Female missionaries as amateur architects

While women (including single women) were increasingly accepted as missionaries in their own rights from the second half of the nineteenth century, as stated by Rhonda Anne Sample, their labour ‘remained undervalued in terms of both remuneration and administrative advancement, until well into the twentieth century’.²⁴ Mrs Clark is an exemplary instance of female exclusion from official mission histories. Mrs Clark was a hospital worker (a sister of St John at King’s College Hospital) before marrying Robert Clark in 1858. Moreover, her father was a medical doctor, Dr Robert Browne, who had worked in Calcutta for forty-five years.²⁵ She was also instrumental in the foundation of the hospital of the Church of England Zenana Missionary Society in Amritsar, which was known as the St Catherine Hospital.²⁶ Yet the CMS publications deny her any active role. In 1939, the CMS medical magazine, The Mission Hospital, published an article entitled, ‘CMS Medical Missions: Our Yesterdays’. After stating that the medical work of the CMS is focused in ‘seventy-seven hospitals, 200 welfare centres, and thirty-three leper colonies’, the article asked, ‘How did it all begin?’ Although it acknowledged the vision and achievement of ‘giant men and women’, it only referred to male missionaries when explaining ‘the first days’.²⁷ It is telling to note that guidelines for the recruitment and training of women candidates were only formally presented at the Edinburgh Missionary Conference in 1910.²⁸ Moreover, the CMS accepted women to its General Committee for the first time in 1917.²⁹ The contribution of female (medical) missionaries to building construction was another excluded area.

Dr Minnie Gomery is among the female medical missionaries who contributed to building construction. She established the John Bishop Memorial Hospital in Islamabad (Anantnag) in 1902, where she worked until her retirement in 1935. The hospital was named after the Scottish doctor, John Bishop, whose wife, Isabella Bird, a well-known explorer, established a hospital in his name in Kashmir in the 1880s. A severe flood damaged this hospital in 1891 and the John Bishop Memorial Hospital in Islamabad took its place.³⁰

In her obituary, E.H. Bensley, the head of the Faculty of Medicine at McGill University, explained about Gomery’s time in Islamabad and her life after retirement but left out her involvement in the construction process of the John Bishop Memorial Hospital.³¹ This omission mirrors missionary publications which played down the role of female missionaries in building construction, referring to their involvement, at the very best, only in passing. According to Annmarie Adams, women’s role as ‘regulators’ of the household system ‘fitted well with Victorian theories of sexual difference, which claimed that because of the smallness of their brains, women were better at arranging or finishing work started by men rather than initiating the work themselves’.³² Moreover, as Lynne Walker writes, designing chapels or churches ‘reinforced the idea of women’s supposedly superior moral and spiritual nature’.³³ These beliefs underwent a change with the acceptance of women as professional architects by the late nineteenth century. But female missionaries, many of whom were not from middle-class backgrounds, were involved in planning, repairing and supervising buildings long before this period. Their range of activities fell outside the contemporary accepted definition of women’s capacity. As early as the middle decades of the nineteenth century, Bessie Price, the daughter of the London Missionary Society missionary to South Africa, Robert Moffat, lent a hand in repairing buildings when needed.³⁴ By the late nineteenth century, female missionaries were sharing the design of the buildings with their male colleagues. Gomery did not initiate building construction – this task was left to the Neve brothers of the Kashmir medical mission – but she designed the buildings with their help. She and Miss Newnham, a nurse, also ‘marked out on the site the proposed position of the buildings, according to plans’.³⁵ Additionally, she looked after the ‘plastering, flooring, &c’ upon the completion of building construction.³⁶ Moreover, in a 1902 report, Gomery stated that ‘I carefully planned a window for one of our bedrooms’.³⁷

The female missionaries of the CMS in Persia also left their mark on the architectural landscape, as did those of the Society for the Promotion of Gospel in Foreign Lands (SPG) in China, British India and Africa. A few examples include Dr Winifred Westlake of the CMS and Jenny C. Muller, Emily Lawrence and Ethel Margaret Phillips of the SPG. When the decision was made to build a separate hospital for women in Kerman, G. Everard Dodson and Westlake drew the plan of the hospital together: ‘Enclosing preliminary plan of new women’s hospital drawn by himself and Dr Westlake’, wrote Dodson in a letter on 7 June 1904.³⁸ Muller ‘carefully and skilfully planned’ St Stephen’s Hospital in Delhi and the hospital in Karnal.³⁹ The 1934 report of SPG called her ‘the creator of St. Stephen’s Hospital’.⁴⁰ Phillips drew the plans of St Agatha’s Hospital for Women in Shandong, China and superintended the construction of the buildings, and Lawrence oversaw the construction of the first medical mission on Madagascar’s eastern coast.⁴¹ Their involvement in building design and construction demonstrates what Elizabeth Prevost describes as the ‘highly independent nature of single missionary activity’.⁴² Female missionaries were able to escape metropolitan pressures and gain professional experience while stretching the ‘boundaries of socially sanctioned notions of femininity’, thus experiencing ‘opportunities normally reserved for men’.⁴³

In her examination of the design of Australian Inland Mission’s cottage hospitals, Cathy Keys argues that nursing sisters’ ‘knowledge of social and climatic conditions’ influenced their design. They not only offered advice on building materials, the number of doors and windows and the size of verandas but also sought to ‘combine nursing, medical and social work in a single plan under one roof’.⁴⁴ In other words, they acted as reformers while innovating new architectural designs.

