The first thing I must tell you is that in my day as a qualified nurse, the North Wales Asylum in Denbigh was actually a hospital. A mental facility, yes, but a hospital nonetheless. The ward doors may have been locked, but the place was no longer an asylum, used to keep people away from society. It was a place where people went to get better. Some did. Others didn't. The word 'Asylum' was not used in my era. In fact, people would get quite sniffy if the word asylum was ever used around the place. The hospital has had many names over the years, and here are a few: The North Wales Hospital, The Mental, The NWH, Denbigh Asylum, The North Wales Asylum, The North Wales Hospital for Mental and Nervous Disorders, The Five Counties Hospital. Outside of the town, the NWH was called ' Denbigh'. As in ' He's in Denbigh.' Similar to being 'Sent to Coventry', but with less chance of coming back. In 2013 a local brewer created a beer and christened it 'Y Mental.' Publicity was mixed. The beer sold well. Things had changed rapidly in the hospital from the early 1960s. Very little remained of when wards were numbered, nurses were called keepers or attendants, and padded cells were the norm. If you looked hard enough, the old Asylum was still there, but covered now by a clinical veneer and a medical smell of the NHS. And of urine. One thing that did hang around were tales of the old days. People love to talk. More chatter went on in the North Wales Hospital than in any other building in Denbigh. Well, it would. It was the town's biggest employer. I was a bright eyed 16 year old in 1975 when I arrived. Most of the nursing staff had been at the hospital since their youth. And most of the staff were old. Very old. As were the patients. Everything seemed old. But it was one of the most beautiful buildings I had seen when I was driven through the front entrance up to the front door. People like to reminisce. I do . We all do. They did. And the old staff had a lot to tell. Most of it went straight over my head, but what I loved as a child were ghost stories. And the old staff had some to tell. So on that, let me start by telling you about who I am - and who I was. At 16 years of age I was employed as a cadet nurse at the North Wales Hospital, which was itself a community within the community of Denbigh. I had arrived from my home in Staffordshire and lived in the Nurses home, in a cell like room with a bed, a sink and a chair. When I was 18 years old, I was invited to remain as a Nursing Assistant and subsequently I was taken on as a Student Nurse on a three year course. After three years I qualified as a Staff Nurse. A job was accorded to me and I nursed one year on days before moving to night duty for 13 years. Yes, that killed any chance of a career. As a staff nurse on nights, I had my own ward and later was invited into the Nursing Office to act as a sort of reserve staff for all of the wards. This involved responding to emergencies, relieving for dinner and tea breaks, etc. This gave me 'access all areas' to the wards, corridors and the people. My experience of nursing at the North Wales Hospital is a story itself and not what this particular book is about. It is for another time. Maybe. That is a little background to who and what I am - and was. And why I am now happy to share these stories with you. Most of the staff I knew are dead. I am alive. It is my duty to write this collection. Let me assure you that every one of these tales is true. I have either experienced what happened or been present as they were related to me by old staff members. Some are well known, some less so. All happened. And probably are happening still. Peter Glynn R.M.N.
The first thing I must tell you is that in my day as a qualified nurse, the North Wales Asylum in Denbigh was actually a hospital. A mental facility, yes, but a hospital nonetheless. The ward doors may have been locked, but the place was no longer an asylum, used to keep people away from society. It was a place where people went to get better. Some did. Others didn't. The word 'Asylum' was not used in my era. In fact, people would get quite sniffy if the word asylum was ever used around the place. The hospital has had many names over the years, and here are a few: The North Wales Hospital, The Mental, The NWH, Denbigh Asylum, The North Wales Asylum, The North Wales Hospital for Mental and Nervous Disorders, The Five Counties Hospital. Outside of the town, the NWH was called ' Denbigh'. As in ' He's in Denbigh.' Similar to being 'Sent to Coventry', but with less chance of coming back. In 2013 a local brewer created a beer and christened it 'Y Mental.' Publicity was mixed. The beer sold well. Things had changed rapidly in the hospital from the early 1960s. Very little remained of when wards were numbered, nurses were called keepers or attendants, and padded cells were the norm. If you looked hard enough, the old Asylum was still there, but covered now by a clinical veneer and a medical smell of the NHS. And of urine. One thing that did hang around were tales of the old days. People love to talk. More chatter went on in the North Wales Hospital than in any other building in Denbigh. Well, it would. It was the town's biggest employer. I was a bright eyed 16 year old in 1975 when I arrived. Most of the nursing staff had been at the hospital since their youth. And most of the staff were old. Very old. As were the patients. Everything seemed old. But it was one of the most beautiful buildings I had seen when I was driven through the front entrance up to the front door. People like to reminisce. I do . We all do. They did. And the old staff had a lot to tell. Most of it went straight over my head, but what I loved as a child were ghost stories. And the old staff had some to tell. So on that, let me start by telling you about who I am - and who I was. At 16 years of age I was employed as a cadet nurse at the North Wales Hospital, which was itself a community within the community of Denbigh. I had arrived from my home in Staffordshire and lived in the Nurses home, in a cell like room with a bed, a sink and a chair. When I was 18 years old, I was invited to remain as a Nursing Assistant and subsequently I was taken on as a Student Nurse on a three year course. After three years I qualified as a Staff Nurse. A job was accorded to me and I nursed one year on days before moving to night duty for 13 years. Yes, that killed any chance of a career. As a staff nurse on nights, I had my own ward and later was invited into the Nursing Office to act as a sort of reserve staff for all of the wards. This involved responding to emergencies, relieving for dinner and tea breaks, etc. This gave me 'access all areas' to the wards, corridors and the people. My experience of nursing at the North Wales Hospital is a story itself and not what this particular book is about. It is for another time. Maybe. That is a little background to who and what I am - and was. And why I am now happy to share these stories with you. Most of the staff I knew are dead. I am alive. It is my duty to write this collection. Let me assure you that every one of these tales is true. I have either experienced what happened or been present as they were related to me by old staff members. Some are well known, some less so. All happened. And probably are happening still. Peter Glynn R.M.N.
