Researchers in the mind sciences often look to the production and analysis of drawings to reveal the mental processes of their subjects. This essay presents three episodes that trace the emergence of drawing as an instrumental practice in the study of the mind. Between 1880 and 1930, drawings gained currency as a form of scientific evidence – as stable, reproducible signals from a hidden interior. I begin with the use of drawings as data in the child study movement, move to the telepathic transmission of drawings in psychical research and conclude with the development of drawing as an experimental and diagnostic tool for studying neurological impairment. Despite significant shifts in the theoretical and disciplinary organisation of the mind sciences in the early twentieth century, researchers attempted to stabilise the use of subject-generated drawings as evidence by controlling the contexts in which drawings were produced and reproduced, and crafting subjects whose interiority could be effectively circumscribed. While movements such as psychoanalysis and art therapy would embrace the narrative interpretation of patient art, neuropsychology continued to utilise drawings as material traces of cognitive functions.

When thinking of spurs to hospital development in the first half of the last century, it would be easy to assume that the greatest watershed was provided by the 1946 National Health Service Act. In this article, however, we focus on an earlier and often overlooked piece of legislation, which had a perhaps equally significant impact on the development of hospitals in England and Wales. This was the 1929 Local Government Act, which changed both the ownership and the focus of many of the largest hospitals in the country. As Robert Pinker has observed, the act “radically altered the percentage distribution of hospital beds in the public sector”. Such observations notwithstanding, municipal medicine in the 1930s has not received the historical attention it deserves, an omission which this article seeks in part to remedy. The terms of the act in respect of hospital development were permissive, and the extent to which local authorities acted had a great effect on the way in which their municipal hospital services developed, and hence the beds and facilities available at the time of the nationalization of the health services. The reaction of local authorities to the act, however, depended partly on their own choices, and partly on constraints over which they had less control.

Sometime between the late 1960s and the early 1970s, a ‘Monsieur Jourdain syndrome’ seems to have spread among basic researchers and clinicians in fields as diverse as neurology, psychology, psychiatry, behavioural studies, physiology, biochemistry and pharmacology. Almost overnight, they realised that they were but neuroscientists.

Although historians have shown that there has been a complex and multi-layered relationship between the body, medicine and the force of electricity, many avenues remain to be explored. One of the most prominent of these is the way in which electrotherapy technologies were marketed to a wide variety of different end users and intermediaries. This paper offers the first historical analysis of one such device – the Overbeck Rejuvenator – a 1920s electrotherapy machine designed for use by the general public. Its inventor, Otto Overbeck, was not a medical man and this enabled him to use aggressive strategies of newspaper advertising, using testimonials to market his product alongside appeals to his own scientific authority. He commissioned the prestigious Ediswan Company to manufacture the Rejuvenator on a large scale, and took out patents in eleven countries to persuade users of the efficacy of the device. In response to Overbeck’s activities, the British Medical Association enlisted an electrical engineer to examine the Rejuvenator, contacted practitioners whose endorsements were being used in publicity material, and denied Overbeck permission to advertise in the British Medical Journal. Despite this, the Rejuvenator brought its inventor wealth and notoriety, and helped redefine the concept of ‘rejuvenation’, even if the professional reception of such a device was almost universally hostile. This paper shows how the marketing, patenting and publishing of Overbeck combined to persuade members of the laity to try the Rejuvenator as an alternative form of therapy, bypassing the medical profession in the process.

This paper seeks to account for the development of a public health education policy with respect to venereal disease during the period 1916–1926. Two competing pressure groups, the National Council for Combatting Venereal Disease and the Society for the Prevention of Venereal Disease, defended opposing programmes; the one based on moral education (NCCVD) and the other (SPVD) on medical prophylaxis. Many of the interests represented by the groups and the political dimensions that they took, were influenced by factors only very tangentially connected to health education.

Any account of the development of policy in this field needs placing in the context of the early history of nineteenth-century anti-vice crusades; the role of the Army Medical Corps during the 1914–18 war; and the bureaucratic protectionism of the Ministry of Health personnel.