Pornography, now easily accessible through the internet but available on top-shelves or on backstreets for several centuries, continues to hold an ambiguous social role in the current world. For some, pornography is for harmless sexual release, to help spice up a flagging sex life or a juvenile curiosity. For others, it holds the dangers of promiscuous sex, representing the moral corruption of society and the breakdown of the family. For yet another group, pornography is problematic not because of the sex, but because of its portrayal of women, who now feature as the centre-piece of most pornography (at least that aimed at heterosexual men). Women in modern pornography are often objectified to the extent that any remnant of their humanity- or even of their sexual desire- is eradicated. Most modern porn is aimed at men, centred on their sexual desire, but pivots on the female body. The male body, while toned and tanned, is not the focus of the camera; it is female porn-stars who make the most money and their bodies that are the stars of the show. More problematically, despite the centrality of women to pornography, they are not there as woman, but as bodies. They are made less than human, which leads to the objectification of women and violence towards women in everyday life- as can be seen in the high levels of violence against women in areas surrounding stip-clubs.

Yet, this has not always been the case. Pornography and erotica in the seventeenth century had a different focus. Unlike modern pornography, where sex is usually detached from procreation and the freedom to have sex without worrying about pregnancy has been seen to be at the heart of sexual freedom, early modern porn focused on generation. The height of sexual climax for both men and women happened at the moment of conception, which was believed to occur when both man and woman orgasmed simultaneously. Sexual satisfaction therefore was predicated on reproducing and pregnancy signified good sex. This meant that female, as well as male, desire was an important part of early modern pornography, ensuring that foreplay in different forms was often featured. Similarly, as generation was a central part of sexual desire, metaphors around nature and fertility were common. Male protagonists in early modern pornography could be found ‘ploughing’ milkmaids, while semen was envisioned as ‘seed’ being implanted in the ‘female furrow’.

The focus on generation also placed a primacy on heterosexual sex. This is not to say that early modern pornography did not encompass a wide variety of non-penetrative, oral, anal, and vaginal sex with same-sex, hetero-sex and multiple partners, but that the ‘best’ sex was a man having vaginal sex with a woman. Same-sex couplings were seen as less satisfactory and, like in modern pornography, lesbian couplings were often envisioned as a prelude, or warm-up, to later heterosexual sex. In this sense, early modern pornography was aimed at men, rather than woman. Yet, despite this, the male body, but particularly the phallus or erect penis, was much more central to early modern porn. Written works focused on the penis’ size, shape and colour, emphasising its beauty, its smooth texture and its desirability. Large, erect penises featured in most erotic images. Some, along with the testicles, were disembodied from the men themselves, appearing as statues or hanging from trees next to copulating couples.

In this sense, it could be argued that early modern pornography objectified the male body, rather than, or as much as, the female body. Yet, at the same time, it is difficult to see such men as powerless. Their bodies are active and beautiful, and, in the context of seventeenth century society, men did not lack social status, regardless of their physical depiction in pornography. The question then arises to why modern pornography has such a tendency to objectify women- even to the extent of removing their humanity, but when men were placed in a similar position in the past, a similar effect was not seen.

Further reading

Sarah Toulalan, Imagining Sex: Pornography and Bodies in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford UP, 2007).

Julie Peakman, Lascivious Bodies: a Sexual History of the Eighteenth Century (Atlantic Books, 2004).

Gille Néret, Erotica Universalis (Taschen, 2005).

Katie Barclay recommends Erotica Universalis if you fancy some fabulous images of historical erotica dating from the Greeks to the present. She appreciates working in a field where pornography is not only ‘safe for work’, but is in fact work!

The WHN Blog is now permanently based at http://womenshistorynetwork.org/blog. If you are using the whn.jones5publishing url please update your website links. This URL will no longer be updated.

Cheers. See you at the new address.

Katie Barclay is a historian of marriage at the University of Warwick. She promises many other historical treasures in future blogs, so keep tuned.

 

Katie Barclay is a historian of marriage at the University of Warwick. She never stops being amazed at the fascinating things hidden in archives.

As part of my research into marriage and marriage breakdown in late twentieth-century Scotland, I have been lucky enough to be able to examine a series of twelve oral history interviews that were conducted as part of the Scottish Women’s Aid 30^th Anniversary Oral History and Archive Project.  The women interviewed were closely involved with Women’s Aid in its early years, during the 1970s and early 1980s, and their accounts reveal not only contemporary perceptions of domestic violence but also attitudes towards marriage, family and the position of women in late twentieth-century Scotland.

