by Jones, Kaye;
At such a high cost, it is not surprising that Ann was forced to remove William from Southall Park after only one year. He was not cured of his insanity but there was some improvement in his condition, though his return to Margate was bittersweet. He spent his first night at home in the family’s wine cellar and his fondness for alcohol, which had been noted by Dr Steward,9 served only to aggravate the symptoms of his condition. This intemperance made it almost impossible for William to live at home with his family and within eight months, he was confined to an asylum for the second time. He did not return to Southall Park but was instead admitted to Peckham House in March 1845, another private madhouse in London.
On the surface, Peckham House was every bit as genteel as Southall Park. In 1843, Peter Armstrong, a co-proprietor and resident physician, published the following advertisement in The Times:
The house is delightfully situated on the road leading from Camberwell to Peckham, three miles south of London, where the air is well-known for its mildness and salubrity. The grounds, which are extensive, are laid out with great taste, and consist of six separate airing grounds, independent of lawn, gardens and meadow … Mr and Mrs Armstrong tend to the domestic arrangements, who give their constant attention to its management … together with the mildest treatment which their unfortunate situation requires.10
The grounds and internal accommodation of Peckham House were certainly an attractive feature and both were praised by the Commissioners in Lunacy during a visit to the asylum in 1844.11 Like Southall Park, Peckham House was a former mansion that had been converted to an asylum in 1826 but was considerably larger and catered to a much wider clientele. In 1844, for example, there were 251 patients, ‘drawn from all classes of society – from the pauper inmate to the titled dame’,12 and though the two classes of patient lived separately, Peckham House had come under scrutiny by the Commissioners in Lunacy in the year prior to William’s admission:
In March (1844) … two beds for private patients objected to. Deficiency of spoons and cans for patients at dinner, noticed. In November, two rooms found offensive.13
The Commissioners returned to Peckham House in May 1845, two months after William’s admission, and complained that the male infirmary was without a fireplace. They returned again on 20 July to find a number of complaints against staff being investigated, one of which involved an allegation of violence against a female inmate. The nurse in question was dismissed14 but these criticisms demonstrate how different life had become for William, after having lived in relative luxury at Southall Park. The fact that he was confined in such an institution, living among paupers and criminals, also illustrates the financial hardships now faced by the Edmunds family.
Peckham House may not have provided the best accommodation or diet but its resident physician, Dr James Hill, had implemented a progressive treatment regime that emphasised care and compassion over the violence and coercion that once dominated English asylums. Hill was inspired by a reform movement that had slowly gained momentum over the previous half century and revolutionised the treatment of the mentally ill. This movement began in 1796 when William Tuke opened a small, private asylum in York called the Retreat. Tuke had no medical or psychiatric training but had been spurred into action after witnessing first-hand the poor treatment of the mentally ill in asylums across the country. In a visit to St Luke’s Hospital, for example, he saw a naked woman lying in dirty straw and chained to a wall. This image so haunted Tuke that he became determined to found his own sanctuary for the insane and did not stop until it admitted its first patients in 1796.15
Tuke was a devout Quaker who modelled the Retreat on nonviolence and equality, the defining principles of his faith. In keeping with Quaker tradition, he referred to staff and patients as ‘friends’ and everyone came together on a daily basis for meals and prayer. In this environment of familial intimacy, he treated patients on an individual basis, used physical restraint sparingly and encouraged participation in meaningful activities, like arts, crafts and simple tasks on the Retreat’s farm.16 This new style of patient care was termed ‘moral treatment’ and was unlike anything that had been seen in England’s asylums before. Tuke worked hard to demonstrate the efficacy of moral treatment and to show that his patients truly benefited from a kinder, more gentle approach. In 1813, he instructed his grandson, Samuel, to publish a complete outline of the Retreat’s principles and practices in an attempt to convince others of the advantages of his model.
Despite Tuke’s efforts, moral treatment was not universally adopted by asylum physicians. Many still believed that physical restraint, using manacles, chains and straitjackets, was a necessary tool in the treatment of the mentally ill, particularly with patients prone to violence and anger. Tuke did, however, inspire a number of physicians to implement his moral treatment and some even dispensed of mechanical restraint completely. We can see moral treatment in action during William’s confinement at Southall Park, where patients could walk in the grounds and enjoy music and the arts. These principles also inspired John Conolly, a physician from Lincolnshire who rose to become the superintendent of the Hanwell County Asylum in Middlesex in 1839 but Conolly took moral treatment one step further than Ellis and his wife by completely eliminating the use of mechanical restraint at his asylum, despite strong opposition, both locally and nationally.
