Broadmoor Revealed_ Victorian Crime and the Lunatic Asylum - Mark Stevens [6]
So it was these patients who were given the ‘pleasure’ sentence. They either stood in court, or did not even make it that far, while legal argument was had as to whether or not they were culpable for their actions. The basic rules covering the insanity defence were laid down by the McNaughten Rules in 1843. Daniel McNaughten had killed the private secretary of Sir Robert Peel, almost certainly in mistake for the Prime Minister, and then, far worse, upset the popular press by being found not guilty for the crime by reason of insanity. It took the entire House of Lords to deliver guidance that effectively confirmed the correctness of McNaughten’s verdict, and guaranteed that he was spared the noose. McNaughten ended up first in Bethlem and then in Broadmoor while his Rules lived on.
The most-quoted premise from McNaughten was that the defendant was unable to reason right from wrong, and so did not understand the nature or the quality of his or her actions. It was a fine judicial statement, at once precise and yet still leaving plenty of room for legal argument, so the lawyers undertook their increased scope for discourse with enthusiasm. Various approaches became popular: showing that your client suffered from particular delusions was one, often linked to some sort of traumatic event, past or present. A destitute man may believe his family better off in heaven, or a new mother that her child was permanently blighted by sin. Similarly, the insane actor may be driven to his crime by an irresistible impulse, at the mercy of forces beyond his control. Drink, if taken to addiction, could effectively cauterise choice.
The casual observer might well conclude that the law was drawn more generously than it is today. An alcoholic is unlikely to be found not guilty, and the perpetrator of crimes that we find it difficult to understand is no longer likely to be given any benefit of mental doubt. Yet many of the celebrated insanity cases concerned murder, and the law of the Victorian court had a heavier weight to balance on its scales of justices: that of the condemned’s feet upon the gallows trapdoor. Perhaps the law is only human, after all.
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Having been defined by the courts, or a prison doctor, as suffering from one of these diseases, a patient was transferred to Broadmoor to begin their ‘moral treatment’. As mentioned before, the routine of patient life was an integral part of their care, and it is worthy of further exploration. Routine would be a feature of every life within the institution, though the nature of the routine was itself subdivided. This division began when a patient was assigned to one of the Blocks, as each block was quite separate, and segregated.
On the female side, the initial Block housed all the patients. There was a divide between three wards: one ward for the more aggressive or noisy patients, one ward for those who were low risk, and one ward for those in-between. When the further block was opened in 1867, the more aggressive females were siphoned off into that.
This picture was mirrored on the male side on a grander scale. By 1868, the full complement of six blocks was complete. Blocks 1 and 6 were known as the ‘back’ or ‘refractory’ blocks, for dangerous and violent patients. The men here had their own separate airing courts, bricked in and hidden from the rest of the site, and the attendants who tended them wore uniforms with padding and with hidden buttons. The name ‘back Blocks’ came from their position, which was on the north side of the site and away from the beautiful views across the southern Terrace.
The back Blocks contrasted with those nearest to the terrace and the wider grounds, which were Blocks 5 and 2. Patients in these blocks were considered the lowest risk, and enjoyed greater access around the site. Block 2 in particular became known as the privilege block, where patients had the most freedom to plan their day. Their insanity did