Managing madness in early nineteenth-century asylums

An archaeology of lunacy examines the historic lunatic asylum from an interdisciplinary perspective, employing methods drawn from archaeology, social geography, and history to create a holistic view of the built heritage of the asylum as a distinctive building type. In the popular imagination, historic lunatic asylums were dark, monolithic, and homogenous, instruments for social confinement and punishment. This book aims to redress this historical reputation, showing how the built environment and material worlds of lunatic asylums were distinctive and idiosyncratic – and highly regional. They were also progressive spaces and proving grounds of architectural experimentation, where the reformed treatment practices known as moral management were trialled and refined. The standing remains of the nineteenth-century lunatic asylum system represent a unique opportunity to study a building-type in active transition, both materially and ideologically. When they were constructed, asylums were a composite of reform ideals, architectural materials, and innovative design approaches. An archaeological study of these institutions can offer a materially focused examination of how the buildings worked on a daily basis. This study combines critical analysis of the architecture, material remains, and historical documentary sources for lunatic asylums in England and Ireland. Students and scholars of later historical archaeology and built heritage will find the book a useful overview of this institutional site type, while historians of medicine will find the focus on interior design and architecture of use. The general public, for whom asylums frequently represent shadowy ruins or anonymous redevelopments, may be interested in learning more about the buildings.

service. This chapter demonstrates some of the ways in which memories of working life persist in spatial and architectural terms. Noticing these patterns requires an awareness of how details can be reconstructed and co-constructed through discursive interaction in the interview process and through the interpretation of transcripts, photographs and sketches made during interviews. The extensive refurbishment means that much of the built heritage of this particular factory is concealed and mute. Oral histories, photographs and archives are the chief sources through which

in Hot metal
Space, power and governance in mid-twentieth century British cities

Reconstructing modernity assesses the character of approaches to rebuilding British cities during the decades after the Second World War. It explores the strategies of spatial governance that sought to restructure society and looks at the cast of characters who shaped these processes. It challenges traditional views of urban modernism as moderate and humanist, shedding new light on the importance of the immediate post-war for the trajectory of urban renewal in the twentieth century. The book shows how local corporations and town planners in Manchester and Hull attempted to create order and functionality through the remaking of their decrepit Victorian cities. It looks at the motivations of national and local governments in the post-war rebuilding process and explores why and how they attempted the schemes they did. What emerges is a picture of local corporations, planners and city engineers as radical reshapers of the urban environment, not through the production of grand examples of architectural modernism, but in mundane attempts to zone cities, produce greener housing estates, control advertising or regulate air quality. Their ambition to control and shape the space of their cities was an attempt to produce urban environments that might be both more orderly and functional, but also held the potential to shape society.

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architecture itself, influenced the way spaces were arranged and negotiated by actors on a daily basis. As such, the built heritage of the asylum extends beyond the shell of the buildings themselves. Both the asylum interiors and the landscapes which surround them must be seen as part of asylum heritage. Landscapes and interiors frequently fall outside considerations of the built heritage of asylum. Both features of the asylum which reflect therapeutic aspects of moral management, their omission from consideration leaves the sometimes austere-looking asylum buildings

in An archaeology of lunacy
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buildings as filming locations or as ‘haunted’ attractions. The ‘dark’ heritage – associated with human suffering or death – of former lunatic asylum buildings and their frequent grouping with prisons and workhouses has impacted their study as built heritage, as well as their development. Indeed, the problematic legacy of the buildings has overshadowed their role as large-scale employers, suppliers, customers, venues for community building, and dwelling places, with the result that redevelopment rarely considers the impact of a modified landscape or rebranding on the

in An archaeology of lunacy
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this time but it was not the only part of Europe to leave its mark. Books came to Scotland from France, Germany, and England, as well as the Netherlands. 10 Even the built heritage of Scottish towns reflected Scotland’s alignment with developments abroad. In the fourteenth century, English styles influenced Scottish architecture quite heavily. Then, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Scottish architecture turned more

in Death, life, and religious change in Scottish towns, c.1350–1560
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New Zealand claims Antarctica from the ‘heroic era’ to the twenty-first century

city’s historic places. After the devastating Canterbury earthquakes in 2010 and 2011, however, much of the built heritage in Christchurch was demolished, so the region’s Antarctic heritage was brought in as a substitute. IceFest intended to capture the place that Antarctica held in the New Zealand heritage imagination. At the same time, with most New Zealanders having never

in New Zealand’s empire

losing members and absorbed the Hevrah Shas [‘Talmud Synagogue’] (1890). Reginald Terrace closed in April 1973 and the combined congregations eventually merged with Etz Chaim in Moortown in 1980 (see below). In the 1990s, the Reginald Terrace building was in use as a community centre, the main space having reverted to its original function as a sports hall. The whole building was demolished in 2003. In this case, the foundation stones, recorded by the Survey of the Jewish Built Heritage (SJBH), were rescued and taken to the successor synagogue in Harrogate Road

in Leeds and its Jewish Community

record offices during the 1920s and 1930s, among them Northamptonshire and Lincolnshire. County and city record offices were primarily designed for the archives of local authorities, but the muniments of landed families were often accepted on long term deposit when the country house was being vacated or even demolished. A survey in 1980 revealed that from a sample of 500 country houses in 1880 only 381 (76 per cent) were occupied or capable of being occupied, and of these 169 were in public and institutional ownership.4 The closure and demolition of this built heritage

in Writing local history
Tara, the M3 and the Celtic Tiger

is that excavation ahead of development was an utterly inadequate and inappropriate action in respect of the conservation management of this unique cultural resource. The Heritage Services collectively refers to three offices: National Parks and Wildlife, Built Heritage and Architectural Policy, and National Monuments. The extent to which the three offices work in concert, as best international practice would expect and advocate, has varied historically. To encourage an integrated approach to heritage management on the part of the Department of Arts, Culture and

in Defining events