of the important achievements of the combined excavations was to establish that an earlier abbey had preceded the 12th century Augustinian priory.  The remains of a  small cruciform stone church were found beneath the south transept and the northeast cloister and it is suggested that it may have been built by an eremetical community, either in the late Saxon or early Norman period. A small cemetery of 24 graves that was found immediately to the west of that church included child burials, suggesting that it was serving the community at large, not merely the monastery.

The monastery was later re-established by the FitzAlan family under William FitzAlan I in the 1130s as a priory using the Rule St Augustine to guide its activities.  This included rebuilding of the church and cloister that provided the Augustinian priory an integral part of its later identity.  It was so richly endowed that it was soon given abbey status.  The FitzAlan family continued to be patrons of the abbey and were buried at the site until the mid-14th century.  They eventually transferred their loyalties to another establishment when the Lestrange family took over as primary patrons, their endowments allowing further expansion.  During the 13th and 14th centuries further elaborations were made, and in the early 16th century it underwent remodeling, just in time for the Dissolution in 1535.

Information panel at Haughmond showing the daily liturgy followed by the Black Canons. Click to enlarge

As a wealthy abbey, Haughmond was not amongst the first to be closed down, and lasted until 1539, at which time the remaining community members were pensioned off.  After it had been plundered for its treasures for Henry VIII’s coffers the abbot’s quarters were converted to a country home for Sir Edward Littleton, with some of the other buildings remaining in use.  It continued to be a home until the Civil War when a fire put an end to its residential use. It was eventually handed over to the Office of Works in 1933.  The 2002 survey by English Heritage established the extent of the abbey precinct and identified its water management systems, neither of which had been fully understood before.  The excavations found numerous objects, Romanesque architectural stonework, human remains, animal bones, pottery and metalwork all dating to the abbey’s occupation.
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The Abbey Layout

The preservation of the buildings is very variable, with the abbot’s residence and hall and chapter house being the main and very impressive survivors.  The inner wall of the west range survives, and there are some fascinating architectural details dotted around, but most of the site is represented by low courses of stone that reach only a few feet high.  This does not undermine the visit, because these lower courses preserve the layout of a complex site, which offers a great many insights into life at Haughmond.

The monastic precinct

Plan of the abbey in the 2002 survey. Source: Pearson et al survey report 2003, English Heritage (see Sources at end).

The site is large, but only represents the core buildings.  The monastic precinct was much bigger.  Access to the monastic precinct would have been via the main gatehouse.  The remains of this was found in the 2002 survey, to the west of the church.  The boundaries of the monastic precinct were not found in 1907, but were revealed by the 2002 English Heritage survey.  This provided a good idea of the full extent of the site, making it easier to visualize it beyond its current footprint, and at the same time offered an entirely new interpretation of the site’s drainage management, always an important aspect of monastic establishments which, as well as requiring fresh water, had waste management and other drainage requirements.

The church

Haughmond Abbey Church interpretation panel. The sacred east end with the presbytery/chancel is on the left, with the nave to the west on the right, and a dividing screen between them. Click to enlarge.

Although there is nothing left to give an idea of how the interior would have looked, the very lowest courses of the church retain its footprint, and excavations have provided some more information, derived from the masonry of the site.  The church had the usual cruciform plan of a long nave, short chancel,  two side transepts, 60m (200ft) long in total, with a short tower over the crossing.   Visitors would have entered into the nave of the church via the north porch, penetrating no further than the church nave.  The nave was divided from the sacred east end of the church by a stone screen.  The cloister and the rest of the monastic establishment would have been completely out of bounds for ordinary visitors.  The canons would enter from the cloister side.  Interestingly, the site is terraced beneath the line of the church, meaning that the altar would have been physically higher than the transepts, involving a great many steps to reach the high altar, which would have been higher than the nave, emphasizing the hierarchy of the church from sacred east to secular west.  The transepts would have contained chapels where the ordained priests could say masses to the dead.  There were also altars, other than the main altar, to St Andrew and St Anne.  An aisle was added to the north side of the nave, the pier bases of which were found during the 1907 excavations.

Looking down the terraced profile of what remains of the church

The main cloister

The processional doorway

The church makes up the north side of the cloister, offering it some protection from the elements and allowing in the sun, which helped to light both the church and the cloister buildings.  The main cloister was rectangular and the other three sides were made up of three ranges of buildings with a green, the garth, at its centre. Nothing remains of the walkway that would have connected these four ranges of buildings.

Connecting the cloister or the nave was the processional doorway, a magnificent 12th century feature through which the monks could carry reliquaries, saint images and portable shrines on days of particular religious significance.  Like the chapter house, it has elaborate patterning on the out of the recessed arches and is flanked by two statues representing St Peter (left) and St Paul (right).

The facade of the Chapter House

The most important building in the east range, which is partly made up by the north transept of the church, is the chapter house, where the daily business of the monastery was discussed. Its  lovely facade includes the entrance flanked by two windows, all with receding layers of arching featuring decorative patterns, and featuring eight statues showing saints between the slender columns.  Although the arches belong to the 12th century, the statues were added in the 14th.  Some are in rather better condition than others, but include St Augustine, a female saint who perhaps represents St Winifred of Shrewsbury Abbey, St Thomas Becket, St Catherine of Alexandria, St John the Evangelist, St John the Baptist, and St Margaret of Antioch.  The building underwent further changes at the beginning of the 16th century, probably including the addition of a wooden ceiling.  The tombstones and the font were probably moved here from the church after the monastery went out of use.

Interpretation board discussing the chapter house saints

 

Interior of the chapter house

Detail of one of the interpretation panels

The remains of the west range.

Opposite the chapter house is what remains of the western range.  The inner wall survives, with two tall arched recesses, which  probably contained a laver, a basin that the monks used for washing before eating.  Further along at the northern end adjacent to the processional doorway an entrance lead into the western range, with decorated capitals at the top of the columns.  The outer walls have been lost.  The western range was used differently from one establishment to another, and it is not known how this example was used.

Gateway into the western cloister, showing multiple levels of structural change

The southern range was made up of the refectory (dining hall) with an undercroft (storage area) below.  The floor of the dining hall is long gone, but some decorative features remain in the walls, and it once had a great window over a central pointed arch.  The undercroft opened out into the monastic precinct via an arched entrance and and two flanking windows.  The remains of the pillars that supported the refectory wall remain, together with a drain running towards the north.  The full length of the refectory was 30ft 6ins (c.9m) wide by c.81ft (c.25m) long.

The refectory undercroft with pillars and drain

Interpretation panel showing the refectory and its undercroft

Behind the chapter house and overlapping with half of the dormitory is what is known as the Longnor’s Garden, now an empty space with a wall behind it, established in the mid-15th century for Abbot Longor.  As well as a dovecote it was presumably used to grow herbs, for both cooking and medicinal use.

