The disenchantment of the home: modernizing the Australian family 1880-1940 9780195545944, 9780195545937

Table of contents :
Frontmatter
Preface (page vii)
Abbreviations (page ix)
Introduction (page 1)
1 Setting the questions: the theoretical context (page 11)
PART I PRODUCTION
2 The architecture of daily life (page 32)
3 The administration of the home (page 56)
PART II REPRODUCTION
4 Modernizing confinement (page 84)
5 Planning the family (page 104)
PART III SOCIALIZATION
6 Producing the model modern baby (page 128)
7 The remaking of childhood (page 153)
PART IV SEXUALITY
8 The sexual enlightenment of the young (page 178)
9 The rational management of sex (page 190)
10 The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment (page 210)
Appendix On sources and methods (page 222)
Notes (page 233)
Bibliography (page 254)
Index (page pag264)

Citation preview

The disenchantment of the home Modernizing the Australian

family 1880-1940 |

The disenchantment . of the home Modernizing the Australian

family 1880-1940

Kerreen M. Reiger

, | Melbourne | Oxford University Press Oxford Auckland New York ,

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS Oxford London New York Toronto Delhi Bombay Calcutta Madras Karachi Kuala Lumpur Singapore Hong Kong Tokyo

Melbourne Auckland ,

and associates in

Beirut Berlin Ibadan Mexico City Nicosia 8

©Kerreen Reiger 1985 | | , First published 1985 This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study,

research, criticism or review as permitted under |

the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without

prior written permission. Inquiries to be made to Oxford University Press. —

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data: Reiger, Kerreen, 1946-. The disenchantment of the home.

Includes index. , ISBN 0 19 554593 1 (pbk.). ,

Bibliography.

ISBN 0 19 554594 X.

1. Family—Australia—History. 2. Home economics—Australia— History. 3. Australia—Social life and customs—1851-1901.

306.8'5'0994 | | 4. Australia—Social life and customs—20th century. I. Title. ,

Edited by Valerie Haye Cover designed by Jan Schmoeger Typeset by Computype Export, Wellington, N.Z.

Printed in Hong Kong a

Published by Oxford University Press, 7 Bowen Crescent, Melbourne OXFORD is a trademark of Oxford University Press

Contents

Preface Vil Abbreviations , ix Introduction I

1 Setting the questions: the theoretical context 11

PARTI PRODUCTION

23 The The administration architecture ofofdaily life 32 the home 56

PART II REPRODUCTION

45 Modernizing confinement 84 Planning the family 104

PART III SOCIALIZATION

6 Producing the model modern baby 128

7 The remaking of childhood 153

PART IV SEXUALITY

8 The sexual enlightenment of the young 178

9 The rational management of sex 190

Notes 233 Bibliography 254 Index 264 10 The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 210

Appendix On sources and methods 222

V

, For Jean Martin

without whose encouragement and example I may not have kept going; at last the end of the long apprenticeship!

Preface

This book is a revised and shortened version of my Ph.D. thesis, “The

disenchantment of the home, the rationalization of domestic life in Victoria, 1880-1940’, La Trobe University, 1982. The research took place over several years during which I carried considerable teaching and other responsibilities. Over this period, therefore, many people — colleagues, friends and family —- have provided support and assistance. In

particular, I wish to acknowledge the support and guidance of my two | thesis supervisors, Jim Hammerton and Rosemary Wearing. Although there were often lengthy periods in which work seemed at a standstill, and others during which motivation dwindled, their steady encouragement and interest helped keep me going. On a formal level, acknowl-

: edgement must also be made of the research time made available in 1980 by the former Preston (now Phillip) Institute of Technology, which allowed me to finish the last stages of research. Thanks are also due to

the organizations which allowed access to their records, and to the individuals who gave their time and assistance, in particular those kind people who generously granted interviews. I am also grateful for the access to the Vera Scantlebury Brown papers given by Cath James; to the Wallace papers by Mrs Dawson; and for the assistance provided by

Mark Richmond, University of Melbourne Archives. _ | Many friends and colleagues have shared both the tasks of emotional support and intellectual encouragement. In the UK helpful discussion concerning oral history and comparative data was provided by Elizabeth Roberts of Lancaster University, and by Paul Thompson of Essex University. Also at Essex, Leonore Davidoff provided insight, interest and stimulation; indeed the ‘push’ which steered the project onto its final tracks. Closer to home, friends at La Trobe and Phillip Institute have helped in various ways over the years; in particular Lyn Richards and vil

Anne Doble Manne with research issues, and Rob Watts who earns warm thanks for all sorts of encouragement, not least for introducing me to the critical theory tradition. Others, including Bob Connell, Ian Davey, Peter Beilharz and Valerie Haye have made valuable suggestions | and critical comments during the revision process, and my students at Phillip have shared in trying out the ideas. To all of them I offer thanks, although the end result remains my responsibility.

The lengthy period of research, the excitement of writing and the tedious, seemingly everlasting process of revision have been literally squeezed in around other aspects of my life. The weight of my teaching

and administrative load as well as domestic responsibilities has been eased by the care and consideration of many friends, and Grace Colosimo _ and Livia Helou have borne the brunt of the typing. Finally, my family have had to live for a long time not only with me but with this project,

and without their practical as well as emotional help it would never have been accomplished. Moreover, without the richly rewarding experience of childrearing which Caitlin, Marcus and now Jeremy continue

to provide, my understanding of much of the source material would have been greatly diminished. To them, therefore, and to Arthur, my

thanks of all. |

partner in that enterprise and supporter in this, I offer the most important Kerreen Reiger February 1984

Vill |

Abbreviations

AAAS Australian Association for the Advancement of Science ACER Australian Council of Educational Research AEHR Australian Economic History Review AGPS Australian Government Publishing Service

AIDE Australian Institute of Domestic Economy

ALP Australian Labor Party ANL Australian National Library

ANU Australian National University

BMA British Medical Association |

CPD Commonwealth Parliamentary Debates CPP Commonwealth Parliamentary Papers DBR Decline of the Birth Rate (Royal Commission)

FKU Free Kindergarten Union MDNS Melbourne District Nursing Service

MJA Medical Journal of Australia MMBW ~~ Melbourne and Metropolitan Board of Works NHMRC _ National Health and Medical Research Council

PRO Public Records Office RHA Racial Hygiene Association RVCN Royal Victorian College of Nursing SHWCV _ Society for the Health of Women and Children of Victoria Trans. Aust.

Med. Cong. Transactions of the Australian Medical Congress Trans. Int.

Med.Cong. Transactions of the Intercolonial Medical Congress

VBHCA Victorian Baby Health Centres Association

: 1X

VPD Victorian Parliamentary Debates | VPP Victorian Parliamentary Papers

WCTU Women’s Christian Temperance Union WEA Workers’ Education Association

x|

Introduction

The half century or so spanning the latter part of the nineteenth and the first decades of the twentieth century. was a major formative period in modern Australian society. In this study I shall be concerned primarily with the social structuring of family and personal relationships. During

this time the material context of the family was rapidly assuming its essential twentieth-century features: the replacement of production centred

in the home by that of industrial manufacture, the growth of suburbia and the introduction of technology into the domestic home. Demographic change—increased life expectancy of both adults and children and de-

creasing family size—was altering the very shape of the family itself. Furthermore, a piecemeal but coherent reforming effort was being di-

rected at the interior of family life—at the patterning of family relationships—particularly at the wife-mother role, the rearing of children and the management of sexuality. The book’s major task is describing and drawing out the full significance of the attempts to transform the Australian family in the years between the 1880s and the 1930s. The dates are somewhat arbitrary as the developments discussed cannot be defined by a strict chronology. ©

Nonetheless, the 1880s did inaugurate a major period of transition to | the ‘modern era’ of the twentieth century, a period lasting until the First World War. It was a period of considerable urban growth and was marked by a spate of legislation at both State and, after 1901, at Federal levels. The State became increasingly involved with the everyday life of

the citizens. A multitude of laws and regulations affected working conditions and wages, health, education and welfare, and legislation directly concerned with the family was passed governing the age of sexual consent, divorce and provision for children whether defined as ‘neglected’, ‘feeble-minded’ or ‘normal’. 1

2 The disenchantment of the home The last years of the nineteenth and early years of the twentieth century also witnessed the establishment and growth of many organizations aimed at reforming family and personal behaviour, or offering advice and assistance. These ranged from temperance, ‘social and moral hygiene’ and physical health reform groups to those with a charitable-

cum-educational focus such as the kindergarten movement. The full flowering of many of these earlier developments was reached during the

interwar years, even as the 1920s and 1930s also held the promise of things to come after 1945. The spread of industrialization, of commodity production with its advertising and mass media heralded a new style of | consumerist culture associated with advanced industrial capitalism. In Australia the first waves of this culture are discernible in the interwar years, but the major developments occurred after the Second World War. Thus the period from 1880 to the late 1930s involves a two-stage transition from a basically pre-industrial, colonial Australian society to that of the late twentieth century. This study describes how this transition

involved not only changes in production and technology in the public sphere, but important developments in what has become defined as ‘the

private world’ of home and family. Oe |

The core argument of the book is somewhat complex, dealing with the connection between broader economic, social and cultural forces and change in familial and personal relationships. In the late nineteenth and

early twentieth century in Australia, and likewise in similar Western societies, we can see a relationship between a series of programmes to transform family and domestic life. The strategies included efforts. to introduce technology to the household and to define the housewife as a ‘modern’, ‘efficient’ houseworker; to change patterns of reproduction by placing contraception, pregnancy and childbirth under conscious,. usually

professional, control; to alter childrearing practices in the light of ‘hygiene’, seen as both physical and mental; and to bring sexuality out from under the veil of prudery and silence. In each of these areas of personal and family life, the reforming attempts were initiated by a similar group of people, who are best characterized as an emergent class of professionals, technocrats or experts. This group included members of the medical profession, teachers and kindergarteners, domestic science and child guidance specialists. Usually they worked hand in hand with fractions of the dominant class in Australian society, the older bourgeoisie

as it is often termed. The role played by these technical experts, the | trained specialists, was however profoundly contradictory. Their attempts

to change the family were undertaken both on behalf of, and in the

Introduction 3 interest of, the dominant class, but represented a fundamental threat to some deep-seated social arrangements. A major contradiction emerged between the established ‘bourgeois’ ideological construction of the family

and the experts’ ‘modern’ notion of the family as a set of rational and manipulable social practices. The bourgeoisie, as the leading social class of nineteenth-century industrializing capitalist society, had emphasized personal life as private, as a refuge of warmth and emotional intimacy, and the family as primarily a natural entity centred on woman's ‘femininity’. In this dominant interpretation constructed by the bourgeoisie, the realm of home/family /personal life /women was seen as the antithesis of the cold, calculative, rational world of capitalist commerce, industry

and the State. | This book describes and interprets the undermining of this model by the emergence of a new social group which attempted to ‘rationalize’ the domestic world: to extend the principles of science and instrumental

reason to the operation of the household and to the management of personal relationships. These alternative principles of instrumental or goal-directed social action were not immediately perceived as presenting

a threat to the dominant model of the family, but they were seen as appropriate to the new industrial society and the need to reconstruct the

social world in accordance with scientific knowledge. The dilemma presented by the operation of quite different models of home and family is of much greater significance than has generally been recognized.

