The Magdalen Hospital

In the effort to better their society, the English instated many state-of-the-art improvements which showed an honest interest in helping society. On the coattails of the Foundling Hospital the Magdalen Hospital was founded in 1758 with the aim of 'curing' prostitutes.

Magdalen hospitals were not a new or English concept. These hospitals had been developed by Catholics in other countries hence being named after the famous reformed prostitute from the Bible. When the London Magdalen Hospital was founded it was created with the aim of giving young women a better life, knowing that prostitution was a last resort in a society with not many opportunities for women.

The establishment was run as more of a rehabilitation center. The penitent prostitutes entered into the hospital and were taught decorum and cleanliness and then given an education. Good behavior and improvement were rewarded with being moved to different wards and then being allowed more independence. Basically, the women were trained to make a living without having to whore themselves. The Magdalen Hospital was like a My Fair Lady factory: slob streetwalker goes in, civilized citizen walks out. There were even punishments for swearing - 6 hours confinement to your room or more with repeated offense. I have a feeling I would have spent a lot of solitary hours if I was a patient!

The hospital was deemed a success which helped in not having to scrounge for charitable contributions. In fact, society was so enamored with the enlightened idea of a penitent prostitute hospital was there was plenty of money pouring in. The chapel collections even drew in more money than the Foundling Hospital. I blame that on the spectacle. Why donate to orphan children when there are reformed whores singing hymns?

Thousands of wayward girls entered the hospital through the years. Soon, some of the patients were just girls who needed a head start and hadn't actually sold their body. Why not? The hospital trained you to start and honest living, out a roof over your head, and fed you.

Although we could never tell you if the hospital was a true success in its ability to rehabilitate, its heart was in the right place. It didn't punish prostitution but gave women a safer alternative to their original career path. Over the years the hospital expanded and changed. Its original location was by Blackfriars Bridge but it was moved to Streatham in 1866. By the 1930s the hospital was transformed into a school for 'juvie' girls. In 1966 what remained of the hospital closed for good with the original 18th century mission having long been forgotten. Although nothing remains of the site today you can still walk down the Magdalen Passage, an alleyway which lays on where the Magdalen Hospital foundation used to be.

The Foundling Hospital

Establishing a large metropolitan orphanage seems to have marked a city and its society's arrival at their own Renaissance. They came to symbolize a time of wealth and an new found interest in the welfare of its people. During the Italian Renaissance foundling hospitals (remember, hospital-hospitality) sprung up, one even had a large wheel that you could place your baby on and rotate into the building so as not to show your shamed face when your dropped your child off. Amsterdam's beautiful History Museum is housed in the former old Civil Orphanage, established during the Dutch Golden Age. The English were very stuffy about the topic of illegitimate children. They saw orphanages in the same way many people now see giving condoms to teenagers: if we provide a place for whores to put their unwanted children it's condoning bad behavior. It wasn't until the Enlightenment that there was a call to finally do something about the orphan problem.

If a family or individual couldn't afford to take care of their child, it tended to end up in a workhouse; think: Oliver Twist. Only 10% of the children sent here would survive. Those that were too young to work would be on the streets. Dead babies in the street were a common, early-morning sight. This was a sight that Captain Thomas Coram couldn't bear to see. For years he petitioned the king for a foundling hospital with no success. Luckily, King George II ascended to the throne in 1727 and his wife, Queen Caroline had the same concerns as Coram about the children. Coram's petition for a hospital that would turn forgotten children into useful citizens seemed like a good idea to this king and he approved it. The nobility and the wealthy also thought it sounded good and many became subscribers, that is, donated their money to build the hospital.

Those who couldn't spare money were able to help in other ways. The idea of the Foundling Hospital appealed to William Hogarth, who often critiqued society in his artwork. He became one of the hospital's founding Governors and would go on to foster some of the children with his wife since they had none of their own. Hogarth brought artwork to the hospital, donated by himself and other artists such as Gainsborough and Reynolds, and even designed the uniforms and the Coat of Arms. Another artistic supporter was George Frideric Handel. The musician was in the height of his career and used his popularity to his advantage by holding charitable performances in order to raise money for the hospital.