The little cloister

Kitchen ovens

A narrow gap at the east end of the refectory allowed access from the main cloister into the little cloister.  A low line of stone marks the line of the former walkway that surrounded the little cloister. This contained another four ranges, the northernmost of which was made up by the refectory.  The entrance to the refectory was probably originally from the main cloister, but once the little cloister was established, the entrance was on this side, which makes sense as the early 14th century western range consists of a surprisingly large kitchen area with two giant ovens and chimneys.  The 1332 document by Abbot Longnor that permitted this survives, stating that the prior and monastic community “may have from henceforth a new kitchen assigned for the frater, which we will cause to be built with all speed ; in which they may cause to be prepared by their special cook such food as pertains to the kitchen of that which shall be served to them, every day, by the canons and ministers appointed to that end by them by leave of the abbot.”

The kitchen and refectory, side by side. To the left of the refectory wall, and in front of the ovens is the line of little cloister’s walkway.

Opposite the kitchens were the two-storey dormitory and its undercroft, set at an angle to the little cloister and terminating at the south side with an entrance into the reredorter (latrine block), which was set at an angle to the dormitory. The undercroft survives, but the upper levels that made up the dormitory are now lost. The building is 125 ft long by 27 ft wide, with a row of columns along the centre, dividing it into eleven bays.  The remaining stonework preserves indications of doorways, windows and fireplaces.  In the mid-15th century the north end of the dormitory was divided off to provide private space for the quarter’s of the abbot’s second in command, the prior.

View part-way along the dormitory, looking towards the chapter house

The drain of the reredorter

At the southern end of the little cloister were the abbot’s apartments, consisting of a hall and private rooms.  The remains of an earlier and much smaller set of13th century apartments survives at the east, but was replaced by the much more ambitious, decorated 14th century buildings that partly survive today.  The main feature of the hall is an enormous pointed window, with fragments of stone tracery remaining, set over twin pointed arches, and flanked by two small towers.  Three sets of windows, with tracery, let light in on either side, and again provide the rooms with gothic flair. The Abbot’s private rooms feature a distinctive 5-sided oriel window with distinctive decorative elements.

The abbot’s private rooms on the right, and his hall to the left

The abbot’s hall

The fireplace in the abbot’s hall

 

Interpretation panel for the abbot’s hall

The oriel window in the abbot’s private rooms

Some of the decorative features in the abbot’s private rooms

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Records mention an infirmary at Haughmond, as well as a library.  The library would usually be closely associated with the chapter house, but there is no sign of one today.  In early 20th century plans the infirmary is marked where the abbot’s hall is now located, and the infirmary has not actually been located.  The consensus is that the local topography means that it could not have been to the east of the site.  Two fishponds were not far away, and others were associated with mills.
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Economic activities

View of the western side of the monastery from the outside

Although patrons were important for establishing monastic establishments and continuing to support them, many of the endowments took the form of land, and the success of a monastery was largely dependent on how well that land and other assets were managed.  There were two main models for making an income from these assets – either by the owners working it themselves or by leasing it out.  In the case of Haughmond the assets included considerable amounts of farmed land, as well as fulling (wool processing) and corn mills.  Although lying within a royal forest, the abbey was given limited permission to assart land (clear woodland and shrubs for farming), and also acquired newly assarted lands in the area.  It owned land under cultivation but also established cattle farming on higher ground.  Lands were not only in Shropshire but from the late 12th century it also owned land in Cheshire, Worcestershire, Wales, Sussex and Norfolk.  Fishing rights were also important, and the abbey had its own fishponds, as well as fishing rights both nearby and from the river Dee at Chester, the latter doubtlessly annoying the Benedictine monks of St Werburgh’s in Chester.  It also received income from six churches that had been passed to its control, including Hanmer in Flintshire, the only one outside Shropshire; it had properties in Shrewsbury that it rented out; and was granted the rights to and a one half salt-pan in Nantwich.

Many small bequests were made to secure prayers, to assist the infirmary and to provide for the poor who came to the monastery gate for alms.  The monastery also sold corrodies, which were substantial gifts made to the monastery in return for food and housing, a form of pension. On the other hand, corrodies were also provided to loyal servants, in which case they represented an outlay rather than an income.

Farming land just beyond Haughmond Abbey

It is thought that between the 13th and early 14th centuries the abbey restructured in order to consolidate the dispersed properties to make them easier to manage, something that happened at a lot of other monastic establishments that found themselves in this situation, causing real management difficulties.  By selling some lands and acquiring others in more suitable locations, consolidation made management much easier and less costly.  At least some of the land was leased out, but other lands were worked directly,  However the surviving records are insufficient to allow a clear view of how well the abbey managed its assets, how all of its lands were used and what sort of activity provided the most income.

In spite of the recorded assets, in the early 16th century the abbey clearly experienced difficulties, both in the management of its estates and in the internal discipline of the monastery itself.  This is put down to poor management by two of its abbots.  Under its final abbot, Thomas Corveser, it began to recover and it was still sufficiently wealthy to avoid immediate closure in 1535, surviving another four years, and the surviving personnel were provided with generous pensions.
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Final Comments

This is a very quiet site, and because it feels so peaceful and retains some lovely features of its 12th century Romanesque origins, has a particular charm to it.  I particularly like that some of the domestic buildings that rarely survive at other sites, including the vast hearths in the former kitchen, and the reredorters connected to the dormitory, can be clearly made out.  I was expecting the Augustinian arrangement to have significant differences from Benedictine prototypes, but there was nothing much on the ground to differentiate them.  The decorative features certainly mark them out as less austere than, for example, the Cistercians, but otherwise the architectural concept of a monastery in the medieval period is impressively uniform.
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Visiting

Haughmond Abbey is an English Heritage site.  It was open free of charge when I was there in October 2024, but its opening times and ticket prices may vary with the season.  See details on the English Heritage website here.  The postcode for those of you with SatNav is SY4 4RW.  The guide book, published in 2000, claims that the little building on the left as you enter is a museum, but this was very firmly closed when I visited. Perhaps it is open during the summer, or it may have shut down for good by now.  Please let me know if you find out!

There are interpretation boards throughout the site, which help to explain it.  The helpful guide booklet by Iain Ferris is available from online retailers, but may also be available from English Heritage sites with gift shops in the area.  It combines Haughmond, Lilleshall and Moreton Corbet Castle in the same 24-page booklet, with 14 pages dedicated to Haughmond and the Augustinians, 8 pages to Lilleshall and 2 to Moreton Corbet Castle.  It includes the ever-essential site layouts of Haughmond and Lilleshall.  There are also very useful details about the history of the site on the English Heritage’s Haughmond Abbey History page here.  If you are interested in following a trail of some of the Shropshire abbeys including Haughmond, Mike Salter’s booklet “A Shropshire Abbeys Trail” is a good place to start, available to purchase online.

Other sites in the area, a selection of which would help to make up a good day out include Wroxeter Roman City (about which I have posted here), the Cluniac Order’s Wenlock Priory at Much Wenlock (posted about here), another Augustinian abbey at Lilleshall, Moreton Corbet Castle, and of course the town of Shrewsbury itself, with its lovely architecture, terrific abbey church (within the outskirts of the town) and the excellent Shrewsbury Museum and Art Gallery. with its modern displays connecting different periods of the history of both town and area.

