Picturing the Shattered Faces of War: A Guest Post by Kristin Hussey, Hunterian Museum, London

Kristin Hussey--Assistant Curator of the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons with responsibility for the Odontological Collection--has kindly agreed to write a series of guest posts for Morbid Anatomy about some of the most curious objects in her collection.

The fourth post from that series follows; you can view all posts in this series by clicking here.

Picturing the shattered faces of War: First World War dental radiographs

The Victorian era was a crucial time of development for the dental profession, yet nothing could have prepared late 19th century dental practitioners for the massive facial trauma wrought by the First World War (1914-1918). In a conflict fought in trenches, soldier’s heads were the most vulnerable area in the line of fire. While steel helmets undoubtedly saved lives, ricocheting bullets caused unprecedented facial injuries. Mechanized warfare sent soldier home from the Front with disfiguring blast injuries; their shattered jaws held together by wire plating and splints made from whatever materials the clearing stations had to hand.

Many British soldiers with jaw injuries found themselves bound for the Croydon War Hospital outside London to a specialist unit headed by James Frank Colyer (1866-1954), a dental surgeon and the curator of the Odontological Society Museum since 1900. Today the Odontological Collection holds a collection of 23 radiographs, also known as skiagrams, showing the shattered jaws of Colyer’s soldier patients.

Colyer’s prescription for healing fractured jaws was simple but effective. First the patients’ mouths needed to be cleaned and sterilized as their injuries often became infected in the time it took to reach the hospital. Once radiographs were taken, they were taken to the operating theatre to reduce the fracture as much as possible. Colyer was particularly adamant that teeth needed to be removed from the fracture line as these often became septic, keeping the bone from healing. Then supportive splints, rest and a carefully selected diet was what was needed to get Britain’s soldiers fighting fit. For his work at the Croydon Hospital, Colyer was knighted in 1920.

The collection of radiographs in the Odontological Collection is interesting both as a record of First World War injuries, as well as serving as a reminder of the incredible importance of x-ray technology in the early twentieth century. X-rays, also known as roentgen rays, had only been discovered by German Professor William Röntgen in 1895. The new technology was put to use almost immediately in the medical world, and many major hospitals had x-ray departments by 1897. By the time the First World War was raging on the Continent, portable x-ray units were widely used by the military and such equipment could be found at most clearing stations and base hospitals. Although the images are not as detailed as they are today, the radiographs were essential in identifying foreign bodies and fractures previously invisible to the dentist’s eye.

Images:

1. The x-ray equipment at The Queen’s Hospital, Sidcup, c. 1917-1920. Courtesy of the Antony Wallace Archive of the British Association of Plastic, Reconstructive and Aesthetic Surgeons (BAPRAS)
2. Radiograph of a fractured jaw caused by a rifle bullet, 1915-1919. (RCSOM/F 9.42) Copyright the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons
3. Radiograph of a fractured jaw resulting from a fall from a mast, 1915-1919. (RCSOM/F 8.3) Copyright the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons
4. A portable x-ray installation suitable for use in war, 1915. Copyright Wellcome Library, London.  

 

Bound Teeth of Begum Hazrat Mahal, Warrior Queen of Oudh: A Guest Post Series by Kristin Hussey, Hunterian Museum, London

Kristin Hussey--Assistant Curator of the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons with responsibility for the Odontological Collection--has kindly agreed to write a series of guest posts for Morbid Anatomy about some of the most curious objects in her collection.

The third post from that series follows; you can view all posts in this series by clicking here.

She has been called one of India’s greatest female warlords- who ruled the kingdom of Oudh (now in modern Uttar Pradesh) in the place of her exiled husband. The Begum Hazrat Mahal (c. 1820-1879; top image) was a major player in the Indian Rebellion of 1857 and one of the only major leaders to never surrender to the forces of the British East India Company. She led the rebels to seize Lucknow in the name of her son Prince Birjis Qadra in 1858, but was exiled to Nepal after the British retook the city.