A major theme of this study of Australian developments, then, 1s their intrinsically contradictory nature. The attempts of movements, such as infant welfare and domestic science, to extend new ‘scientific’ principles

of organization and action to the household are part of what some theorists have referred to as a general extension of ‘technical rationality’

in the modern world. Not only Max Weber, but many other social theorists have taken the spread of means-end, rationally calculated, goaloriented action as a central concern in their analyses of the emergence of modern industrial societies. Weber referred to this as the ‘disenchant-

ment’ of the world. A recurrent theme has indeed been a critique of this very ‘rationality’ as not necessarily rational or reasonable at all. A clear distinction has been made between practical or substantive reason, and merely ‘technical’ rationality. The critique of the latter hinges on

the possible replacement of moral and ethical issues, and debate about | the ultimate yoals of a fully human existence in a good society, with much narrower, more limited interests in efficient organization and control over material resources. These issues will be discussed further at

4 The disenchantment of the home a later point, but I must point out here that they have not generally been discussed with regard to the organization of the family or the position of women in modern societies. The major texts in the relevant areas of social theory have been ‘sex-blind’, insofar as the social construction of gender has rarely entered the domain of discussion. On the other hand, feminist social theory has not engaged with the critique of technical or instrumental reason. Similar concerns with emancipatory praxis, with

social action to create a better future, come from both sides of the theoretical gulf, but a bridge has not yet drawn them together. Although

this exploratory study cannot claim to do this single-handed—and fortunately other writers are now contributing to the ambitious project— it does at least raise many of the important questions.

It is this focus and its theoretical underpinnings which makes the goal of this book somewhat different from other historical works on women’s or family history, including those also using Australian sources.! It provides not only a description of a series of developments in Australia

but suggests that these were part of related movements taking place throughout industrial capitalist societies. Although the attempts to ‘modernize’ and reform domestic life took various forms in different national contexts, their overall significance can, I argue, only be understood with reference to broader issues of social change. In particular, the attempts to extend technical rationality to the domestic sphere of home and family suggest the operation of fundamentally contradictory structural tendencies in advanced societies. Although the research material used in this account concentrates on the specific activities of individuals and class groups in

Australia in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the implications of my argument are much wider. They raise the issue of how the social relationships of capitalism relate to the social relations of a

patriarchal society in ‘modern times’. |

A wide array of theoretical writing and empirical study has tackled the thorny issues involved in explaining patterns of domination and exploitation in our society. The social, political and economic structures of industrial capitalism have been distinguished, conceptually at least, from those of patriarchy—a system of domination of women by men based on socially constructed gender roles. I shall leave aside at this point the debates about the definitions of these terms and about the articulation of the relationship between the two systems. Nonetheless, it is important to indicate here that the thrust of this study goes against many of the currently held notions of their interlocking and comple-— mentary interdependence. Rather, what will be developed in the body

Introduction — 5 of this study is an argument concerning certainly the interpenetration of capitalism and patriarchy, but also their potential contradictoriness. The concept of contradiction, long central to the tradition of Marxist analysis, is taken here to mean ‘an opposition or disjunction of structural principles of social systems, where those principles operate in terms of each other, but at the same time contravene one another’.?, Whereas the tendency of much socialist feminist theory has been to see capitalism and patriarchy as distinct social systems somehow fitting together, I would argue that this is not an adequate understanding of lived reality. In our own times and in those of past generations, human beings produce and reproduce

a social world always with regard both to the physical nature of their bodies as those of women and men, as well as with regard to other aspects of material existence. Giving pride of place to the latter is of course the basis of the feminist critique of traditionalist Marxist and general socialist theory. We need to start by conceiving of society as a complex set of practices brought about by human beings in their dealing with all aspects of their material world. These practices then also constrain social action. In modern industrial capitalist societies, class and gender,

along with race, are structural features which together quite literally colour and shape all aspects of daily life, penetrating our experience at every turn. Starting with this assertion need not however, as it frequently does, lead to emphasis upon the inevitable ‘functions’ each aspect plays in reproducing the other. The range of evidence drawn together in this study of Australian late

nineteenth- and early twentieth-century social relationships points to some clear tensions between gender and family patterns and practices associated with economic relations. The nature of the contradiction between technical rationality and the then held family model can be outlined as follows. As already noted, the assumptions about women and the family held by the socially dominant group, the bourgeoisie, centred on the intrinsic ‘naturalness’ of maternity, and femininity more generally, as the foundation of domestic life. Although it is not difficult to see the threat to this concept posed by an emphasis, for example, on mothercraft and domesticity as needing to be /earned rather than natu-

rally given, the full significance of the conflict implied here is not so readily apparent.

Some insights of feminist theorists into the cultural processes of construction of femininity and masculinity as opposing categories are essential to exploring this issue. It has been demonstrated, I think convincingly, that the relative social power and status of women has

6 The disenchantment of the home almost universally been less than that of men but that the patterns of — this have varied historically and cross-culturally. One of the major considerations in such variability is the nature of the socto-economic system and, in particular, the extent to which the mode of economic production is based on direct exploitation of natural resources. Societies

based on hunting and gathering and ‘primitive’ forms of agriculture certainly seem to have made distinctions between the sexes; we do not

have the evidence so greatly desired by many feminists of any truly gender-egalitarian society. Nonetheless, in socteties not producing a marked social surplus and heavily dependent upon co-operation with rather than dominance of natural resources, the inequality of women visa-vis men seems to have been a good deal less than in the ‘patriarchal’

societies. Where we see the growth of men’s cultural dominance over women, we also see it accompanied by increased power of some men over others in the struggle to control the fruits of material production. Although the intrinsic relationship suggested here between gender and class inequality cannot be discussed further at this point, it provides the _

| basis for the argument concerning the extension of technical rationality, a mode of practice oriented to manipulation and control, to the sphere of women and family. I am suggesting that, according to Simone de Beauvoir’s classic formulation and its development by others, notably Sherry Ortner?, the construction of masculinity as power and human

agency in the natural world is predicated upon the construction of femininity as an opposing category of passivity and natural ‘givenness’. That is to say that women have been seen by men and frequently seen themselves as aligned with, or part of, the given natural world which it

is ‘man’s’ destiny to stamp into shape. It has also been argued most persuasively, I believe, that an outstanding feature of capitalism is the extent to which its productive force has extended the range of such domination beyond all previous bounds.* Moreover, the attempt to manipulate and control all aspects of both social existence and of natural

processes such as reproduction, growth and decay which we can see around us in the twentieth century has led us to the brink of calamity. As Ruether has pointed out, writing of the Western religious emphasis on transcending the natural world, and its basis in sexual stereotypes: ‘The patriarchal self-deception about the origins of consciousness ends logically in the destruction of the earth’. The interpenetration of gender and class exploitation nonetheless contains an irreconcilable tension. Extending technical modes of power and control to all facets of everyday life has run counter to the continued definition of women as symbols of

Introduction 7 nature whose presence in the home can not only provide refuge from the alienation of this public sphere of domination and exploitation, but even save it from itself. This discussion has only been a brief and as yet inadequate exposition

of the nature of the contradiction which can be traced in the develop-

ments explored in the following chapters. It is also apparent from this lengthy exposition that even a cursory outline of the relevant issues is not an easy task. The study is basically exploratory, placed at the crossroads of several concerns, not all of which are of equal relevance to

every chapter. Since much traditional history has been predominantly empiricist and mainstream sociology has tended to lack historical depth and imagination, I have drawn on alternative models, particularly those provided by critical sociology and the socialist historiographical tradition.

In combining social theory and an historical analysis of aspects of everyday life I have found few models which could be easily emulated. | The debates concerning the role of theory in relation to social history in

recent years do not seem intrinsically unresolvable, but attempting a resolution in specific historical practice is where the real rub lies. The problem confronted in this project was twofold: how to stretch/find / manipulate available source material to answer the questions of theoret-

ical interest, and how to do theoretic justice to the complexity of experience and the ‘trivia’ of material existence. The goal itself of course

was not unitary, as Raphael Samuel has pointed out: ‘ambitiously handled, an understanding of subjective experience and everyday social relationships can be used to pose major questions in theory’.° This did

eventuate, particularly in the areas of childrearing and sexuality, but proved a difficult task. The process of constructing theoretical understanding and the substantive analysis proceeded dialectically, each gen-

erating new insights, sometimes in tandem, sometimes at odds with each other. For different aspects of the material separate theoretical strands

proved of value; but the book as a whole attempts a combination of feminist insights with a critique of instrumental reason and an analysis of the role of the professional-managerial sector in its dissemination. The major theoretical issues surrounding my argument are discussed

in Chapter 1, specific methodological points being dealt with in the Appendix. In this chapter I have not provided an exhaustive account of

the relevant literature, but drawn together the insights I found most valuable from debates in several quite disparate areas of social theory. Although Chapter 1 sets the interpretative context for my _ historical analysis, some readers may prefer to turn to it after becoming familiar

8 The disenchantment of the home with the Australian developments charted in subsequent chapters. The

rest of the book is divided into four major sections, deriving from Mitchell’s now classic formulation of the structure of women’s position:

production, reproduction, socialization and sexuality. Part 1 outlines some attempts to alter the physical environment in the period, changes which provided the context in which women and their families found themselves. The growth of urban and suburban society, changes in production and consumption and in living costs were the background against which the rationalizing domestic economy movement emerged.

These chapters also show the interplay between clearly ideological endeavours and the changes taking place in the material context of the

family household. Out of attempts to remedy the social problems of : urban industrial society, such as the health and housing reform movements, there developed a major strategy directed at the organization of work within the household and at ensuring what were seen as ‘appropriate’ and ‘right’ ways of family living. This dominant strategy is seen in sharpest relief in the emergence of the domestic economy movement, which deliberately set out to construct a new model of the efficient housewife. At the same time, however, a nineteenth-century conception of the home continued. Throughout the. period the home was stressed as a place of emotional warmth and tranquillity, a retreat for men from

the world of industrial work and the natural habitat of womenfolk. Detailed examination of women’s actual tasks within the household | shows the extent to which this image of the home was highly ideological, romantically misrepresenting several aspects of what women experienced as everyday work tasks. While the separation of the men and women’s spheres continued, the home was subjected to increasing external pres-

sures. Both through technology and the introduction of new notions of efficiency, women were facing a complex task of negotiating the inter-

action between domestic and public worlds.

In Part II I suggest that attempts to control and direct women’s reproduction, while strongly asserting the ideology of women’s ‘naturalness’ in childbearing, inadvertently placed in their hands the opportunity for further purposive-rational action, the technical means of reproductive control. The chapters on reproduction examine the medical discourse on

women’s health and on the national significance of their childbearing capacity. They trace changes in attitudes and practices relating to contraception, pregnancy and childbirth which reveal the dominance of science and the growth of professional control. By the interwar period, not only conception but pregnancy and parturition were being placed

Introduction 9 under greater professional surveillance, usually, though not totally, under

the direction of males. These efforts to ‘modernize’ the reproductive process contradicted the ongoing insistence on the naturalness of women’s reproductive processes. Despite repeatedly expressed concern about the effects of urban industrial life on women’s health and procreative abilities, the solutions sought by technical experts, such as routine anaesthetized,

hospitalized childbirth, further removed women from ‘natural’ conditions. Women were, however, participating in these developments as social agents and not just as passive victims. Through the charitable efforts of bourgeois women, the professional activities of women as doctors and especially as nurses, and through their own initiatives, women

made their own contribution to the changing management of reproduction.

