Bart's
The Strype image of Bart's shows its mammoth scale in way that is difficult to grasp in the modern hospital (unless you are completely lost and trying to find pathology). Officially, Barts has had at least four hundred beds for centuries (being founded as a poor-house in 1123 by the minstrel Rahere, entertainer to Henry I), but its main purpose as a hospital was to provide care for out-patients in the City and surrounds. During the 18C, the hospital had its heyday, being the focus of extensive patronage from the Hardwick family amongst others, providing funds for additional building by James Gibbs. Inspired by Wren, Gibbs went on to create such architectural splendours as the Radcliffe Camera in Oxford and St Martin-in-the-Fields Church in Trafalgar Square, but the Great Hall at Bart's is no mean achievement. The boards on the walls contain the names of patrons through the ages. The main entrance to the hospital contains two enormous murals by William Hogarth. Hogarth was outraged by the fact the trustees were going to use foreign artists to decorate the hospital, and so offered to work for nothing. The results are magnificent and reflect the period of Hogarth's career when he embraced paint as his natural medium.
One of the leading figures at Bart's during the 18C, and indeed, in the field of medicine was Percivall Pott, writer of the treatise on the unfortunate chimney-sweeps and their diseased scrotums. He taught, but excelled as a surgeon after his appointment in 1749. On one occasion, visiting a patient in Kent Street, Southwark, he fell from his horse and sustained a serious compound fracture of the lower leg. He entreated no one to move him, and managed to negotiate the purchase of a door from a nearby building site. Having sent for a band of chair-men (sedan chair carriers), he got them to strap their poles to the door and using it as a stretcher they carried him home to his house in Watling Street, by the east end of St Paul's. He declined amputation and instead had the leg splinted, monitoring his own condition carefully. Both leg and Potts survived.
Another famous physician at Bart's was Anthony Agnew, who assembled a vast library, known as the Bibliotheca Askeviana. It was sold after his death in 1775, with the sale lasting from the 13th of February to the 7th of March, by far the biggest literary sale of the century. Askew was a great friend of Hogarth, no doubt going some way to explaining the presence of Hogarth's art in the hospital.
Perhaps the most famous of the all the Bart's surgeons was John Abernethy. Although he was a rather alarming figure in the operating theatre, he was a charismatic speaker and an eccentric character. As the resident surgeon at Bart's, he treated the patients as they came, but was also at liberty to take paid consultations. Many sought his advice, which was delivered bluntly. A lady came to him complaining of low spirits, to which his advice was, 'Buy a skipping-rope'. Another had pain in her arm when she raised her arm above her head, to which he replied, 'What a fool you must be to hold it up then'. When the Duke of Wellington arrived out of hours in Abernethy's parlour, Abernethy enquired as to how he had managed to get into the room. 'By the door,' the Duke said. 'Then I recommend you make your exit by the same way,' Abernethy told him.
Abernethy was surgeon during a tricky time in medical education. In earlier times and up to the Augustan period the Bart's students would leave boxes outside the gate where paupers could leave a body they were too poor to bury. Later, when London was a little more prosperous, it was criminals who provided anatomical subjects. Deaths from execution in which the guilty party was condemned to dissection post mortem were declining, leading to a shortage of bodies for the students to practice upon. Grave-robbing began proliferated in the poorer parts of London. Neither Abernethy or many of his contemporaries were against purchasing corpses, particularly interesting ones (Ireland being particularly well-known for producing both dwarves and giants for some reason). Bart's had no trouble procuring subjects for study during Abernethy's tenure, and his methods would bear further investigation.
Bart's prospered during the Victorian period, becoming respected throughout the world. It is particularly famous for being the venue of the first encounter between Holmes and Watson (see the plaque in the image gallery). It survived the Blitz, although the image in the gallery shows it did sustain some shell damage still visible in the walls as you wander around. In the mid-90s there was an attempt to close Bart's, sparking a massive campaign (including a donation from Tokyo Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts). The A&E department did close, but it is scheduled to become a cancer and cardiac centre by 2010, which is apt. At present, Bart's is something of a building site but it has a remarkable atmosphere: chaotic and friendly, and timeless. People have shuffled about here in various stages of decrepitude for almost a millennium, and for some reason that makes it a very comforting place to be poorly.