The abbot’s hall, with the remains of its predecessor in the foreground

 

Sources

Books and Papers

Angold, M.J. Angold, George C. Baugh, Marjorie M. Chibnall, D.C. Cox, D.T.W. Price, Margaret Tomlinson, B.S. Trinder 1973.  Houses of Augustinian canons: Abbey of Haughmond, in (eds.) A.T. Gaydon, and R.B. Pugh.  A History of the County of Shropshire: Volume 2. London.
British History Online: https://www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/salop/vol2/pp62-70 

Burton, Janet 1994. Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain. Cambridge University Press

Chadwick, Peter 1986. Augustine. A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press

Levitan, Bruce 1989.  Ancient Monuments Laboratory Report 118/89. Vertebrate Remains from Haughmond Abbey, Shropshire. English Heritage
https://historicengland.org.uk/research/results/reports/3917/VERTEBRATEREMAINSFROMHAUGHMONDABBEYSHROPSHIRE

Pearson, Trevor, Stuart Ainsworth and Graham Brown 2003.  Haughmond Abbey, Shropshire: Survey Report Archaeological Investigation Report Series AI/10/2003. English Heritage
https://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archiveDS/archiveDownload?t=arch-1893-1/dissemination/pdf/englishh2-349481_1.pdf

Salter, Mike 2009.  A Shropshire Abbeys Trail. Folly Publications

St John Hope, William H. and Harold Brakspear 1909. Haughmond Abbey, Shropshire Archaeological Journal, 66 (1909), p.281–310
https://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archiveDS/archiveDownload?t=arch-1132-1/dissemination/pdf/066/066_281_310.pdf

White, Carolinne 2008. The Rule of St Benedict. Penguin

Ferris, Iain 2000. Haughmond Abbey, Lilleshall Abbey, Moreton Corbet Castle. English Heritage

West, Jeffrey J. and Nicholas Palmer 2014. Haughmond Abbey. Excavation of a 12th-century cloister in its historical and landscape context. English Heritage


Websites

ArchaeoDeath
Identities in Stone: Haughmond Abbey’s Saints and Spolia. By Prof. Howard M. R. Williams,
October 17th 2016
https://howardwilliamsblog.wordpress.com/2016/10/17/identities-in-stone-haughmond-abbeys-saints-and-spolia/

English Heritage
Haughmond Abbey
https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/haughmond-abbey/
History of Haughmond Abbey
https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/haughmond-abbey/history/
Medieval Women and Haughmond Abbey
https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/haughmond-abbey/history/women-at-haughmond/

Historic England
Haughmond Abbey: an Augustinian monastery on the site of an earlier religious foundation, a post-Dissolution residence and garden remains
https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1021364?section=official-list-entry

 

Day Trip: The Iron Bridge and the Ironbridge Gorge World Heritage Site

Introduction

The Iron Bridge is the star attraction of the Ironbridge area, the focal point of the UNESCO World Heritage Site (awarded in 1986), and managed since 1991 by the Severn Gorge Countryside Trust, which includes 52 sites, 60 historic structures, 230 hectares of woodland, 25 acres of wild flower meadow, 26kms of paths and 8 kms of bridleways.  This includes at least twelve museums and managed sites, some of which are open all year round, others only seasonally.  This makes the Ironbridge Gorge a splendid place for an extended visit as well as for day trips to selected destinations.

It can be easy to come away with a fragmented view of Ironbridge Gorge whilst driving between the bridge and the different museums and villages.  Once known collectively as Coalbrookdale, the immediate valley area is now divided into Ironbridge, Jackfield, Coalport and Coalbrookdale with outlying attractions in the surrounding area.  However, all areas are united by the underlying geology that was revealed by glacial action and became the source of raw materials for manufacturing in the area, both of ironworks that produced industrial scale projects like the bridge itself as well as decorative objects for home and office; and clay-based household objects such as tiles, and finer decorative china.

The first engineer and entrepreneur to exploit the full potential of the Ironbridge area’s geology for industry was Abraham Darby I who had a small furnace in the area and who in 1709 successfully experimented with carbonized coal, called coke, as fuel instead of charcoal that depended on less volumes of mature woodlands and required much less labour.  Abraham Darby I’s formula for iron was a ratio of 600kg coke to 600kg of ironstone and 250g limestone, all of which were available locally, and produced 250kg iron.  Efficiencies in the iron manufacturing industry were further improved with refinement of coke production and the introduction of steam-powered engines later in the 18th century.
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From the leaflet “Exploring Ironbridge Gorge” showing the key components of the visitor attractions today

The other essential geographical feature was the river Severn, which flows through the Ironbridge Gorge.  The gorge was itself formed by the pressure from a glacier, that sat over much of Shropshire, on the underlying trapped water.  This water, with nowhere else to go,  forced itself out from under the glacier through the soft limestone of what are now named Benthall Edge and Lincoln Hill, forming the steep-sided channel that the river occupies today.  In the 18th and 19th centuries the water from the Severn provided both power, first to water wheels and then steam engines, as well as cooling for many of the machines and as part of many of the industrial processes.  It was also a major transport link between the Ironbridge area, the Bristol Channel and the rest of the world.  Looking at the river today in its wildlife and heritage setting, it is difficult to imagine how much pollution there must have been both in the air and in the water, produced by the furnaces, forges and kilns, as well as the chemical waste.

Source: The Iron Trail, Ironbridge Gorge (leaflet), Severn Gorge Countryside Trust

The Iron Bridge

The building of a cast-iron bridge was proposed by Thomas Farnolls Pritchard 1723-1777), who also designed the prototype.  Up until the building of the bridge, which opened in 1781, most of the traffic across the river was by ferry; the nearest bridge was the medieval Buildwas bridge next to Buildwas abbey, 3.8km upstream from the site of the new Iron Bridge. The connection between the north and south sides of the river was essential, allowing the movement of raw materials, people and supplies.  The bridge was an obvious solution to the problem of a river that was vulnerable to changing levels and seasonal weather extremes such as low levels, floods and high winds.

Thomas Farnollis Pritchard by C. Blackberd c.1765

Thomas Farnolls Pritchard specialized in the restoration of prestigious houses. Although he had built bridges in wood and stone, none had been as ambitious as his Ironbridge proposal, and this was the first attempt to use cast iron to span a gap this wide. the idea was to use a single arch to span the widest section of the river, avoiding piers that would impede navigation.  He sent his proposal for a cast iron bridge to John “Iron-Mad” Wilkinson, an obvious sponsor for this type of innovative project.  Wilkinson in turn discussed the matter with Abraham Darby III, who instantly saw the potential for the bridge not merely as a means of spanning the river, but of marketing his company and the benefits of the Ironbridge area as a whole, at that time known collectively as Coalbrookdale.  A committee was formed to take the project forward.

The only known image of the bridge under construction, by Elias Martin (1739-1818) painted in the summer of 1779

An Act of Parliament was granted in 1776, and shares were soon issued to raise funds. Work began in 1777.  The iron for the bridge was cast by Darby at his works, but there is no record as to which of his three furnace sites was responsible.  It is probable that the work was shared out to all three, spreading the load to ensure that existing and new commercial contracts continued to be delivered.  It is known that wooden scaffolding was employed in the construction of the iron bridge, but the exact process of construction is unrecorded.  The painted inscription on the ironwork that spans the top of the bridge reads “This bridge was cast at Coalbrook-Dale and erected in the year MXDCCLXXIX [1779].”  Ribs were cast in two pieces and joined in the middle.  Observation of the bridge’s construction shows that it was assembled using both metalwork techniques and joinery techniques such as mortise and tenon joints and dovetailing.  The ironwork was flanked by and set into stone abutments.