Part III on socialization explores the growth and significance of the infant welfare movement and the associated strategies to change patterns both of infant care and the socialization of older children. In particular I trace the impact of psychology, which profoundly altered the discourse

on children by the end of the period. Not only was infant care to become more scientific and guided by professional experts, but the rearing of older children was rendered more difficult by a growing emphasis on individual development and motivation. In both areas, women in particular were bombarded with a deliberate programmed redefinition of their role as mothers. The co-operation of early kindergarteners and creche initiators with infant welfare supporters and school medical officers suggests a concerted strategy. There was a clear difference in orientation, however, between those who saw the reform of childhood

as primarily directed at the working class, and those who envisaged a wholesale transformation of family relationships and _ childrearing

throughout society. In Chapters 6 and 7, I argue that the emerging professionals in public health and the specialists in child welfare were attempting to bring about the latter by institutionalizing new styles of ‘rational’ childcare.

Finally, in Chapters 8 and 9 I examine the extension of rationality to sexuality. Around 1900 moral reformers from a religious background became active in promoting the specific instruction of children in sexual matters, solely of course to discourage illicit sexual activity, especially on the part of working-class adolescents. I describe the co-operation between this group and a seemingly more liberal group of professionals who took a more secular approach to sexuality, both with regard to the sex education of the young and of adults. This group was preoccupied

10 The disenchantment of the home with the ‘healthy management’ of sex, seeing sexual hygiene as a matter

of national importance and hence an arena of State and professional intervention. In Chapter 8 I argue that a further contradiction emerged. On the one hand, sex was proclaimed to be a natural activity—private, personal and still sacred—a matter for family intimacy and feminine reticence in particular. On the other hand, it was now talked about more publicly, becoming part of the wider commodity culture and starting to be seen as a matter in which technical expertise was of value. There was considerable irony in the combined efforts of religious moral campaigners and secular, hygiene-oriented reformers to remodel the most intimate

discourse. | ,

human experience into a matter of rational calculation and_ public In each of these aspects of the ‘disenchantment’ or rationalization of the domestic world—reconstructing housewifery, motherhood, childrearing and sexuality—the technical experts of the professional middle class | led the way. The ensuing account shows that they frequently worked in close alliance with religious reformers and, most notably, women of the bourgeois philanthropic or charity network. I believe, however, that they were engaged on a mission of their own which was more significant than they realized. The implications of this are discussed in the final

| chapter. | |

I

Setting the questions: the theoretical context

The research reported in this book not only used a variety of historical sources, but drew upon a complex area of social theory to ask questions and to order the empirical material. My aim here is to discuss the social

theory which informs the study and to which it in turn contributes. Several debates are germane to my argument: first, those concerning the nature and significance of changes in family patterns in Western societies; and second, those to do with the emergence of the professional middle class and the role of ideology in the reproduction of the social structures

characteristic of industrial capitalist societies. As I am arguing that contradictory formulations of womanhood, especially of domesticity and maternity, suggest structural contradictions in industrial capitalist societies, each of these areas of social theory also requires critical appraisal in

the light of feminist theory. The origin of the theoretical debates is primarily European, but they throw light on Australian developments. The attempts of the ‘experts’ or professional middle class to extend the principles of science, efficiency and organization to the Australian home echoed similar efforts in North America, Britain and elsewhere. In many respects it is this similarity which is stressed, although particular characteristics of Australian society, such as the concern with building a new nation, were also highly significant.

Historians and sociologists, both overseas and in Australia, have detailed the development of contemporary family forms. At a more theoretical level, they have debated both the nature of, and the explanation for, the types of family patterns predominant in advanced Western societies. The interpretation which stresses the significance of the ‘bourgeois family model’ has emerged out of such debates. In the 1960s and 11

12 The disenchantment of the home 1970s the rapid growth of historical demography threw new light on changes in the nature and significance of kinship patterns in Western societies in recent centuries. In particular, the relationship between the nuclear family and the processes of industrialization has come to be seen _

as much more complex and variable than sociologists had formerly supposed. What has emerged from the skilful research of demographic historians of the family is that the extended /nuclear change in family structure, especially in England and her colonies, is not the outstanding feature of recent times. What is of considerably greater importance is the family’s changing economic role, its relationship with the wider

community and, most importantly, its emotional or psychic structure. | As the major part of economic production was removed from the family household to the factories of industrial capitalism, women’s role narrowed

private sphere of life. |

but took on a new significance in the management of the emerging Much of the new family history has been descriptive and uninformed by any clear theoretical framework, but some accounts deal with broader explanations of family change. In social history generally, there is an emerging dichotomy between those working within a tradition of mod-

ernization theory and those within a broadly Marxist tradition. The former stress the social significance of industrialization and urbanization,

and the latter the impact of capitalism on everyday life. Although the modernization tradition derives basically from Max Weber, the analyses it has produced are often far less critical than Weber’s own, reflecting instead a rosy view of ‘modernity’. Edward Shorter and Lawrence Stone,

despite his disclaiming modernization theory, stress a shift in cultural values as the motivation for changes in family relationships.'! Although they acknowledge the economic features associated with the development

of industrial capitalism, it is the market or exchange nature of capitalist society rather than its property and production relations that they see as significant. The rise of what Stone calls ‘affective individualism’ 1s considered the keynote of the new style of internal family relationships characteristic of the modern nuclear family. Both these historians suggest

that changes such as the growth of romantic love in courtship, of companionship norms in marriage, and of a new emphasis on domesticity

and the significance of childrearing were led by the new middle class which emerged after the seventeenth century. They view these changes in generally positive terms as representing liberal progress, especially the extension of individualism throughout society. American historian Jay Mechling, in a brief but provocative comment, has however pointed to

Setting the questions 13 a much more critical notion of ‘modernization’ than that common in _ past writing on the family and social change.? He argues that historians

have two empirical tasks to perform: they need to explore on the one hand changes in family behaviour, and on the other, changes in patterns of consciousness and ideology. He suggests that a theoretical framework

for the study of the ‘modernization’ of the family which does not emphasize its positive adjustment to industrial society, or rely on a model

of uni-linear progress, can be derived from the critique of technology and capitalist rationality. Furthermore, as Howard Gadlin points out, the implications of such a critique for the analysis of the family involves dealing with the structure of socialization and personal relationships in the wider context of industrial capitalism.? An alternative interpretation of the emergence of modern family patterns is more sceptical of their beneficial and progressive attributes. Mark Poster, for example, has argued that the picture of the European family described by Shorter and Stone should more accurately be seen

as a particular patterning of family relationships espoused by the bourgeoisie and intimately related to their unfolding social and economic dominance.* He suggests that rather than some magical ‘wish to be free’ producing spontaneous, emotional individuals, as Shorter implies, what recent historical developments reveal is the deliberate imposition of the

bourgeoisie’s family model on other social groups, not only on the working class but even on the old landed aristocracy. He characterizes

this family pattern as involving a narrowing of both affective and authority relations from the wider community to the smaller family unit, a stress on privacy and on sexual repression. Poster’s interpretation draws

heavily on the psychoanalytic tradition; he argues that the bourgeois methods of childrearing were aimed at producing a particular form of personality structure suited to the interests of the developing class of capitalist owners. His discussion reflects the argument developed by the Frankfurt School of theorists concerning the perpetuation of capitalist social relationships through the mechanism of personality and family structure. The studies of authority, family and character patterns amongst German workers, which were undertaken by Horkheimer, Fromm and others in the 1930s, raised important questions about the nature of the relationship between the organization of the wider society, the structuring

of the family and the formation of the ego. These are themes which have not been adequately explored in the Australian context.°

Not only in their work up to 1939, but also in later elaboration of similar themes, the critical theorists associated with the Frankfurt School

14 , The disenchantment of the home emphasized the contradictory nature of bourgeois family patterns and their implications. In Aspects of sociology, they argued that the family is

neither a purely natural nor entirely social phenomenon. It is not just ‘in-between’ as a bland mediating institution, as many sociologists would have it. Rather, they insist that the family, especially in capitalist society, is an area full of conflict and tension between individual and society.® They articulated a theme on which I will draw considerably: One must become aware of the antagonisms with which the family has been shot through since the beginnings of bourgeois society. In the midst of a total condition defined by exchange. . the family remains an essen-

tially feudal institution, based on the principle of ‘blood’, of natural relatedness. Therefore it has held fast to an irrational moment in the midst of an industrial society which aims at rationality, the exclusive domination of the principle that all relations must be calculable. . .

They suggest that the social world itself is irrational or unreasonable in the substantive sense, and that the family has become not only anachronistic but contradictory. The German critical theorists, drawing on Freud, focused on the role of the father in the formation of the superego through resolution of the oedipal complex. They argued that the contradictions of the nineteenth-century bourgeois family reveal positive and negative elements. On the one hand, the internalization of the father’s authority produced an autonomous self and the family provided some love and protection for the individual against harsh social pressures. On the other hand, there was still exploitation of some family members, especially women and children, while increased sexual repression in the bourgeois period made the family particularly effective in instilling the demands of an oppressive society. This theoretical tradition, I believe, raises much more searching questions and suggests more complex answers

than either traditional sociology or ‘modernization’ theories of family history. It alerts us to the connection between family forms and class structure insofar as the ‘modern family’, characterized by nuclear structure, privatization and intense internal relationships, was largely the creature of the bourgeoisie, a class which rose to power with the growth of industrial and finance capitalism in Western Europe. By the later nineteenth century, however, capitalist societies, including

colonial offshoots like Australia, were developing further, and critical theorists have also sought to relate changes in the class structure and in broad economic and cultural patterns to those in the family. As patterns of capital ownership changed with the growth of large-scale corporations

Setting the questions 15 and monopolies, the nature of the class structure was modified. The increased scale of capitalist enterprise and of the State sector produced greater bureaucratization, with a rise in particular of a new management group. Both non-Marxists and Marxists have categorized this extension of the ‘middle classes’ into the technical, management and professional stratum. Debates have revolved around whether, along with the related

growth of the State, this new group plays a role in later industrial Capitalist societies which was unforeseen by Marx. Earlier Marxists, following Marx himself, had argued that there would be a dwindling away of the old ‘petit bourgeoisie’, the main ‘middle’ group outside the basic class polarities of capitalism. This potential new third group, the professionals and managers, has been variously termed the ‘new petty bourgeoisie’, ‘the professional-managerial class’ or the ‘new class’. However, accounts of their position in the class structure of advanced capitalist societies have been quite diverse: some writers insist they are fundamen-

tally aligned with the working class; others that they are ‘lackeys’ of capital; and others that they inhabit a ‘contradictory’ location.’ Whether

they are a ‘class’ in the standard Marxist sense of sharing a similar relationship to the means of production, or only a ‘fraction’ of the ruling class, the bourgeoisie, is still a matter of controversy, but the rise of the ‘experts’ is generally accepted to be a major feature of modern societies. The shift from industrial to advanced capitalism during the twentieth century not only increased the role of various ‘experts’ but produced a growing emphasis on consumption and hence the development of the mass media and of advertising. These various changes have been linked by critical theorists to significant change in family dynamics and personality structure. Their fear, both in the 1930s under Nazism, and since,

has been that the potential ‘emancipatory moment’ of the bourgeois

family is being lost—that: ,

its disintegration by no means has solely the positive aspects of liberation. . .Even if the repressive traits of the bourgeois family may be growing milder, this does not necessarily mean that freer, less authoritarian forms

are taking their place. Like every proper ideology, the family too was more than a mere lie.®

According to these theorists, the strength of personality structure produced in the bourgeois family was one of its advantages. However, the changes in the labour force since the nineteenth century which have eroded the economic base of the father’s authority have consequences for

the family in the formation of personality. The concern of critical

16 The disenchantment of the home theorists, including Christopher Lasch, is that under advanced capitalism

the demise of paternal authority allows the production of weaker egos that are less able to resist external authority. This fear is related to that of the potential totalitarianism of modern industrial societies, insofar as the mass media, peer group and the State supplant the father’s authority role and individuals are less resistant to manipulation and exploitation.’ A crucial factor has been the emergence within the middle class of the ‘human service’ or helping professions. This group has played the leading role in a conscious assault on the family as an ‘anachronistic’ or ‘natural’

institution, attempting to bring familial behaviour into line with the norms of calculative exchange characteristic of the wider society.

