Rehabilitating John Summerland

It really is a privilege to start blogging for the York Retreat Archive digitisation project. The Retreat captured my imagination as a History undergraduate but I never had the opportunity for in-depth research, for want of an original hypothesis. It seemed like it had all been done before. But somehow an idea came to me, I followed it up and here I am writing a PhD on the Retreat nearly a decade later. The more time I spend with this material, the more I realise there is still a great deal to say about the Retreat. Making these archives available online will enable a new generation of research. So I had better get writing quickly lest someone steals my thunder!

Like so many undergraduates, the first time I came across the Retreat was in Michael Foucault’s Madnessand Civilisation. One moment of the Retreat’s early history particularly resonated with me, and has stuck in my mind ever since;

Tuke

‘Samuel Tuke tells how he received at the Retreat a maniac, young and prodigiously strong, whose paroxysms caused panic in those around him and even among his guards. When he entered the Retreat he was loaded with chains; he wore handcuffs; his clothes were attached by ropes. He had no sooner arrived than all his shackles were removed, and he was permitted to dine with the keepers; his agitation immediately ceased; "his attention appeared to be arrested by his new situation." He was taken to his room; the keeper explained that the entire house was organized in terms of the greatest liberty and the greatest comfort for all, and that he would not be subject to any constraint so long as he did nothing against the rules of the house or the general principles of human morality. For his part, the keeper declared he had no desire to use the means of coercion at his disposal. The maniac was sensible of the kindness of his treatment. He promised to restrain himself.’ (pp233-234, Routledge Classics, 2001)

Naturally, having been let loose myself as it were in the asylum archives, I wanted to know more about this incredibly powerful and important moment.

Whilst we may question Foucault’s analysis and style, he cannot be accused of hyperbole in this instance; the passage paraphrases Samuel Tuke’s account of the incident in his 1813 Descriptionof the Retreat, save for the fact that Tuke probably didn’t witness the incident himself and made no claim to have done so;

‘Some years ago, a man, about thirty-four years of age, of almost Herculean size and figure, was brought to the house. He had been afflicted several times before; and so constantly, during the present attack, had he been kept chained, that his clothes were contrived to be taken off and put on by means of strings, without removing his manacles….’

Tuke added that ‘the patient was frequently very vociferous, and threatened his attendants, who in their defence were very desirous of restraining him by the (straight) jacket.’ (Description pp.93-94)

However, the patient’s case notes (RET 6/5/1A p.77) and correspondence from the family (RET 1/5/1/7) give a different angle to these events. We assume from how Foucault and Tuke use this incident that the ‘maniac’ (whose name was John Summerland) had been under restraint in another institutions for some time before admission to the Retreat. The moment of Summerland’s release is often used to illustrate a liberating shift in psychiatric methods as patients were brought out of the darkness of Bedlam dungeons and into the light of ‘moral treatment.’ Yet the reality is less straightforward. Summerland’s case notes reveal he had indeed been restrained, ‘fastened with chains’ and ‘repeatedly bled with cathartic medicines’ whilst under confinement in Philadelphia. But he then returned to England on a voyage which would have taken weeks, and would not have been possible under restraint. Upon his return to England he lived with his parents in Staffordshire for over two months and again there is no mention of him being under restraint here or on his journey to the Retreat. Summerland’s case notes add further information which seems to contradict Tuke’s version ‘he frequently converses rationally, tho in a high strain… It does not appear that he has ever attempted to injure himself or others.’ And whilst Summerland was indeed ‘a large man of great muscular strength and power’ he was ‘much reduced in flesh on his admission.’

Letters from his family to the Retreat show that Summerland, despite his vague diagnosis of ‘derangement’ managed to attend Quaker Meetings for Worship before his admission. This involved sitting in silence for a considerable amount of time. Again, hardly the place for a raving maniac.

Samuel Tuke had access to all the Retreat case notes and used them to statistically demonstrate the Retreat’s success in Description of the Retreat. It seems that Tuke exaggerated Summerland’s symptoms to promote the Retreat’s therapeutic methods. This well-intentioned exaggeration has gone largely unquestioned by history, leaving poor John Summerland with a bad reputation. Happily he was discharged after only four months and suffered no relapse. Yet it was hardly the miracle cure that Samuel Tuke claimed, ten years later in Description of the Retreat; as he was sent on his way to the Retreat, John Summerland’s brother William wrote to William Tuke that John ‘seems much better and I make no doubt with your regular treatment and attention he will soon be well.’ 

This is one of a series of blog posts published as material from the Retreat archive is digitised and made available online. More information about the Wellcome Library funded project to digitise the Retreat archive can be found on the project pages of our website. Digital surrogates from the Retreat archive project so far are available via the Wellcome Library. 