Once the basic frame was built, spanning 100ft 6ins (c.31m)  the scaffolding was removed in 1779 and a road was constructed over the top and a small toll-house added on the southern side.  The bridge eventually opened in 1781, on New Year’s Day.  Although it was built closely in the spirit of Pritchard’s original plan, several changes were made.  Pritchard did not live to see the bridge completed but his family were duly paid for his contribution.

The bridge had cost a massive £6000, twice the estimate.  Darby had taken on the bulk of this financial burden.  Although he was quick to use the marketing potential of the bridge deploying it as an advertising emblem, and visitors came from all over the world to see it, neither this nor the tolls for use of the bridge were able to make up the substantial shortfall.  Darby was unable to make up his losses and the bridge left him in debt for the rest of his life, with both business and properties mortgaged.

Unlike Buildwas and other Severn bridges, the Iron Bridge  survived the Great Flood of 1795, unlike the medieval stone Buildwas Bridge, proving the durability of a cast iron bridge.  Thomas Telford had repaired the Buildwas bridge in 1779 but during 1795 it was damaged beyond repair and, taking Ironbridge as his model, Telford replaced it with his own iron bridge.

Over the following century repairs were carried out as required, but during the early 20th century its stability was questioned and its demolition was suggested in 1926.  Fortunately, it was decided to save the bridge and was limited to pedestrian use from 1934, and was listed as a National Monument.  In 1950 it passed into the hands of Shropshire County Council.  Substantial restoration work has been carried out since 1972 to stabilize and reinforce the bridge.  It is now in the care of English Heritage.

A footpath runs under the bridge on the Ironbridge village side, allowing a good view of some of the metalwork.

The small town of Ironbridge began to develop in the later 18th century.  Today Ironbridge village is small but attractive, with a row of shops, cafes and pubs lining the road that runs along Severn between Ironbridge and Coalbrookdale, with houses, a massive church and other community buildings climbing the hill above the river in Ironbridge.  I can recommend the ice cream 🙂

The Museums

I have already posted about the glorious Jackfield Tile Museum here, with lots of photos, but there are at least total of twelve museums and related visitor attractions in the Ironbridge area, and I will post about the other four museums that I visited on future posts.  I would have visited the Broseley Pipeworks and the Tar Tunnel, but neither were open, so I plan to visit those when they re-open.  The Darby Houses were also closed.  Nor did I visit Enginuity, which appears to be geared towards children, but actually looks like a lot of fun, if you are child-friendly, with plenty of interactive activities demonstrating engineering principals.  Blist’s Hill Victorian Town just wasn’t my cup of tea, but the recreation of everyday life in 1900 Shropshire sounds like a good initiative.

From the “Ironbridge Valley of Invention” leaflet, 2024

==

A have talked about the Jackfield Tile Museum in detail on a previous post.  Don’t miss it.  In the world of museums, this is a rock star.

Part of the Coalbrook China Museum

The Coalport China Museum to the east of of Ironbridge and Jackfield consists of two areas of interest – the displays of decorated china ware made in the local area, and the surviving furnaces in which many of them were made, which you can enter and walk around.  Although the china is worth seeing, partly because it demonstrates the many shapes, textures and patterns that were produced, I found the splendid industrial heritage of this site the most evocative and engaging part of the experience, bringing the sheer vast materiality of these enterprises to life.  This part of the Severn valley would have been full of these furnaces.  There is good car parking.  Ticket prices are on the Ironbridge website, and don’t forget to ask for an English Heritage discount if you  are a member.

The Toll House, free of charge, is set just to the south of the Ironbridge near to the car park, is now a museum of the bridge, telling it story.  This is mainly a matter of information boards rather than objects on display, but is very informative.  It also serves as a ticket office for those wishing to buy family tickets and day passes (although you can also buy tickets on an ad hoc basis when you visit individual museums).

To the east, easily reached by walking along the wide pathway that follows the Severn, is the Museum of the Gorge, also free of charge.  There is a small car park next to it.  The exterior of the building is fabulous, and there are some great internal features, and there are information boards about the history of the building and the conservation work, as well as a selection of reproductions of historic maps of Shropshire.

The Old Furnace at the Iron Museum

Up the hill is the splendid Coalbrookdale Museum of Iron.  The museum captures the essence of the area’s iron production output, from geology and early history via the bridge itself, including some excellent original images of the Ironbridge, via civil engineering equipment to a surprising and elaborate array of domestic items.  On the museum site is also the substantial and impressive remains of the the Old Furnace, some of which has been turned into an indoor feature.  Like the China Museum, this is a splendid mix of museum displays and well preserved and explained industrial archaeology.

Not shown on the above map is the Bedlam furnace, half way between Jackfield and Iron bridge on the north side of the river, which can be viewed from the laybay in front of it and is well worth visiting, partly because although there is little of it left, it was the subject of Philip de Loutherberg’s famous 1801 painting.

“Coalbrookdale by Night” by Philippe Jacques de Loutherbourg, 1801. Open coke hearths give off vivid flames and smoke. Archetypal image of the Industrial Revolution. From a colour transparency in the Science Museum Photographic Archive, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 Licence.

 

Visiting

Wherever you are, keep an eye open for leaflets, as some of these have some very helpful information, including chronological charts, maps and self-guided trails to some of the features that are beyond the museums.

The bridge

The bridge is open to visitors all year round, assuming that no restoration or repair work is taking place.  The opening times for the toll house, which acts as a museum for the bridge, can be found on the Ironbridge Gorge website.  Extensive pay and display parking for Ironbridge is available on the south side of the river, which allows you to choose how long you are going to stay.  This is handy if you just want to spend a short time looking at the bridge and browsing in the village but also allows you to stay longer if you want to walk along to to Coalbrookdale to visit the Museum of the Gorge museum and up the shallow hill to visit Enginuity and the Coalbrookdale Museum of Iron.

The museums

The Iron musuem

All the Ironbridge Gorge museums are covered on one website – Ironbrige Valley of Invention.   This inexplicably has very few images of what’s on display, and suffers from Russian doll syndrome, with pages buried within pages, but the information on days when the museums are open and closed (changes seasonally) and the opening times are there if you look for them.  Some of the museums are closed completely at certain times of the year (such as the Tar Tunnel and the Broseley Tobacco Pipe Works).

Note that if you are a member of English Heritage there is a discount on ticket prices, but you will need to ask for it.

Other sites to visit in the area

This is a rich area for destinations to visit, including five medieval abbeys a relatively short drive away, a number of National Trust properties and only a little further afield, Shrewsbury makes for a rewarding day out with the abbey church, the excellent Shrewsbury Museum and Art Gallery and the attractive medieval and Georgian architecture.  Not far away is the RAF Museum at Cosford, just outside Telford (my post about it is here), and whilst there, the Church of St Bartholemew at Tong with its lovely medieval choir, its elaborate tombs and the remarkable Tudor chapel and is crammed full of interest and just a 10 minute drive away.

St Bartholemew’s Church, Tong

 

Sources:

Books, booklets and papers

2019 edition (no author or reference number).  Exploring Ironbridge Gorge (booklet). The Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust Ltd.

Jones, C. 1989. Coal, Gas and Electricity. In (ed.) Pope, R. Atlas of British Social and Economic History Since c.1700. Routledge

Mathias, P. 2001 (second edition). The First Industrial Nation. The Economic History of Britain 1700-1914. Routledge.

Mokyr, Joel 1981 (2nd edition). Technological change 1700-1830.   In (eds.) Roderick Floud and Deidre McCloskey, The Economic History of Britain since 1700.  Volume 1: 1700-1860. Cambridge University Press

Osborne, R. 2013. Iron, Steam and Money. The Making of the Industrial Revolution. The Bodley Head.

Leaflets

Undated leaflet (no reference number). The Ironbridge and Town. The Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust Ltd.

Undated leaflet (no reference number). The Iron Trail, Ironbridge Gorge. Severn Gorge Countryside Trust

2024 leaflet (no reference number). Ironbridge Valley of Invention. The Ironbrige Gorge Museum Trust Ltd.

Websites

Ironbridge Valley of Invention
Official website
https://www.ironbridge.org.uk/

UNESCO pages for Ironbridge Gorge
UNESCO World Convention
https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/371/

 

Objects from my Garden #12: Maker’s mark on a piece of flow blue ware by S.W. Dean, Burslem

Both sides of the broken sherd

For anyone new to this occasional series on objects extracted from my garden during everyday gardening activities, see the History in Garden Finds page.  These are not objects used in the garden, but objects, usually fragments, lost or disposed of in the garden and found during digging, troweling and planting.

This maker’s mark, crossing all three sherds, was a happy find for me, because although we have dug up tons of broken china from the garden (which is in Churton, a few miles south of Chester), all of it interesting in its own way, few of the manufacturers can be identified.  This piece, with a company trademark on one side and part of the pattern on the other, contains the name both of the manufacturer and the design.

Re-assembled, the original sherd is 9cm long and 3.5cm wide.  The potter’s mark is split over three broken pieces.  The clean breaks and pure what fabric that divided the sherd into three means that it was broken when one of us found it whilst gardening, with spade or pick-axe, straight through the middle.  Fitting the three pieces together to form a single piece leaves the much grubbier original break around the former edges.  The spidery cracks in the glaze, called crazing, have also allowed the garden earth to seep into the fabric.

Flip it over, and there are parts of the floral pattern on the reverse, a deliberately blurred design referred to as “flow blue,” about which more below.  Interestingly, the other images I have seen of this particular design, “Forget Me Not,” are not in flow, but are very clearly delineated, as shown in the example further below, where the design is in green.

What are we looking at in the manufacturer’s mark?  Starting at the top is a crown sitting over the top of a Staffordshire Knot.  This knot is a traditional symbol of Staffordshire and the town of Stafford, first used by the Stafford family in the 15th century.  The words within the circle read “England’s S.W. Dean Burslem,” which encircle a seated greyhound, part of the company’s trademark, and damaged with dark scratches in this piece.  In the banner (or swag) below this, and illegible here, this clearly reads on other examples “Royal Semi China” and beneath that is the design name “FORGET-ME-NOT” and the manufacturer’s registration number:  RºNº350600.  This mark is much clearer in the example shown below, which shows the same design applied using a different technique.

Green version of the S.W. Dean Forget-Me-Not pattern and trademark. Photos by Letsgoexplorin64 Source: Etsy.

S.W. Dean of the Newport Pottery, Burslem, in Staffordshire was the manufacturer.  Samuel Webster Dean had been the chairman of ceramics manufacturer in Edge, Malkin & Co., which started life as Cork and Edge in Burslem, making teapots and operated from 1846 to 60) before going through various changes in partnership.  When it closed in 1906, Dean declared an interest, and eventually took over the company in 1909, renaming it S.W. Dean. The greyhound at the heart of the maker’s mark was carried over from Edge & Malkin & Co, which had used it between 1873 and 1903.   The new company still operated out of Burselm at the Newport Works, and its products were probably sold in a number of retail outlets.  The company also appointed agents to sell its products at sales events in hotels in major cities, probably for bulk sales into retail and export.  In the advert below an event at the Holborn Viaduct Hotel in London as announced.  There are examples of the type of products that the company produced on the A-Z of Stoke on Trent Potters website.  S.W. Dean ran into financial problems very quickly, and Samuel Dean was declared bankrupt in June 1910.  Although the advert below mentions an export market, it seems unlikely that there was sufficient time for this to get fully underway before the company closed.

Advert from the Pottery Gazette of October 1908. Source: A-Z of Stoke On Trent Potters

Later in 1910, S.W. Dean was in turn purchased, and a new company was registered by J.D. Kerr.  Kerr clearly thought that the Dean name had enough brand recognition amongst potential purchasers of the ceramics to retain the name, because the new company became Deans (1910) Ltd.  A greyhound was retained in the log, but was on all fours, instead of seated, and was shown standing on an open crown.

The pattern side, showing the Forget-Me-Not design

The style and technique used on this pottery is called flow  blue, and is a form of transferware.  Transferware is a very swift way of transferring a design to the surface of an object. A copperplate engraved with the required design was inked, in this case with deep blue cobalt oxide, and pressed on to paper that, while still wet, was in turn pressed on to a ceramic surface.  The design left on the piece of pottery is the transfer.  With a complete object, the overlap between the transfers is usually visible as a seam, but this piece is too small to show this.  The process speeded up the process of decorating ceramics, making them much less expensive to produce than hand-painted wares, permitting mass production, and creating cost-savings that were passed on to the customer.  

The particular characteristic of flow blue is the appearance of blurred edges, giving them a soft and blousy look, quite unlike the precision of the green example of the same design above.  When the pot was ready for a second firing, after the transfer design had been fixed into place, a flow-powder was added to the kiln.  A typical mixture was 22% salt, 40% white lead, 30% calcium carbonate, and 8% borax, but there were variants.  This gave off a chlorine gas which caused the cobalt in the transfer to diffuse into the glaze, creating the flow effect and the intense blue glow.

The Newport Works in Burslem, Staffordshire, where S.W. Dean’s pottery production was based. Source: A-Z of Stoke On Trent Potters

Flow blue appears from about 1830.  Whether the effect was originally accidental or deliberate, it soon became very popular, first in the U.S., exported from Staffordshire factories, and later in Britain’s own households.  During the Napoleonic Wars of 1803-15, the U.S. had become Britain’s most important export market until the onset of the American Civil War in 1860.  The Registration of Design Act of 1842, which prevented factories from copying each others patterns without permission, resulted in new patterns, and sometimes specialization in particular types of design. By the mid 1800s British manufacturers were producing a variety of different genres, including more traditionally Victorian rural, garden and specifically floral designs, many of them very romanticized.  The forget-me-not is a good example of a flower chosen because of its popularity in Victorian gardens and poems.