Several writers have drawn attention to the role of ‘experts’ in the extension of a ‘rationalist’ consciousness to widening spheres of life, including the family and personal relationships. While non-Marxist writers Berger and Kellner refer in general terms to the ‘carryover’ of rationality into other spheres of life’®, Christopher Lasch in particular has been strongly influenced by German critical theory. Various professionals, according to Lasch, have played a conscious and significant role in the spread of alienating and oppressive social relationships originating

in the production system of industrial capitalism. In his account, the coming of the counsellors, as Halmos refers to them!'', has led to the undermining of parental authority and a fatal lessening of parental — competence and confidence. The fluctuations in childrearing prompted by some of the experts, especially the extension of ‘permissiveness’, are

seen as contributing to the formation of the modern personality type: the ‘narcissist’, “who sees the world as a mirror of himself and has no interest in external events except as they throw back a reflection of his own image’.'* Lasch attributes the growing dominance of narcissist personality traits to the alienating effects of the modern work world, both industrial and bureaucratic, the ‘mechanical reproduction of culture’

in the mass media; and the loss of faith in the future which he refers to as ‘the world view of the resigned’. He blames doctors and psychiatrists in particular, but also the other ‘helping professions’ — social workers,

child psychologists and sundry other therapists — for encouraging the culture of narcissism. In Haven in a heartless world, Lasch argues that a series of interventions have left the family prone to the degradation of dependence on the expert. The significance of the ‘experts’ is central to a critique of late capitalist culture’s transformation of the family and of personal life which comes from an emergent French tradition. Jacques Donzelot’s The policing of

Setting the questions 17 families is concerned with the expansion of what he terms the ‘psy’ complex, the medico-psychiatric-social work field of intervention. Don-

zelot acknowledges his debt to Michel Foucault, applying a similar analysis as that developed by Foucault in recent years, including his provocative suggestion concerning ‘bio-politics’. Foucault argues—as have

Frankfurt School theorists including Marcuse, though certainly along different lines and on different premises—that the nature of domination has changed from the direct exertion of economic and political control

in earlier stages of capitalist society to a more subtle but pervasive manipulation taking place in late capitalist society. Foucault draws attention to the ‘administration’ of everyday existence, but especially to the ‘administration of bodies and the calculated management of life’!»: the increasing surveillance over sexuality and intense preoccupation with all ics aspects. Foucault rejects the notion of decreasing repression of sex in modern society, arguing by contrast that we must study its new form,

its ‘putting into discourse’. He sees the family as at the centre of an earlier system of alliance, a juridical system of control, and also as at the centre of the emergent system of deployment of sexuality. The family has been reorganized and, in particular, ‘psychiatrized’, a theme further developed by Donzelot. Donzelot discerns two main strategies concerning

the family in recent centuries in France, on the one hand that of traditionalists or familialists, ‘the men of the Church, the barracks and the Courts’, and on the other, that of the modernizing progressives, the medico-psychoanalytic reformers of the family. He argues that the emerg-

ence of the modern family and the expansion of the ‘psy’ organizations is a single process and one ‘not politically innocent’. The Foucauldian and critical theory traditions thus share some common themes despite their markedly different intellectual origins. The

changing nature of domination and control in modern societies, the constitution of sexuality as problematic, and the interest in the experts’ transformation of the family and its relation to increasingly subtle forms of manipulation of the individual, are recurrent themes. Both interpretations reject traditional Marxist analysis, largely out of dissatisfaction with its economism and inability to illumine the connections between the public and private spheres in advanced technological societies. Unfortunately, they share a fundamental weakness: an inadequate concep-

tualization of the process of social structuring. Not only theoretical considerations but the historical material used in this book show that class and gender relationships are basic to understanding issues of domination and control. The two substantive contributions most akin in

18 The disenchantment of the home interests to this study, that of Lasch on the one hand, and of Donzelot on the other, are lacking in their analysis of both. A re-orientation is required which incorporates the insights of feminist theory into analysis of family change and its relation to the class structure, especially the

role of the professional middle class. |

The Frankfurt School’s general stress on the significance of paternal authority, and on male socialization as the normative process, implies fundamentally male-biased assumptions about reality. On the whole their analysis excluded women’s perception and experience, and Lasch especially has been accused of virulent anti-feminism. Although I would not go so far, it is clear that he sees women as having collaborated with

the experts in breaking down bourgeois family patterns. Donzelot’s account has also been indicted along similar lines: that he sees women as ‘guilty’ of alliance with the doctors. As Barrett and McIntosh argue, Lasch and Donzelot to some extent mourn the patriarchal family, and

blame women for the passing of this organic basis of social order.'4 Earlier writers of the Frankfurt School at least argued that the bourgeois

family was an ambivalent phenomenon, not least for women. They acknowledged, if only in passing, ‘the brutal oppression’ of women and ‘the economic injustice in the exploitation of domestic labour’. Adorno

and Horkheimer also noted a relationship between the domination of women, sexual repression, and the development of Western civilization itself.'> However, it is possible to go much further than this; indeed a good deal of recent feminist theorizing shifts the focus of analysis entirely. Although no full account of the feminist re-assessment of psychoanalytic theory is necessary here, some points are relevant. Many feminists have been deeply suspicious of psychoanalysis, theoretically because of Freud’s taking of maleness as the human norm, but also because of the

growing critique of therapeutic abuse of women. Nonetheless, many feminist theorists have now re-examined not only the Freudian tradition but other psychoanalytic formulations. Like the critical theorists, they recognize that some complex psychological mechanisms must be operating in the perpetuation of widespread systematic social oppression. The work of Nancy Chodorow, in particular, sets out to explain the psycho-

dynamics of the construction of femininity and masculinity and the devaluation of the former.'® Chodorow is one of the ‘gynocentric’ theorists

who reject the ‘phallocentric’ Freudian emphasis on the father and on male development, stressing instead the primary identification of children of both sexes with the mother. They see pre-oedipal attachment as more

| significant than issues of paternal power and authority. Chodorow em-

Setting the questions 19 phasizes the differences in the experience of girls and boys as they separate themselves from the mother and develop the socially defined gender identity; but her stress is on the tenuousness of masculine identity.

The resulting problems include the rejection of the feminine and the general devaluing of women.

Although it is necessary to grasp this essential shift of focus away from paternal authority to maternal attachment (and also power), there is another aspect of Chodorow’s discussion which is of particular relevance

to my purposes. She has pointed out that women’s role in mothering, although biologically based, is largely culturally constructed: women being assigned to childrearing as well as childbearing. Drawing on Michelle Rosaldo’s analysis of the social distinction between the public

and domestic domains, she suggests that the extent to which men participate in childrearing, and its general cultural valuing, varies crossculturally and historically. In particular, some societies more than others distinguish between public and domestic spheres and enforce a corre-

sponding sexual division, with women primarily located in the latter since they and their ‘sphere’ are seen as lower in status. Separate sexual

spheres was a dominant feature of the bourgeois family model of the nineteenth century. Chodorow and many other writers have pointed out the ways in which the development of industrial capitalism narrowed women’s social role to that of domestic labour, childbearing and rearing

within an increasingly private sphere. What is more, the decreasing number of children in a family, and the increasing public interest in issues of quantity and quality of the population which occurred around the turn of the twentieth century, added further refinements to women’s ‘mothering’ task. By the early twentieth century, as Chodorow notes, it came more and more to centre on psychological tasks, the management

of personal relationships within the family. Even in their ongoing domestic labour, women’s tasks were eventually to be seen largely in terms of management of resources rather than actual production. Thus

by the interwar and post-Second World War period, their role as organizers of domestic chores and, most importantly, as directors of the family’s patterns of consumption came increasingly to the forefront of public discussion on the role of the housewife. This produced a redefinition of women’s familial tasks as efforts were made to teach women new ‘scientific’, ‘eficient’ and ‘modern’ ways under the direct tutelage of a variety of experts from the professional middle class. From this discussion it follows that the changes taking place not only

in the bourgeois family, but in working-class families too via the

20 The disenchantment of the home extension of these norms, should not be seen just in terms of the position

of the father. Potentially more significant than the undermining of the economic basis of the father’s authority, was an undermining of the position of the mother by reducing her role to the execution of tasks along lines laid down by outside experts. This process has been the focus of the work of Ehrenreich and English,

who have described in detail the prescriptions issued by health and welfare professionals to American women.'’ Ehrenreich has also argued that the activities of the professional managerial class, in trying to reform housewifery practices for example, were part of the broader imposition of bourgeois culture on the working class.'® While the Australian evi-

dence in many ways supports that interpretation, I have tried to go beyond this analysis. Ehrenreich and English too readily assume the effectiveness of the experts’ message, neglecting the contradictions it frequently involved and the opposition it engendered. A conceptual framework for going further requires first a feminist analysis of the position of women in the bourgeois family; and second, a fuller critique

of the ideological nature of the experts’ role. It will be on this basis that I argue that the bourgeois model of womanhood and the family was profoundly undermined by the discourse and practice of the ration-

alizing technical experts. ,

A great deal of the evidence on nineteenth-century family patterns, not only from the neo-Marxist tradition but even from liberal historians,

indicates that a certain construction of femininity was pivotal to the bourgeois family. Feminist theory suggests this was more significant than has generally been recognized. Although it is not possible here to explore

the many facets of this construction, the Victorian ‘ideal of true womanhood’ has several features which relate to my argument. First, a strong emphasis on women’s nurturant and maternal capacities was linked to a discourse on moral sensibilities. Increasingly women came to be seen as more morally responsible and of course more chaste than men. This tied in closely with the concept of separate spheres for the sexes, women

seen more and more as economically and socially dependent on their menfolk and fundamentally located in the domestic sphere rather than in the ‘masculine’ world of politics, industry and commerce. Two essential

points emerge from this summary portrayal of Victorian womanhood. First, it was overwhelmingly the production of a particular class, the bourgeoisie. Many other historians have described the ‘angel in the house’ characterization of femininity and its creation by the bourgeoisie, and I have no evidence from my own research that leads me to dispute

Setting the questions 21 their conclusion.'? Furthermore, as Catherine Hall has argued, the actual patterning of gender divisions actually helped in the construction of the

bourgeoisie as a class, unifying them and demarcating their specific culture from those of the aristocracy and the working class.*° There is an aspect of the bourgeois ideology of womanhood, however, which has been less widely discussed. This is the way in which it drew upon, but reformulated in a contradictory manner, older cultural associations of women with ‘nature’, men with ‘culture’.2! The bourgeois emphasis on women as weaker, more passive and dependent beings, as sexually innocent yet spontaneously nurturant and maternal, was a refined and romanticized version of an age-old theme in Western culture: the association of women with aspects of existence regarded as threatening to masculine-defined cultural reality. As Rosemary Radford Ruether has cogently argued, not only women but non-white races and slaves have

been portrayed as representative of the lower half of a dualism, the ‘inferior realm of bodily ‘“‘nature’’, while ruling-class males identify themselves with transcendent spirit’.2? She goes on to suggest, as have other feminist writers such as Simone de Beauvoir, that Western culture | in particular has seen ‘the relation of spirit to body {as} one of repression,

subjugation and mastery. Material existence is ontologically inferior to

mind and the root of moral evil’. While at first glance bourgeois femininity seems to represent a curious inversion of the identification of

women with the body and with evil, particularly sexual lust, I think Ruether rightly suggests that the basic cultural dynamics remained. The

Victorian ideal of true womanhood was only the top half of an often unspoken, even unrecognized dichotomy between ‘ladies’ and prostitutes specifically, but working-class women more generally: The bourgeois ideal of the frail, lily-white lady of leisured society had as its unspeakable underpinnings the sweat shops where working class women labored long hours for slave wages.??