The teeth (middle image) first appear in the catalog of the Museum of the Odontological Society in 1882, leaving 3 years for them to have been presented to the collection. No mention of this gift has yet been found in the Transactions of the Odontological Society, we only know they were a gift from a certain W.A. Roberts. The Society’s interest in the teeth would have been twofold: first that they were, of course, the teeth of a famous person with the 1857 Mutiny having taken place within living memory. But more importantly, dentists at the time were very interested in the dental practice of peoples in the colonies, and particularly in the use of gold dental work. Gold was a material still frequently in use by dentists of the Victorian era to fill cavities and create bridges- although its usefulness was already being challenged by the introduction of an early plastic called gutta percha. The Transactions from the 1870s reveal a particular interest amongst the Society’s members in the use of gold-work in the teeth of ancient Egyptian mummies as well as contemporary people in Imperial India. The practice of binding loose teeth with gold wire was one that fascinated Victorian dentists –particularly because it was a very effective treatment. Indeed several similar specimens of bound teeth were acquired for the Museum in the surrounding years. The Queen of Oudh’s teeth formed a part of the ‘Artificial Work’ display of the Odontological Society’s Museum (bottom image) from 1882 until its loan to the Royal College of Surgeons in 1909.

The question then remains, are these actually the bound teeth of the Hazrat Mahal? As so little is actually known about her life, it is difficult to tell whether she would have had bound teeth- although considering her high position it is certainly possible she could have undergone this type of expensive procedure. But how the donor came by these teeth is still unknown. Was there a trade in relics from the 1857 Mutiny? Perhaps there was money to be made from British tourists interested in having a piece of imperial history? Does the fact that it is never mentioned in the Transactions indicate its authenticity was in doubt? These teeth have yet to give up all their secrets.

Images:

1. Begum Hazrat Maha; Sourced here
2. Teeth of Begum Hazrat Maha as seen at The Hunterian Museum
3. The Odontological Society’s Museum, 1900; Hanover Square, London

"Casts of the Teeth of Julia Pastrana (1834-1860), the Nondescript" : Guest Post by Kristin Hussey, Hunterian Museum, London

Kristin Hussey--Assistant Curator of the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons with responsibility for the Odontological Collection--has kindly agreed to write a series of guest posts for Morbid Anatomy about some of the most curious objects in her collection.
 

The second post from that series, entitled "Curious Specimens From the Odontological Collection," follows; you can view all posts in this series by clicking here.

Julia Pastrana was one of the most sensational figures in the era of Victorian circuses and sideshows. Pastrana was known as the ‘bear woman’, the ‘ape woman’ or the ‘the nondescript’ as a result of a condition, now known as hypertrichosis, which resulted in her entire body being covered in hair. Her corpse remained an object of spectacle long after her death in 1860 as it was toured around the world, embalmed, another 20 years by her husband-manager. With her remains recently interred in her home town in Mexico, the casts of her teeth in the Odontological Collection are the last remaining physical memory of the Victorian era’s most famous human curiosities.

Pastrana met her husband, Theodore (also called Lewis) Lent, in the early 1850s. The two married and Lent toured Pastrana across Europe singing and dancing as ‘The Beaded and Hairy Lady’. The tour was enormously successful, and Pastrana fell pregnant with Lent’s child. While in Moscow in 1860, she gave birth to a son, also seemingly suffering from hypertrichosis. The child died after 35 hours and Pastrana passed away as a result of complications of the birth. Pastrana’s famous last words were, ‘I die happy; I have been loved for myself.’ Not to be outdone by death, Lent hired a Professor of Moscow University to embalm his wife and son and continued to tour with them until he was committed to a mental institution in 1884. 