Flow blue from the garden, with the forget-me-not sherd both centre bottom on the plate, and on its own on the right

A lot of flow blue has come out of the garden, but nearly all of it in very small pieces.  A sort through them has only found one piece that is consistent with the Forget-Me-Knot design, a very thin rim piece, much thinner than the pieces shown above.  It may or may not come from the same item, perhaps thinning towards the edge, but it could also be a sherd from a different part of the same set.  Some of the other pieces of flow blue display a characteristic feathering along the rims of ceramics, none of these gilded, although many feathered edges were.  Those shown here are a selection of the bits pulled out of the garden, including the Forget-Me-Not rim piece.

Other object histories from my garden can be found 
on the History in Garden Objects page


Sources:

Books and papers

Neale, G. 2005. Encyclopedia of British Transfer-Printed Pottery Patterns 1790-1930.  Miller’s

Websites

The A-Z of Stoke On Trent Potteries
S.W. Dean

http://www.thepotteries.org/allpotters/347a.htm

The Glossop Cabinet of Curiosities
The Rough Guide to Pottery Pt.5 – Blue and White Bits.
https://glossopcuriosities.wordpress.com/2022/09/15/the-rough-guide-to-pottery-pt-5-blue-and-white-bits/

HobbyLark
Flow Blue: History and Value of Blue-and-White Antique China, by Dolores Monet, December 23rd 2022
https://hobbylark.com/collecting/FlowBlueHowtoIDandValuetheCollectibleBlueandWhiteAntiqueChina

House of Brinson
Transferware and Flow Blue
https://houseofbrinson.com/2021/04/28/thoughts-on-transferware-and-flow-blue/#:~:text=If%20you%20see%20a%20blue,were%20widely%20sold%20in%20America.

 

Object histories from my garden #11 – Fragment of a bisque porcelain doll

Fragment at a bisque ware doll head with painted lips

One of the eeriest pieces that we have dug out of the garden is this fragment of a doll’s head.  It was no ordinary child’s doll, but an expensively crafted item, its head and limbs made of bisque porcelain.  It would have been dressed in opulent, often period-themed clothes, and its eyes may have opened and closed, via hinged eyelids, as it was tilted. 

For anyone new to this occasional series on objects extracted from my garden during everyday gardening activities, see the History in Garden Finds page.  These are not objects used in the garden, but objects, usually fragments, lost or disposed of in the garden and found during digging, troweling and planting.

Bisque ware dolls either appeal to you or don’t, and in my case they sit with clowns and golliwogs in the category of the downright unpleasant. We found a piece of china showing a golliwog  in the garden too.  The bisque ware dolls are collectors items today, and you can usually find a few examples on eBay.  Bisque ware or biscuit porcelain is made in a mould, and fired but left unglazed, giving its surface a matte finish.  When skilfully painted, it can look from a distance like human skin.  Each colour is painted on to the surface and fired separately, building up the layers to create the skin-like effect.  The head and limbs of the doll were formed in moulds.  The unseen body of the doll, hidden by clothes, could be made of much less expensive materials.  Limbs were sometimes articulated, so that they bent at elbows, hips and/or knees.  

A doll head that gives some idea of what the rest of the garden fragment doll may have looked like. “Floradora” by Armand Marseille of Germany. Source: What The Victorians Threw Away

The bisque dolls were made from around 1860 to around 1915, although similar dolls were made from other materials before that date. The earliest were intended to represent fashionable women, and the child dolls only came in later, after around 1880.  Their popularity spread initially in France during the 1880s, but the German market soon competed, making dolls that looked just as expensive but were far more reasonably priced.  By 1900, Germany was dominating in the bisque doll market.  Names like J.D. Kestner, Armand Marseille and the Heubach brothers are still popular in the collector market.   The best known producers marked their dolls where they would not normally be seen, now of great value for collectors, but a head fragment like this would not have been marked.

There is an example of an elaborately kitted out Kestner doll at the end of the post, but to the right is the equally eerie head of another broken doll, from the What The Victorians Threw Away website, showing what the rest of the head of the fragment in my garden may have looked like.  Although some dolls had mouths that moved when the doll was tilted, this one did not, and it does not looks at though the garden fragment did either.  It has eyelashes  like the ones on the one from my garden, but shorter.

There is little to say about the piece from the garden, other than it was made of a thin porcelain, carefully shaped in a mould.  It was very skilfully painted, the cheeks a gentle rosy colour, the thin, bow-shaped lips a bright scarlet, with the ends of long dark eyelashes at top right.  The clump of grey substance on the reverse side suggests that someone had made an attempt to repair the doll, presumably following a previous breakage.  It seems to have been a very unlucky individual.

The fragment is at top left of this photo, shown with a few of the other garden fragments in an old printer’s tray, hung on a wall.

Looking at it, I cannot help but wonder what on earth happened to the rest of the doll and why this bit of it was isolated from the rest of its head and its body?  It was found to the rear of a wide flower bed that was completely dug out, its soil disposed of and replaced due to a particularly virulent and un-killable form of grass, before being replanted. If the rest of the doll had been there, we would have found it, but there was no sign of anything remotely like it.  Perhaps it was dropped, broke on the spot, and this fragment was lost at the time, with the rest of the doll picked up and disposed of elsewhere.  Who knows :-).  It is one of the few hints of any high quality pieces owned by previous householders that we have dug out of the garden.  Most of those items are of domestic use, and very commonplace, although each has its own history as a representative of a certain type of object fashionable at the time of its production.

J.D. Kestner bisque doll with accessories (for sale at over $1000.00). Source: eBay

For other objects in the series,
please see the History in Garden Objects page


Sources:

History of Dolls
History of Porcelain Dolls
http://www.historyofdolls.com/doll-history/history-of-porcelain-dolls/

Houston Texas University
Bisque Dolls 1890-1915
https://hbu.edu/museums/museum-of-american-architecture-and-decorative-arts/theo-redwood-blank-doll-collection/bisque-dolls-1890-1915/

The Spruce Crafts
Top 5 German Antique Doll Brands (by Denise van Patten)
https://www.thesprucecrafts.com/top-german-antique-doll-brands-774906

 

Objects histories from my garden #10 – 19th century mocha and annular ware sherds

Mochaware sherd from the garden

This satisfyingly chunky piece of glazed earthenware, featuring a roughly beaded rim, was once a fairly large, open vessel, probably a pot or a tall-sided bowl.  Mocha ware, produced between the mid 1700s and the early 1900s, was relatively cheap and cheerful, pottery for using rather than admiring.  Its defining features include its colouring, the linear decoration (usually combined with panels of colour or white background) and the “dendritic” design. “Dendritric” means “branching,” and in mochaware refers to a pattern consisting of a feathery fern-like tendrils, usually emanating from a main stem, typically coloured either black or blue.  Vessels without the dendritic design are usually referred to simply as banded creamware or annular (ring-like) ware, in both cases due to the encircling bands of colour.  It is only those vessels with the dendritic design that are supposed to be referred to as mochaware.   We have found both in the garden, but the piece of mochaware is the most impressive, both in terms of solidity and distinctiveness.