Furthermore, the superficial reversal of earlier typologies—the representation now of bourgeois women as moral, men as materialistic—served to support the removal of moral, spiritual and interpersonal values from the public world of industry and commerce. Safely located with women

in the domestic sphere, they were devalued and marginalized but kept alive in a haven for the work-worn alienated male. This development of course also laid the basis for women’s claims to enter the public world to ‘purify’ it through temperance and other campaigns.

22 The disenchantment of the home During the nineteenth century this model of the bourgeois home and women was loudly supported by the clergy and the medical profession.

By the 1900s, however, other professionals such as teachers, public. health officials and psychologists were joining the chorus of prescriptions for domestic life, but to a new tune: that of the modern world of science,

technology and rational, calculating efficiency. A major task of this stratum was clearly ideological: the manipulation of societal consensus in the interests of the dominant class. It has been a feature of the claims

of the professional middle class that they could reconcile opposing _ interests in society; that their technical, trained expertise pointed the way

to a new social future in which rationally applied knowledge would replace outmoded social conflict.24 In the early part of the twentieth century, Australian intellectuals, like those in Britain and the US, proclaimed the need for ‘rational’ and ‘social’ efficiency. In the chapters to follow, the themes of science, precision and management, whether of

housework, children or the body as sexual object, reflect the experts’ claims to special knowledge in these areas. Tim Rowse has shown the extent to which Australian intellectuals have been preoccupied with ‘the problems of the political and moral unity of the Australian people, and the schemes of reform to end or defuse class struggle’.*> His analysis stresses the role of the intelligentsia as ideologues operating largely, _ though not always directly, in the interests of the dominant capitalist class. He also suggests that they had an explicit discourse of their own, that the new liberalism provided the coherent philosophical basis of their reformative programmes. The tenor of the experts’ ideology concerning the domestic sphere reveals the theme of social efficiency to be

part of a broader ideology of technical rationality. It is not pertinent to this discussion to backtrack over the many disputes about the historical development and contemporary usage of ‘ideology’. Rather, I will simply assert that the most fruitful usage is related to the analysis of power and domination in society. I therefore mean more by ideology than simply a system of beliefs or values. I believe ideology is best understood as one aspect of the human production

of culture, as a process of creating symbolic systems of meaning with

which to make sense of and act upon the material conditions of existence.*° Thus the terms culture or consciousness refer to this general

process, but ideology refers to an interpretation or representation of reality put forward by a dominant group or class to veil or mask the full reality of the situation to the advantage of that group.?” Whereas some discussion of ideology from both Marxist and non-Marxist sources

Setting the questions 23 has assumed a simple and direct correspondence between the material interests of the dominant class and the ideology/ies produced, the reemergence of Marxist interest in culture and ideology has produced more subtle conceptual formulations. Raymond Williams, for example, pointed

out that the traditional base/superstructure metaphor is outworn and inadequate; the so-called ‘base’ is process, a system of relationship rather than a static entity.?? Like others since, he turned to Gramsci’s concept

of hegemony to articulate the complexity of the ‘superstructure’ as a process also, but one which is always unfinished and ‘fraught with difficulty’. Others have described the social totality as ‘structured in dominance’, and stressed the role of language in the unconscious structuring of historically defined forms of consciousness. Hegemony therefore refers to a variety of processes through which a fundamental group, not so much a simplistic ‘ruling class’ but an ‘alliance of class strata’, strives

to achieve social, cultural and political leadership as well as economic dominance.”? The ideology of technical rationality was the particular contribution of the emergent technical experts acting generally on behalf of the dominant class. Although an ideology can be examined in terms of what is frequently termed ‘discourse’, the articulation of symbols, values and beliefs which maintain the status quo, it is also crucial in organizing practices and shaping lived experience itself. One of Althusser's most useful contri-

butions was his insistence that ‘ideology has a material existence’. Althusser argued that ideology operates through an individual’s actions, taking place in the context of everyday life and hence material existence.*°

This claim raises the issue of how ideology actually operates to take effect. Althusser has suggested that ideology acts upon the individual by ‘interpellating’ or ‘calling out’ the individual as its subject. The relationship between ‘ideology’ and ‘subject’ is one of simultaneous interdependence. Ideology does not function in a simple manner by being imposed upon the individual; rather, it is continually created and recreated by its subjects through their participation in its partial representation of reality, which assumes that they are already its subjects. To

use an example which will be evident in later chapters, ideologies concerning women as wives and mothers frequently address them as such, as already constituted subjects, wives and mothers, thereby reinforcing and recreating a social system in which this is how women are

primarily defined. A difficulty which has beset much theoretical consideration of ideology

concerns the two-way nature of this process of ‘calling out’. It remains

24 The disenchantment of the home not only conceptually difficult but presents especial problems in empirical

research. People clearly do respond in complex ways to ideological discourse and to the constraints of the patterning of everyday existence, the rituals of organizing life and so on. Although theoretical debates are inconclusive, deterministic Marxist writing which implies that people

are totally manipulated through ideology to serve the interests of the dominant class is obviously inadequate.*! A different approach comes from the French theorist Foucault, whose recent writings at least stress the ubiquity of power, because it both embraces everything and seems

to come from everywhere.>? |

Foucault therefore appears to offer a better alternative for grasping the processes of resistance to ideology as well as those of participation in its formulation and operation. He uses terms for the latter which in themselves have proven of some utility in the historical analysis developed in this book. In particular the notions of the programme—the strategy and technologies of power—also derive, like that of ‘political anatomy’, from Foucault’s analysis. By a ‘programme’ is meant the intentional patterning of the formation of social reality. Individuals and groups of individuals have ‘programmes’ they wish to carry out—not all of which are even effective, of course, and many of which have effects

other than desired. The term ‘strategy’ refers to how they go about it, the means for carrying out the programme. Foucault and Donzelot argue that we live in a world of multiple programmes, but that there is no single programme or strategy. To the extent that Foucault, even unwillingly, does acknowledge what I have discussed as hegemony, he describes advanced industrial societies as characterized by ‘bio-politics’, a system of surveillance and bureaucratic administration focusing on the individual

| body and the population at large. oo

Although Foucault’s ‘pluralist’ interpretation of power is a useful

reminder that no single hegemonic ideology is likely to be totally effective, it remains inadequate. As Giddens and others have pointed out, Foucault’s account, like that of Althusser, denies the consciously acting human subject.2> What is required is detailed analysis of both the creativity of the construction of ideology on the part of individuals and groups, including fractions of major social groups such as those based on gender or class, and the human inventiveness of participation in others’ ideological strategies. The study of ideology in any given historical situation involves acknowledging that people are more than Passive puppets in social situations, and recognizing that some have more resources than others to influence outcomes. In more abstract

Setting the questions 25 language, Giddens refers to this as the ‘duality of structure’, an emphasis

on human agency in conjunction with an emphasis on structured constraints on individual action.*4 Maintaining this balance in the analysis of specific ideologies still remains difficult, especially where sourcematerial is loaded on the side of the powerful groups thus producing their representations of reality. It becomes particularly important, therefore, to discern not only the commonality and coherence of the ideological

structures of a society, but the diversity and tensions also likely to be evident. Social theory has tended to stress the former, focusing especially on the patterns of consciousness and of everyday life which reproduce

the social system of industrial capitalism. A significant critique has emerged which characterizes modern societies as dominated by a means-

end orientation, a merely ‘technical’ rather than real rationality. Both non-Marxist and Marxist sociologists have analysed the ‘discontents’ of modernity and emphasized the significance of technology, the latter including it in their discussion of the changing nature of class exploitation

under capitalism.*> This theme requires some consideration, as I am

arguing that a major feature of the professionals’ role has been the extension of technical rationality throughout society, including the home, where it rested most uneasily with bourgeois domesticity.

The critique of modernity owes much to Weber, whose distinction between formal and substantive rationality and posing of the dilemma of bureaucracy, the ‘iron cage’ of contemporary rationality, was remark-

ably prescient.*° For Weber the rational accounting and calculation characteristic of the capitalist enterprise was the hallmark of modern society. Weber stressed the fundamental importance of technique—the

application of instrumental rationality to the material world—and saw this as linked to, but not identical with, the application of technical reason—a means-end orientation—to social activity. Moreoever, he pointed to a changing world view, the ‘disenchantment of the world’ (the decline

of myth and magic and the establishment of rational-legal norms in the institutional structures of modern society). The process of the rationali-

zation of the modern world Weber believed to be inexorable. His pessimism about its outcome reflected a German philosophical tradition of rejection of industrialism and the dominance of modern science and technology. Despite Weber’s fatalistic resignation to the routinization, secularization and rationalization of the world, his lasting contribution has been directing attention to the irony that as civilization has freed us from the tyranny of myth and superstition, a new form of slavery has been substituted for the old.

26 The disenchantment of the home The Frankfurt School theorists shared Weber’s anxiety about reason, explicitly tracing the problems of rationality back to the Enlightenment concept of reason. In the Dialectic of Enlightenment, Horkheimer and Adorno took up the problem of the domination of instrumental reason, pointing to a fundamental contradiction in the Enlightenment notion of reason itself: that between liberating reason and reason as the domination of the natural world through science and technology. The latter, instrumental reason, involves subject-object relations of humans to nature;

hence, insofar as humans are also natural beings, the domination of nature can mean that people, like material objects, may be valued only as instrumental to the purposes of other humans.?’ As for Weber, the distinction between practical or moral reason and technical or instrumental reason reflected the fear that the latter was in the ascendancy, that the ‘eclipse of reason’, a powerful ‘irrational’ rationality was evident in the domination of modern capitalist industrial society. Adorno and Horkheimer suggested that although the technological order of modern capitalism was the apotheosis of this development, its genesis lay in a dualism of mind and matter deeply embedded in Western history. Continuation of the critique of the sundering of practical and technical reason has also been fundamental to later critical theory, especially the work of Marcuse and Habermas. Marcuse argued that oppression had taken a new form, describing the ‘one-dimensional’ society: the demise of critical thinking brought about by technology, material affluence and the mass domination of a managed, uncritical consensus.*® Marcuse has been criticized for a romantic rejection of science and technology and for underplaying the ongoing significance of class conflict in the supposedly ‘administered’ society. Habermas has addressed similar themes, arguing

that it is mot technical reason itself, but the reduction of a broader concept of reason to its scientific and technological forms that is the problem of advanced societies. Like Giddens, Habermas points out that

Capitalism is a unique economic and social system in that it actually institutionalizes economic growth and hence the permanent expansion of a means-end orientation.?? Capitalist rationality or, as Habermas refers to it, the ‘technocratic consciousness’ has therefore relentlessly expanded

throughout all sectors of the society and is legitimated by science and technology which have themselves become a productive force. Although