Purdah hospital

The John Bishop Memorial Hospital was one of the active ninety-three mission hospitals for women in British India in 1927. Under colonial health policies, the provision of medical relief to Indian women was most conspicuously inadequate. As Rosemary Fitzgerald states, ‘Western responses to Indian women’s health needs came largely from philanthropic organizations, and, most notably, the missionary societies’.⁴⁵ The ninety-three mission hospitals for women that were recorded in A Survey of the Status and Conditions of Women in India represented over half of all women’s hospitals in India.⁴⁶ This statistic highlights what was stated at the start of this chapter; that is, mission hospitals are an essential lens through which we can explore hospital architecture in the British Empire.

The design of mission hospitals was often left to the care of the medical missionaries. Although archival materials offer little help in understanding how they designed the hospitals, they show that they had access to new and approved design criteria including models of pavilion plan hospitals. But many mission hospitals did not live up to the principles of the pavilion plan. If there was one place where they should have built a pavilion hospital, or at least a ‘miniature pavilion hospital’,⁴⁷ it was in Islamabad, because the Neve brothers had designed a pavilion plan hospital in Kashmir built between 1886 and 1895.⁴⁸ The first John Bishop Memorial Hospital was also a pavilion plan hospital. It consisted of ‘an out-patient department, a waiting-room, consulting-room, operating room, dispensary; two pavilions, fifty feet long, to hold thirty-two patients’.⁴⁹ Yet the missionaries (the Neve brothers and Gomery) opted instead for two bungalows, one containing four small wards for twelve inpatients and the other comprising the operating room, the consulting and dressing rooms and a dispensary for outpatients.⁵⁰ Although not in layout and appearance, in being a bungalow, the hospital was a variation on the Dera Ismail Khan or the Bannu hospitals, both of which were not very different from the bungalows of the Public World Department of British India.⁵¹ In other words, they can be examined side by side if the topic is the global production of the bungalow. But if the topic is hospital architecture, then the Islamabad Hospital is aligned with cottage or small local hospitals. In Britain, the cottage hospital originated in the mid-nineteenth century and, in time, became the ideal type for meeting the medical and surgical needs of rural districts, small towns or specific communities.⁵² Gomery and the Neve brothers might have drawn on such pattern books as A Handy Book of Cottage Hospitals (1870) and Henry Burdett’s Cottage Hospitals: General, Fever and Convalescent.⁵³

Because of financial and practical factors, and in order to accumulate interest, missionaries often established medical missions in a step-by-step manner. First, they opened outpatient dispensaries, after which they started inpatient departments, followed by the construction of a purpose-built hospital. Thus, Gomery went against the grain of medical missionaries’ standard practice by building a hospital straight away after her arrival. She wanted to build a hospital as quickly as possible and opted for a cottage hospital because of financial constraints. Gomery and the Neve brothers might also have been motivated by the fact that a cottage hospital was small in scale and could be constructed using ‘domestic-scale’ details, and hence could fit into its surroundings, thus making it less likely to stand as a threat.⁵⁴ They sourced stone from the surrounding mountains, and Neve described the hospital as ‘unpretentious’ in his 1904 report.⁵⁵ The importance the missionaries assigned to hospital buildings as emotional setups in accumulating interest is clear here. While building a hospital straight after their arrival was not advisable, architecture could intervene and cancel out potential alarming feelings. The missionaries’ hope was that the patients would be confronted with familiar, if not necessarily local, buildings, and thus be more willing to go to the hospital.

Although the missionaries hoped the three free-standing buildings (including the missionary house), built out of rough stone with their tiled roof and chimneys, fit into their surroundings, they might still have appeared different to people. This might have even been desirable to some missionaries. Gomery noted in her report in 1902 that ‘as these are the first buildings in other than native style in Islamabad, the people are naturally much interested and often amused at all they see, and their remarks are very interesting’.⁵⁶ The hospital’s location away from the town of Islamabad might also point to the role of missionaries as guardians of social and cultural change in the imperial enterprise. They viewed the ‘native city’ as a source of illness and disease, and the spatial separation was supposed to bring change.⁵⁷ Yet Islamabad, according to Neve, was ‘a populous district, and on all sides, we see flourishing villages and scattered homesteads. Within a twenty-mile radius must be a quarter of a million people, for whom Islamabad is a commercial centre’.⁵⁸ If buildings like those of the John Bishop Hospital were new in Islamabad, they were not in many other parts of the country. They could neither have ‘amused’ nor could they have a ‘civilizing’ influence on everyone.