Polished moss agate pebble. Source: Wikipedia

The name mocha derives from an imported stone known as moss agate, which was also known as mocha stone due to its export from the port of Mocha (al Mukha) in Yemen, on the southwestern end of the Arabian peninsula.  The stone is not actually found in that part of the world, and was imported from India and some parts of central Europe. Many of the first examples to find their way into western Europe were brought back by the East India Companies of Britain and the Netherlands.  Although the appearance suggested to its European admirers that plant remains had been preserved in the stone, moss agate consists of quarts with mineral inclusions, usually manganese and iron oxides.  It is not actually an agate at all.  

Fabergé box with moss agate lid. Source: Royal Collection Trust

In the 18th century the belief that the stone preserved plant remains indefinitely suggested that it had special health-preserving properties, providing good luck to the wearer.  Many were accordingly turned into jewellery, particularly as polishing techniques improved, and they were often accompanied by gemstones in settings.  The ability to cut the stone into thin sheets that could be polished encouraged its incorporation into various decorative objects.  The Royal Collection Trust has in its collection a piece of sliced moss agate formed into the lid of a box, by Fabergé, which shows clearly how the pottery emulates the stone, and how it might be used in luxury goods.  There are many similar examples.

The Greengates Works in Tunstall during the 1780s. Source: thepotteries.org

It is thought that the comparatively humble mochaware pottery was first made by William Adams of the Greengates factory, Tunstall, England (1745-1805).  Production moved to the factory of his cousin, also William Adams, at Brickhouse, Burselm and later at Cobridge Hall in Cobridge.  Many English factories were soon turning out large quantities of mocha, mainly in Staffordshire into the early years of the 20th Century.  Other factories were set up in Bristol, Hull, Leeds, Glasgow, Swansea and Llanelly.

Banded Creamware. Source: Lot-Art

Annular and mochaware vessels usually combine a limited repertoire of colours.  The concentric rings include yellow,  yellow ochre, blue, black and and beige.  More rarely some feature terracotta, orange and green bands.  The background is usually cream or white, and the dendritic design is usually blue or black. In some cases the mochaware decoration remained purely abstract, but on some vessels the acidic solution is controlled to create images representing trees.  Some examples of both abstract and more representational uses of the style are shown below.

Being so inexpensive, and at the same time so attractive, it became extremely widespread.  It was often used to make pint mugs for pubs, marked with an imperial symbol confirming the correct volume, and ordinary domestic items like cups, mugs jugs, jars, lidded pots and mixing bowls, and even chamber pots.   It was almost never used for flat items like dishes, plates or platters.  Because the patterns made could be influenced but not precisely determined, each piece was unique. Mocha and banded creamware were exported in large amounts to the United States, which was soon manufacturing its own mochaware.

Mochaware mixing bowl. Source: 1stDibs

On the pottery, the tendril effect of the moss agate is achieved by dripping a dark acidic colouring (which could include urine, tobacco juice, lemon juice, ground iron scale, hops or vinegar) onto the alkaline slip (mixture of water and clay) of the pot, whilst still wet.  The alkaline liquid splits, and the result was thought to resemble the moss agate.  Here’s a description of the technique from the University of Toronto’s Physics department:

The original recipe involves a “tea” made by boiling tobacco, which is then colored with e.g. Iron oxide. The piece is first coated with a wet “slip” (very runny clay/water mixture). Then the tea mixture is touched onto the wet surface. The acidic tea reacts with the alkaline slip and the dendrites grow quickly from the point of contact.  The dendritic pattern is clearly the result of a dynamic process in which the contact line between the two liquids, tea and slip, becomes unstable. The surface tension of the tea is less than that of the slip. The instability is probably driven by a combination of capillary and Marangoni (surface tension gradient) stresses, coupled somehow to the acid/base chemical reaction. Similar looking instabilities are known in surfactant driven flows.

A decisive contributor to the production of both mochaware and annular ware was the rose-and-crown engine-turning lathe, developed by Josiah Wedgwood.  There was a hefty up-front cost, but it allowed a mechanized approach to the otherwise hand-applied concentric rings of coloured slip.

Experiments described by The Ceramic Arts Network website, explain how the techniques have been used to make modern mochaware in modern experiments:

Pint tankard with an imperial stamp. Source: 1stDibs

The mixture that is used to form the patterns is called “mocha tea.” It was originally made by boiling tobacco leaves and forming a thick sludge that was then thinned with water and mixed with colorant. However, nicotine solutions are only one form of mild acid; many others will work, such as citric acid, lemon juice, urine, coffee or vinegar, particularly natural apple-cider vinegar. One of these would be mixed with colorant. Most colorants work quite well, although carbonates and stains are usually better than oxides, since they are typically a physically lighter precipitate than oxides. Heavy materials such as black copper oxide, black cobalt oxide and black iron oxide do not work well, because the acid can’t adequately hold them in suspension. A ratio of about one heaping teaspoon of colorant to a quarter cup of mild acid is usually a good starting point. However, a good deal of individual testing has to be done to get the two liquids to work together to create significant dendritic formations or diffusions. 

The Copeland (formerly Spode) pottery works in 1834. Source: Spode Museum Trust

The Colonial Sense website tells how Charles Dickens visited the Copeland Pottery Works at Stoke on Trent in the Potteries:

I am well persuaded that you bear in mind how those particular jugs and mugs were once set upon a lathe and put in motion, and how a man blew the brown color (having a strong natural affinity with the material in that condition) on them from a blow pipe as they twirled; and how his daughter, with a common brush, dropped blotches of blue upon them in the right places; tilting the blotches upside down, she made them run into rude images of trees.

Mochaware sherd from the garden

The sherd from my garden shows a band of yellow ochre on and beneath the rim with a beaded or rouletted design impressed into the surface below the rim, produced by using an embossed rouletting wheel.  The beading was achieved by a simple cylinder attached to a handle and rolled onto the surface of the ceramic.  It took a very steady hand.  Some rouletting is very subtle and complex, but this is clearly not.  Still, it is another decorative aspect to the vessel.   A segment of black dendritic patterning is visible on a cream background, separated from the wide band of yellow ochre by a thin band of blue.  It is a solid, utilitarian piece of earthenware, almost 1cm (a third of an inch) thick at the rim, narrowing into the body of the vessel.  The vessel originally had a diameter of 25.5cm (10 ins), which makes it a fairly substantial object.  Its walls show very little vertical curvature, unlike most mixing bowls, so it may have been a large pot of some description.

Yellow ochre reverse side (interior) and section of the sherd showing the fabric and glaze

Today,whole and undamaged items of  mochaware attracts collectors on both sides of the Atlantic.  My sherd, though part of a fascinating story, is of course worthless.  As usual, apart from trying to find out information about the odds and ends in the garden, together these objects are combining to form a sense of who lived here before and what sort of livings they may have had.

There’s a truly illuminating video of dendritic mochaware being produced by a modern artisan on YouTube, showing how the acid reacts when it meets the alkaline, as follows:

 

For anyone new to this occasional series on objects extracted from my garden during everyday gardening activities, see the History in Garden Finds page.  These are not objects used in the garden, but objects, usually fragments, lost or disposed of in the garden and found during digging, troweling and planting.

