You know that you've arrived at some sort of medical museum when a comment in the visitors' book warns 'Ouch'. And no wonder. One of the highlights of London's Old Operating Theatre, Museum and Herb Garret is the original 19th-century surgical theatre tucked into the roof of the St Thomas's Church, which was formerly part of St Thomas's Hospital.
School groups and the public can wince here together at the 'demonstrations' of Victorian surgery - with an especially large collective intake of breath reserved for the section on amputation without anaesthetic.
The restored operating theatre dates from 1821 and, when emptied of gawping teenagers, appears barren and slightly grubby at the edges. The room rises around the semi-circular theatre space in tiers that would have been the viewing point for apprentices, students and 'visitors by permission of the surgeon'. A small operating table in the centre of the room provides the focal point of the demonstrations.
These public displays are one of the main attractions for the 25,000 visitors that find their way to the museum each year, but they are not the only reason to visit - it's the collection of medical paraphernalia that really surprises.
One example, hidden in the eaves, is a rare set of particularly evil-looking obstetric instruments that wouldn't appear out of place in a torture chamber. An eight-pronged cervical dilator has women visitors recoiling in horror (and no doubt thanking their lucky stars that instruments and technology have moved on a bit). The museum's collecting policy tightly defines what objects can be collected - and this is further constrained by a tiny acquisitions budget.
The main aim is to provide a display of objects that would have been used during the period of the theatre. Despite these restrictions, the collection is not just a dull show of amputation saws - it covers everything from hand-operated carbolic sprays, trepanning instruments to a small, but intriguing collection of cross-sections of gall bladders (they are actually quite pleasant to look at).
At times the displays look slightly thrown together: a whole case marked 'miscellaneous instruments' houses, among other things, a wooden nipple shield, a stomach pump that converts into an enema kit (via a handy adaptor nozzle) and a conversation tube (a Victorian deaf aid). The only thing these objects have in common is that they are contemporary to the theatre, but this is not enough without a strong narrative.
The display on phlebotomy - bloodletting - does have a theme. The scarificators (mechanical leeches) are not as awful-looking as they sound (in fact, cupping appears a whole lot more painful), but absorbing as the objects are there is generally not enough explanation. Why was it done, what were the perceived benefits and what were the actual effects on the patients?
Karen Howell, the curator of the museum, is aware of the problems with the displays and has big plans to reinterpret the collection to tell the story through some of the personalities involved in surgery at the time. She also wants to bring out more of the women's story - the operating theatre was segregated and used only for female patients. The problem, as always, is money.
Last year staff at the museum faced a difficult decision. They were about to be made temporarily homeless because the landlord had to undertake structural work on the roof. The museum could have shut down for the duration of the work, but that would have meant losing visitors and revenue, a reduced profile on the tourist map and possible dispersal of the team of staff and volunteers.
In the end, the museum negotiated a temporary home in the cellar of the church and moved about 1,250 objects, via a 300-year-old spiral staircase, from the garret to the crypt. Although the new space lacked the historic setting of the operating theatre, staff were able to keep visitor interest alive with a contemporary art exhibition based on the collection and a series of public events (which just to maintain the gore level included a public leeching).
In June, the journey was done in reverse and the collection was transferred back from the crypt to the attic. And having a little more space has whetted the appetite of staff for a new challenge. The trustees are currently negotiating to buy the whole church.
And it's not just the £1m-plus asking price that will have to be found. The building suffered damage when the Jubilee underground line was extended a few years ago and will probably need a couple of million spending on it. The collection deserves it - not just for the gore-inspiring objects, but for the story they can tell about the development of modern surgery.
School groups and the public can wince here together at the 'demonstrations' of Victorian surgery - with an especially large collective intake of breath reserved for the section on amputation without anaesthetic.
The restored operating theatre dates from 1821 and, when emptied of gawping teenagers, appears barren and slightly grubby at the edges. The room rises around the semi-circular theatre space in tiers that would have been the viewing point for apprentices, students and 'visitors by permission of the surgeon'. A small operating table in the centre of the room provides the focal point of the demonstrations.
These public displays are one of the main attractions for the 25,000 visitors that find their way to the museum each year, but they are not the only reason to visit - it's the collection of medical paraphernalia that really surprises.
One example, hidden in the eaves, is a rare set of particularly evil-looking obstetric instruments that wouldn't appear out of place in a torture chamber. An eight-pronged cervical dilator has women visitors recoiling in horror (and no doubt thanking their lucky stars that instruments and technology have moved on a bit). The museum's collecting policy tightly defines what objects can be collected - and this is further constrained by a tiny acquisitions budget.
The main aim is to provide a display of objects that would have been used during the period of the theatre. Despite these restrictions, the collection is not just a dull show of amputation saws - it covers everything from hand-operated carbolic sprays, trepanning instruments to a small, but intriguing collection of cross-sections of gall bladders (they are actually quite pleasant to look at).
At times the displays look slightly thrown together: a whole case marked 'miscellaneous instruments' houses, among other things, a wooden nipple shield, a stomach pump that converts into an enema kit (via a handy adaptor nozzle) and a conversation tube (a Victorian deaf aid). The only thing these objects have in common is that they are contemporary to the theatre, but this is not enough without a strong narrative.
The display on phlebotomy - bloodletting - does have a theme. The scarificators (mechanical leeches) are not as awful-looking as they sound (in fact, cupping appears a whole lot more painful), but absorbing as the objects are there is generally not enough explanation. Why was it done, what were the perceived benefits and what were the actual effects on the patients?
Karen Howell, the curator of the museum, is aware of the problems with the displays and has big plans to reinterpret the collection to tell the story through some of the personalities involved in surgery at the time. She also wants to bring out more of the women's story - the operating theatre was segregated and used only for female patients. The problem, as always, is money.
Last year staff at the museum faced a difficult decision. They were about to be made temporarily homeless because the landlord had to undertake structural work on the roof. The museum could have shut down for the duration of the work, but that would have meant losing visitors and revenue, a reduced profile on the tourist map and possible dispersal of the team of staff and volunteers.
In the end, the museum negotiated a temporary home in the cellar of the church and moved about 1,250 objects, via a 300-year-old spiral staircase, from the garret to the crypt. Although the new space lacked the historic setting of the operating theatre, staff were able to keep visitor interest alive with a contemporary art exhibition based on the collection and a series of public events (which just to maintain the gore level included a public leeching).
In June, the journey was done in reverse and the collection was transferred back from the crypt to the attic. And having a little more space has whetted the appetite of staff for a new challenge. The trustees are currently negotiating to buy the whole church.
And it's not just the £1m-plus asking price that will have to be found. The building suffered damage when the Jubilee underground line was extended a few years ago and will probably need a couple of million spending on it. The collection deserves it - not just for the gore-inspiring objects, but for the story they can tell about the development of modern surgery.