This blog post was written by Jon Mitchell who is a doctoral student in the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at the University of Leeds. His thesis relates to eighteenth century Quaker attitudes to mental illness, and is funded by The White Rose College of the Arts and Humanities. He can be contacted at prjm@leeds.ac.uk.  

The York Lunatic Asylum Scandal

The York Lunatic Asylum opened in 1777, at a time when little was understood about mental illness. Without organised institutional care available, families were left to deal with the mentally ill at home as well as they could. It was usual to chain lunatics to the walls and to leave them naked (it was not thought possible for mentally ill people to feel cold) and alone. Madness turned people into animals.

                                                

Although there were grand ideals when it was first conceived of providing 'relief to those unhappy sufferers who are the objects of terror and compassion to all around them', York Lunatic Asylum soon fell onto a darker path. In 1790 a Quaker woman called Hannah Mills died at the York Asylum. No Friends had been allowed to see her during her six-week residence, to support her faith or to see the conditions in which she was being held. This led William Tuke to encourage the foundation of the Retreat in York, an institution built upon the Quaker idea that everyone should be treated kindly, and as an equal.

William Tuke (1732-1822)

Concerns about the York Asylum continued to grow. After William Vickers was badly treated by the staff at the asylum, a Justice of the Peace for the West Riding called Godfrey Higgins interested himself in the case. Vickers had been released from the hospital bruised, lousy, dirty and so weak he could hardly stand. Other poorly-treated patients were discovered: Reverend Schorey who had been kicked down the stairs by his keeper, and Martha Kidd whose hip was dislocated during her stay. A meeting was called to examine Higgins' accusations and nearly 40 local gentlemen (including members of the Tuke family and a number of their friends) took advantage of an old rule and paid £20 in order to qualify as governors of the asylum and effect change.

Investigations discovered that the number of patients at the Asylum had been growing, but poor financial management meant that the institution was struggling and conditions for the patients were poor. This should have caused a higher death rate but the figures published in the Asylum's annual reports did not reflect this. Closer examination of the steward's books made it clear that deaths had been concealed. In addition, it was discovered that the physicians at the Asylum had misappropriated significant sums of money from the institution. Before further assessments could be made, a fire began which destroyed one wing of the asylum and all of its early records. Four patients died. Rumours said it had been set by the steward deliberately to conceal the truth but this was never proven. Dr Best was never charged for his fraud but was forced to resign due to ill health.

 

Affluent patients at the Asylum were generally well treated. It was the poor who suffered. On a surprise inspection in March 1814, Godfrey Higgins insisted that the staff opened locked doors near the kitchen. When the key could not be found he threatened to break open the doors with a poker. Finally he gained entrance and found 'a number of secret cells in a state of filth, horrible beyond description', full of female patients, 'the most miserable objects I ever beheld'. Elsewhere, 'you might see more than 100 poor creatures shut up together, unattended and uninspected by anyone'.

 In August 1814 at the governors' annual court, new rules were made and the officers of the asylum were all dismissed. The staff were replaced with help from the Retreat Hospital.

In the aftermath, there was a full parliamentary enquiry to which Godfrey Higgins, Samuel Tuke and others contributed. The report was published in 1815 and can be read for free via GoogleBooks. 

Alexandra Medcalf, Archives Assistant

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You can read more about the Retreat here and more about the Tuke family here here and here

George Isaac Sidebottom: Spot the Cat

Small oil painting, coloured, from Retreat Archives c.1890-1900 by George Isaac Sidebottom

Like most archives, although most of our holdings are manuscripts on parchment or paper, bound into volumes and loose leaf, we do have other objects in our strong-rooms. 

This painting shows people in the grounds of the Retreat, York, in the late nineteenth century. The Retreat was, and is, a psychiatric hospital run by the Society of Friends. It was established in the late eighteenth century and pioneered moral treatment for the mentally ill. The hospital saw its patients as no less human because of their illness, and emphasised that they should be cared for just like other people. This certainly does not sound unreasonable today but at the time it was extraordinary - standard Georgian treatments for mental patients included chaining to walls, leaving them naked in bare cells and sound beatings.

By the time of this painting, moral treatment was standard and you can see here that the patients were occupied with a variety of sports and activities including golf, cricket, tennis, croquet and football. Some figures in the background are riding bicycles. A slightly surreal element is provided by a patient lying under the tree in a bed. Painting was another pass-time. We know this because the artist who painted this picture was a Retreat patient at the time.

George Isaac Sidebottom was resident at the Retreat from 1894 until 1912. He had been a merchant in the north-west of England and was a non-conformist. He suffered from moral and religious delusions and had been ill, and in care, for some years before his admission. A letter from the transferring doctor called him "a very good fellow indeed it would be hard to find a more agreeable man. He can paint watercolours very decently, sings a little... and can accompany himself fairly well." In his case-notes, George is described as occupying himself in painting, reading, walking (including walking into town) and singing. He even played the piano, and there is correspondence to show that he was allowed to acquire a piano for his room.