Like Tuke, Conolly believed that the mentally ill needed comfort and kindness to get better. In his book, The Treatment of the Insane Without Mechanical Restraint, Conolly provides ample case studies that demonstrate the effectiveness of the moral system. In one such example, concerning a cavalry officer who had spent years under restraint in another institution, we see some of his methods at work:
[the patient] appeared to be surprised when shown into a well-furnished room, and quite astonished when he saw a comfortable dinner before him, and when his tea was decently served in the evening. Patients who have been so negligently cared for almost always improve when thus respectfully and kindly treated. They make an effort to conform to the decent habits of the house; are more careful to be cleanly when their dress is no longer the dress of a beggar; and become civil and even courteous in their demeanour. The violent conduct which caused them to be fastened in restraints … disappears amongst the comforts of their new and better abode.17
By mid-century, support for moral treatment had grown considerably and written accounts collected by the Commissioners in Lunacy show that Dr Hill was heavily influenced by its philosophy and practices. Like them, Dr Hill kept his asylum clean, bright and well-ventilated, to promote a feeling of cheerfulness on the wards. He ensured that all patients received a bath at least once a week and were dressed in clean clothes made only from flannel, to ensure they stayed ‘comfortably warm’.18
Like the Retreat, Dr Hill provided his patients with access to a wide range of activities and distractions, from books and dominoes to music and dancing. He encouraged his patients to be outside as much as possible and believed that employment was an effective cure for all forms of mental illness. It is interesting to note that Peckham House maintained the gendered nature of work that existed in the wider society: women were engaged in needlework and laundry while men were employed on the asylum’s farm or in a trade.19 William was likely employed in the early days of his stay at Peckham House when he was still strong enough to engage in physical tasks, but it is doubtful that this continued once he had entered the latter stages of general paralysis.
Although there was no cure for William’s condition, advocates of moral management had a number of remedies for general paralysis at their disposal. Asylum physicians had once treated general paralysis with mercury but Conolly had disregarded such medicines on the grounds that they continually failed to bring about a recovery.20 Dr Hill shared Conolly’s belief that bloodletting, with leeches applied to the temples or behind the ears, was a more effective alternative for general paralysis because it kept the head from overheating. Dr Hill also used a warm bath, usually for thirty mi
nutes, to soothe patients like William during episodes of mania and often combined the treatment with a sedative in extreme cases of excitement.21 The advocates of moral treatment had also outlawed the use of the cold bath, the practice of immersing a patient into ice cold water. In previous decades, many physicians believed that the cold bath could shock a patient’s brain into recovery but, in reality, it was often used by asylum attendants to punish bad behaviour. Dr Hill was fiercely against such brutality and told the Commissioners in Lunacy that he did not allow a patient to be bathed by an attendant without his express permission. He did, however, admit to using the cold bath as a ‘general tonic’ in hot, summer weather.22
The diet of his patients was another area of great importance to Dr Hill and he recommended that food be ‘nutritious in quality’ and ‘ample in quantity’. He prescribed daily variations in the meat and vegetables offered to patients and warned against liquid foods, like soup, which were ‘very apt to produce diarrhoea’.23 Ample amounts of solid food, however, often caused constipation and Dr Hill gave William a number of mild aperients to combat this, including rhubarb mixed with cream of tartar.24
Despite his efforts, Dr Hill knew that he could not cure William’s condition, as he explained to the Commissioners in Lunacy: ‘by great care the disease may be retarded in its progress; but I have never met with a case of recovery’.25 William Edmunds lived for less than two years at Peckham House and died on 15 March 1847. Two days later, his passing was announced in the Kentish Gazette but without any reference to the cause or place in which he died.26 William’s body was not returned to his home town for burial but was instead interred in Kensall Green cemetery in London. This was one of the finest cemeteries in Victorian London and notable as the resting place of some of the era’s most talented and respected artists, scientists and politicians. This was a fitting tribute to William’s glowing architectural career which had ended so suddenly and in such tragic circumstances.
As William’s family slowly came to terms with his death, they also had to deal with the enormous stigma attached to the manner in which he died. This stigma affected every person who died in the asylum and was, in part, a result of the perceived causes of insanity. In the nineteenth century, it was widely accepted that insanity could be trigged by any number of moral or physical causes. The moral causes of insanity might include poverty and financial worry, domestic problems and jealousy, while the physical causes ranged from menstruation and childbirth to masturbation and alcoholism. According to the physician, James Cowles Prichard, these feelings or experiences placed stress on the nervous system and interfered with the brain’s proper functioning. When this occurred, there was a very real possibility that insanity could follow.27 As a result of this thinking, insanity came to be associated with people of low moral character, with those who drank too much or allowed themselves to be governed by intense feelings. It became easy to feel prejudice towards such people because they lacked the virtues, like modesty, self-control and temperance, which were so highly-prized in the mid-nineteenth century.
