Cow Hey 8 - Prestwick Hospital and Pa

"Was that the first time he was in the hospital then?"

"Yes, he was there only a few months the first time, and seemed to make a good recovery and when he came home things were almost back to normal. But then he back-slided, and had to go back, and the next time it was for longer. I'm surprised that you don't know all about this."

"I knew he was in the hospital, but nobody said why, and I just assumed that he would get better again, like he had before and come back home to live with us. He was never violent with me, and although I knew he was drunk quite a lot, I also knew that lots of my friends had Pas who drank too, so it didn't really worry me."

“He just couldn't cope, I guess.”

"So why did he die this time. Why didn't he get better like he did the times before?"

"They think he killed himself."

"You mean he committed suicide?" I said absolutely flummoxed by this new information.

"They didn't label it as such, but I had words with the doctor and he said, that in order for him to be able to be buried in the church, it had to go down on the records as an accident. But he had refused to eat anything for weeks."

I dissolved in tears. "Poor Pa. Why wasn't there anybody to help him?"

"He had lots of help. They're good people at that hospital. But in the end, he just couldn't cope with life, so decided probably that he would do us all a favour by ending it."

"So was he really a looney, then, and that horrid boy Harry is right?"

"Looney is a very unkind word. He had mental problems, probably brought on by Ma's death, but I remember him being depressed and odd at times before that, so I think it must have been in his background all that time, but it was her death that pushed him over the edge."

"Now I know why Mrs. Deanley said she thought it was best that he was dead," I added.

"Did she really say that to you? What a beastly woman."

"She obviously thought I knew, and when I didn't she said she was sorry but somebody else would have to tell me. I didn't understand at all what she meant."

"I'm sorry love, that you had to find out about Pa like this."

"So how am I going to face that Harry boy, now that it turns out that he is right, and Pa was a looney?"

"No, I don't think that for a moment. If Pa had been blind or crippled in some way, you would have had only sympathy for him. Pa's illness was in his mind. But that doesn't mean it wasn't an illness. He needs our sympathy rather than condemnation. How do we know how we would have coped, given his set of circumstances?"

"Is it inherited, Fred? Do you think that you and I and Harry and Charlotte will have a mental illness later in life?"

"We inherit our tendencies from both sides of the family. Ma never had any signs of any mental weakness in her. And you're very like her, Blanche. So is Charlotte. So I would say probably no. Harry, on the other hand, has Pa's temper and his weakness for drink. So maybe it will be his fate too, but chances are we will never know. I'd like to think I was more like Ma than Pa, although I want to follow in his footsteps and become a stone mason, but having the knowledge of how he turned out, will make me more determined than ever to stay away from hard liquor."

"What a conversation this has turned out to me. Are we nearly there?"

"Yes, love, we are indeed. These houses ahead of us are known as Chisworth. And my friend who's teaching me about stone cutting lives in just that cottage there. Let's just call in on him, so he can meet you, and I can make arrangements for me to see him perhaps later on today, after you've gone back home."

So we walked across the road and up to one of the terraced houses. Fred knocked on the door.

"Hello. Welcome," said a friendly middle aged woman.

"Mary, I would like you to meet my sister, Blanche. Blanche, this is Mrs. Joseph Higgenbotham."

"Pleased to meet you," I said. "Are you related to the Higgenbothams that live in Ludworth?”

"Probably," she laughed. "Joseph has more cousins than I can possibly name.”

“Do you work at the quarry too?”

“No, I am a cotton operative in the mill just over there," she said pointing. " And this is our son, Fred. He's ten.”

A boy about my age came into the room, and went out again just as fast.

“But you didn't come to see me. I'll just give Joseph a shout."

A few minutes later a similarly aged man arrived, and we were duly introduced.

"I see why you've not got time to work with me today, Fred," he said. "Your beautiful sister has arrived and you have to show her around."

"Could we go to the quarry just to show her what I'm working on?"

"Of course, we can. Do you want to come too Mary? I expect Fred won't want to. But it will give you a chance for some fresh air."

So the four of us walked a short distance away where there was evidence of stones being cut from a hillside, and worked into regular sized slabs. Fred went up to a large hunk of stone.

"This is it. This is what Joseph is teaching me how to do. It will be a tombstone when I'm finished, if somebody wants to buy it. I've carved the shape and am going to put in the words, "Rest in the Peace of the Lord." It takes a lot of time and effort but I just love doing it."

"Pa would be so proud of you, taking on his craft," I said. "And I think you've done a splendid job. And Mr. Higgenbotham must be a very good teacher indeed."

"You could come back to The Benches with us and have tea there," suggested Fred. So they agreed and went back and dragged Fred with them, and the five of us made much better time on the downhill road.

When tea was finally finished, the Allsops and I said our goodbyes, and Fred decided to go back up to Chisworth again with his friends, to get an hour or so done on his carving before it got dark.

I tried to forget about Pa being a Looney - but I couldn't. I felt so bad that he had those problems, but also bad for us that we had to live with that stigma. I didn't quite know what to say or do to make it any better and Mrs. Allsop realized that something was bothering me.

I told her what Fred had said, and how I was feeling.

"I can understand just how painful the whole thing is for you, love," she said. "And I know what might ease your mind a bit on the subject. Find out more about it."

"I would like to understand a bit about it. Do you think I could get a book at the library that would tell me more?"