Moreover, the hospital was not merely a cottage hospital. Arthur Neve’s 1904 report indicated that the hospital had, in fact, a distinct design, where it described the hospital as a purdah hospital: ‘It is a Purdah hospital, kept strictly for women, but the waiting-room is by the roadside, and is occasionally used for men.’⁵⁹ Purdah (literally ‘a curtain’) is the term that is commonly used for referring to the system of secluding women through clothing and architecture in the Middle East and South Asia. It is practised among both Muslims and Hindus, although each has a different understanding of the practice, meaning that they observe or keep purdah differently and to varying degrees.⁶⁰ By purdah, Neve might have merely meant that the hospital was strictly for women. Yet, the location of the inpatient block on the steep slope part of the compound behind the outpatient block ensured that it was, to some extent, invisible from the road. Indeed, the design of the hospital facilitated the implementation of the purdah system. Being part of many patients’ daily life, the purdah arrangement could allow certain experiences and thus confront the patients with feelings of trust and affection. Practices such as observing seclusion were meant to facilitate the experience of these feelings.

The idea of a purdah hospital was executed on a different, more tangible level in the design of the Multan Hospital, which was described as having an ‘extreme purdah arrangement’.⁶¹ Eger established the Multan Hospital in 1885 under the auspices of the Society for Promoting Female Education in China, India and the East (FES).⁶² When the CMS took over the FES’s work and workers in 1899, the Multan Hospital was transferred to the CMS.⁶³ The hospital was divided between Muslims and Hindus, with each group having their own compound that consisted of wards and a courtyard. The hospital also had an inner, walled area and an outer section. The interior space was composed of an entrance block and an inpatient block and the outpatient department, with ‘operating-room and special surgical and private wards, besides a large hall where the out-patients assemble for Bible teaching’.⁶⁴ The outer section consisted of rooms, or a caravanserai, for male relatives of the female patients. In other words, like houses in some parts of Persia and India, the hospital had an andarūni (inner section) and a birūni (outer section). The only difference was that the hospital’s andarūni was not a family quarter and was reserved for women.⁶⁵

Eliza F. Kent states that missionaries in India generally did not aim to force women to disregard purdah. Their goal was instead to transform women’s identification with home so that they could be ‘preservers of the home’ based on the ideals of Christian faith.⁶⁶ The CMS missionaries might have been thinking along similar lines when designing the Multan Hospital. Eger’s statement in 1901 is telling:

One very purdah Mohammedan woman whom, with great difficulty, I got into the hospital, explained on arrival, ‘Oh, keep me here; I have come from their own tiny dark rooms!’ … After her recovery her husband told me he was looking for a house built after the hospital pattern, as his wife had been so happy there!⁶⁷

Medical missionaries sought to teach new ideas about health and hygiene through a pre-existing architecture that was meaningful to the women. The purdah arrangement of the hospital was meant to be reminiscent of patients’ homes and thus attract them to the hospital. In this way, the patients were confronted with an emotional setup that could cause them to ‘do’ an emotion, such as feeling attracted to the hospital. Once they were in the hospital, they followed certain rules and regulations, learning in turn new ideas about health and hygiene. Nevertheless, Sister A.R. Simmonds made a statement in 1937 that contradicts Eger’s perspective: ‘[t]his may sound strange to those who only know English hospitals, but in the East our patients like to be out on the veranda or open compound until the sun gets hot; then every one [sic] goes into the ward, and the fierce heat is shut out’.⁶⁸ Simmonds does not present wards as airy and bright and the hospital as similar to an English hospital. The buildings were dark and were not cross-ventilated. Simmonds’s focus was instead on patients’ movement in the hospital; she spoke of the shifting balance between outside and inside spaces in mission hospitals and thus the extent to which they displayed surveillance and order.⁶⁹ The missionaries provided a familiar environment but they did so by disregarding some of their own ideals in favour of patients’ needs. In this way, they hoped to facilitate certain practices, thus attracting patients to the hospital while encouraging them to stay. There would have been more chance of converting the patients if they stayed, so the missionaries thought.

Analysing the Multan Hospital as simply a hybrid structure overlooks how male and female missionaries experienced spaces and places differently, which could influence their architectural decisions. Female missionaries had access to women and their sex-segregated private and domestic realm. They offered a ‘corrective vision’ of the veil through the purdah hospital, hoping to strengthen their identification with women.⁷⁰ The purdah arrangement could facilitate certain practices: an outer section for male relatives welcomed many women who ‘would not [have been] able to stay with us [missionaries] unless provision was made for their men’, stated Eger in 1901.⁷¹ This illustrates that designing a purdah hospital was linked to the missionaries’ desire to attract as many people as possible. It could also assure the male relatives that their wives or daughters were protected and separated from the eyes of male strangers. Moreover, patients were able to move in and out of the wards whenever desired, thus they could interact with one another and exchange news as they would in their homes or in public spaces such as hammam. The purdah system was an architectural solution to the practical problem of attracting female patients, viewed as essential to their experiences. Take, for example, Eger’s statement regarding ‘unappreciative Hindus’ in 1906:

Picture No. 1 shows the interior of the large wards – it was built in three rooms connected by large arches in the hope that Hindu patients would occupy a part of it, and also to make it easy to hold a service for a number of patients together. But we cannot get Hindus to see with us in this matter. They do not like our large, tiled room, but prefer small mud rooms on the outside of the purdah wall, where they can squeeze in various members of their family, and which they can on taking possession cleanse to their own satisfaction from all ceremonial defilement of the last inhabitant.⁷²

While Eger’s language is racially charged not least because of her use of the term ‘unappreciative’, it highlights how the material arrangement of the hospital allowed the Hindu patients to make a special provision for themselves. They were permitted to bring their utensils and cook their food in the hospital. A picture of ‘friends of Hindu patients cooking in hospital’ accompanied Simmonds’s report, showing patients and their female family members surrounded by pots and pans. The decision of the Hindu patients was not a form of transgression; the design of the hospital encouraged this activity. The Hindu patients’ move was in conformity with the expectations inherent in a purdah arrangement and their culturally and historically specific preconceptions of the purdah system. In other words, this form of spatial arrangement facilitated the practices of staying with family and friends, brining utensils and cooking in the hospital. If these practices did not arouse patients’ interest in medical missionaries and their work, they at least attracted them to the hospital and encouraged them to remain.

Returning to Sister Simmonds’s report, she also described part of the ‘inner working of’ the Multan Hospital: ‘the whole hospital is quiet, the porter is asked to prevent men at the gate calling to their wives inside … for it is so disturbing when this happens, and the wife calls back “Andi pai” [I am coming] and goes!’⁷³ This statement demonstrates that female missionaries’ evaluations of the purdah system collided with that of indigenous women.⁷⁴ Meanwhile, public areas such as hammam, where women could gather, were also subject to strict rules, social conventions and religious laws.⁷⁵ Missionaries’ efforts in controlling female patients’ interaction with their male relatives did not necessarily alter the emotional significance of the practice of observing purdah. Rather, some female patients might have understood missionaries’ prescriptions according to their previous experiences and thus still found the hospital familiar and habitable.

Nevertheless, purdah was not a meaningful practice among all members of a community.⁷⁶ Some women did not favour the purdah system and manipulated the meanings and representations associated with this system. Others, who observed purdah, also acted as religious leaders, storytellers and healers and even promoted women’s welfare and education.⁷⁷ As Ann Grodzins Gold states, ‘[w]omen may think of purdah … as a cover behind which they gain the freedom to follow their own lights, rather than as a form of bondage or subordination’.⁷⁸ How women observed purdah also varied between rural and urban areas and between elite and non-elite families. In other words, there were internal differences in the emotional charges of purdah based on religion, profession and class. Receiving treatment in a purdah hospital may have conformed only to some patients’ expectations and preconceptions. Missionaries’ plans to attract the patients by facilitating the practice of purdah could sometimes fail, leading to a form of ‘feeling differently’; that is, ‘failing to feel correctly’.⁷⁹

The women’s hospital opened in Bannu was also described as a purdah hospital; it was separated from the men’s block by a small by-road.⁸⁰ Moreover, in 1923 a new building was added to the Peshawar Hospital consisting of ‘three private wards’ where ‘a purdah family could be housed and remain separate from the rest of the patients’.⁸¹ Notably, the purdah hospital was a new type of hospital architecture, unknown in Britain. Hospital wards in Britain were separated based on gender, but did not have a separate walled section for women.

The missionaries did not disseminate the design of the Multan Hospital widely and did not build a purdah hospital in other mission fields. Yet, providing privacy for women was as much of a concern in Persia and Palestine as in northwestern British India. As Philippe Bourmand states regarding the Nablus Hospital, besides being ‘finance-related’ and ‘hygiene-concerned’, discussions regarding the design of the hospital were ‘part of a moral agenda: where were the women’s wards and their toilets, or the entrances of the hospital and to the consultation room, so as to create as much gender separation as possible, and prevent an occasion for scandal?’⁸² The women hospitals built in these regions might be described as purdah-like. For example, while access to the men’s hospital in the Isfahan Hospital in Persia was direct, access to the women’s hospital was indirect; it was planned at a distance from the inpatient section and was connected to it by an L-shaped passageway. This arrangement was similar to courtyard houses where the entrance was set at a distance from the central yard to prevent a direct view of the interior, thereby providing privacy.⁸³ Apart from the private environment of the inpatient sections of the Kerman and Isfahan hospitals for women, entering them through an L-shaped passageway was a practice that could affect many patients as they would be able to practically appreciate it. It was meant to be reminiscent of local women’s daily lives and thus attract them to the hospital. Female missionaries were familiar with such architectural features because of their access to the female quarters of the houses. Thus, they most likely pushed for them or even handled their execution.

