In an open pit near the old Bedlam insane asylum, where the curious once ogled chained lunatics for the price of a shiny coin, the skeletons in London's closet are climbing to the surface. And dead men do tell tales.
Take, for example, one poor soul recently unearthed from a long-lost graveyard in Bedlam's back yard — a 16th-century gentleman who was, perhaps, not so gentle in his day. His chalky skull bares the telltale signs of crude brain surgery. An honest attempt to cure the madness within? Or a joyride of an operation to slake the exotic tastes of doctors at a hospital whose name became synonymous with mayhem? (Bedlam is an archaic variation of its current name, Bethlem Royal Hospital.)
"Bones," London archaeologist Jay Carver said. "They tell us much, but it takes time. We had plague. We had disease. We had Bedlam. We had centuries of overcrowded city. So, yes, we have lots of bones."
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