Habermas does not believe that the domination of the technocratic consciousness has been fully achieved in advanced capitalism, he argues

that both capitalist and advanced state socialist societies tend in that direction. Moreoever, what is at stake in this development, he suggests,

Setting the questions 27 is not just class domination but the essential interest of humanity in liberation through critical reflection. “Technocratic consciousness reflects not the sundering of an ethical situation but the repression of ‘ethics’ as

such as a category of life.“ Although at the conclusion of his essay on “Technology and science

as ‘‘ideology’’’ Habermas hoped that student protest could produce rebellion against the expansion of technocratic consciousness, in subsequent work he has directed further attention to ‘legitimation crises’ in late capitalism. He discerns one such crisis in the undermining of the motivational basis of support for capitalist society, particularly the decline of achievement ideology and possessive individualism.*! He suggests contradictions between the technocratic consciousness and other bourgeois

values. What he does not explicitly address, and well might have in this very context, is the extension of technical rationality to the sphere of home and family. Although he sees the recent women’s movement as one possible basis for a new motivational ethic in society, only in very recent work is Habermas starting to explore these issues.‘ The rationality of technology, a purely instrumental or means-oriented

definition of reason, has therefore been described as an outstanding feature of industrial capitalist societies. However, there are several clear inadequacies in this pattern of analysis as it stands so far. In particular,

Weber and the critical theory tradition have been accused both by orthodox Marxists and by non-Marxist sociologists of an overriding cultural pessimism. Giddens, for example, complains that both Marcuse

and Habermas fall into the same trap as the ‘post-industrial society theorists of mainstream sociology [in their} belief that the ‘‘technocratic consciousness’” has submerged pre-existing economic divisions and conflicts’.47 Their downplaying of class divisions has led the critical theorists

to be criticized for political impotence, and to allegations that their analysis does not suggest strategies for major social change which might avoid the fate of modernity to which they, like Weber, have pointed. Yet there is an even more significant drawback in the critical theorists’

picture of the disenchantment of the world—its neglect of issues of gender. Usually there is only passing reference to the position of women, and there has been no full exploration of the implications of the ‘dialectic of enlightenment’ for relations between the sexes. Although this major task is inevitably beyond the scope of this study, something can be said here. My suggestion is that we must move beyond the difficulty to which Giddens and others have alerted us: the somewhat ‘free-floatingness’ of a critique of instrumental reason split off from a careful analysis of the

28 The disenchantment of the home realities of class and other power relationships, especially those of gender.

We can, at least in part, do this by paying closer attention to the main proponents of technical rationality, the professional managerial or middle

class. Further, the specific role of this stratum in trying to spread the rationality of technology to an arena as replete with traditional values and deeply held assumptions as that of women and the family provides a fruitful chance to study the actual power dynamics involved and their broader significance.

| In the late nineteenth and increasingly in the twentieth century, members of the professional middle class spearheaded a series of attempts

to modernize domestic life according to the principles of science and technology and the rational efhiciency thought characteristic of capitalist industry. Although the experts were seemingly unaware of any contra-

dictions between their general project and other aspects of domestic ideology, most were quite clear about the breadth of their mission: it was to re-form not just working-class family life, as others may have thought, but even that of bourgeois families. In their efforts to alter both the material shape of the household in such aspects as housing design and equipment, and to change patterns of behaviour such as childcare, the emergent professional class sought to make the domestic sphere compatible with the public world. The extension of this modern technocratic consciousness to personal life and the organization of the home, however, was fundamentally incompatible with some of the assumptions upon which the dominant bourgeois family model was based. In particular the emphasis on the bourgeois home as a refuge, a sanctuary of affective relations in a cold, impersonal world, was directly threatened by the importation into the domestic sphere of the principles of action characteristic of industry and commerce. Furthermore, technical rationality, the type of human action most based on mind and will, ran counter to the bourgeois interpretation of femininity which stressed the naturalness of women’s performance of domestic labour and of childbearing and rearing. The contradiction which

emerged as a consequence takes on some significance in the light of

feminist theorizing about gender inequality. | The identification of housework and childcare with women, taken for granted in Western societies until the latter part of the twentieth century, has reflected long-held and widespread assumptions about the nature of femininity. Simone de Beauvoir and later feminist writers have, I think convincingly, argued that the subjection of women to men has involved

a subject-object relationship with women relegated to the secondary

Setting the questions 29 status of the domestic domain. Women have been seen as more ‘earthy’,

less ‘cultural’ than men; largely because they have been perceived as

closer to nature than men, closer to a lower sphere over and above which all cultures assert transcendence. However, not all cultures equally devalue nature and exalt humanly constructed culture, nor has the low

status of women by any means remained a universal constant.** In Western society, as Adorno and Horkheimer noted in their Dialectic of Enlightenment, the progress of ‘civilization’ has regularly been associated

not only with sexual repression but with the strict social control of women.*> Furthermore, the domination of the natural world, to the exploitation of which science and technology are devoted, has frequently shown a close relationship to the devaluation of the ‘feminine’.*¢ The ‘rape’ of the earth has been seen as the inevitable concomitant of modern civilization, or at least of its industrial capitalist form. The ideology of the bourgeois family stressed women’s ‘natural’ qualities of nurturance and altruism, acknowledging their displacement from the public world.

However, by the twentieth century the pattern of social action charac-

teristic of that world was being imported into the home by the new professionals in health, child care and domestic management. My task in the following chapters is to show how this took place in Australia.

-a

Part I Production

2 The architecture of daily life

During the period between 1880 and the Second World War many developments changed the context of everyday life within and without

the urban family households in which most Australians lived. The _ expansion of suburbia and the extension of transport and other public facilities are features of the period which are easily discernible. Within the home too significant changes were taking place, both in the patterning

of familial relations and in the physical environment. As in other comparable countries, in Australia the family household system was being affected by wider developments: by those in the industrial sector of production, by public health provisions, by the diminishing supply of domestic servants and by the introduction of modern technology into the household. With these developments came changes in the layout and furnishing of the house and, as the period wore on, the introduction

of new notions of housewifery. ,

Australian historians have so far paid more attention to urban develOpment—the expansion of industry and public utilities—than to the changes within the seemingly ‘private’ household. Even where attention has been focused on the experience of women, there has been greater emphasis on their role and struggles in the paid workforce than on their domestic contribution of services and production of goods. Changes in the relationship between the forces of production external to the household and patterns of domestic production were a crucial feature of the late nineteenth century. The increasing emphasis on separating the public world of work from the private domain of the home was a significant development. Theorists have frequently discussed this separation, but have not always acknowl32

‘The architecture of daily life 33 edged its contradictory nature.! On the one hand, there emerged in the nineteenth century a strong emphasis on a sexual division of spheres of

life, which was part of a broader ideology of home and family as a retreat from the industrial world. This was underpinned by efforts to improve the physical environment of the home, and later planners even hoped for the physical separation of industrial from residential development. On the other hand, not only were there many ways in which the family household was affected by industrial developments, but there was a deliberate extension of principles of scientific management to the home. The importance of efficient household management and the great faith in the advantages of the application of modern technology to the home were significant themes in Australian sources by the early twentieth century.

The leaders of these changes in the late nineteenth century tended to be religious, moral reformers—philanthropists with a general humanitarian intent. By the turn of the century and in subsequent years, they worked in alliance with an emerging group of professionals: experts in public health, housing and the management of the household and family. Although the ‘re-formers’, both those of philanthropic and moral inclination and the newer technical experts, formed a dominant group in terms of immediate bourgeois class interests, they were neither homogeneous nor always unified. The former, the ‘philanthropic’ reformers, frequently owned industrial or commercial enterprises, even fairly small ones, or were wives or daughters of employers. In particular, they were likely to be Noncomformist in religious afhliation: in the Australian context Presbyterians or especially Methodists. In Melbourne, however, they were often associated with a breakaway Presbyterian group, the Australian Church, whose leader, the Reverend Charles Strong, was a significant figure in social reform movements such as the anti-sweating campaigns of the 1880s. Some members, generally women, of the upperclass gentry, the ‘squattocracy’ as it has been known in Australia, were also involved in movements to provide domestic science education and infant and maternal health services. However, it was primarily from the urban bourgeoisie that the major initiatives came to improve living and working conditions through housing, factory and health reform. Their motivation combined religious and charitable compassion with fears of working-class unrest, especially after the 1890s depression. Throughout the book I have used the term ‘upper-middle-class charity network’ to

refer to the interlocking group of reformers who led a variety of

34 The disenchantment of the home campaigns such as those for pure milk, kindergartens, playgrounds and temperance. There are of course problems here with terminology, as this seems to imply a fixed layering or stratification of society. The reality was a complex social process of class formation and interaction in which

some groups strove to gain and consolidate power over others. In Australia in this period, the ‘squattocracy’ and urban industrial and commercial entrepreneurs together can be termed a ‘ruling class’, but the new professional middle class were also becoming significant. The power and prestige of the latter derived not from property ownership _ but from their training and the sale of their expertise. Their power base was often the growing state bureaucracy but their interests were also promoted by professional associations such as the British Medical Association. The social background of these professionals, the reforming experts from science, medicine, education, architecture and so on, was different from that of the bourgeois philanthropists. Frequently. their fathers were employed in white collar jobs, clerical or small-scale man-

agerial positions. a - | an

Not only class background but gender was an important differentiating factor amongst those responsible for the variety of attempts to re-shape family patterns. The bourgeois women led many of the charity organizations, and the development of professions such as teaching, including kindergartens and domestic science as specialities, and nursing opened up opportunities for other women to move into careers. So two groups of women formed sources of initiative and support for the developments

to be discussed in this and the following chapters. oo

The several attempts to re-form, re-shape, the organization of the family household system involved many separate strategies. Most, however, were interlocked and a network of reformers, bourgeois and professional, men and women, emerged in each major. capital city and to some extent at national level. Many of the reformers were prominent in several

campaigns or strategies to change domestic life. Through all of them we can see shared concerns but sometimes a different focus. A considerable effort was being made to spread particular concepts of appropriate household management and family relationships: those seen to be con-

sistent with the demands of modern, industrial society. In the earlier developments initiated by bourgeois reformers the focus was primarily on working-class families, but later, certainly by the interwar period, the aims of the professionals were much broader, directed at their own and middle-class households as well. Ironically enough in retrospect, many

significant women actively supported, even initiated, the professional

The architecture of daily life 35 prescriptions that emerged concerning their family role. Furthermore, labour representatives often encouraged the re-making of the workingclass household along lines acceptable both to bourgeois and professional

reformers, with an economically dependent wife ensconced in a wellmanaged, thrifty and hygienic household. Analysis of these various attempts to mould the family household will begin with their late nineteenth-century roots, both ideological and — material. Examination of developments in public health, housing reform

and the introduction of technology to the home shows that the basis was being laid for the social construction of ‘the housewife’ by the domestic economy movement of the early twentieth century. Despite the significance of rural myths in Australian culture, the major

frame of reference for the household has been the city and suburbs. Melbourne’s urban growth for example in the late nineteenth century was considered by contemporaries to be quite remarkable, and this meant

in particular the growth of suburbia.? Although home ownership rates were not as high in the capital cities as in country areas, approximately a third to a half of Sydney and Melbourne homes seem to have been, | or were being, bought by their occupiers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.* The overwhelming common pattern was that of the

single domestic dwelling on its own block of land, both house and allotment size varying considerably with social position.

