Last week’s blog looked at an article in the Birmingham Gazette of 9th March 1920 linking the problems of overcrowding and poor housing to the fear faced by many young women at the prospect of having to give birth at one of Birmingham’s Workhouses. In a follow up article a couple of days later the Gazette looked at the reality of the maternity ward within one of the workhouse infirmaries.
The Infirmary at the Kings Norton Union Workhouse was opened in 1897 and in addition to general wards there was separate provision for maternity cases. Although operated by the Guardians of the Poor the infirmary was separated from the Workhouse itself by a dividing wall and they were run as separate establishments. This Gazette article of Thursday 11 March 1920 provides a detailed description of the Maternity wards and is transcribed here in full:
CARE OF MOTHERS AT INFIRMARY.
Ideal Conditions for Maternity Cases.
They speak of the need for a municipal hospital, but what, after all, is this infirmary but a municipal hospital? Why people should think it less derogatory to go to a hospital supported by voluntary contributions, where they are really receiving charity, than to come to the Selly Oak Infirmary, which they themselves have been helping, to support by the rates they have paid for years. I cannot imagine,” said Dr. Martin, the infirmary’s chief medical officer, when I talked over with him yesterday the question of the housing shortage and the consequent need of more maternity hospital accommodation.
There can be no doubt that many of the expectant mothers, much as they resent the idea of being sent on to the Infirmary after having arranged to go to the Loveday-street hospital. settled down in a wonderful way when they find what the Infirmary is really like, and express their appreciation of the care and attention they receive from the trained staff there.
Restful beauty.
I have never seen a more beautiful part of any hospital than the large maternity ward at Selly Oak, which I was privileged to visit yesterday. The bright outlook, the windows arranged to catch every gleam of sunshine, the mothers’ beds and babies’ cots, with their dainty white drapery, the banks of flowers arranged on tables down the middle of the room, combined to give a sense of restful beauty. There were polished floors, the walls were painted in soothing tones of green and fawn. Nurses in their pretty uniforms moved up and down the ward., and happy looking young mothers lay in bed, with their babies in the cots by their sides. In a second ward I saw a group of expectant mothers, sitting round a table making swabs and dressings of cotton wool.
“Any work of that sort that they do is quite voluntary.” said the doctor. “but most of those who come in a few days before the birth of their baby prefer to occupy themselves in some quiet way during their waiting time.
Paying Patients.
There was a balcony outside each large ward overlooking the beautiful garden where masses of flowering currant were bursting into bloom. Even on a cold March day the air was pleasant in these sheltered nooks, with their south aspect, and I found one or two expectant mothers resting contentedly there. ” I very much prefer having my bed out here to being indoors,” said one of these, who chatted with me very cheerfully and told me she had been a tram conductress during the war. Of the forty cases in hospital this week almost all are paying patients.
“Their payments vary, of course,” the matron informed me, “but no distinction whatever is made. The nursing, the food, and the dress are the same for all.” Every patient, when she enters the hospital, has to change her own dress for the pink uniform of the infirmary. The dresses are a pretty shade of pale pink, and look fresh and clean, but it seemed to me rather a pity that they should be insisted on. To see one patient after another dressed exactly alike spelt “institution” more than anything I came across.
” Daddy Longlegs ” type.
The small separate room where each birth actually takes place is fitted up almost like an operating theatre—the white tiles, ample hot water supply, and special lighting and heating arrangements giving all the comfort and safety possible. I was introduced to the well-stocked library of clean, nicely bound novels. “These are kept entirely for the maternity wards.” the matron told me. “and we buy just what we think our patients would like to read. You see we have quite a number by Charles Garvice and Ethel M. Dell, and they like Rider Haggard and the ‘Freckles’ series ` and books of the ‘Daddy Longlegs’ type. I don’t accept presentation volumes for this library of ours. Spurgeon’s sermons? No, thank you!”
Each floor had its own bathrooms and linen storerooms, and it’s own small supplementary kitchen, where tea could be made or milk heated at a moment’s notice. All the maternity wards are shortly to be moved to the top floor of the hospital, where an entire reconstruction is taking place, and every room is being made as perfect and up to date as it can possibly be.
Met by Proud Husbands.
The food supplied to the patients is excellent. Never have I tasted more delicious bread than that which is made in the infirmary’s own bakery. Most of the mothers and babies, I found, were able to leave at the end of a fortnight when a proud husband and father probably arrives to escort them home. I left with the impression of having spent the afternoon in a hospital of an ideal description. And yet I felt that, as the old deep-rooted prejudice against going into a Poor Law institution can never be eradicated, it would solve the problem if we could change the name of the infirmary, and, instead of patients having to apply to the relieving officer for admission. have it run as a municipal hospital under the Ministry of Health.
C. H. C.

