In Britain, the efforts of prominent and media-aware campaigners, including Erin Pizzey who established what is commonly believed to have been the very first Women’s Aid refuge in Chiswick, London, contributed to a heightened sense of urgency regarding ‘battered women’.  In Scotland, the Women’s Liberation movement acted as a driving force in the initiation of contemporary campaigns against domestic violence and the provision of practical help for women who had experienced it.  Many of the women who played key roles in the establishment of Women’s Aid groups across Scotland, particularly those formed in its cities, were also involved in the early 1970s feminist movement.  Their commitment to feminist politics underpinned their dedication to raising awareness of domestic violence and also shaped the support which they initially provided to women on a wholly voluntary basis.

One former worker explained that, to her, working for Women’s Aid ‘seemed like the practical edge of feminism’.  However, it is important to note too that women from a range of backgrounds became involved, including women who had previously endured domestic violence themselves and those who became involved through Church-based activities, and that the various Women’s Aid groups across Scotland could vary considerably in terms of approach, often in response to the local context.

The emergence of individual Women’s Aid groups, including those in Dundee, Glasgow, Edinburgh and Falkirk, was followed by the founding of Scottish Women’s Aid in 1976.  This national network supported existing Women’s Aid groups and fostered the development of new ones, in addition to co-ordinating larger-scale campaigns against domestic violence.  Contemporary sociologists Drs Russell and Rebecca Dobash describe an ‘explosion of activity’ with regard to this issue, which would infiltrate both mainstream discussion and the wider public consciousness in Scotland. 

Studying the oral history transcripts, I was particularly struck by the account of Anne, who eventually sought refuge in 1979, having been abused by her husband to the point where she was, in her own words, ‘really, really very, very ill, physically and emotionally and everywhere else’.  I feel that her testimony illustrates very powerfully the role played by Women’s Aid in providing support for women in the 1970s.  It suggests also the extent to which the wider collective discourse on domestic violence had previously inhibited women like Anne from speaking out.  She explains:

And it was great, it was great to have that reinforcement [in the refuge] because, where I’d came from, it was like, well, that’s your life and you get on with it.  And ‘what are you complaining aboot, he’s working’, ‘at least he works’, ‘at least he does this’ and ‘at least he does that’ and, you know, you were hanging on to that, thinking ‘Well, aye, you’re right, you know, at least I’m no’ as bad off as some people’ …

The opportunity for women to discuss their experiences of domestic abuse openly and at length, very often for the first time, is a theme that permeates the interview transcripts.  The extent to which many women ‘just wanted to talk’ about their experience of domestic violence had not been anticipated by the early Women’s Aid groups.  That women were now being given the opportunity to do so marked a turning point for many. 

Through her testimony, it becomes evident that it was within the ‘safe’, supportive space constituted by the refuge that Anne was finally able to discuss the violence she had endured and began to re-build a sense of her own identity.  She describes the exact moment at which she realised she would never return to her violent husband, during a conversation with one of the Women’s Aid workers about an issue concerning her children.  She recalls:

… I think somebody actually saying it to my face or the way she said it, I don’t know, but I suddenly realised, and she says to me ‘but you’ve got rights as well’ and it was like a door opening and I looked at her and I said to her, ‘Aye, I know I have’ but then I looked again and I went, actually, ‘She’s right, I have’… And it was just a simple statement she said but it always sticks in my mind, it was just like a door opening and – And, although I decided to go back to my house, because the house was in my name even then, I knew I would never ever ever go back to that abuse, I knew I would never go back to taking him back. 

Anne’s testimony regarding her experience of refuge in the late 1970s presents an invaluable and compelling insight into what the pioneering work of Women’s Aid meant for many women on a personal level.  She subsequently went on to work for the organisation herself and doubtless helped to change the lives of many other women.  I found her testimony truly inspiring.

Further reading

Dobash, R. E., and Dobash, R., Violence against wives: a case against the patriarchy. London: Open Books (1979)

Pizzey, E., Scream quietly or the neighbours will hear. Harmondsworth: Penguin (1974)

Report from the Select Committee on Violence in Marriage together with the Proceedings of the Committee, Session 1974-75, Volume 2, Report, Minutes of Evidence and Appendices, HMSO (1975)

Click on the links for more information on domestic violence and help: Scottish Women’s Aid, Women’s Aid, and Refuge. Please also consider giving to Women’s Aid and to the local branches of Women’s Aid (find your local branch through the links above). Like many charities, the current economic climate has seen cuts to budgets with a consequent impact on services- your giving can help.

Andrea Thomson is currently in the first year of her PhD at Glasgow University, looking at late twentieth-century marriage and marriage breakdown in Scotland.  She especially loves the history of ‘ordinary, everyday’ lives and finds herself growing to love even the train travel to track down new sources and new stories!