 


Sources:

Books and papers

Wright, K.F. 2021. Artifacts.  In Loske, A. (ed.) A Cultural History of Color in the Age of Industry.  Bloomsbury Academic.

Websites

Ceramic Arts Network
Mocha Diffusion Acid/Color Mixture
https://ceramicartsnetwork.org/daily/article/Slipware-Decoration-Mocha-Diffusion-and-Slip-Dotting-Pottery

Colonial Sense website
Mochaware – The Hidden Utiitarian Gem. By Bryan Wright
http://www.colonialsense.com/Antiques/Other_Antiques/Mochaware.php

The Potteries
Greengates Pottery, Tunstall
http://www.thepotteries.org/potworks_wk/027.htm

Regency Redingote
Moss agates: pictures and power. By Kathryn Kane
https://regencyredingote.wordpress.com/2018/02/09/moss-agates-pictures-and-power/

Ceramic – Pottery Dictionary
Roulette wheel
http://ceramicdictionary.com/en/r/513/roulette-wheel-roller+tools

Royal Collection Trust
Box with moss agate panel 1903-08
https://www.rct.uk/collection/40155/box-with-moss-agate-panel

St Mary’s University
Mocha Ware
https://www.smu.ca/academics/departments/anthropology-mocha-ware.html

University of Toronto, Physics Department
Dendritic patterns on mochaware pottery
https://www.physics.utoronto.ca/~smorris/edl/mochaware/mochaware.html

 

Objects histories from my garden #9 – A Golliwog on a child’s cup

It never occurred to me that I would find any politically incorrect objects in the garden, but this is certainly a contender.  I dug it out of one of the flower beds when doing some planting last summer, and for a moment couldn’t figure out what it was I was looking at, partly because I was holding it upside down, but partly because it was so unexpected.

I remember that Robertson marmalade and other Robertson products were everywhere, with the distinctive Golliwog logo on their labels, with its bright clothing and crudely caricatured face.  ln spite of the Golliwog’s big red smile, or perhaps because of it, I found it threatening.  For others, however, it was (and still is) a cheerful and entertaining character, rather absurd but benign.

The Golliwogg as it first appeared in Florence Kate Upton’s “The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls” of 1895. Source: Wikipedia

The name “Golliwogg” (with the double g at the end) was invented by Florence Kate Upton, whose parents had emigrated from England to New York in 1870, and who had a black minstrel soft toy as a child, which was at the heart of many childhood games.  When the family returned to England in the late 1880s, Upton began to illustrate children’s books to raise money to attend art school, with verses for the books written by her mother Bertha.   The Golliwogg was introduced in their 1895 book The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls, complete with the shaggy hair, clown-like grin, bright clothes and bow tie.  This was the first of fourteen very popular books that featured Golliwogg as a central character, a jolly, benevolent, and good-natured friend who embarked on international adventures.

The name and character invented by the Uptons were not copyrighted, and the character was incorporated into works by other authors.  It became a popular home-made rag doll, but it soon went into production as a soft toy, mainly in Germany and Britain, marketed as a “Golliwog” (without the final g). The German Steiff Company became the first to mass produce them in 1908, going on to produce a female version of the doll.

Robertson’s Golden Shred Golly Badge, Pre-War Issue dating from 1937 commemorating the coronation of King George VI. Source: Portable Antiquities Scheme via Wikipedia

In the 1910 James Robertson and Sons  (based in Droylsden in Greater Manchester) first adopted the “Golly” on its branding after James’s son John had seen them being played with on a trip to the U.S., and by the early 1920s had been rolled out to many of their products.  In 1928, the company began to offer Golly brooches in return for tokens printed on product labels as a marketing gimmick.  The first were a series of Gollies engaged in different sporting activities and the Golly became a runaway success for Robertson’s.

It was only in the 1960s when increasing issues surrounding attitudes to race and the growth of  racism became dominant that the role and significance of the Golly became questionable, and began to seem like very bad taste, offensive to many, potentially encouraging unconscious bias in children.  In some countries today the word, either in its entirety or split into “golly” or “wog” is categorized as a racial slur, and the image of the Golliwog has been banned from some of them.  At the same time, Golliwog-themed items, particularly vintage ones, have become collectable.  Indeed, the Robertson’s Golly was not actually retired until 2001.  The BBC reported that it was to be replaced by characters from Roald Dahl books, illustrated by Quentin Blake.  Robertson’s Brand Director Ginny Knox commented on the changeover:

We sell 45 million jars of jam and marmalade each year and they have pretty much all got Golly on them.  We also sell 250,000 Golly badges to collectors and only get 10 letters a year from people who don’t like the Golly.  Whereas we are concerned about those people and it’s not our intention to be offensive with the Golly, we have to look at what our research says and what the sales say.  The feedback has consistently been that for the vast majority of people, the Golly is a positive thing that they like.

One wonders what, in particular, people said that they liked about the Golly.

The very battered sherd from my garden was probably part of a child’s teacup or similar.  The fabric is just over 2mm thick, and the diameter is probably something a little in excess of 7cm diameter.  This would be more accurate if this as a rim piece, which can be measured by laying the rim on a simple map of concentric circles, (a rim chart or radius chart) but even though this is just a body sherd, the curvature is obvious and it is unlikely that it will have been much wider at the top.

The head of the Gollywog is typical, with the big round eyes, spiky hair and wide red mouth.  The bow tie is yellow and the waistcoat or jacket is blue, fastened with a big white button.  Just visible across the base of the waistcoat/jacket is a splash of red, which could either be a jacket buttoned across the base of a waistcoat or the top of the trousers.

The eyes look slightly down to its left, which was a standard feature of the Robertson’s Golly.  The most familiar Robertson’s Golly was usually shown with a bright yellow waistcoat, red bow tie, blue jacket and red trousers but there variants.  In spite of making myself substantially uncomfortable by paging through dozens of images on specialist websites, as well as paging through Google Images, I have not found one that looks like the piece from the garden.

The  paragraphs looking at the history of the Golliwog on this post were based on Dr. David Pilgrim’s detailed article The Golliwog Caricature on the Ferris State University / Jim Crow Museum website (dated November 2000, edited 2012), which includes a full bibliography.   For the really fascinating, if often disturbing full story, with a useful discussion of the racism issue,  see the link below.   Dr Pilgrim is Professor of Sociology at the Ferris State University.  https://www.ferris.edu/HTMLS/news/jimcrow/golliwog/homepage.htm

The above-mentioned story about the end of the Golly as a Robertson’s brand in 2001 is on the BBC website.

Updated 13th April 2023, Thursday: The Guardian newspaper reported that toy Golligwogs were being banned from eBay and Etsy “amid new evidence that more people now regard the toys as racist.” I’m amazed that it took so long:

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For anyone new to this occasional series on objects extracted from my garden during everyday gardening activities, see the History in Garden Finds page.  These are not objects used in the garden, but objects, usually fragments, lost or disposed of in the garden and found during digging, troweling and planting.

 

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