Flights of fancy

If a woman survived childbearing in the middle ages, she may well live longer than her husband. Even today, women tend to live longer than men. Probably many midwives were widows, living alone, vulnerable, and easy targets for blame and revenge.

Some of these lonely women may have sought solace in their herbs, going on herb induced ‘trips’. Concoctions of herbs might be swallowed, or made into an ointment and rubbed into the skin. The base of the ointment was fat, maybe pig’s fat, but some say that the fat of stillborn babies was best. Stillborn babies were not buried in a churchyard, but in the countryside somewhere. The midwife was likely to know where. How easy it would be for her to dig up the tiny body and use the fat for her flying ointment!

The hallucinogenic effects of the drugs would mimic flight through the air, phallic objects – such as a stick of wood, or broomstick – and some sort of orgy or sexual encounter.
Or so it’s said. More on this next time.

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‘Vapid balderdash!’ Midwives and witches.

Midwives have long been linked with witchcraft, largely because of the work of anthropologist Margaret Murray. In the 1920s she wrote a book about witchcraft,which, she said, existed throughout Europe in the middle ages as a pagan religion, despite the church’s attempts to suppress it. Midwives, she maintained, were particularly likely to indulge in witchcraft and were often hunted down and executed as witches.

It is easy to see why, in the very superstitious middle ages, a midwife might be suspected of witchcraft. She was probably highly skilled, especially in herbal medicine and the practicalities, the manouevres, of childbirth. She would be a valued member of the community, a useful and respected resident of the village or town. Her skills and knowledge influenced whether a mother and child lived or died, and so probably she was seen as holding considerable power.

With power comes risk, and if women and babies died - or cattle became ill, or crops failed – superstitious villagers might well lay these calamities at the midwife's door, especially if she was not well liked or people wanted revenge for some previous disaster.

In the next blog, I’ll write a bit more about midwives and witchcraft, and in the blog after that I’ll explain the ‘vapid balderdash’ bit!

Choice of wet nurse

Jane Sharp has a lot to say about breast feeding and choosing a wet nurse. She says

‘... the mother’s milk is commonly best agreeing with the child; and if the mother does not Nurse her own Child, it is a question whether she will ever love it so well ... and without doubt the child will be much alienated in his affections by sucking of strange Milk, and that may be one great cause of Children’s proving so undutiful to their Parents.’

She could have a point - the close contact between mother and child during breast feeding is said to enhance bonding.  That's if all is going well, though.  If there are major problems and the mother is struggling to feed come what may, that may be counterproductive.

Jane goes on to say that many babies die because the nurses’ milk is bad. The choice of a wet nurse, she says, is crucial, and gives the following advice.

‘... beware you choose not a woman that is crooked, or squint-eyed, nor with a mishapen Nose, or body, or with black ill-favoured Teeth, or with stinking breath ... or the child will soon be squint-eyed by imitation ...’

She advocates a ‘...sanguine complexioned woman, her breasts and nipples handsome, and well proportioned ... not too tall, nor too low; not fat, but well flesht; of a ruddy, merry, cheerful, delightsome countenance. If the nurse use good Diet and Exercise, it will breed good blood, and good blood makes good milk; but let her forbear all sharp, sowr, fiery, melancholy meats, of Mustard and Onyons, or Leeks and Garlick; and let her not drink much strong drink, for that will inflame the Child, and make it cholerick: all Cheese breeds melancholy, and Fish is Flegmatick. Gross and thick air make gross blood, and heavy bodies and dull wits. Places that are near the Sea side, and Bogs, are very sickly.’

Wet nurses in the middle ages

Wet nurses were often employed in the middle ages to provide milk for babies whose mothers were unwilling or unable to breast feed. For example, wealthy and noble women often chose not to breast feed. Breast feeding is a natural contraceptive as the hormones that produce milk prevent ovulation – nature’s way of ensuring a mother can give her resources to nurture one child at a time. But noble women were expected to produce as many babies as possible to ensure a good supply of heirs.