In 1825, Harriet Moore, a native of Sligo, Ireland, found herself the subject of national publicity after it emerged that she had lived as a man for the last six or seven years. At age 14, Harriet’s parents died and finding herself without protection, she donned her brother’s clothes and began working as an Irish grazier. She later came to England as a drover’s lad and went to work in the stables, where she got promoted to groom, then footboy. After two years Harriet was discharged and went to work in a salt yard, lodging with a woman named Lacy who discovered her sex by accident. Lacy blackmailed Harriet into marriage with her pregnant daughter Matilda, promising a never-received dowry. While successfully managing to work in the male guise, Harriet found that marriage unmanned her. Supporting a wife and child, and a wife’s mother into the bargain, was no easy matter- especially once Matilda became pregnant for a second time! Harriet left home to find work elsewhere, but found herself being prosecuted for wife desertion by the parish officers. As the law bore down, Harriet donned her petticoats, extricating herself from the obligations of marriage and fatherhood, and began looking for a job in domestic service.

Harriet was not alone in trying to pass as a member of the opposite sex. The history of cross-dressing and transgendering has highlighted both the numerous instances of individuals who dressed as the opposite sex and the multiple reasons for doing so. In the eighteenth century, there were numerous tales of female soldiers and sailors who enlisted and had long-successful careers in male guise. Their motives were varied from those who enlisted as it paid better than female occupations, to those for whom it was the only way to follow a male lover, to those who wished to fight for their country. There were often very practical reasons for donning male clothes with women, like Harriet, finding that being a lone woman was an unwelcome prospect and that male clothes offered a degree of protection against rape, seductions or other forms of violence. In Ireland, where the abductions of young women to force a marriage were common in the early nineteenth century, many a girl donned her brother’s clothes to protect her from raiding parties who invaded homes during the night. Some women may have been forced to cross-dress- the daughter who was born in place of a longed for son and dressed in male garb by parents was not just a modern phenomenon.

For other women, like Eleanor Butler and Anne Lister, cross-dressing marked their desire for other women, their affinity to a culture of like-minded women, and perhaps even suggested they wished to explore or challenge constructions of gender (like modern transgendering). Similarly, in the eighteenth-century dressing as women or behaving in effeminate ways began to be associated with some homosexual male sub-cultures, and some men chose to live their whole lives as women. Yet, men, like women, could have economic reasons for disguising themselves as women- a number of male thieves were found operating in female dress; there were male prostitutes who dressed as women, while men who wished to get access to a lover trapped by a family may seek employment as her maid. A number of men also dressed as women to escape detection- like Bonnie Prince Charlie who clad himself in a maidservant’s outfit to escape capture.

Even when women dressed as men for more ‘practical’ reasons, the act of cross-dressing was a challenge to the status quo, destabilising the gender norms so central to cultural hierarchies. The woman who became a successful man disrupted traditional notions of women as the weaker or second sex. Indeed, that transgression was at the heart of cross-dressing meant it was often central to early modern festivals, where the ‘world turned upside down’ was a key theme. Women dressed as men, men dressed as women, children dressed as kings and queens, beggars disguised themselves as rich men- the powerless became the powerful, if for a day. Cross-dressing was often a key component of the carnival, allowing people to vent frustration at social hierarchies- seen as natural or God-ordained- and at the same time, reinforcing their importance to community order.

Part of this tradition also saw men dressing as women in order to participate in social protest. Across Europe, it was common for male peasants to dress as women when participating in acts of vandalism, violence, theft or kidnapping that were committed in the name of social justice. Their clothing made them difficult to identify and perhaps made them seem less threatening from a distance- but also highlighted the symbolic nature of their actions. It was not violence committed by individuals for personal reasons- but an act of resistance towards or punishment upon those in the community who had transgressed social norms or failed in their responsibilities.

Far from cross-dressing being a sexualised or secretive act performed in private bedrooms (although no doubt examples of this also existed!), cross-dressing could be central to social order within the community. It could be used to transgress gender norms, but also to reinforce them. It was a vibrant social phenomenon that held different meanings in different times and places- and perhaps leads us to ask complex questions about its role in the modern world.

Further reading

Ballina Impartial, 13/07/1825.

Alison Oram, Her Husband was a Woman: Women’s Gender Crossing in Modern British Popular Culture (Routledge, 2007).

Dianne Dugaw, Warrior Women and Popular Balladry, 1650-1850, (Cambridge U.P., 1989).

David Jones, Rebecca’s Children : a study of rural society, crime and protest (Clarendon Press, 1994).

Katie Barclay finds it fascinating that women could pass as men for decades, working alongside them, without raising raising questions of identity. She wonders what this tells us about appearance and constructions of gender in the past.

Bella Keyzer, born in 1922, was a jute weaver, a munitions worker, an assembly line worker, but most famously a welder.  I came across an oral history interview with her recorded in 1985 as part of the Dundee Oral History Project (in which respondents were interviewed by local unemployed young people who had been trained by academics pioneering oral history) which I thought was really inspirational- parts of it are copied below.  Following her participation in this project she enjoyed a fair bit of local fame, featuring in local press interviews as well as a number of television programmes including ‘The World’s Ill-Divided’ (BBC2, first broadcast in 1987), ‘Out of the Doll’s House’ (BBC2, 1988) see link to clip below, and ‘Scotland’s War’ (for Scottish Television, 1989). 