The Foundling Hospital wouldn't take all babies at first, but by 1756 a basket was hung outside its door to symbolize the law passed in the House of Commons deeming that the hospital would turn away any child under twelve months old. Many times, the babies would be dropped off with some sort of token by their mother, perhaps symbols of sacrifice or remembrance. A key, a more pricey and meaningful token of ownership, were often left to symbolize that the mother meant to reclaim the child if fortune ever was to smile on her. Babies' lives began at the hospital with wet nurses, who lived outside the actual hospital. One of Hogarth's duties was to supervise the wet nurses. When old enough, children were tended to inside the hospital, girls and boys on opposite wings as was traditional in orphanages. Here the children were tended to when they were ill, given food and amenities, and an education. There was an apprenticing program, so that when the children became teenagers they became apprentices and began their journey into the outside world.

Today the hospital doesn't exist. The 20th century saw the end of orphanages in England and the demolishing of the actual building which was once described as being, "the most imposing single monument erected by eighteenth century benevolence." Traces of this symbol of humanity can still be seen on the former site. A playground sits on seven acres of the site, which is commonly used by children from the modern hospital nearby, Great Ormond Street Hospital. The Foundling Museum stands to tell the Foundling Hospital's story and houses the art collection William Hogarth put together to bring the joy of art into forgotten children's everyday lives.

A Murderess' Tale

Every so often a story surfaces of such a horrible case of abuse that a nation is shocked by the tale. We are memorized by a person's cruelty and continue to retell of the abuse in the form of books or movies.

Such was the case of the orphan servant girl, Mary Clifford.

When the Foundling Hospital (more on that later) opened it's doors to the orphans in London, it did so with the idea of teaching and reformation, in order to better society. Children would be apprenticed when they reached the appropriate age so that they could learn skills that would earn them a living. So that is how Mary Clifford and Mary Mitchell came to be in the service of Elizabeth Brownrigg as domestic servants.

Elizabeth had a good reputation as a working class woman. She was a respected midwife and her husband a successful plumber. Because of this she was chosen to overseen children training to be servants. One day the Foundling Hospital found a girl on their doorstep who they had entrusted to Elizabeth's care. She was frightened and had run away from her employer, complaining of abuse. After a medical examination the Governors found the girl was telling the truth and issued a warning to Elizabeth's husband, that if he didn't curtail his wife's violence upon her servants they would be forced to take action.

Instead of heeding the warning, Elizabeth seemed to grow more abusive, taking her anger out on Mary Clifford and Mary Mitchell. She punished the servants for my minor infractions by stripping them naked and tying them to a ceiling beam so she could whip them. Mitchell, like the previous servant, ran away to seek refuge but was brought back by Elizabeth's husband. The abuse continued and grew even worse for Clifford. Mary Clifford was stripped of her clothing, forced to sleep in a coal hole, and whipped for long durations, sometimes up to a whole day, while being strung up from the ceiling rafter. She was leashed around the neck with a chain to assure that she wouldn't try to escape. Because of the constant abuse, the girls' wounds never healed and became infected. Finally, the Brownriggs' neighbors reported their suspicions of the abuse to the Foundling Hospital. Now it was Elizabeth's turn to run away. She left with her son while her husband stayed behind and was consequently arrested. The girls were rescued and hospitalized, but it was a little too late for poor Mary Clifford who died within a few days from the infections.

Shortly afterward a man was reading about the case in the newspaper when he realized his latest lodgers matched the description of Elizabeth and her son. He immediately contacted the constable and the Brownriggs were sent back to London to be brought to justice. The two Mr. Brownriggs were found guilty of misdemeanors and sentenced to six months in prison. Elizabeth did not get off so easy and was sentenced to death for her crimes of torture and murder. She was hanged at Tyburn and her body dissected for science (just as this Hogarth print shows, crime gets your body dedicated to science) and her skeleton was hung on display in the Surgeon's Hall as a reminder of the justice system.