Images of Australian suburbia have often been as negative as those of later American suburban development: of dullness, mediocrity and the tedium of everyday life: Around us the area is undistinguished and uninspiring. The sea is miles away and there is no river or large park. From our balcony all that can be seen is a big shallow basin full of houses with the Malvern Town Hall poking up at the edge. There are few very rich and few very poor,

writes Brian Lewis of his childhood experience around 1914.4 And novelist George Johnston, who also lived in that ‘basin full of houses’, but in a smaller one than the Lewises, refers to ‘that undistinguished house. ..in a flat and dreary suburb’.*> Autobiographical and literary accounts have pointed to the significance of the suburban home in the everyday experience of most Australians, but historians and sociologists . have been slow to follow their lead. The lifestyles of Australian suburbia have not even been adequately described, let alone their significance fully analysed. Considerable data does exist on major aspects of urban devel-

opment, but here only a very brief sketch of population developments

36 The disenchantment of the home and the provision of major urban facilities is necessary to provide a basis for my discussion of the growing involvement of State instrumentalities in activities impinging on the family household.

Australian urban growth was rapid in the 1880s and declined with the depression of the 1890s, only recovering slowly in the years after the turn of the century before the First World War. In the 1920s and 1930s a period of suburban growth was again followed by the stagnation of a major depression. These developments reflected the overall processes

of capital formation and utilization which were part of international developments. The major cities grew first as major commercial centres,

with industrial development increasing from the 1880s on, but not becoming the dominant force until into the twentieth century.° Even in

the late nineteenth century, Sydney and Melbourne sprawled over a considerable area because of the popularity of the detached, single-storey dwelling on its own piece of land. The social patterning of suburbs was

clear by the late nineteenth century, continuing along similar lines in later years and reflecting the visual attractions of hills and waterside views. The appeal of both was reinforced by nineteenth century notions

of disease. Germs were thought to be spread by foul air: hence great store was put on the fresh air available on well-drained hilltops or near the sea. The rapid expansion of the major cities and the increase of population

made the extension of public health services a pressing need. Several aspects of public health were of particular relevance to the management of the household, especially the provision of clean water and pure food and milk; the disposal of wastes; and the management of infectious

disease. Along with housing reform, these were focal points of the attempts in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to ameliorate urban living conditions. Other historians have described in some detail the complexity of motivation and achievement of social reformers’ work

in these areas, but have neglected the extent to which women, as managers of the family household, were affected by such developments. Reformers as various as churchmen, urban planners and public health

and welfare workers who disagreed. on many other political aspects of : urban reform showed considerable unity when it came to. discussion of women and their family responsibilities. They were engaged in nothing less than a project of ‘housewifery reform’, seeing poor living conditions and poor housekeeping as twin evils. Their attempts to change both the

physical environment, and attitudes and behaviour, also have to be understood against the backdrop of a broader ideology of home, marriage

The architecture of daily life 37 and family. Although the concern with domesticity was stronger amongst some social groups than others, most reformers shared the assumption that the home should be a place of rest and refreshment from the cares

of the world. Several writers have drawn attention to the nineteenth- | century romanticization of the home as a retreat, which was particularly characteristic of the bourgeoisie as a social class.’ In Australia the onset of industrialization occurred later than in England or the east coast of

the US, and at least until the 1890s depression, greater optimism prevailed about the dawning of urban industrial society. In Melbourne, for example, the heady days of extravagant expansion in the 1880s were characterized by dreams of greatness for a new generation growing up

in a land of plenty. The home was promoted as the foundation of national stability. In this context the home was described more in terms of a positive fountainhead of energy and righteousness than as a ‘haven in a heartless world’.

The ideology of home and family which characterized Australian society until after the First World War consisted of several complex, intermingled strands. The main sources available to the historian are the published accounts of clergymen, politicians and other public figures,

who on many occasions reiterated assumptions which they took for granted were shared by their audience. On other occasions, they put forward arguments for maintaining a style of home and family which they considered now under attack, particularly because of the pressures of urban, industrial life and women’s move into the public world. In these sources, the imagery of suburban domestic life presented in speeches,

sermons and stories was generally one of peaceful homes in which a | clear-cut sexual division of labour existed between husband and wife; children were orderly, ‘well-governed’; and neighbourhood relationships were helpful and harmonious. That this was not always the case is quite obvious from other sources, but the ideology remained nonetheless. The intermingled themes of home as a sanctuary and as primarily woman’s

sphere show that the bourgeois domestic ideal was promoted. The Methodist paper the Spectator, for example, in 1880 referred to the family as the ‘springs of our national life’, saying that ‘England’s rulers and aristocracy would have ruined her many times in the past’, but the steady habits and good moral ways of a large number of the great middle and lower classes helped to balance the wickedness in high places,

and kept the ship from going on her beam ends. There was a sobriety, a moral strength, in the great heart of the nation that no power could destroy but itself.®

38 The disenchantment of the home The religious newspapers, in particular the Methodist and Presbyterian papers, continued throughout the period into the twentieth century to reinforce the emphasis on the moral qualities of good family life. Moral tales, often reprinted from overseas sources, told over and over again of children straying from the paths of virtue only to encounter the reforming endeavour of a companion from a wholesome home background. Although often the message about the home and good family living was

implicit, in many instances it was quite explicit and the focus of a

didactic tale. |

The core ingredients of the dominant familial ideology—the home as a sanctuary and as woman’s sphere—rested upon the assumption of the complementarity in marriage of a sexual division of labour. Articles and

stories emphasized the importance of clear masculine and feminine spheres. These were primarily directed to a middle-class audience as assumptions were made about the husband’s occupation and about material possessions. A ‘word to husbands’ in 1888, for example, stressed: | ‘You have no more right to be poking around in the kitchen than she

has to walk into your place of business and give directions to your employees’.? It was assumed in late nineteenth-century advice to women that they were to manage the household smoothly and not to worry the husband with domestic trifles, as he had the cares of the business world

on his shoulders. Rather, they were to turn the home into a place of refreshment and peace. Although the pervasive comments about the home as a haven were couched in general terms, it was implicitly as a haven for men that it was seen. In definitions of ‘home’ solicited by a suburban paper for its women’s page in 1904, this theme is a recurrent one; ‘Home is the resting place for the workworn, and shelter for the storm tossed’; ‘a world of strife shut out, a world of love shut in’.!° The

theme occurs in all sources throughout the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, although it becomes less marked after the First World War. The home and family were thought to be characterized by intimate and personal relationships inappropriate to the public world of industry and commerce. The ‘sentiment of domesticity’, as Shorter refers to it,

was cettainly not peculiar to Australia but was part of a widespread bourgeois ideology of the family. Its strength in Australia was doubtless increased by the ideology and actual patterns of home ownership. The emphasis on the home as the place of rest and expressive relationships was of course more appropriate for men than for women; for the latter

it continued to be the locus of their daily work, whereas men were increasingly away from home in the industrial workforce. The separation

The architecture of daily life 39 of the spheres of home and work was an integral part of capitalist industrial development, which was represented as a natural sexual di-

vision of labour and influence. |

The ideological stress on the tranquillity and warmth of the domestic

, domain drew on desire, on nostalgia for memories of family and affection and the hope that love can be institutionalized in the home. On the other hand, of course, there was ample evidence that domestic relationships were often far from blissful and the hearth a site of hard-pressed labour and bitter struggle. Women’s magazines only sometimes acknowl-

edged this, but both metropolitan and suburban newspapers featured stories of domestic violence and marital and neighbourhood conflicts which defied ideological notions of peace and harmony. Incidents reported

by a local Melbourne paper, the Preston Post, for example, give some

insight into alternative experiences in which material conditions did not | support a rosy family existence. Stories of parents mistreating children, of neighbours squabbling over noise and livestock, and many accounts of the sufferings of deserted wives show something of life in workingclass suburbia. Although oral history tends to produce pleasant rather

than unpleasant memories of family life, the picture which emerged from interviews also based on Preston was of considerable strain and hard | work rather than rosy domesticity. In particular, women who had to support themselves, or who had large families and no domestic help,

had long and arduous working days in the domestic ‘haven’. The sentimentality about woman’s position at the centre of the happy home, characteristic of sermons and speeches, banned from collective consciousness alternative experiences of the family. The myth had to be preserved.

The importance attached to mother as the ‘precious jewel’ at the centre of the home was increased by fears that British traditions of home

life were deteriorating in the colonies. In the late nineteenth century repeated concern was expressed that the more relaxed way of life and outdoor amusements made possible by the temperate climate would undermine the institution of the family. Women were therefore the lynchpin of hearth and home, and on their nest-building efforts would depend the future of the nation. ‘Woman’s true sphere is her home, and here her queenship may become perfect, her power for good immeasurable. Of her husband and little children she should be the guiding star.’ This was to be woman’s contribution to the new nation, according

to the prize-winning essay in the New Idea’s ‘Woman and the Commonwealth’ competition.'’ Women’s work in the household was not the focus of these pronouncements; rather her role as comforter of husband

40 The disenchantment of the home and formative influence on her children’s character. Norah, of Ibsen’s A ~ Doll’s House, was often cited as having acted in a scandalous fashion. Moreover, she was not truly happy: she had found ‘herself’ as a writer

process. ' ,

but was lonely and unfulfilled as a ‘woman’. Thus the message was reiterated: the ‘new woman’ ran the risk not only of destroying the family and hence the new generation, but of destroying herself in the The years around the turn of the century and the 1920s and 1930s in particular were marked by discussion of ‘woman’s sphere’. In the

latter period there was a conservative reaction against the feminists’ stress on women’s contribution to the public world. For example, whereas the

New Idea in the early 1900s carried a series of significant articles on women’s work outside the home and interviews with prominent women,

by the 1930s the domestic sphere was promoted more heavily than before by its successor, the Everylady’s Journal. Throughout the period fears were expressed that factory and shop work, in particular, would unfit women for the requirements of marriage and motherhood. It was

frequently asserted that housewifery was the job most suited to the | feminine nature. The perceived threat to women’s domestic role presented by their acquaintance with the outside world led to a variety of ‘remedies’

being proposed. Since much of the discussion took place in the context of birth rate and contraception controversies, ideas of forcing women back into the home to have babies were pronounced. Another significant, and ultimately contradictory, solution to maintaining women’s position at hearth and home was to increase its status by ‘upgrading’ the skills required in ‘home-making’. Whereas the dominant ideology stressed woman’s natural home-making capacity, the principles of the emerging domestic economy movement emphasized modern scientific housewifery and the need to teach women domestic skills. As in the US, the roots of this development lay in several health reform campaigns of the late

nineteenth century. |

The leading reformers engaged in the attempt to improve public health had a striking missionary zeal, exemplified by the activities of the Australian Health Society. This was formed in Melbourne in 1876,

and at its peak until the turn of the century included many of Melbourne’s leading citizens, particularly the medical establishment. The aims of the Society were: To create an educated public opinion with regard to sanitary matters in general, by the aid of the platform, the press, and other suitable means.

The architecture of daily life 41 To induce and assist people, by personal influence, example and encouragement, to live in accordance with recognized laws whereby health is maintained and disease prevented.

To seek the removal of all noxious influences deleterious to public health, and to influence and facilitate legislation in that direction."