As well as fascinating the general public, Pastrana was of special interest to the scientific world, particularly as the theory of evolution was emerging. Doctors of the day debated whether she was a cross between human and orang-utan, a distinct species in the chain of human evolution, or simply a woman suffering from a disfiguring condition. The great debate that surrounded Pastrana could not fail to catch the eye of the inquiring dentists of the Odontological Society of London when she was exhibited in the city in late 1850s. Sometime in the mid-nineteenth century, the Society came into the possession of a pair of casts of Pastrana’s upper and lower jaw. The exact origin of the casts in the Odontological Collection is disputed. They were possibly in the founding collection of the College of Dentists from 1856, which was later absorbed into the Odontological Society. It appears that in 1859, A. Thompson presented casts of Julia Pastrana and again in 1876, R. Hepburn presented the same casts. It is of course possible that the Society held several casts of Pastrana of which only one set now survives. The casts demonstrate that Pastrana was afflicted with gingival hyperplasia which caused an overgrowth of the gums which resulted in the enlarged appearance of her mouth. From discussions recorded in the Transactions of the Odontological Society, it seems that the members were interested in whether there was a connection between the condition of Pastrana’s teeth and her unique appearance.
 
The suspicions of the Victorian dentists turned out to be correct. There is indeed a link between congenital generalized hypertrichosis and the presence of gingival hyperplasia. Indeed the casts of Pastrana’s teeth have greatly contributed to the later diagnosis of her condition. Other dental casts in the Odontological Collection of figures such as the Aztec twins from London’s sideshows show the Society’s keen interest in whether bodily disease could be understood through the teeth.

Images:

1. Julia Pastrana, "the nondescript", advertised for exhibition of the famous bearded Lady.
   Coloured Woodcut and Text By: Regent Gallery (Regent Street, London, England)
   Published: W. Brickhill's Steam Printing Works.[London] (Kennington and Walworth Roads, 20 doors from the Elephant & Castle); Sourced from Wellcome Images
2. V0007256 Credit: Wellcome Library, London
   Julia Pastrana, a bearded lady. Reproduction of a photograph by G. Wick.
   By: George Wick; Sourced from Wellcome Images
3. Dental cast of the teeth of Julia Pastrana, from the Odontological Collection; Photo courtesy of the Hunterian Museum

Announcing "Curious Specimens From the Odontological Collection" : A Guest Post Series by Kristin Hussey, Hunterian Museum, London

Kristin Hussey--Assistant Curator of the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons with responsibility for the Odontological Collection--has kindly agreed to write a series of guest posts for Morbid Anatomy about some of the most curious objects in her collection. Following is the first post of the series; more to come soon!

Our teeth are eloquent. They survive long after we have gone and bear witness to the details of our lives: our diet, our environment and even our health. The Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons has been collecting teeth since its earliest days and its founder, John Hunter, played a crucial role not only in the development of scientific surgery but also scientific dentistry. Hunter’s collection of teeth was complimented by the loan to the College in 1909 of the Odontological Society of London’s extensive collection. Founded in 1856, Odontological Society of London provided a forum for the greatest dentists of the day to come together to discuss their cases and innovations, often gifting the most interesting examples to the Museum. The collections of the Society were formally gifted as a token of good faith in the wake of the May 1941 incendiary bomb which destroyed a large portion the Royal College of Surgeon’s collections.

Today the Odontological Collection forms a part of the Hunterian Museum but retains its early character as a compendium of the interests and debates held by Victorian dentists of the Odontological Society. From exotic animal teeth to the dentures of celebrities to dental casts of people found in London’s sideshows, the curious specimens of the collection live alongside the more clinical examples. Using the Odontological Collection as our guide, this blog series will explore the curious, fascinating and bizarre stories that can be told through our teeth.

For more information on specimens mentioned in this series please visit the Museum’s online catalogue at http://surgicat.rceng.ac.uk or contact Kristin directly at khussey [at] rcseng.ac.uk.
 
Image: A necklace of human teeth brought back by the explorer H. Stanley from the Egyptian Sudan and presented to the Odontological Society in 1890, Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons