The stories that tell what it was like to give birth at home 60 years ago

PalmFor centuries, women were considered 'factories of God's children.' Not having children was frowned upon. For most, the only possible contraceptive method was choosing the days of their menstrual cycle when they didn't ovulate. And this wasn't always calculated accurately. Then they had to think about the moment of childbirth, which took place at home in less than ideal conditions. Catalina Noguera Garí, 85, remembers that experience very well. She greets us sitting near the brazier in her house in Vilafranca de Bonany, intrigued to know what interest her life might hold. Two of her four children, Maria and Miquel, are with her.

"At Mass," she says, "the priest always told the women that we had to have the children who came. And when we went to confession, he would ask us in bed if we had the withdrawal [the well-known coitus interruptusShe warned us that it was a sin, just like kissing or taking home remedies to avoid getting pregnant." Noguera comes from a large family. On her mother's side, she had nine siblings, and on her father's side, five. "In 1961, at 21, a year after I got married, I had my first child. It was a girl. Back then, you couldn't tell the sex until birth. Then came three more children, one after the other, within five years."

In all her pregnancies, the woman from Vilafranca was assisted by midwife Bárbara Garí, Fuana"There were two in the village, and they were quite an institution, along with the teacher, the mayor, and the priest. They were paid for their services. They walked to people's homes and kept a close eye on the schedule so they wouldn't miss a single appointment, although sometimes they arrived early." Everyone has praise for the assistant: "For me, she was like a confessor. The day before I gave birth, she would come to prepare the room, with the sheets and the basins full of water to wash the baby."

The threat of stolen children

"At that time," she continues, "epidural anesthesia wasn't so widespread, and I had to suffer terribly for many hours. My husband could do nothing but watch me. I had heard of neighbors who had died in childbirth. An aunt of mine had complications during labor and had to be rushed to a doctor who could help her: her husband. And he saved her. However, I never felt any sorrow.

Noguera had acquaintances who, by paying, went to give birth at a private clinic in Manacor. At this point, Maria, her daughter, makes the following observation: "Today we know that, during the Franco regime, a network of stolen children operated in some clinics. Therefore, having children at home was a guarantee that they wouldn't be taken. Coming from a family of limited means, she was a prime candidate to be a victim. Victims weren't shown this." It was because they had given it to a wealthy, middle-class couple."

This woman from Villanfranca's postpartum period was just as difficult and filled with awkward situations. "I couldn't attend the baptism of any of my children. The very day I had them, while I was convalescing in bed, the midwife took them to the church to receive the sacrament. She did this accompanied by my husband, my parents, and my in-laws. They wanted to prevent the children from dying in that way." Registering the babies at the civil registry also had to be done suddenly, while the woman was still in bed. Then it was the husband or the mother-in-law who handled the paperwork. "When it came to choosing names, there was no discussion. You had to use what family tradition dictated. First came the names of the paternal godparents, then the maternal ones, and finally the parents' names. And if there were more, the names of the uncles and aunts."

Butcher Shop

Postpartum recovery had to be quick out of necessity. "My husband," she says, "worked in the fields all day, and I had to take care of the house and the children. I also embroidered to earn some extra money. I never got to rest." Then Miquel reminds his mother of the wet nurse, who in the past played a key role in fostering solidarity in society. "I," she says, "never needed one. They were mothers who offered to breastfeed the babies of other mothers who were having problems. I remember one who used to walk down our street and say to a neighbor with a baby, 'Would you like me to give this one some milk?' Now, they're human."

Noguera didn't have any more children due to a complication. "A few months after giving birth to my last child, I felt unwell, and a doctor at a clinic in Palma operated on me. But the discomfort persisted. I thought it was my ovaries, but, to my surprise, the doctor told me that was impossible because he had removed my uterus." María, her daughter, asks to speak, this time visibly indignant. "They butchered her; that's what today would be called 'obstetric violence.' At no point did they warn her about what they were going to do to her. They didn't say anything to my father either. And she had to pay 40,000 pesetas back then, which was a fortune. My godparents had to let them pay; she didn't want to go to court." With four children to care for and suffering unbearably, the woman from Villafranca had to continue recounting her private life in the confessional. "The priest insisted that, even though I was in pain, I had to 'comply' if my husband asked me to have sex."

Fear of dying

Francisca Nicolau Garí, 89, is also from Vilafranca. She invites us into her dining room. Before we sit down, she shows us a photo of her nine children, two sons and seven daughters. It's from the 80s and looks like a football team. "God willed it so. In my family, there were already ten of us siblings," she says with a hearty laugh under the watchful eyes of two of her children, Guillermo and Magdalena. "I," she continues, "got married in 1957, at 21, and had my first child 10 months later. Some women had babies at seven months because they'd had a quickie, while pregnant without anyone knowing. That was a scandal in the village. I didn't have another child until I was 39." Three of her new children were born at Son Dureta Hospital—opened in 1955, it was the first hospital in the Balearic Islands. "I had my first child at home because we were living in Palma at the time, and the last two because the midwife in Vilafranca thought I was too old and that the delivery could be complicated. Back then, some babies would come early and be born on the way to the hospital." Nicolau didn't notice much difference between giving birth in a hospital or at home. "There were plenty of nurses looking after me. The important thing, though, in both cases, is that the mother has to be there," she jokes.

The midwife who always assisted the woman from Vilafranca was the other one from the town, Damiana Fiol Marimon. "With my second son, Guillem, who's right here next door, my water broke early and the midwife couldn't come to the house in time, so I had him alone. It went wonderfully. When I was giving birth, though, I always thought I was going to die from all the pain. And the thought of leaving her scared me."

No co-responsibility

However, Nicolau doesn't regret having such a large family. Nevertheless, he makes the following confession: "If my husband had given birth to one child and had known pain firsthand, we wouldn't have had so many." In those marriages, the concept of shared responsibility didn't exist. The son confirms this: "My mother was always cooking lunches and dinners and washing clothes by hand. On the eve of Christmas, she had time to tell us stories by the fireplace since we didn't have a TV. And at bedtime, she would check our bunks to make sure we were all tucked in. My father... well, my father... not changing or washing a single diaper."

Magdalena, the other daughter, also joins the conversation. "I've had enough with two children. The women of my mother's generation had a heavy mental load, but they handled it with complete ease." At this point, her mother replies, "Women aren't the same today. Instead of children, they want dogs and to have fun. I never had time to suffer from postpartum depression. I couldn't go to any local festivals either. My husband would sometimes go to the movies alone, while I stayed home with the maids. Back then, large families didn't face as many difficulties as they do now. Life wasn't so expensive, and there weren't so many expenses or luxuries, but we had to be very resourceful. The younger children inherited their older siblings' clothes." Nicolau says goodbye, proudly placing the photograph of her nine children back in a corner of the dining room.