“When he
woke up,
he didn’t
know who
he was and
could not
recognise
his wife and
children”98 CLASSIC BOAT JANUARY 2018Sternpost
T
he first time I came face-to-face with sailors
suffering from war trauma was in the
windowless reading room of the National
Archives. They were in a pair of cardboard boxes
retrieved from the NA vaults. The first contained the
medical reports of hundreds of mental patients sent to
Haslar Naval Hospital from 1822-32; the second
Haslar’s medical journal for 1830-38. Hand-written in
looping copperplate, both sets of documents described
the lives of Royal Navy sailors whose lives had gone
awry through accidents, injury, illness or, more often
than not, more mundane reasons such as bereavement,
broken hearts or alcoholism.
There was Lieutenant Thomas Mackeson of HMS
Cornelia, struck down by fever off the coast of Africa
and relieved of his command when he become violent
and suicidal. After being admitted to Haslar in June
1830, he had his head shaved and leeches applied and a
seton inserted into the back of his neck to relieve the
“bad humors”. Then there was Edward Barrett, a cook
on HMS Royal Fredrick, who was “deprived of his
arms and right eye in naval engagements” and
subsequently behaved in a “violent, inconsistent and
highly irrational manner”. He lasted seven years at
Haslar before dying of fever.
And there was Patrick Walsh, a seaman suspected of
killing “two or three of his fellow creatures”. His doctor
wrote he “fancies that there is no crime, but rather a
meritorious act, in killing a Frenchman, Spaniard,
American or native of any other country with which
England is at war [...] and also any person who would
blaspheme the Holy Ghost or Virgin Mary or speak
disrespectfully of the Pope”. He was kept locked up for
more than ten years at Haslar, during which time he
developed a keen interest in knitting.
These reports confirmed what I already suspected:
that serving in the Royal Navy in the 18th and 19th
century was a dangerous and brutal occupation with a
high human cost which sailors paid for with their
sanity. Indeed, so serious was the problem that the
Physician to the Fleet, Sir Gilbert Blane, claimed sailors
were seven times more likely to go mad than the rest of
the population, and the Admiralty was forced to build
several mental asylums to cope with the influx of
“Naval Maniaks”.
The second time I came face-to-face with sailors
suffering from the trauma of war was on board the
deck of the 92ft schooner Spirit of Falmouth just before
she set off on her second Round Britain Challenge in
August 2017. On board, were 17 ex-servicemen and
women taking part in a programme run by Falmouth-
based charity Turn to Starboard to help them deal withPost-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Far from
finding the sea distressful, these war veterans were
seeking it out as a way of coping with past trauma.
There was Alan Purdey, a former trooper in the
Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment, who fell off his
horse and landed on his head and suffered major brain
injury. When he woke up, he didn’t know who he was
and could not recognise his wife and children. Despite
still struggling with reading and writing, he’s not only
passed his Competent Crew exam but is now studying
for his Yachtmaster. Then there was Emma Fullagar, who
served as a medic with the Black Watch in Afghanistan
at the height of the conflict in 2009. Her PTSD was
triggered by a motorbike accident and the death of her
father. After just a few days’ training, she set off on the
Round Britain Challenge in memory of her dad.
And there was Dan Fielding, a former Royal Marine
who served in Sierra Leone, Iraq and Northern Ireland,
and saw more than his fair share of horror on the front
line. After being invalided out with a back injury, he
suffered from paranoia and nightmares and locked
himself away from family and friends. He eventually
signed up with Turn to Starboard and, just two years
later, was embarking on his second circumnavigation of
Britain not simply as crew but as the ship’s captain. A
quite remarkable turnaround.
Two meetings, 200 years apart,
which demonstrate the sea’s power to
influence our minds – sometimes for
worse but often for better.Nic Compton’s book Off the Deep
End: A History of Madness at Sea is
published by Adlard ColesNic Compton visits veterans using the sea to help cope with war trauma
WELLCOME LIBRARY, LONDON. WELLCOME IMAGESROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANSC/0 TURN TO STARBOARDVoyage for heroes
Clockwise
from top left:
Alan Purdey;
Sir Gilbert
Blane; Haslar
Naval Hospital,
Portsmouth;
Spirit of Falmouth