Medicine through Time: The Old Operating Theatre, London Bridge

The Old Operating Theatre, London Bridge

Heading up the 32 step, narrow, circular stone staircase, I was thinking to myself “are we in the right place?” It felt more reminiscent of exploring the tower of Oxford Castle or the spire of St. Peter’s Basicillia rather than heading up to a museum. But it was the right place, for hidden in the attic of St Thomas’s Church in Southwark, is the oldest surviving operating theatre in Europe, dating from 1822.

The operating theatre was originally part of St Thomas’s hospital but when in June 1862 the hospital moved from its original site in Southwark to make way for a railway line to Charing Cross, the theatre was sealed up; only to be rediscovered almost a hundred years later in 1956. After discovery it underwent a process of restoration and was finally opened to the public as a museum in 1962.

The Operating Theatre itself was exactly like all the images I remember seeing in my GCSE Medicine Through Time textbook. It was very simple and in a way, quite clinical, although only if we substitute modern metal for wood, a lot of wood (and we know that that is not the most practical material for constructing an operating theatre from!) But what struck me most while standing there, looking down on the replica operating table, was just how audience centred the experience seemed to be. 

There was more room for observers to watch the surgery than for the patients and surgeons operating. A sense of spectacle really came across. Now that might be a wrong deduction, perhaps the emphasis then was on education and that doctors learnt best by observing surgery first hand, but I can see why the term ‘theatre’ was perhaps adopted to describe the places in which surgery took place. It was a somewhat bizarre experience to then stand at the bottom and look up – this would have overlapped with the age before anaesthetics and antiseptics – I’d have been awake and when I looked up could have had a hundred pairs of eyes staring back at me. Needless to say, I think the whole thing would have been absolutely terrifying!

Alongside the Operating Theatre there is also a Herb Garret, which was used throughout the 18^th and 19^th centuries by the St. Thomas’ Hospital apothecaries to store herbs and make medicines. I’d been warned about the smell of this part and so was somewhat relieved that it wasn’t too overpowering on this occasion, for this section of the museum is like a treasure trove, brimming with every type of herb, spice or plant needed to produce medicines and herbal remedies to cure an array of ailments. There were also lots of original surgical instruments, apothecary’s equipment, medical books and papers. We even spied the remedies of Thomas Holloway – the man responsible for the creation of Royal Holloway!

The Herb Garret

This was my favourite bit it has to be said. It was like stepping back in time and it encouraged you to use more than one of your senses – always a bonus! You could touch (although not everything), see and smell so many different things. You could have a go at producing pills, weighing ingredients and put back together an anatomical model. It was a good balance – you should know by know how highly I rate interaction and a ‘sense of place’.

Making Pills

Herbs & Spices

So why visit somewhere that induces images of blood, guts and gore? I’m not a fan of hospitals and am pretty squeamish these days, so thinking about it, it’s a pretty odd subject around which to formulate a museum. But also there are the ethical implications of medical case histories and as such, the ability or inability to add a “voice” to the narrative that the museum can tell. And I think this was what was actually missing from the experience – a sense of people’s stories. I know it’s incredibly complicated to convey those sorts of histories but even the voices of doctors or of nurses, wardens or even students were what was really lacking for me and I think that’s what would have given it that little more punch. It was missing a hook for me, the type that comes through connecting to an individual.

All said and done I am really glad we visited – it’s one of those off the beaten track places in London which is definitely worth a visit. I also wish we’d gone as a school trip back in the day, as it would have no doubt brought the whole topic that much more to life! 

As an additional note, it was also interesting that we spied a Rothschild connection in the form of the Evelina Hospital for Sick Children which was originally opened in 1869 having been funded by Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild of Austria in memory of his wife Evelina who had died, along with their son, in childbirth.