Conclusion

This chapter focused on female missionaries, their involvement in the construction process of mission hospitals and their importance in gaining trust and friendship. There were multiple layers of exclusion and inclusion in official histories and reports of mission societies. In particular, these publications failed to acknowledge the contribution of female medical missions to the built environment. One of the female medical missionaries involved in building construction was Dr Minnie Gomery, the founder of the John Bishop Memorial Hospital in Islamabad. Gomery shared the design of the hospital with the Neve brothers. Although she did not supervise building construction, there were female medical missionaries who were involved in planning, repairing and superintending the construction of the buildings as early as the middle decades of the nineteenth century, and it is possible to speculate about their role by analysing the hospitals’ layout.

In appearance, the women’s hospitals were either like models in Britain, such as the Islamabad Hospital, which was modelled after cottage hospitals or mimicked men’s hospitals. However, a closer examination reveals that they were designed to provide women with a private and segregated space. The missionaries in northwestern British India employed the term ‘purdah hospital’ to highlight this distinctive feature of women’s hospitals, and the Multan Hospital had a purdah arrangement. Consisting of an outer section for male relatives and an inner section, the plan of the Multan Hospital was not dissimilar to traditional courtyard houses. The purdah arrangement of the hospitals was essential to patients’ experience of women’s hospitals. While the purdah system was not a meaningful practice for every woman, it could, at the very least, prevent ‘occasions of scandal’.

Notes

1. 1.  This chapter is extracted from chapter 5 of S. Honarmand Ebrahimi, Emotion, Mission, Architecture: Building Hospitals in Persia and British India, 1865–1914 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2023). Reproduced in a revised format with permission of Edinburgh University Press through PLSclear.

2. 2.  A.W.F.H., ‘The Opening of the Door in Kashmir, Part I’, Mercy and Truth, 1, 8 (1897), 173–7 at p. 174.

3. 3.  A.W.F.H., ‘The Opening of the Door in Kashmir, Part I’, p. 175.

4. 4.  A.W.F.H., ‘The Opening of the Door in Kashmir, Part I’, pp. 176–7.

5. 5.  T. Maxwell, ‘The Opening of the Door in Kashmir, 1873–1876’, Mercy and Truth, 1, 9 (1897), 199–203.

6. 6.  S. Honarmand Ebrahimi, ‘Medical Missionaries and the Invention of the “Serai Hospital” in North-Western British India’, European Journal for the History of Medicine and Health, 79 (2022), 67–93, https://doi.org/10.1163/26667711-bja10013. To read about the importance of avoiding using emotion words as if their meanings are readily understandable, see R. Boddice, A History of Feelings (London: Reaktion Books, 2019), p. 19.

7. 7.  For example, see D.W. Carr, ‘Progress in Persia’, Mercy and Truth, 11, 128 (1907), 236–41 at p. 238.

8. 8.  To read about how emotions are gendered, see U. Frevert, Emotions in History: Lost and Found (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2013), pp. 87–247.

9. 9.  R.A. Sample, Missionary Women: Gender, Professionalism and the Victorian Idea of Christian Mission (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2003), p. 3; H. Murre-van den Berg, ‘Dear Mother of My Soul: Fidelia Fiske and the Role of Women Missionaries in Mid-Nineteenth Century Iran’, Exchange, 30 (2001), 33–48. For sisterhood, see D.L. Robert, American Women in Mission: A Social History of Their Thought and Practice (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1997), p. 133.

10. 10.  E.J. Manktelow, Missionary Families: Race, Gender and Generation on the Spiritual Frontier (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013), p. 6.

11. 11.  C. McLisky, D. Midena and K. Vallgårda (eds.), Emotions and Christian Missions: Historical Perspectives (Basingstoke: Springer, 2015); R. Swartz, ‘Educating Emotions in Natal and Western Australia, 1854–65’, Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 18 (2017), doi: 10.1353/cch.2017.0022; T. Ballantyne, ‘Moving Texts and “Humane Sentiment”: Materiality, Mobility and the Emotions of Imperial Humanitarianism’, Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 17 (2016), doi: 10.1353/cch.2016.0000; K.A.A. Vallgårda, ‘Tying Children to God with Love: Danish Mission, Childhood, and Emotions in Colonial South India’, Journal of Religious History, 39 (2015), 595–613, doi: 10.1111/1467-9809.12265. Also see chapters 5 and 6 of J. Lydon, Imperial Emotions: The Politics of Empathy across the British Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), pp. 123–63; J. Van Gent, ‘Global Protestant Missions and the Role of Emotions’, in U. Rublack (ed.), Protestant Empires: Globalizing the Reformations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), pp. 275–95; S. Cummins and J. Lee, ‘Missionaries: False Reverence, Irreverence and the Rethinking of Christian Mission in China and India’, in B. Gammerl, P. Nielsen and M. Pernau (eds.), Encounters with Emotions: Negotiating Cultural Differences since Early Modernity (New York: Routledge, 2019), pp. 37–60.

12. 12.  R. Boddice and M. Smith, Emotion, Sense, Experience (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021); also see R. Boddice, Human Professions: The Defence of Experimental Medicine, 1876–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021), pp. 1–19; R. Boddice, ‘The Cultural Brain as Historical Artifact’, in L.J. Kirmayer et al. (eds.), Culture, Mind, and Brain: Emerging Concepts, Models, and Applications (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), pp. 367–74.

