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.
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
builtheritage of this particular factory is concealed and mute. Oral histories, photographs and archives are the chief sources through which
architecture itself, influenced the way spaces were arranged and negotiated by actors on a daily basis. As such, the builtheritage 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 builtheritage 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
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 builtheritage, 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
Royal Commission on Ancient and Historical Monuments was created in 1908. In 2015, it merged with Historic Scotland, a government agency that existed to promote the country’s builtheritage, into a single body called Historic Environment Scotland.
What has been striking in Hewison’s view, is that ‘heritage’ as we now understand it, no longer simply covers castles and ancient monuments but events and artefacts that are relatively recent. Thus, ‘the past is getting closer’ (Hewison 1987 : 83). Within Scotland, we can see a range of museums that cover what might be
artisanal regulation, politics, sociability, and culture, densely interconnected to workshops and retail spaces across the metropolis. These built environments had also become fundamental to a collective institutionalised sense of artisanal legacy and craft history. We can no longer speak of early modern London's diverse network of sites and spaces of economic, cultural, civic, or social import without including company halls as a fundamental element of this dynamic urban environment. As flames lapped across the City of London in September 1666, this rich builtheritage
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.
appear until No. 66 ( Figure 0.3 ). While major national events are represented, such as the Roman and Norman conquests of Britain (‘Britain first invaded by Julius Caesar’, No. 32; ‘Battle of Hastings’, No. 76) and the rule of Elizabeth I (No. 110 is the Destruction of the Spanish Armada), the game also aimed to familiarise children with key historical sites embracing national builtheritage (e.g. Tower of London, No. 77; creation of London Bridge, No. 80) and including the modern industrial landscape (e.g. ‘Coalmines discovered in Newcastle’, No. 90) as an
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 builtheritage 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
site visits. In 1938, the
Society began to produce a journal – the Dublin Historical Record – publishing
papers that were delivered to the members, and thus forming one of the earliest
records of local research on the city’s history. Within the longer narrative of ‘old
Dublin’, as outlined in Chapter 2, it is at this point in the e arly-mid twentieth
century that a subtle shift occurs in the tone of the ‘old Dublin’ story. While
the eighteenth-century and the city’s Georgian-builtheritage was still at its core,
the overly nostalgic tone diminished, and the