I’m not sure if Bella would define herself as a feminist but she was fairly outspoken about the need for equality, but more importantly she led by example in her own life.  She had a child whilst unmarried, flouted all sorts of social conventions concerning appropriate female behaviour and fought hard to get a job in the welding industry thirty years after she had first worked as a welder during the Second World War.  In 1992 Dundee district council presented her with a special award in recognition of her work to promote women’s equality in Dundee. She died in July of the same year.  I’m only sorry I didn’t get to meet her. 

I think the story of Bella’s life goes to show that ‘ordinary’ women like you and I can challenge the boundaries of what was and is thought acceptable for women in our society.  That is an important lesson for us all to learn. 

E. Feeney, Interview with Bella Keyzer, recording and transcript, 14–25 Nov 1985, Dundee Central Library, Wellgate Centre, Dundee, Dundee Oral History Project, DOHP 022

Q – So did the men accept you workin’ on the ship?

A – Yes the’, the’ accepted ye in a way, older men wir very kind tae ye, the younger men wir very abrasive tae ye, they accepted ye because you wir no danger to thim, ye weren’t taken on their job ye wir mebbee doin’ a man’s job, but ye wir only there for the war, and eh, as long as you obeyed the rules and regulations they wir okay, plus thir wis a few intrigues went on. (Mmm,mm).  Ye see eh, many a boyfriend, many a lad in yer work, ye see eh….

Q – What about yerself wis there any advances made towards you?

A – Eh think meh, f…, meh height sort o’ frightened thim a wee bit, Eh think the’ wir a wee bitty frightened o’ Bella, eh meh nickname was Big Bella by the way, but eh, of course Eh, Eh’d be a fool, if Eh said thit nobody wis attracted to is I’d be a funny bugger if naebody liked is eh.

——————-

Q – And what about the people who worked with you did the’ know yer son wis illegitimate.

A – Oh yes they knew, it wis aye, oh eh, shi’s, in fact Eh kin Eh cannae put it any other way thin, thin, what it wis said tae me in the shipyard, Eh never seen a, a big ane yet we big cheek bones and an illegitimate bairn it wiznae a good ride.

 Q – That’s a terrible attitude.

A – Eh that wis the attitude, so but em, wi got over all that, ye, ye, jist ye, the, it wis a fact thit ye hud this child ye w …, Eh hud no intentions of hiddin’ him whatsoever.

 Q – Mm,mm

A – And em…

 Q – Do ye think it wis the pressure of the war when ye met Derek em, ye know thit came up tae the thit ye havin’ the child, do ye think it has anythin’ to do with the war?

A – It wis tae do with the war is so far is thit Eh met a Dutchman, thit, thit ‘e went away befor the kid was born.

Q – Mm,mm.

A – Yeh that would be the war, but this Eh hud the child, no, no, no, no, no, no, this would, Eh’m quite sure this would’ve happened tae me no matter if thir hud been a war or peace time.

Q – Laughing.

A – Eh’m quite shure, Eh’m quite sure about that, because em, alang with innocence and ignorance thir is also a great curiosity.

——————————————-

Q – So, would ye say even although we have equality now, do you think there’s much change?

A – No, no keep goin’ round in circles, Eh mean, there’s, meh fight wis fir a mans, fir tae get a job wi’ equal pay, now your fight is fir tae git a joab, and wir all fightin’ fir jobs and thirs an atom bomb hangin’ over wir head where’s the bloody jobs when thir’ goin’ tae drop atom bomb on ye, aye, em and what jobs that are predominantly women’s jobs, Eh mean like nursin’ or housework or oh a, a, checkout girl in Tescos, look it thir wages, good grief look it a barmaids wages in the hours thit they work, the that are predominantly women they seem tae be willin’ tae accept thir no, women don’t seem to evaluate thir own value.

 Q – Mm,mm.

A – They think oh Eh’m jist a woman because thiv been taught this, bit women, women ir the backbone o’ the economy in this country, and especially Dundee this womans town, this womans town where Eh, Eh heard down in that, that history class the ither day there, Eh felt like sayin’ somethin’ and Eh kept meh mouth shut because Eh, Eh wis on a different subject the’ said em, thirs so many women employed in the jute trade durin’ the fourteen eighteen war, ‘cause all the men wir away tae war, the women wir employed in the jute trade befror the bloody men went tae war.

———————–

Q – Bella would ye like tae say a few words on summon up yer past life?