13. 13.  It also helps to distinguish between the approach of missionaries and present-day architects with access to a large body of guidebooks suggesting users’ enhancement. Also see S. Honarmand Ebrahimi, ‘Introduction: Exploring Architecture and Emotions through Space and Place’, Emotions: History, Culture, Society, 6 (2022), 65–77, doi: https://doi.org/10.1163/2208522X-02010146.

14. 14.  As Boddice states, ‘There is no experimental feeling inherent in events, in objects, in relations. They all have to be made.’ R. Boddice, The History of Emotions (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2018), p. 162. Also see M. Pernau, ‘Space and Emotion: Building to Feel’, History Compass, 12 (2014), 541–9, doi: https://doi.org/10.1111/hic3.12170; A. Reckwitz, ‘Affective Spaces: A Praxeological Outlook’, Rethinking History, 16 (2012), 241–58, doi: 10.1080/13642529.2012.681193.

15. 15.  I. Livne, ‘The Many Purposes of Missionary Work: Annie Royle Taylor as Missionary, Travel Writers, Collector and Empire Builder’, in H. Nielssen, I.M. Okkenhaug and K. Hestad Skeie (eds.), Protestant Missions and Local Encounters in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries: Unto the Ends of the World (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 43–70.

16. 16.  L. Walker, ‘Women and Architecture’, in J. Attfield and P. Kirkham (eds.), A View from the Interior: Feminism, Women and Design (London: The Women’s Press, 1989), p. 94.

17. 17.  For the contribution of female missionaries to church architecture, see D.K. Martin, ‘The Churches of Bishop Robert Gray & Mrs Sophia Gray’, unpublished PhD thesis (University of Cape Town, 2002).

18. 18.  C. Wagenaar, ‘Five Revolutions: A Short History of Hospital Architecture’, in C. Wagenaar (ed.), The Architecture of Hospitals (Rotterdam: NAi Publishers, 2006), p. 26.

19. 19.  J. Taylor, Hospital and Asylum Architecture in England 1840–1914: Building for Health Care (London: Mansell, 1991); J. Kisacky, Rise of the Modern Hospital: An Architectural History of Health and Healing, 1870–1940 (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2017), pp. 23–4.

20. 20.  For three exceptions, see S. De Nys-Ketels, ‘A Hospital Typology Translated: Transnational Flows of Architectural Expertise in the Clinique Reine Elisabeth of Coquilhatville, in the Belgian Congo’, ABE Journal, 19 (2021), doi: https://doi.org/10.4000/abe.12715; C. Bastos, ‘The Hut-Hospital as Project and as Practice: Mimeses, Alterities, and Colonial Hierarchies’, Social Analysis: The International Journal of Anthropology, 62 (2018), 76–97, doi: https://doi.org/10.3167/sa.2018.620204; M. Campbell Renshaw, Accommodating the Chinese: The American Hospital in China, 1880–1920 (London: Routledge, 2016).

21. 21.  See M. Jennings, ‘Healing of Bodies, Salvation of Souls: Missionary Medicine in Colonial Tanganyika, 1870s–1939’, Journal of Religion in Africa, 38 (2008), 27–56 at p. 28; D. Hardiman, ‘The Mission Hospital, 1880–1960’, in M. Harrison, M. Jones and H. Sweet (eds.), From Western Medicine to Global Medicine: The Hospital Beyond the West (Hyderabad: Orient BlackSwan, 2009), p. 198.

22. 22.  D. Hardiman, ‘Introduction’, in D. Hardiman (ed.), Healing Bodies, Saving Souls: Medical Missions in Asia and Africa (Amsterdam: Brill, 2006), pp. 5–6. Also see R. Fitzgerald, ‘Rescue and Redemption: The Rise of Female Medical Missions in Colonial India during the Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries’, in A.M. Rafferty, J. Robinson and R. Elkan (eds.), Nursing History and the Politics of Welfare (London: Routledge, 1997), p. 67; M. Vaughan, Curing Their Ills: Colonial Power and African Illness (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991), p. 56.

23. 23.  Honarmand Ebrahimi, ‘Medical Missionaries and the Invention of the “Serai Hospital”’.

24. 24.  Sample, Missionary Women: Gender, Professionalism.

25. 25.  H.M. Clark, Robert Clark of the Punjab: Pioneer and Missionary Statesman (London: A. Melrose, 1907), pp. 139–40.

26. 26.  ‘Women’s Medical Missions in India’, The Church Missionary Gleaner, 19, 223 (1892), 100–101 at p. 100.

27. 27.  ‘CMS Medical Missions: Our Yesterdays’, The Mission Hospital, 43, 492 (1939), 12–16 at p. 15; G. Kings, ‘Abdul Masih: Icon of Indian Indigeneity’, International Bulletin of Missionary Research, 23 (1999), 66–9 at p. 69.