He had a keen interest in games at the Retreat, and played cards, billiards, chess, croquet, cricket, hockey and tennis; he even skated in January 1895. He attended the Retreat's 'entertainments' and 'amusements' (which vary from picnics to dances to amateur dramatics) and had holidays in Scarborough at the Retreat's branch house.

References to paintings are made throughout although unfortunately this particular painting was not mentioned specifically. In January 1896 he 'painted a scene for the Lady's party at the beginning of the month' and in October that year 'he occupied himself with painting in oils and gives great attention to his work'. In December 1900 he was 'busy on a scene for the Xmas party'. Towards the end of his life, George painted 'peculiar' caricature portraits, which gave him much satisfaction. He continued painting virtually up to his death at the Retreat in early 1912.

This painting provides us an interesting glimpse of life inside a Victorian mental hospital from the patient's point of view which is all too rare among psychiatric archives. But, since this post is in honour of World Cat Day I also have to ask... Can you spot the cat? Comment below when you spot him (and no peeking until you do!)

Written by Alexandra Medcalf.

The Tuke Work Experience Project, Part 2: Who do you think you are kidding, Mr. Bonaparte?

This week we continue our Tuke themed blog posts with a look at some of the poetry found in the collection, written by one of our work experience students, Rebecca.

You can catch up by reading Part I here.


Studying personal documents from the early nineteenth century, I inevitably found myself looking out for glimpses of major political events; the Napoleonic Wars in particular. I found there to be surprisingly little. I suppose it’s one of those ‘topical silences’ – letters are going to be about the personal and the everyday, not the grand and international. It’s not like I ever wrote about the Iraq war in my letters of the last decade. But I have to say that a selection of comedic poems was not somewhere I expected to find my first reference to Bonaparte (TUKE/2/1/13/1/3). It makes sense though, and it’s a really fun read. The kind of tongue-in-cheek mockery and teasing bravado reminds me of the theme song to Dad’s Army; who do you think you are kidding, Mr. Bonaparte?

TUKE/2/1/13/1/3

Answer to the Enigmas in a note to Bonaparte

I understand Bonaparte, you still think to come
To frighten Old England with the beat of your drum
But take my advice, & never come near us,
For if you land here you’ll have reason to fear us,
If you ever mix with us, to eat up our bread,
We will lull you to sleep with a potion of Lead
We need stop neither Harrows nor ploughs to find men,
Should we meet in the field you’ll find fifty for ten,
For our Bricklayers lads & our wool-combers Boys,
With our guns can play better than yours with Toys
Yes our very Thimbling tribe can all with great skill,
Use their daggers for their daggers as swords a henchman to kill,
Believe me friend Bonney you’ll be left in the Lurch
Whenever you try to demolish our Church;
At the end of your life you will find I speak truth,
And wish for the Solitude you passed in your youth,
So Huzza to old England if ‘ere you dare come,
For we fear neither you nor the beat of your Drum
All the bells in our steeples shall merrily ring
And our young men & maidens will joyfully sing,
The fame of brave Britons to you is not new,
So we’ll use no more ink but to bid you adieu.





Rebecca found other interesting poetry snippets in the collection, like these written by Favilla Copsie:

TUKE/1/35/1/8/8

The poem (left) was written by Favilla Copsie (née Scott), probably in 1807, and is mentioned in letters from her sister Mary Maria Tuke (née Scott) (TUKE/1/6/1/6/24) and her son James Favil Copsie (TUKE/1/37/1/9/7, TUKE/1/37/1/9/8). Favilla evidently enjoyed writing poetry, and we have a selection of her other poems, which often take the form of everyday correspondence. They’re wonderful to read;







‘my dearest James I use this Ink // to let you see on you I think… first I must thank you for your thimble // which make my needle run quite nimble’







TUKE/1/35/1/3/3

‘my Dear Cousin Esther do you go to the Ball // tho I hope before that you will give me a Call’












Little gems like this which seem at once so alien and so familiar made the week’s work experience really absorbing.


To read more about our student volunteers' work with the Tuke archive, please see Growing Up Tuke and Views of York.

The Tuke Work Experience project. Part I: Growing up with the Tukes

Between April 15th and April 19th, the Borthwick enlisted the help of a team of Work Experience students to help us work through the large collection of Tuke material that we hold. Part of their remit was to pull out interesting documents form the collection to form a series of blog posts.

This week we look at contributions from Sara, Ceri, and Stephanie.

We are a group of students currently undertaking a work experience placement at the Borthwick Institute of Archives in York. Over the past week we have been re-cataloguing the vast Tuke family archive consisting of letters, maps, photographs, silhouettes, finance and other personal items including hair.