A – Summon up meh past life, Eh wish Eh could go back, Eh wish Eh really could go back, Eh wish Eh hid payed more attention to what meh father said, Eh wish Eh hid taken advantage o’ the opportunities thit he gave me, but they, is they say ye can’t put an old head on young shoulders, and Eh wis a harem-scarem bitch, and em, Eh have no re…, Eh can’t say I’v Ah haven’t got any regrets, whir all wise after the event aren’t wi, wir all wise after the event, but Eh’m only now beginnin’ tae live, because all meh life it’s been work work tryin’ tae gin on, tryin’ tae make ends meet, and now when Eh retired from work Eh’m free, Eh’m absolutely free, Eh have nothing to lose, Eh kin stand up and say what the bloody well Eh want tae say, it’s no gonna cost me meh job, it’s no gonnna cost me meh income, that’s it, Eh could say what Eh feel, Eh want tae say without, em, without bein’ ashamed of anythin’, Eh could turn around and say no Eh did what Eh did, Eh am not ashamed, and if Eh could repeat, if Eh wis tae sum up Eh would say take somethin’ from meh father’s book, and Eh would say I need n…, I need not be missed if another succeed me, to reap down the fields which in spring I have sowed, he who plough ‘n’ sows it’s not missed by the reaper, they are only remembered by what they have done, and I think fir women’s equality Eh threw a pebble in the water, it wis a very, very small wave, but it wis my wave, and Eh feel Eh achieved something.

For more information on Bella see:

G. R. Smith, ‘Keyzer , Isabella (1922–1992)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004.

G. R. Smith, ‘Keyzer, Isabella’, entry in E. Ewan, S. Innes, S. Reynolds and R. Pipes, The Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women, EUP, Edinburgh, 2006, p. 196.

G. R. Smith, ‘“None can compare”: from the oral history of a community’, The Dundee book: an anthology of living in the city, ed. B. Kay (1990), p.169–98.

‘Bella the welder’- as featured in ‘Out of the Doll’s House’.

The transcripts and tapes of the interviews recorded as part of ‘Dundee Oral History Project’ are held in Dundee Central Library and are available to all. 

Dr Valerie Wright is a Post-Doctoral Research Fellow working on a Leverhulme funded project entitled ‘Jute & Dundee: The management of industrial decline’ in the Departments of History and Economic Studies at the University of Dundee.  Her PhD thesis, completed in the Department of Economic and Social History at the University of Glasgow, is entitled ‘Women’s Organisations and Feminism in Interwar Scotland’.

‘In early life they formed a romantic attachment, as deep as it proved to be lasting, and determined to enjoy their friendship in perfect seclusion.’ The ladies of Llangollen, or Lady Eleanor Charlotte Butler (1739-1829) and the Hon Sarah Ponsonby (1755-1832) were two Anglo-Irish elite women, who determined that they would forego heterosexual marriage for female friendship at the end of the eighteenth-century, thrusting them into the limelight of nineteenth-century press and into the history books of twentieth century historians tracing lesbianism in bygone days.  As June is ’Pride Month’ [well, it is in the United States], where the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender/sexual community celebrate their identity, it seems an appropriate point to give some thought to these lesbians (if such they were).

According to the Freemans Journal in 1830, the women by ‘singular coincidence’ were both born in Dublin, on the same day, in the same year, and lost their parents at the same time, so it seemed ‘they were intended by the hands of Providence for mutual sympathy’. The orphans were raised together and as they grew in years, talked over the similarity of their fates and persuaded themselves ‘they were designed by Heaven to pass through life together’. Even in youth, living at Castle Kilkenny (Butler’s family home), they were observed to ‘shun the society of others and to seek retirement with themselves’ (an ideal behaviour from a wife, but perhaps less than desirable for marriageable women waiting to go on the market!). When they turned 18, their families desired them to mix with other company and ideally find suitable husbands. However, one morning, they went missing and, after considerable enquiry, were found in disguise on board a merchant vessel about to sail from the harbour of Waterford.

The ladies were brought back and separated, and every means taken to ‘wean them from this extraordinary, and as it appeared to their friends, most injurious attachment for each other’. But, in time, they returned to each other’s company. They again proceeded to a seaport, embarked in a Welsh trader, and landed among the romantic mountains of North Wales. From here they proceeded into the valleys, ‘all but closed from human intrusion and nearly impassable except by goats and mountain ponies’. Eventually, after much searching, they found a ‘mean hovel’ in a picturesque valley in Llangollen, where they settled and began to make improvements. Back at home, their nurse, Mary Carryl, was inconsolable and set out in search of them. She eventually found them in their ‘comfortless cabin’, staying with them for the rest of her life and providing them with necessaries (so they didn’t have to leave their rural seclusion). At one time, when they were threatened with eviction, the faithful Carryl even went to London and used her own savings to purchase the land and save the women’s home. ‘The fame of these elegant but eccentric girls now expanded, and several persons of high rank sought an introduction, but they persevered in their determination and for twenty years, I believe, never slept out of their own cottage, nor admitted a stranger into it.’ The newspaper concluded that Carryl and Butler had died and were buried under a pyramid- each side taking the inscription of one of the ladies. The final face of the pyramid in 1830 was waiting for the lone survivor- Miss Ponsonby.