28. 28.  Sample, Missionary Women: Gender, Professionalism, p. 2.

29. 29.  K.J. Trace Farrimond, ‘The Policy of the Church Missionary Society Concerning the Development of Self-Governing Indigenous Churches, 1900–1942’, unpublished PhD thesis (University of Leeds, 2003), p. 45.

30. 30.  ‘The Mission-Field’. Church Missionary Intelligencer, 16, new series (1891), 766–72 at p. 769.

31. 31.  P170 Minnie Gomery Fonds, Folder 2, Osler Library Archive, McGill University.

32. 32.  A. Adams, Architecture in the Family Way: Doctors, Houses, and Women, 1870–1900 (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1996), p. 152.

33. 33.  Walker, ‘Women and Architecture’, p. 94.

34. 34.  D. Gaitskell, ‘Rethinking Gender Roles: The Field Experience of Women Missionaries in South Africa’, in A. Porter (ed.), The Imperial Horizons of British Protestant Missions 1880–1914 (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2003), pp. 134–5.

35. 35.  From Dr M. Gomery, Extracts from the Annual Letters of the Missionaries for the Year 1901 (London, 1902), p. 553.

36. 36.  ‘Items: Home and Foreign’, Mercy and Truth, 6, 61 (1902), 4–8 at p. 6.

37. 37.  M. Gomery, ‘Work in the New Hospital at Islamabad’, Mercy and Truth, 6, 72 (1902), 362–3 at p. 362.

38. 38.  G.E. Dodson, 7 June 1904, CMS/M/C 2/1 4, no. 56, Cadbury Research Library, Special Collection, University of Birmingham (CRL).

39. 39.  Edited by her mother, Letters of Marie Elizabeth Hayes, M. B. Missionary Doctor, Delhi, 1905–8 (London: Marshall Brothers, 1909), pp. 218–19.

40. 40.  The Eternal Purpose: Being the Report of the Year 1934 of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (London, 1934), p. 96.

41. 41.  C.H. Phillips, The Lady Named Thunder: A Biography of Dr. Ethel Margaret Phillips (1876–1951) (Alberta: University of Alberta Press, 2003), pp. 131–44; E. Prevost, ‘Married to the Mission Field: Gender, Christianity, and Professionalization in Britian and Colonial Africa, 1865–1914’, Journal of British Studies, 47 (2008), 796–826 at p. 814, doi: 10.1086/590171.

42. 42.  Prevost, ‘Married to the Mission Field’.

43. 43.  J. Lee, ‘Between Subordination and She-Tiger: Social Constructions of White Femininity in the Lives of Single, Protestant Missionaries in China, 1905–1930’, Women’s Studies International Forum, 19 (1996), 621–32 at p. 624, https://doi.org/10.1016/S0277-5395(96)00073-8.

44. 44.  C. Keys, ‘Designing Hospitals for Australian Conditions: The Australian Inland Mission’s Cottage Hospital, Adelaide House, 1926’, The Journal of Architecture, 21 (2016), 68–89 at pp. 82–3, doi: 10.1080/13602365.2016.1141790.

45. 45.  Fitzgerald, ‘Rescue and Redemption’, p. 63.

46. 46.  M. Balfour and R. Young, The Work of Medical Women in India (London: H. Milford, 1930), pp. 45–79, referred to in Fitzgerald, ‘Rescue and Redemption’, p. 64.

47. 47.  J. Taylor, Hospital and Asylum Architecture in England, p. 73.

48. 48.  For detailed discussion, see Honarmand Ebrahimi, ‘Medical Missionaries and the Invention of the “Serai Hospital”’, pp. 10–12.

49. 49.  A.M. Stoddart, The Life of Isabella Bird (Mrs. Bishop) (London: J. Murray, 1906), p. 206.

50. 50.  M. Gomery, ‘The New John Bishop Memorial, Islamabad’, Mercy and Truth, 6, 65 (1902), 146–7 at p. 146.

51. 51.  A.D. King, The Bungalow: The Production of a Global Culture (New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1995).

52. 52.  Taylor, Hospital and Asylum Architecture in England, p. 73. Also see R.M.S. McConaghey, ‘The Evolution of the Cottage Hospital’, Medical History, 11 (1967), 128–40, doi: https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300011984.

53. 53.  H. Swete, Handy Book of Cottage Hospitals, Issue 133 (London: Hamilton, Adams and Co., 1870); H.C. Burdett, Cottage Hospitals: General, Fever, Convalescent: Their Progress, Management, and Work in Great Britain and Ireland and the United States of America, 3rd ed. (London: Scientific Press, 1896).

54. 54.  Taylor, Hospital and Asylum Architecture in England, p. 73.

55. 55.  A. Neve, ‘John Bishop Memorial Hospital, Islamabad’, Mercy and Truth, 8, 91 (1904), 199–201 at p. 199.

56. 56.  Gomery, ‘The New John Bishop Memorial, Islamabad’, p. 147.

57. 57.  King, The Bungalow, p. 35.

