This is the second post in my series about the letters found in the medical casebook of my great-grandfather David Ritchie Sr, written to the staff of the London County Asylum in Hanwell. Here I examine the contents of the second letter, the one he wrote while out on 1 month's trial discharge.
Dated 4 March 1911, the letter is addressed from 51 Exeter Street, Lisson Grove, Marylebone. This appears from census records to be a row house with space for 2 families. Since David's wife Maude was at Cleveland House, St James Square in 1909 and again in April 1911, she probably rented the Exeter Street rooms especially for the month of his discharge.
The letter is much more descriptive of my great-grandfather's condition than the one in which he asked to be recommended for a trial discharge. Initially, I was hesitant to share it. I decided, however, to do so in the interests of educating people about what it is actually like to suffer from mental illness. If you have read the first letter, you may notice a distinct difference in style and wonder if it is symptomatic of an out-of-control personality. I put it down to the fact that David was dictating the letter to Maude, and that Maude did not have the same finesse in writing as he did. Here is what he tells the medical Superintendent:
"My wife and I think we had better come and see you next Monday instead of waiting for the month to expire. I have lived carefully and have been hoping all along that when I got used to the change I should go on all right but I have got into a state which I believe is doing my brain injury. From the day of my discharge I have not had my proper sleep. I have done all in my power to remedy this, taken opening medicine tired myself out with long walks and stopped my ears with cotton wool at night but to no effect. I usually get about four to five hours sleep but I am in semi-conscious condition all the time, I wake at every sound. This did not seem to affect my health for the first five or six days but after that I could not distinguish the events of one day from another and my memory seemed to go to pieces. In the middle of a sentence my mind would sometimes become a blank and I would follow the sense of conversation some way and then lose my grip of it and ask to have the latter part repeated. I have been to see my friends and relatives but now I am so conscious of my deficiencies that I do not feel inclined for society because I get into a most irritable state bordering on frenzy but it soon passes and I have not lost control of myself. I don't get cross with other people but with myself. I have been no trouble to others, have had no disagreements and have not said an unkind word to anyone since I left Hanwell but I am afraid of these irritable fits. I think I have left Hanwell too soon, my recovery has been very slow and it has not gone far enough. I would have seen a doctor had I the slightest hope of benefit, but I am afraid of drugs and I think it is the incessant movement and noise of the traffic which has excited my senses so that I cannot get into a proper condition for healthy sleep. I shall come prepared to stay at Hanwell till recovered. My wife has helped me with this letter, we are devoted to each other, and hope our reunion will only be put off for a time. She will accompany me on Monday. I thank you, sir, for recommending me for my discharge and hope it will not be regretted as I have given no trouble in any way."
It is interesting to note David Ritchie's reference to traffic noise. Hyper-awareness of sensory stimulation is often associated with a sensitive personality. Yet, even more telling, I think, is his insistence that he has conducted himself well and not been a nuisance, despite his difficulties with sleeping and losing track of conversation. Even the letter itself, with its respectful and accepting tone, suggests he is in the habit of downplaying his own needs in order to keep the peace.
Photo credit: "Trafalgar Square" by
Leonard Bentley.
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