This was a rather romanticised version of the life of the Ladies of Llangollen. They were neither orphaned in youth, nor born on the same day, but met when Eleanor was 29 and Sarah was 13. They had an intense friendship and after 10 years eloped to Wales in 1778 to the disapproval of both their families. While they made numerous improvements to the house in which they lived, it was a stretch of the imagination to see their abode as ever having been a hovel! And, while they lived a life of rural retreat, their relative celebrity and social status meant their home was a place of frequent visitors, including poets such as Wordsworth and Byron, and even such luminaries as Queen Charlotte.

The life of the Ladies of Llangollen, and of other women who formed similar relationships, has raised many questions for historians of lesbian relationships. What was the nature of this intense friendship? How common was it and how was it viewed by outsiders? The ladies of Llangollen appeared to have understood their relationship as a marriage, referring to each other as husband and wife and using phrases such as ‘my better half’, ‘my sweet love’ and ‘my beloved’. Their friends often referred to the more outspoken Butler as ‘my old man’ and ‘him’, while both women were known for wearing masculine clothing- such as riding habits- and dressing alike. They were also part of a culture of ‘romantic friendship’ where other cohabiting women behaved in similar ways and, it could be argued, created a distinct ‘lesbian culture’.

Yet, at the same time, the lines between ‘lesbian’ friendships and the friendships of ‘non-lesbian’ women aren’t that clear cut. Other women used this same language of loved and beloved, husband and wife, with close female friends, while also participating in heterosexual marriage. And, this then raises the knotty question of sex- did the ladies of Llangollen, and others like them, have sex, or was their marriage conceived of in terms of friendship alone. For some women, like Anne Lister, romantic friendships involved sexual encounters (including those with a married woman). For others, it is only a matter of speculation of whether ‘lesbian marriage’ incorporated sex. The question of sex is also tied into the question of social acceptability. The article in the Freeman’s Journal suggests that the behaviour of the ladies of Llangollen was eccentric, but also romantic and it was not overtly condemning of their actions. Did this suggest that early nineteenth century society was tolerant (if not welcoming) of lesbian women? Or was it because ‘romantic friendship’ was seen as non-sexual that it could be seen as innocent?

Certainly, the situating of Llangollen in the seclusion of the very rural countryside by the press tied into early-nineteenth century notions of nature as free from the sexual corruption of the city and public life. This was reinforced by the reported youth of the ladies, who were described as eloping in their late-teens, without ever having been part of mixed society. Like nuns in a convent, the rural retreat of the Ladies of Llangollen could imply chastity to the (perhaps wilfully unimaginative) nineteenth-century public, rather than transgression. In practice, this veil of innocence may well have hidden the lusty body of lesbian desire.    

Further Reading

Freeman’s Journal, 12 January 1830.

Martha Vicinus, Intimate Friends: Women who Loved Women, 1778-1928 (Chicago, University of Chicago, 2004).

Katie Barclay thinks that the history of lesbianism, if same-sex relationships can be labelled as such before the late-nineteenth century, raises interesting questions about the centrality of sex to understanding sexuality and desire. Did it matter if the Ladies of Llangollen had sex for them to be understood as transgressing heterosexuality, and could they be lesbians without it? She is off to ponder this some more as she mows her lawn.

In June 1914, the WSPU sent a letter, on headed notepaper with ’Votes for Women’ emblazoned in purple at the top, to William Walsh, Archbishop of Dublin, demanding that he take interest in their cause. They enclosed the above photograph. Their letter read:

 Dear Sirs,

Enclosed you will find a photograph of Miss Grace Roe. This Young Irish girl was arrested on May 23rd when the police raided the headquarters of the Women’s Social & Political Union in Kingsway, London. Since that date, she and others with her, have been in Holloway on remand, charged with conspiracy. Although an unconvicted prisoner, she has been submitted without mercy to the torture of forcible feeding. It seems to be the Government’s fixed intention to to make of this fine woman a mental and physical wreck, simply in order to wreak vengeance upon her for the valuable and self-sacrificing organising work undertaken by her during the past year on behalf of the W.S.P.U.

I refer you to the photograph, that you may judge for yourself whether this girl belongs to the type that can be supposed by sensible people to be a menace to society.

Are you content that men, who refuse to women the noblest form of self-expression possible– the right to serve humanity– should also subject these same women to torture, when their demand grows so insistent that there is no other way of silencing it?