58. 58.  Neve, ‘John Bishop Memorial Hospital, Islamabad’, p. 199.

59. 59.  Neve, ‘John Bishop Memorial Hospital, Islamabad’, p. 200.

60. 60.  H. Papanek, ‘Purdah: Separate Worlds and Symbolic Shelter’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 15 (1973), 289–325 at p. 289. Purdah also constitutes behaviours including veiling, silence and bodily gestures such as seeking a place of lower elevation.

61. 61.  A.W. Eger, ‘The Mission Hospital at Multan’, Mercy and Truth, 5, 56 (1901), 180–83 at p. 180.

62. 62.  ‘CMS Medical Missions: A Comparative Survey’, Mercy and Truth, 18, 214 (1914), 347–50 at p. 347.

63. 63.  ‘Things to Be Noted’, Mercy and Truth, 3, 32 (1899), 181–4 at p. 182.

64. 64.  Eger, ‘The Mission Hospital at Multan’, p. 180.

65. 65.  G. Memarian and F. Brown, ‘The Shared Characteristics of Iranian and Arab Courtyard Houses’, in B. Edwards, M. Sibley, M. Hakmi and P. Land (eds.), Courtyard Housing: Past, Present, and Future (London: Taylor & Francis, 2006), pp. 21–30.

66. 66.  E.F. Kent, Converting Women: Gender and Protestant Christianity in Colonial South India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. 128.

67. 67.  Eger, ‘The Mission Hospital at Multan’, p. 180.

68. 68.  Sister A.R. Simmonds, ‘Pressing Forward in Multan’, The Mission Hospital, 41, 469 (1937), 27–30 at p. 28.

69. 69.  The same was the case in the Isfahan Hospital. See S. Honarmand Ebrahimi, ‘ “Ploughing before Sowing”: Trust and the Architecture of the Church Missionary Society (CMS) Medical Missions’, Architecture and Culture, 7 (2019), 197–217 at p. 205, doi: 10.1080/20507828.2019.1608051.

70. 70.  I am inspired here by Ambereen Dadabhoy’s examination of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s Turkish Embassy Letters. Montagu is known for her poems, her contribution to the fight against smallpox and, last but not least, her life in Turkey where her husband worked as the British ambassador. See A. Dadabhoy, ‘ “Going Native”: Geography, Gender, and Identity in Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s Turkish Embassy Letters’, in M. Narain and K. Gevirtz (eds.), Gender and Space in British Literature, 1660–1820 (London: Routledge, 2016), p. 52.

71. 71.  Eger, ‘The Mission Hospital at Multan’, p. 180.

72. 72.  W. Eger, ‘Some of Our Multan Patients’, Mercy and Truth, 10, 118 (1906), 300–304 at p. 301.

73. 73.  Simmonds, ‘Pressing Forward in Multan’, p. 28.

74. 74.  S. Mills, ‘Gender and Colonial Space’, Gender, Place and Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography, 3 (1996), 125–48 at p. 142, doi: 10.1080/09663699650021855.

75. 75.  Dadabhoy, ‘ “Going Native”: Geography, Gender, and Identity’, p. 54.

76. 76.  To read about the highly differentiated voices and viewpoints of Muslim woman on any social and political issue, see G. Falah and C. Nagel (eds.), Geographies of Muslim Women: Gender, Religion, and Space (New York: Guilford Press, 2005).

77. 77.  Begum Wali-ud-Dowla was the president of the Hyderabadi Women’s Association. S. Chakraborty, ‘European Nurses and Governesses in Indian Princely Households: “Uplifting That Impenetrable Veil”?’, Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 19 (2018), doi: 10.1353/cch.2018.0001.

78. 78.  A. Grodzins Gold, ‘Purdah Is as Purdah’s Kept: A Storyteller’s Story’, in G. Goodwin and A. Grodzins Gold (eds.), Listen to the Heron’s Words: Reimagining Gender and Kinship in North India (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1994), p. 164. Also see J. Burkhalter Flueckiger, In Amma’s Healing Room: Gender and Vernacular Islam in South India (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006).

79. 79.  B. Gammerl, J.S. Hutta and M. Scheer, ‘Feeling Differently: Approaches and Their Politics’, Emotion, Space and Society, 25 (2017), 87–94, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.emospa.2017.07.007.

80. 80.  Miss E. Giles, ‘First Impressions of Bannu’, The Mission Hospital, 35, 396 (1931), 8–12 at p. 9.

81. 81.  J.H. Cox, ‘Peshawar Hospital: Extension’, The Mission Hospital, 28, 312 (1924), 3–4 at p. 3.

82. 82.  P. Bourmaud, ‘Public Space and Private Spheres: The Foundation of St Luke’s Hospital of Nablus by the CMS (1891–1901)’, in H. Murre-van den Berg (ed.), New Faith in Ancient Lands: Western Missions in the Middle East in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2006), p. 140.

83. 83.  Memarian and Brown, ‘The Shared Characteristics of Iranian and Arab Courtyard Houses’, p. 26.

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