"You might well. If they don't have a book about it, they might suggest where you could write to get more information. But I would keep it a secret from your friends, so perhaps you could go to the library sometime when it isn't school time. No need to create more for the naughty boys to tease you about."

"But I'm there at the library each day. It seems silly to make a special trip."

"Perhaps you could have a quiet word with the librarian over lunch hour when the others are playing, if you can do it without too much trouble."

As luck would have it, one day that week Florence didn't come to school, as she wasn't feeling well, so I didn't have to worry about her finding out. So after school, I went upstairs to the library, and first went through the procedure of joining it, and looking at the stock.

After a few moments, I asked the librarian, Miss Hopkins, if she had any books about Prestwich Asylum as I was doing a project on it.

"No, I don't think we do," she said. "But I will write to the Prestwich Library and see if they have something they can lend us, and then we can let you borrow it. When does your project have to be done?"

"Oh, not for weeks yet," I said, so pleased that she had swallowed my story. "Shall I come and check again next week?"

"Yes, pop in a week today, as that will give time for my letter to get there, and one to get back here."

"Thank you so much for your help."

I could barely contain my nerves over that week. School progressed as normal, and for the most part I enjoyed it. The naughty boys had found somebody else to bother, and pretty much ignored me now, which was as I liked it. I told Mr. Bennett that I had done some helping of the younger children at my last school, and he asked me if I wanted to become a pupil teacher? I said I would think about it.

Schooling up til age 12 is now compulsory, (it was changed from 10 two years ago) so I knew I had another whole year at school anyway. I found out (by asking Mr. Bennett's daughter Emma) that if one chose to become a pupil teacher, you would start by being a Monitor for a year. You would help the teachers for the first year, but not do any teaching. Then each year after you would have more responsibility for five years of an apprenticeship - which meant that at the end, I would be 18, (like Emma now is) and then I would take an exam to become a qualified teacher.

I also found out by talking to her that from this next beginning of school year, education will be free - so we won't have to be taking our pennies each week.

Finally my week of waiting was over and I went back to the library over lunch time (as Mrs. Allsop had suggested) and the librarian, Miss Hopkins, told me she'd received a letter from the Prestwich Library, saying that there were no books available to borrow, but suggesting that I got in touch with Medical Superintendent. He is called Dr. Frank Percevel, MRCS , Bury New Road, Prestwich, Lancashire. The woman said he was very approachable, and was sure he would write back and answer my questions. Our librarian gave me the letter to keep, so that I would have note of the address. I then took out a book while I was in the library, so I could honestly say where I had been. It was the first one I saw, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

So I was disappointed that I didn't have a book about the subject, but pleased because at least I could now at least find out something about my Pa. I snuck back to the playground. "Oh, you'll like that one," said Florence when I showed her my book. "We had to read it last year, and it's such a good story."

When I got back home that evening, while I was helping Mrs. Allsop to prepare the tea, I told her about the letter and what it had said.

"Well, after you do your homework tonight, you must write to him, and I will take it to the post for you tomorrow. Do you have in mind what you want to ask?"

"I shall tell him that I just found out that my Pa was at his asylum, and that he was now dead, and I wished to know a bit more about why he had been there, and what his treatment has been. And I want to know why and how he died. Do you think he will tell me those things?"

"Well, he might have already told Fred all those things, and as your guardian at the time, he might have felt that it was up to him to decide what to tell you. But it can't hurt to ask."

After tea, I got out my best writing paper and ink pen, and sat down at the dining room table to compose my letter. I was worried that I might not use the right words, so I wrote it out in rough on a scrap of paper first.

"Could you read this, and say what you think of it?"

"Why don't you read it out to us, love," said Mr. Allsop. Neither of us is all that great on reading."

So I did.

January 28, 1891

Dr. Frank Percevel, MRCS

Medical Superintendent

Prestwich Asylum

Bury New Road

Prestwich, Lancashire

Dear Dr. Frank Percevel,

My name is Blanche Hodkinson, and I've just found out that my father was up until early January, an inmate at your asylum in Prestwich. I knew he was in a hospital but never knew which one, or why he was ill. I knew he'd gone in several times over the last few years for months at a time, but when he came home, he always seemed very well and like normal.

My brother, Fred, came and picked him up after he died, and we had him buried with our Ma in the churchyard in Bollington.

Some boys from my class at school had found out that our Pa had died at Prestwich Asylum and so they started teasing me and saying my Pa was a looney, so I had to ask our Fred why they were saying that. So he told me that Pa had been a patient there, and that he had died, but he wasn't quite sure why or how. And I really want to know if us kids will become loonies too.

If you could tell me anything about my Pa, that would be very kind and helpful to me.

Yours faithfully,

Blanche Hodkinson

Cow Hey Farm

Glossop Road

Mellor

Derbyshire

"I think that is fine, dear," said Mrs. Allsop. "But I wonder about the use of the word Loony. It seems not very nice, somehow."

"What does it stand for?" I asked.

"Lunatic," said Mr. Allsop, "and I am not sure that's any better. It still sound derogatory, but as you were quoting what those boys said to you, I think it is fine to put it in like that."

I got out the good paper and ink, and made a fair copy. They both said how lovely my penmanship was. Then I put the letter in the envelope that Mrs. Allsop found for me, and left it for her to post the next day. She said she had stamps and there is a post box at Lane Ends, from which letters are collected twice a day.