 The Tuke family were a notable Quaker family in York, in the 18th and 19th Century. They were active in the local community, and were involved in areas such as pioneering new mental health treatment, founding a Quaker school, a tea and coffee business and other charitable work.

 The week has given us a great insight into what it would be like to work in archives. If anyone is interested in working in this area, they should be aware that opportunities are offered twice a year for York University students to work at the Borthwick for a week.


Sara found a great piece on teenage heartache...

One of the greatest joys of working through this collection was the opportunity to glimpse into the personal lives of members of the Tuke family (perhaps the archival equivalent of peering over the hedge). The Tukes’ private declarations of love, fear, and indignation make them people, rather than personages, and human, rather than historical. A prime example comes from the correspondence of William Murray Tuke (1822-1903). In 1837, he received a letter that any 15-year-old would dread: his girlfriend was breaking up with him. 

 

TUKE/1/30/2/2/1. Letter from Y.Y.Y. to L.N., William Murray Tuke. 28 Oct 1837.

 

Though Y.Y.Y. is unidentified, L.N. is a codename for the young William. ‘My dearest L.N.’, Y.Y.Y. begins, and then she gets straight to the heartbreaking point: ‘I have long thought that as we are both too young to think about such things and yet too old to be so foolish as I now think we have been for the last two or three years [. . .] I do not wish to risk my future happiness by continuing our present correspondence’. Once you see past her handwriting and eloquence, you realize that Y.Y.Y.’s concerns are both modern and strikingly teenaged: ‘I love you as much as ever I did’, she says, but ‘I know your affections may perhaps be fixed upon another person much more worthy of your love than I am’.

With a bit more sleuthing, Y.Y.Y. might be identified and the nature of her relationship with ‘L.N.’ elaborated. For now, this letter remains a mysterious and poignant peek into the heart of an adolescent. In 1846, nine years later, William Murray Tuke married Emma Williams, yet he kept this letter until his death. Perhaps Y.Y.Y.’s naïve words remained with him throughout his long marriage: ‘I shall not forget you as being my first love.’

Ceri found a number of sketches and insights into the everyday life of the young Daniel Hack Tuke...

 

A sketch from TUKE/1/32/1/4/14

This week has given me the chance to follow an individual from early life all the way to a bearded old age. This was one of the great delights for me; Daniel Hack Tuke proved to be the most interesting character and my favourite Tuke of the week after reading his youthful doodle-laden letters to his older brother William Murray Tuke from c. 1841. His sketches of the family during Hebrew lessons (TUKE/1/32/1/4/14) or gathered at tea (TUKE /1/32/1/4/22) brightened up the letters with a mixture of colourful imagination but also morbid curiosity; tucked in with the



A sketch from TUKE/1/32/1/4/22

collection was a small card with a woodcutting and the details of a hanging at York castle. (TUKE/1/32/1/4/25) The letter about Daniel flying his kite was not dissimilar to how a child today would sheepishly admit to a misdeed. The quote “I have been flying my kite to day but is at present in a tree, not in our premises” (TUKE/1/32/1/4/19) partnered with the simple ink sketch provides a poignant childhood memory which was good to keep in mind when reading his later more grown-up correspondence. This collection, in particular was filled with animated anecdotes and was an entertaining insight into the whimsical childhood activities of this prominent figure of the Tuke family.


Stephanie also found some interesting childhood letters, this time from James Favil Copsie...

One of the nicest things about working with original documents is that you are continually reminded of the humans behind the stories that are eventually consolidated into historical narratives. The documents take you away from the general and encourage you to empathise and engage with individuals’ tribulations. This experience will probably be what I will remember best from my week working with the Tuke Collection, my complete immersion in the Copsie family’s lives. Seeing James Favil Copsie transition from a child first living away from home, profusely thanking his parents for the cakes and apples they sent him to an apprentice, falling off the Sunderland Pier and spending time with his friends, to becoming a business man, working in coffee and tea businesses and even considering setting up a mustard business, was fantastic. His childhood letters were by far my favourite though, especially one in which he discussed the breaking off of an engagement (see the quote below), as his childlike honesty contrasts with the more polite and ceremonial letters regarding marriage in other parts of the collection.

 

 

“I am glad to hear Miss Rodhams match is broke off. I remember having dear sister Favilla say that she said she would marry at the age of sixteen or before I did expect it would be a poor match as a person of fortune and sense would not have her who knew nothing she is not handsome nor learned nor yet very industrious. So that if any would chase her it would be only for money.” (TUKE/1/37/1/8/3)

To read more about our student volunteers' work with the Tuke archive see Who Do You Think You Are Kidding, Mr Bonaparte and Views of York