The Internet, like the material world, offers places you’ll stumble across and never find again. An hour’s exploration can stay with you for years, long after the original site has disappeared, changed it’s name, or been wiped away by progress or neglect.
I came across photographer Mechanised’s images of Cane Hill Asylum on Livejournal years ago, and of all the teeming galleries of urban exploration you can trawl through online, this one left an impression. The photos struck a sensitive balance between the human narrative of the building’s original function and the beauty of the decay, and when I recently rediscovered the gallery’s new location – an accident – all the images packed their original punch.
Mechanised indulges in none of the pound-shop Halloween gimmickry you often get with urban exploration. The overflowing drawers of patient art are particularly poignant.
Epitaph for Happiness (and Audrey)
There’s not one curse or evil deed,
No spells or promises to heed,
There is no equal power within the mind
Love’s happiness was hard to find
Post-war, wards at Cane Hill were named after historical luminaries in an attempt to lighten the stigma of the asylum. Waiting in the pharmacy, this wheelchair is from Rossetti ward – named for Gabriel, not Christina. Considering his mental health, it’s an affecting image.
David Bowie’s half-brother Terry died on the railway tracks outside the hospital.
Charlie Chaplin’s mother was a patient here.
She looked pale and her lips were blue, and, although she recognised us, it was without enthusiasm; her old ebullience had gone. […] She sat listening and nodding, looking vague and preoccupied. I told her that she would soon get well. “Of course,” she said dolefully, “if only you had given me a cup of tea that afternoon, I would have been alright.” The doctor told Sydney afterwards that her mind was undoubtedly impaired by malnutrition, and that she required proper medical treatment, and although she had lucid moments, it would be months before she completely recovered. But for days I was haunted by her remark: “If only you had given me a cup of tea, I would have been alright.”
Cane Hill was demolished after arson and flood made it unwelcoming to prospective buyers. The land is now being offered up for flats.
As Mechanised says, London is a ruthless city.
Amberley recently published Asylum: Inside the Pauper Lunatic Asylums, by Mark Davis. It’s a photographic book on the old lunatic asylums, including Cane Hill Hospital. You may be interested in my review:
Thanks! I’ll take a look.
Dear Verity – Thank you so much for your kind and considered words about my site. I found your site by chance when Googling a line from one of the patient poems I photographed, and drew so much encouragement from your response. (It was not always an easy project to pursue).
I’ve recently tidied up the site (adding some extra images and text in places, etc.) – which is how I found myself Googling the patient poem, and from there, stumbling across your work.
I haven’t yet had the time to read as much as I’d like of your site, but really enjoy your tone, style, and I can see a lots of overlap in terms of preoccupations too. And thank you for the incredible insight you offered into your surgery. I’ll try to get hold of “Out of the Darkness’ when it’s published, and look forward to reading your contribution (and many others too – it’s a really great list of contributors!). Thanks again and all the very best for the months and years ahead.
Mark, hello! I didn’t see this until now (WordPress somehow stopped sending out comment notifications). I’m so pleased you liked the post – I’m still a big fan of your work. I follow a lot of urban exploration people, but some of them aren’t especially sensitive. It’s incredibly sad that the hospital has burned down and been demolished, but I’m glad so many images of the interior exist. Those poems especially.
I hope you enjoy Out of The Darkness! I haven’t seen the other stories yet, so I’m really excited about it.