Are you willing, as a servant of the Master who was hounded down by the law-givers, and the multitude of His age, to a shameful death, to see re-enacted in the twentieth century the terrible tragedy of right triumphing only through defiance of agony and death. I say “terrible” advisedly. Not by reason of the suffering undergone by those who give themselves, a sacrifice for many, but because their sufferings stamp hypocrisy upon the claims and achievements of modern civilisation.

Are you not prepared to stand definitely on the side of Right as against Expediency? Will you not do something for Miss Grace Roe, and other’s like her, by putting on record your belief in the justice of Government who substitute coercion and torture for the obvious and statesmanlike solution: Votes for Women?

I remain, yours faithfully, MF Ecoll.

This source comes from the +Walsh papers, 1914, File 378/1 Laity, Dublin Diocesan Archive.

 Katie Barclay wonders what the reaction of the head of the Catholic Church in Ireland was when receiving this letter. Was he surprised, bemused or in the context of ongoing worker’s strikes in Dublin, an impending war, and the fight for Irish independence, did he just think it was a sign of the times?

As tends to happen when you get to a certain age and your friends set to marry themselves off, the question of naming suddenly becomes a topic of discussion. Should you choose to take your husband’s name? And, what are the implications if you do? Within feminist circles, while many women do take their husband’s name (and equally many don’t), there is a lot of discomfort around this process due to the implications for women’s social position and identity. The loss of a father’s name and its replacement with a husband’s, for many feminists, highlights the patriarchal baggage of marriage where women were property to be transferred from one man to another. Yet, naming is and was never so straightforward.

Today, as in the past, both naming practices and complex family organisations mean that a person’s surname is not always what it seems. For starters, the tradition of taking a father’s surname at birth and then a husband’s at marriage is not a universal custom. In fact, it is an English custom, which made the transfer across the Atlantic to the Anglo-American communities in the US with the early settlers, and spread into other parts of Britain in the nineteenth century. This particular naming custom is at the heart of most feminist critique. It was partnered with a legal and customary system (called coverture) that saw women as property, and saw marriage as the contract which transferred women from their father to their husband. In this model of marriage, women were literally ‘made-one’ with their husband- their legal identity subsumed into his, and they had no rights, whether to vote, to make contracts, to do business, or manage their own property. The process of name changing then highlighted that woman was without an identity of her own.

Yet, this is not the whole story. Even within England, naming was not straightforward. While children of legitimate marriages were given their father’s name (to reflect that they too were his property), illegitimate children- that is those born outside of marriage- took their mother’s name, and unlike in Scotland, they were not legitimised by the subsequent marriage of their parents. The emphasis of the family name- passed down through the male line- also meant that men marrying heiresses to large estates were asked to change their names to preserve her family name. Or, occasionally, when two wealthy families were joined in marriage, the elder son would take the name of one family, while a younger son would take the name of the other family in order to pass on the name (and frequently a tied inheritance) down a particular family line. Sometimes, children changed their name to that of an uncle, aunt or more distant family friend or relative- particularly if they were likely to inherit from them or if that person would aid them in later life (such as through paying for education or an apprenticeship). Children may also change name if one of their parent’s remarried- much like today- although this was not universal. And again, inheritance played a large part in these decisions- if it was financially beneficial to become the heir to a new parent, then a name change might be prescient. But, equally, love, affection or a desire to reflect a close relationship could inspire a name change. In this context, it was not just women who changed their name on marriage, but men and women for a variety of reasons.

In other countries, the situation was more complex again. In Scotland, while women also had limited legal rights, they did not have coverture and women kept their family name on marriage. This reflected a belief that marriage was not the subsuming of women into her husband’s family or person, but that marriage was the joining of two families in an alliance. In a world where marriage was not for love, but because it brought economic and political benefits, women kept their own family name to signify her links to her natal family and the benefits she brought. This was complemented by a complex system of adoption and fosterage, where children were raised or sometimes became part of other families- including sometimes adopting the new family name- in order to consolidate alliances between family groups.  Naming practices reflected social needs and customs around stability and social order. In Scotland, illegitimacy also worked differently. If a woman had illegitimate children with her future husband, they were legitimised by the subsequent marriage of their parents- perhaps with children undergoing a name change. However, in Scotland, it was very common for illegitimate children to live with their father’s family, so they often took his surname anyway. In the late eighteenth and nineteenth century, with the rise of romantic love and a growing belief that marriage was about the joining of two individuals, rather than of two families, many women began to follow the English custom of taking their husband’s surnames. This change reflected as much changing motivations for and understandings of marriage in Scotland, as it did the growing fashion for English customs.

