The Royal Naval Hospital at Stonehouse in Plymouth occupies a unique position in the memories of all who have ever worked or been treated there. Its high grey walls originally designed to keep patients in, now guard against the encroachment of urbanisation. The central buildings of the hospital have changed very little since its completion in 1762, and the grounds have a quiet, almost rural charm that combine to provide it with an air of grace.
Two hundred and thirty five years ago in 1760, the first patients were moved in from the malt houses and warehouses along the shoreline to occupy a hospital whose design was so far advanced as to make it the finest in Europe. Social conditions at the time however, were primitive, and expertise in the fields of medicine, surgery and nursing was in its infancy. It took another century for these disciplines to innovate themselves to begin to achieve the high standards we now take for granted.
The gentlemen surgeons who paraded in high collars down the colonnade, the ladies from every calling who rolled up their sleeves to nurse the dying; and the VAD's and Sick Berth Attendants who took their professionalism all over the world, are the products of the Royal Naval Hospital for the reception of sick and hurt seamen and marines' at Stonehouse in Plymouth, Devon.
Graham Evans
On 31st March 1995, RNH Plymouth ( Stonehouse ) built for the reception of sick and hurt seamen and marines, closed its gates, 235 years after admitting it's first patient.
We lucky few, who served and lived there will remember the old girl with much fondness, the like of which, will never be seen again.
Joe Roulstone
With the closure of RNH Haslar, the long RNH tradition of service and eccentricity finally vanished and thousands of doctors and staff who were part of it, even briefly and sometimes unwillingly, sense the loss. The charm of the naval hospitals lay in their being just a little behind the times, generally never too busy, and always part of a greater service whose traditions they shared. Clubby, orderly, quaint, and decently resourced, they were everything that the current front line NHS is not—clearly the reason they had to go, but a reason also to mourn their passing.
Colin Douglas, doctor and novelist
