Perhaps the mental hospital itself could be seen as a character in my story. Like most mental hospitals in Britain, it was Victorian, and quite grand-looking in an ugly, red-bricked sort of way. There was always steam pouring out of various orifices in the building. I don't know if the steam was coming from the kitchens or the ancient heating system, or both. It used to make me think of a sleeping dragon puffing out smoke with each breath. At the front of the building where all the offices were, was a grassed roundabout to drive around, and a few parking spaces. There were lots of mature trees which made a carpet of leaves in the Autumn, which were fun to kick around. There was always the sound of crows cawing, and I still find that this sound disturbs me, because of the memories it evokes. In the grounds there was a small and very old church, where services of various denominations were sometimes held, with usually about 3 or 4 people in the congregation. There is nothing worse than being in a tiny congregation and then realising that you are expected to sing a hymn!
There was a larger car park at the side of the building, and the staff social club, which reeked like a brewery. Patients were not allowed in there. At the back of the hospital there was a football pitch, but I never saw a match of any kind played there. The grounds were, as I have already mentioned, quite massive, and you could do a very pleasant circular walk which would take in the nearby river and the fields of cows. These grounds were open to the public so you would often see dog walkers and they were, as dog walkers usually are, very friendly and liked to stop and chat and would let you fuss their dogs.
The interior of the hospital had polished wood everwhere like a stately home, and the floors gradually sloped down to the various wards rather than there being stairs. There was a shop which sold cigarettes and sweets, and a tea bar, in the centre of the main building, and there you would often see the poor long-term patients who had been badly affected by being on the older medications for many years. Some of them had weird contorted faces, alarming facial tics, and limbs that moved around wildly, and many of them did what we called "The Loony Bin Walk", where their legs wobbled and they would do a kind of a "Heil Hitler" salute every other step. They would mumble to themselves, or shout unintelligably, and ask you for cigarettes. They were quite a tragic sight and I found it quite difficult to go to the main building because of this. Bearing in mind that many of these people would have been incarcerated at a time when just being gay or having a child out of wedlock was enough reason to be committed, then what had become of them seemed even more awful.
The ward I was forced to call home for three months, was not part of the main building. It was a self-contained annexe which had been built much more recently, in the 1960s. It was built in the shape of a cross, and this meant that the male and female dormitories could overlook each other, so a wall was built to offer more privacy. One of my friends on the ward had thought, when he was ill, that this was the wall against which he was going to be shot at dawn by firing squad!
My ward was open to patients from other wards during the day, and a lot of them came over to play pool or just to hang out, because it was much larger and more open-plan than the others, which were quite claustrophobic. The ceiling of the Games Room was high up and made of varnished wood, and bowed like an upturned boat. It had huge double doors and long windows and at night the blackness outside could be quite creepy, or quite comforting, depending on how you were feeling. The furnishings on the ward were very grotty, old armchairs with wee stains and big holes in the seats, low black coffee tables made grey with cigarette ash, and big oblong industrial ashtrays. Sometimes a kind person would donate a stereo system, but these would not last long and the cassette doors would be missing and tapes regularly unravelled. Usually only the radio part worked, and there would be rows over the volume or the choice of station.
The only time the ward looked presentable was when the inspectors were coming. Then, framed Monet prints would appear on the walls, new pretty floral curtains would be put up, and new chairs would materialise, only to be taken away again once the inspection was over. The ward was always cleaned every day though, the lino floors were mopped, the carpets were hoovered, and the brass knobs on the doors were polished. The corrdors had side-rooms where you could be seen privately by doctors or nurses, and there was a laundry for the patients to use. I found the bathrooms quite scarey places. You had the feeling that diabolical things had gone on in them in the past. The bath, a huge white enamelled monstrosity on metal legs, with old-fashioned brass taps, was in the middle of the room, and there was also a sink if you just wanted a strip wash. There was always lots of hot water and you could have a long soak, but you didn't really want to stay in too long because the surroundings were so bare and clinical. It was not very relaxing because you could hear people walking around in the corridor outside, and if you forgot to lock the door people would often burst in. Shower units were not added until years later, and everyone complained that they were too hot, but nothing was ever done about it.
The food arrived every day in massive silver-grey trolleys which were electically heated to keep the contents warm. I have to say that the food was actually very good, for institution-type catering. We had a cooked lunch, with fantastic stodgy puddings and custard, and then a tea which was usually soup and cold meats with salad and potatoes. The portions were very generous, and there was always a choice. The best meal was the roast Sunday lunch, the roast potatoes were delicious. We used to queue up to get our meals, and some people used to find it amusing to say while we were waiting that the chicken or the beef or whatever was poisoned, and then hardly anyone would have it! In the evenings, snacks were left out such as apples, small packets of biscuits and yoghurts, and you could always help yourself to toast, butter and marmalade or jam.
The ward used to smell of polish, mashed potato, and disinfectant. It was similar to the smell of a primary school. It probably did not seem like such a bad place to visitors, but being locked in anywhere is never very pleasant. I often used to wonder what would happen if there was a fire and the person with the keys could not get to the doors, because the windows were designed only to open a few inches so that people could not escape, and they were made of toughened glass, so breaking them wouldn't be an option. Louis did actually escape once by using a towel as a rope to climb up through a skylight and out onto the roof. He had a few pounds and a credit card on him, and he caught a bus to the next town, and spent a very pleasant weekend at a hotel watching movies and raiding the mini-bar. If he had not decided to visit an ex-girlfriend, who called the police, he might have been at large for longer, maybe for good. It was disappointing to see him brought back, a bit like at Colditz when someone did not make it to Switzerland.
I was quite pleased to hear that the ward had been demolished to make way for a housing development. If I had known when it was to happen, it might have been nice to go along and watch it being wrecked. If only the attitudes of consultant psychiatrists and mental health workers could be just as easily torn down.
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