In other countries, like parts of France and Scandanavia, women also customarily kept their own name on marriage. In Iceland, things were different again, with women taking their mother’s first name as a surname, and men taking their father’s. So, I would be Katie Fionasdaughter, while my brother would be Liam Billysson. A similar custom is seen in Egypt, where people take their father’s name as a surname. In an interesting twist, in cultural contexts where family names are less stable- changing with each generation- they tend to stay with their owner for life. In contrast, in the UK and the US, with our emphasis on patrilineal surnames, people are asked to change names all the time for a variety of reasons. Naming practices then are varied across the world and the question of whether it is ‘feminist’ to take your husband’s name is complicated by different cultural contexts.

Katie Barclay is a historian of marriage at the University of Warwick. She is enjoying the fabulous weather this weekend by typing a blog in her garden and trying to ignore the fact her grass needs cut.

Maud Allan as Salomé with the head of John the Baptist.

Maud Allen (1873-1956), born as Beulah Maude Durrant in Toronto, Canada, was an early twentieth century performer. She was a favourite of the music hall and popular theatres, where a population from diverse social backgrounds went to watch a variety of plays, sketches, comedy and songs- much like a modern variety show.

She was a larger than life character, changing her name after her brother was hanged for the murder of two women, writing a sex manual, and pursuing a career in dance with little formal training. Maud often designed her own costumes- like her infamous outfit for the ‘Salome Dance’. Her shows were received to popular acclaim- in 1908, she performed 250 performances in one year. During this period, she earned £250 a week- a top wage for a top stage star.

Yet, Maud’s often scanty clothing meant her shows often lay at the border of respectability. In 1909, her famous ‘Salome Dance’ was excluded from her performance by several major English cities when she went on tour. The Manchester censors banned her entire show. She continued to dance for many years until 1918, when she was involved in an infamous libel case when the British MP Noel Pemberton Billing accused her of lesbianism in his journal. She lost the case and gained a reputation for sexual licentiousness and immorality.

Maud’s fame declined after the highly publicized court case, although she performed for the last time on the British stage at age 60 in 1932, and for the last time in Los Angeles four years later. To make ends meet, she taught dance, and eventually moved to California during WW2, where she worked as a draughtsmen. From 1928, she had a ten-year relationships with her secretary Verna Aldrich, who was twenty years her junior.

In 1909, when Maud Allen came to Dublin, her performance was met with a mixed response. One audience member wrote to complain on the immorality on the show to the Archbishop of Dublin, William Walsh, providing both a fascinating description of the show and of the audience’s response to it:

At the Empire theatre next week an artiste is to give a salome and other dances in which she appears in an almost entirely nude condition. […] I witnessed this dance performed in the same (Empire) Theatre a few months ago & shall try to give a full description of it, its reception & the  papers reference to it; the latter I took care to look up. The dancer has her breasts covered with two closely fitting shields; these cover the nipple & part, not all of each breast. Except for necklaces & a few ornamental looking cords to holding the breast shields in position the body is completely naked to a level with the points of the hips, or to 3 inches say below the naval which was prominently visible from the hips hang, secured by a belt or string, a series of parallel black cords which are quite free from each other behind, but are very close and apparently held together in front by cross threads, as is ordinary cloth, no shoes, stockings, or drawers are worn, when the person stands still the limbs are not visible at all in front & only slightly so from behind but as she rapidly turns round  & round as she does in dancing (apparently for no other reason than to expose herself) the cords fly apart behind right up to the belt at the hips completely exposing legs & hops up to “the small of the back”. Owing to the closely fitting arrangement of cord in front the limbs are shown nude to well above the knees but no more.

The dance I saw described as “a scribe of sensuous gyrations” which is a correct description. It is performed before a representation of the head of John the Baptist with a heavily bearded face. The head is carried off in triumph at the end. This dance was performed amidst a regular storm of boos & hisses mingled with some applause. Some youths near me in a jocular way, gave utterance to expressions, one after another of the most immodest kind imaginable. At the end a goodly section of the audience applauded very vigorously; a greater number kept up the hissing (which was kept going all along) but rather less vigorously than the applauders. The Telegraph (I did not see the Herald) puffed the dance in advance as usual. After it was given its comment was I remember that she was received with loud applause but that some few expressed dissent; which was decidedly very misleading. The Herald made no reference to the continual hissing & booing carried on during the performance.

Source: ‘Layman’ to +Walsh, [ND 1909], Walsh Papers, 1909 382/4 Laity, Dublin Diocesan Archives.

Further reading

Toni Bentley, The Sisters of Salome, (University of Nebraska Press, 2005).

J.R. Walkowitz, ‘The “Vision of Salome”:  Cosmopolitanism and Erotic Dancing in Central London, 1908-1918’, American Historical Review, 108(2) (2003).

Katie Barclay was fascinated by the number of complaints written by the Catholic laity to their priests on performances in Dublin’s many theatres, which inspired her to find out more about ‘the Salome Dancer’.  She is trying to figure out what these complaints tell us about attitudes towards morality in nineteenth century Ireland.