So, readers, I turned 70 last week. I hadn’t been one bit excited about it as I feel the pandemic prevented me from having a normal year when I was 69. As it turned out, two days before my birthday was officially the country’s second easing of lockdown no. 3. It was a great week to have a birthday as I was able to see some family members I hadn’t seen since before March 2020.
My birthday led me to think, as it often does, of the tales my mum used to tell me about the times when I, my brother and sister were born.
At the turn of the century, birth at home was the normal. Within 50 years, the majority of women had hospital births. Maternity hospitals or homes were usually independent from general hospitals. Men were never with their wives through labour and definitely weren’t present for the delivery.
Bottle feeding started to become popular in the late 40s and by the time I was born women were actively encourage to choose bottle over breast. Years later when my mum saw her grandchildren being breastfed she bitterly regretted not having been encouraged to do it.
Back in the 1950s women stayed in hospital for a period from eight days to two weeks after giving birth. My mum used to tell of being in the maternity hospital for two weeks after each of us. This was all very well when it was a first baby but when were other children to care for, and the father had to work, it was a problem. I was three and a half when my sister was born. My brother (two years old) and I were driven to our grandparents in a different town to stay for the two weeks my mum was in the hospital.
Once born, babies were looked after in the nursery and only handed to their mothers when it was time to be fed. If your baby was unsettled in between feeds you didn’t know about it. Feeding was strictly timed. The routine for newborns and for the first few months was a feed every four hours, at precisely 10.00 am, 2.00 pm, 6.00 pm, 10.00 pm, 2.00 am, 6.00 am. Night feeds were given by nursing staff in the nursery so that the new mum could get her sleep. I remember my mum telling of nursing staff walking down the central aisle of the maternity ward with a large trolley containing babies, handing them out and announcing “Feeding time, mummies!”
Before being discharged, the mothers were taught how to bath their new babies. The system then was to fill the baby bath, test the temperature with your elbow, soap the baby all over, then lower it into the water. The first time my mum did this with me after returning home, she soaped me all over then lowered me towards the water. I wriggled and I was so slippery from the soap that I slipped out of her hands and landed face down in the water. My mum thought she’d killed me and had to shout for my dad to come.
As well as being instructed to feed to a strict schedule, new mothers were told to put their babies outside in their prams in all weathers to benefit from the fresh air. They were also told that crying was good for their babies and exercised their lungs. When they were outside, the mums couldn’t hear them crying. They would bring them in to be fed and changed at the exact times dictated by the nurses at the hospital and by the district nurses who visited the home afterwards.
Credit to Google Images, Pinterest and Wikipedia. As always, I make every effort to avoid infringing copyright. If anyone objects to my use of any images, please contact me direct and I will remove it.
Childhood Memories of growing up in the 1950s and 1960s. 
Firstly, many happy returns!
An excellent piece, well done. I love the image of babies being handed out from a trolley, lol. I have many photos of me in my pram outside in the fresh air, and if you ignore the London smogs, it probably was good for you. The pram was adorned with the obligatory cat net of course, to prevent next door’s moggy smothering me as I dozed in the sunshine.
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Thanks for the birthday wishes and for the lovely comment about the post. I enjoyed reading your memories and I’d forgotten about cat nets! Essential for insects as well as cats. My husband’s mum used to say he was late talking. He always claimed it was because he spent the first year of his life at the end of the garden.
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No wonder I hate schedules to this day!
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Brilliant!!!
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No wonder I hate schedules to this day!
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I don’t recall being left outside but, since it was a bit earlier than the 50s, and the war was still on, that may be why. My brother tells me they did leave me outside but found no takers.
The description of the hospital routine sounds quite impressive. Who wouldn’t like that today?!
Hope you enjoyed your birthday. Any reservations about the number?
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I had a great birthday thanks. As to the number. It’s not the best but, as a friend of mine always says to people who balk at an age number, just keep having birthdays. It’s better than the alternative.
None of us remember being babies which is why you don’t remember being left outside. As a child of that era you most definitely were put outside whether it was a garden, a path, a pavement or a balcony. It didn’t do us any harm! Thanks for contributing.
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The reason I asked about the particular year is because I read many years ago that how one feels about a particular age (especially the ones ending in 0) depends entirely on how one feels about things in general at the time and I’ve found that to be quite true. The only one I wasn’t happy with was 40, for a number of reasons, and every other one, before and since, has been fine. As you say – it beats the alternative.
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I agree totally! It makes perfect sense and looking back over my X 10 birthdays it is absolutely true for me.
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Happy birthday, Merril! I was parked outside as a baby. I have a photo, in fact. my mother did say that one day she misjudged the sun, which burned the side of my face and raised a big blister.
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I’m sure that sort of thing happened more than we know! A friend of mine was pecked by a hen whilst out in his pram and was never happy near them from that day on.
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I’ve been henpecked all my life 😂! On the matter of birthdays, I was reminded of an Irish proverb: Do not resent growing old, many are denied the privilege. So beautifully put.
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That’s brilliant! There are some excellent Irish sayings and I hadn’t heard that one before. Here’s one for you ‘Climate is what you expect. Weather is what you get.’
Back to the subject of age a friend of mine, who’s in her seventies, when asked how she is answers ‘I’m still the right side of the grass.’
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That must have been traumatizing.
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Happy Belated Birthday, Meryl! I haven’t commented in a while, but am still reading and enjoying your posts. All the very best to you.
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Thanks Helena! I’m glad you enjoy reading my blog. I enjoy writing it.
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