Furthermore, breast feeding would probably cramp the style of these socially active women. I suppose the sight of the Countess of Wherever baring a breast at the King’s court to suckle a screaming child would be the medieval equivalent of breast feeding in a posh restaurant today.

Wet nurses were also employed by ordinary working families, usually if the mother had died, or was for some other reason unable to produce enough milk. The alternatives to breast feeding – soaking rags in animal’s milk and squeezing them into the baby’s mouth, or tipping in milk from a horn cup – tended rather towards fatality.

Wet nurses were often highly valued, especially in large wealthy households where they were usually regarded as one of the upper servants, and might stay with the family for years. Many life long bonds were formed between nurse and child.

The practice of wet nursing became less popular in the 19th century due in part to scares that diseases such as tuberculosis and syphilis could be transferred by breast milk. Better alternatives to mother’s milk slowly became available but children fed on these still had a much higher mortality rate than those who were breast fed.

The next blog will be about what Jane Sharp had to say regarding the choice of a wet nurse.

Churching

Until the discovery of such things as antibiotics and blood transfusions, childbirth was highly dangerous (and, of course, still is in many areas of the world).

About a month after delivery, a mother, and her friends, would go to church in thanksgiving for having come safely through the hazards of childbirth. The baby, if it survived, would be brought along too for blessing. The child might be christened then, but more likely, it had already been baptized within days or even hours after birth.

The priest met the woman at the church porch to say prayers over her as she knelt, purifying her from the contaminations of childbirth. Until the ceremony, she was considered too polluted to enter a church. Thus cleansed, she would be allowed into the church for blessings and thanksgivings. Thereafter, she was deemed fit to return into society and work, and would also be available to her husband again.

Although dangerous in terms of thrombosis and embolism, her long lying in period gave the new mother a respite from work in the fields or other heavy work, and also time off from sexual intercourse. She had time to recover from pregnancy and labour. Sore perineums could heal, a healthy blood supply restored and breast feeding established, all in peace and quiet. Well, probably not total peace, as the woman’s friends would be in and out all day, keeping her company and helping her husband with the household chores. Or, more probably, doing the chores.

Some feminists regard the de-polluting aspects of the churching ceremony as yet another instance of the church’s suspicion and condemnation of sexually active women, and there is certainly truth in this. Purification ceremonies are still common in many countries. In the UK, however, although churching may still be performed in a modified format (being more of a blessing and thanksgiving rather than a purification), church-going women in the UK nowadays rarely bother.

This is in apparent contrast to the attitudes of medieval women. Evidently, they looked forward to the churching ceremony. It was a milestone in their lives, a ‘rite of passage’; a social occasion and, above all, a great celebration of life.

Here’s a bit more from Jane Sharp – ‘What must be done after the woman is delivered.’

‘... she may not use a full diet after so great loss of blood suddenly, as she grows stronger she may begin with meats of easie digestion, as Chickens, or Pullets; she may drink small wines with a little Safforn, Mace and Cloves infused, equal parts, all tied in a piece of linnen ... if the child be a boy she must lye in thirty dayes, if a girl forty daies, and remember that it is the time of her purification that her husband must abstain from her.’

Lying in meant, quite literally, that the woman lay in bed for several weeks. (As recently as the 1940s, women lay in for at least 9 days after delivery and often a lot longer). This is now known to be dangerous because clotting factors in the blood are naturally increased during pregnany. Prolonged inactivity after childbirth encourages blood clots to form in the deep veins of the legs. When the woman did eventually get out of bed and start moving around, danger was these blood clots would start travelling around the body. If they lodged in the lungs, a fatal pulmonary embolism might be the result. And then everyone would say – See, she got up too soon!

But I imagine many women would have risen from their beds, either from necessity - apart from using the pot! - or boredom, although they would probably have remained confined to their room, house or cottage. Whatever the woman’s station in life, there would be plenty of help available, either hired help, or friends and neighbours. Until quite recently, birth was a communal affair; women helped out at each other’s confinements and lyings in. A birth was a very social occasion!

The purification Jane Sharp mentions is the churching ceremony, which I’ll write about next blog.