Another reason for this social stigma came from the well-known and widely-accepted idea that insanity ran in families. This was based on the premise that a child inherited not only the ‘inborn attributes’ of its parents, but also the sum of their ‘experiences, diseases, achievements, accidents and transgressions’.28 If a parent became insane through alcoholism, for example, then it followed that his child would likely succumb to alcoholism, or a similar addiction, at some point in his or her life. Prichard summed it up succinctly: ‘It seems probable that any cause which tends to produce enervation and debility in parents will have an effect on their offspring’.29 This notion of ‘hereditary insanity’ was often cited by medical writers as a leading cause of madness among asylum inmates, though there was some disagreement about its prevalence. For example, George Man Burrows, the owner of the Retreat at Clapham, claimed that 85 per cent of his patients were the victims of a hereditary taint in 1828.30 Conversely, of the 212 curable patients admitted to the Bethlem Royal Hospital in 1844, only nine males and seventeen females were diagnosed with hereditary insanity.31 Despite such statistical variation, medical writers believed that heredity posed a very real threat to the nation’s sanity. Unsurprisingly, these fears permeated more popular forms of literature, particularly those relating to marriage and procreation. This article published in the Literary Gazette in 1827 demonstrates how embedded in society this attitude became:
What has been advanced is sufficient to show the vital importance of inquiring into the state of every family, as far as hereditary predisposition is concerned … Parents and guardians … should be informed that an alliance with a family where insanity has prevailed, ought to be prohibited.32
The taint of hereditary madness had serious implications for the young Christiana. She was 19-years-old at the time of her father’s death and on the cusp of womanhood. Around the age of 18, many middle-class girls ‘came out’ into society in a rite of passage that demonstrated their eligibility for romance and courtship. In wealthier middle-class families, coming out was marked by a ball or party but there were less extravagant ways of marking this occasion too, like putting up their hair and wearing longer skirts. Once the occasion had been marked, Christiana would be allowed to participate in her parents’ social circle and accompany them on visits and to dinner parties.33 As her coming out coincided with her father’s confinement in Peckham House, the reality for Christiana was very different from this idealised version. There would be no ball in her honour, no social calls or line of suitors at her door. Christiana and her family were the victims of intense speculation, even if they were able to conceal the truth surrounding his mysterious disappearance from public life. His sudden death only exacerbated the rumours and the gossip. Christiana’s thoughts inevitably turned to her future and what it might hold. She had been groomed for marriage and a life of domesticity but the taint on her family’s reputation put everything in jeopardy. After all, what kind of man, if any, would want to marry the daughter of a lunatic?
In the meantime there were practical matters to attend to. One month after William’s death, on 14 April, 1847, William’s will was proved before the court of probate and she received a one-off payment of £100 towards the family’s maintenance. Under the terms of the will, Ann received all of her husband’s personal possessions to do with as she pleased. A few weeks later, the following advertisement appeared in the Kentish Gazette:34
The contents of the house demonstrate the wealth and luxury in which the family had once lived and included mahogany furniture, valuable oil paintings and a piano. Every household item, from the bronze tea urn to the curtains and carpets, was to be sold in preparation for new tenants in Hawley Square.35 At first glance, it appears that Ann held this auction because the family were in need of money, but under the terms of William’s will, Ann would receive an annual allowance for the rest of her life or until she remarried, should she wish to take another husband. With this in mind, it is more likely that she sought a fresh start for herself and her children. Once the sale of goods was completed on 2 June, Ann and her children were free to set up in their new home. They did not stay in Margate but instead chose to make a fresh start in a new town, away from the gossip and scandal that dogged William’s death. Their destination was Canterbury, less than twenty miles away from Margate but far enough, they hoped, from the taint of William’s madness.
Chapter Three
“A Creature of Leisure”
The Edmunds’ sudden departure from Margate coincides with their brief disappearance from public record and perhaps demonstrates their successful integration into Canterbury society. The city certainly had much to offer its newest residents: by the mid-nineteenth century, Canterbury was a bustling place with a population of over 10,000 and its historical cathedral made it one of the most popular tourist destinations in the country. Its economy was thriving too, with strong brewing and corn-milling industries which boosted local comm
erce and attracted large numbers of migrant workers to the area.1 When the family reappear in the spring of 1851, they are living in very different circumstances to those in Margate. They no longer live amongst the lawyers and physicians of Hawley Square, and the servants they had once depended upon have been dismissed. The Edmunds are living in the upstairs of 21 St George’s Street, a house in the heart of the city. Downstairs lives James Nash, his wife and young family, who came to Canterbury from Hampshire in 1840. Nash was a brush-maker, hat and basket manufacturer who operated a successful business from his shop in the front of the house.