The Society held regular meetings at which lectures were given, and published a number of ‘Sanitary tracts for the people’. While some of the tracts were of local origin, the Society clearly identified itself with similar movements in England and the US, and some were reprints from the English Ladies’ Sanitary Association. The significance of the Mel-

bourne group is indicated by a membership of over three hundred by 1881, the establishment of a central office and a library, and its propaganda work. The material in the library and the topics of lectures included such titles as ‘A day with my liver’, ‘Dyspepsia’, ‘Cremation’, ‘Under the floor’, ‘Health in the home’ and ‘Home and its duties’. The Society’s members were clearly engaged in an effort to reform the traditional role of women and were the main bearers of the earliest message of domestic science to Victoria. In an effort to reach workingclass women, about whose housewifery standards the Society was particularly concerned, a series of ‘meetings for wives and daughters’ was held

in the industrial suburb of Collingwood in 1884.'4 A report of these was published in an effort to stimulate further such activity. The Society claimed that teaching hygiene in schools was important, but contended that the home was where sanitary habits had to be learned: ‘Hence its endeavours to secure the co-operation of the home-ruler, be she mother,

wife or daughter, by interesting her personally in the work of health reform.’ Nonetheless, the efforts of the health reformers were not without

resistance on the part of their subjects; it was only dogged house-tohouse canvassing that produced the attendance of eighty to a hundred women at the meetings. Although working-class women were a prime target for their efforts, the health reformers of the late nineteenth century also saw themselves

as engaged in a broad task of health education. The issues in which they were interested were various: practical matters of diet and hygienic clothing; the management of infectious disease; the importance of fresh

air and sunlight in the home; and drainage and garbage disposal problems. These were also viewed as moral concerns, however. Many

attempts to transform the material conditions of the urban household , were packaged in a strong ideological message of cleanliness equals

42 The disenchantment of the home holiness equals citizenship. The strength of such sentiments 1s apparent in many sources: the tracts of the Australian Health Society, government _

reports, secular and religious newspaper articles. To most of the health , campaigners it was self-evident that ‘Ventilation is an essential part of cleanliness, which is next to Godliness, or rather, is physical Godliness’, ,

hence all attempts to ‘ameliorate the physical conditions of society must infallibly tend to promote its moral welfare’.'? One of the clearest statements of the attempts to change the consciousness as well as improve

the material living conditions of the people comes from a second | generation health reformer, Dr Jane Greig, who was one of the first school medical officers in Victoria. Reflecting on the significance of this new service, she wrote in 1914: :

The creation of a health conscience, a sort of extra sense—sanitary sensitiveness—will eventually, by its preventive value, prove the best and most enduring of our efforts. .. Hence the teaching of hygiene in schools, though of little direct value at present to the community, is nevertheless educationally of vital and immediate importance, for, as the years pass by, increasing waves of hygienically disposed minds are entering the ocean of our civilization to remedy the stagnation of ignorance and superstition.’®

Optimism that health reform and education would produce a new society, emptying the jails and mental hospitals, was a recurrent theme. Although

not all were confident that improving the environment would be suff- cient, some reformers turning therefore also to eugenics, several public health and social reform measures introduced around the turn of the

century gained support on the basis of such claims. |

The problem of urban milk supply aroused great indignation on the part of reformers because it was seen to touch on the very life of the future citizens, the community’s infant population. In the last decade or so of the nineteenth century, the attention of the public and the medical profession was drawn to the problems of infant feeding. The relationship

_ between impure even adulterated milk, unhygienic home conditions, summer diarrhoea and infant mortality rates was becoming recognized." Improving the quality of the milk supply and ensuring good hygienic standards more generally, was opposed by vested local interests which resisted government regulation. In the early 1900s in Melbourne, for example, administrative controls were tightened up, but pressure from dairies modified the power of legislation to control milk supplies. Despite agitation from the press, women’s organizations and leading public health

The architecture of daily life 43 | campaigners, responsibility for supervision of food and milk supplies was left with the municipalities, despite their poor record in this respect.'®

The discussion concerning the milk supply became invested with emotional overtones when associated with population issues. In order to ensure at least some pure milk for Victorian babies, a special research institution was established to collect milk from selected dairymen, test it and distribute it to families with infants. Households were provided with an ice-chest in which to store the milk and nurses supervised the babies’ progress, thus providing the first precurser in Melbourne to the

baby health clinics established after 1917. The initiative behind the ‘Talbot Milk Institute’ came partly from doctors, but they were stirred to action by women’s groups and particularly the efforts of Margaret

Talbot, wife of the governor of Victoria, Sir Reginald Talbot. The precedent for such an ‘educational’ milk supply had already been established in France and the US; in Melbourne and in other Australian cities it represented a definite attempt to teach the public, especially women, about ‘the dangers lurking in milk’. This phrase comes from Dr James

Barrett, a leading medico with an interest in almost all these reform developments, who participated in the Melbourne campaign. His comments reveal how directly the reformative work was consciously aimed at women: ‘Much of the trouble arises after the milk is delivered. For example, a worn-out mother going to bed at night is liable to take the

bottle from the ice-chest and place it under the mattress, where it incubates rapidly’.'? Whether or not the working-class women to whom Talbot milk was distributed were interested in the principles of science and hygiene, their middle-class sisters took them up on their behalf. Dr Barrett went on to report that fifty ladies from the National Council of Women ‘attended a course of lectures given in the University of Melbourne by the lecturer in bio-chemistry, Dr Rothera, on the chemistry

of milk’. |

From the last decades of the nineteenth century onwards, women

associated with the Australian Health Society joined public health professionals in making a strong attempt to impart the scientific reasons for home hygiene. Other aspects of the Society’s attempt to spread ‘sanitary sensitiveness’ to the family household concerned the disposal of wastes, the management of infectious diseases and the appropriate siting of a house. Partly because of the increasing control over drainage and waste disposal in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and the eventual demise of horse-drawn vehicles, the frequency and severity of

44 The disenchantment of the home the major infectious diseases. declined. Typhoid rates fell sharply after

1889, diphtheria in the 1890s, scarlet fever from the 1880s-on, and tuberculosis in the early twentieth century.”? The changing patterns of

infectious disease were not on the whole due to marked changes in medical treatment of the diseases, but women’s management of their family’s health was subjected to increasing direction from outside authorities as preventive medicine increased. The Australian Health Society, for example, gave detailed instructions concerning drainage matters and

advice for running the sickroom in the case of infectious illness. The extent to which such guidelines were not only practical but moral and aimed at the working class reveals the strong ideological overtones of the public health movement. Many of the instructions for the manage- _ ment of disease did not even acknowledge that it would have been very difficult for families in cramped accommodation to follow them. Isolating a sick person in a separate room, severing contact with neighbours and kin, keeping children quarantined for the requisite period: none of these

directions for the actual management of illness, nor those for actual equipment and medical care, was easily attainable for those without the necessary material resources. Yet there is silence in much of the health

reform literature on such matters. | | ,

Even in the 1920s, when a major campaign against flies was underway,

the exhortations to cleanliness were easier for middle-class women to take seriously than for those living in the sort of slum housing conditions described in the various government inquiries. That the health reformers, with their heightened ‘sanitary sensitiveness’ did indeed take their own

advice seriously is suggested by the diaries of Dr Vera Scantlebury Brown, whose role in the infant welfare movement will be described in a later chapter. Dr Scantlebury Brown not only reported preparing posters

of ‘Swat the fly’ for display in baby clinics, but that her husband and the resident mothercraft nurse had competitions about their respective tallies. Soon their swatting was joined by a commercial weapon: “These spots fon the page} are ‘““Mortein’’, Eddie and Miss Wilson are dancing round like school children shooting the gun and killing the flies wholesale’.?' By then, an alliance had been formed between the producers of

the new cleansers and insecticides and the promoters of a new health conscience. Advertisements for such products began to increase in the 1920s, many of them playing on the health conscience of women. Thus it was women’s responsibility to bring the home environment into line with external public health developments, and on their shoulders was

placed a heavy burden of ‘sanitary sensitiveness’. |

The architecture of daily life 45 Similar themes and ideological emphasis are apparent in housing reform and in the introduction of technology to the home. There were several major aspects to the overall attempt to transform domestic housing between the 1880s and the 1930s. On the one hand, there were inquiries into slum housing and schemes for the provision of ‘working men’s homes’; on the other, the shift to smaller middle-class homes and changing patterns of architecture. Linking these were the town planning movement and the efforts to apply ‘sanitary sensitiveness’ to the interior of the household. Australian developments reflected trends in Britain, Europe and the US. The interest in town planning, particularly in the garden city movement, produced a new emphasis on suburbia in

the early twentieth century. The growing separation of the sphere of home from that of work has often been commented upon by historians and sociologists. What has been noted somewhat less is the extent to which this was actually promoted by reformers rather than just being some obscure and haphazard byproduct of capitalist industrial development. The town planning movement assiduously promoted the separation of residential from commercial and industrial areas and the ideal of suburban family living. Ideals of community and social cohesion led architects, engineers and new professional ‘planners’ to espouse zoning principles, furthering the social homogeneity of residential areas which was already becoming apparent in modern urban areas. The rational tools of science, emphasis on precision, measurement and calculation,

provided the justification for their zoning concepts. Moreover, this sci- | entific planning was seen as closely akin to what should govern the actual planning of a house: I would try to plan a new town in the same way as a house is planned— in each particular portion of the house you have various departments. There is the kitchen department, the living apartments for dining and sleeping, which are set in a proper position in relation to their surroundings. In connection with the planning of a town the commercial or business centre would be separated from the noxious trades and manufactures. These should be placed in the best position to do their work in a manner which would be most effective to the inhabitants. The residential portion should be placed in the best position, having regard to the health and convenience of the inhabitants.”

The speaker here was a leader in the field, Mr John Sulman, president of the Town Planning Association of New South Wales and an architect.

The overlap between the functional planning of house and town was

46 The disenchantment of the home reflected in the professional overlap between architecture and broader urban design. From the 1890s, architects began asserting a professional identity and marking out a role for themselves. By the First World War, this included

town planning as well as increasing professionalization. In the next twenty years they joined other attempts to solve urban problems through slum abolition and housing reform. Social reformers, particularly some leading churchmen and sections of the Press, were leading demands for slum clearance, frequently in the hope that environmental reform would improve moral standards and prevent further physical deterioration of

the racial stock. As a welfarist, charitable impulse towards housing reform developed, so too did the professional interest of architects and public health workers in the town planning movement, already becoming well established overseas. Australian developments had strong roots in English urban planning schemes and legislation; in housing and related government inquiries of 1912-18 frequent reference was made to the British experience. Despite the strength of overseas examples, however,

town planning never became a particularly successful movement in Australia. In Melbourne, for example, the 1922 Town Planning Commission was never effective in implementing its proposals, partly because —

of political instability, but more fundamentally because of the hostility of property interests.” The advocates of town planning and slum reform expressed dedication to economy, efficiency and to the improvement of the workforce by

environmental reforms. As Sandercock points out, by the 1920s the more radical, utopian wing of the movement was being outweighed by a pragmatic, technocratic tendency amongst the majority of planners, who increasingly justified their proposals in terms of economic produc-

tivity and cost-saving to the state.** It was primarily the health and performance of working-class families which was expected to benefit most from a radical improvement in living conditions. Witnesses at the 1913-17 Victorian Royal Commission on Housing who described English and German schemes were explicitly asked if factory workers looked

any better or happier. Through most of the housing inquiries of the period, the interest in financing and developing appropriate homes for ‘working men’ was a dominant interest. By the 1920s in most States some attempt to provide such housing was underway, but the strength of the home ownership ideal remained. Less attention, therefore, was given to providing homes for rental than to long-term loans enabling

eventual purchase. _

The architecture of daily life 47 In other ways too, the housing reform movement reveals the extension of particular concepts of the home to working-class families. One theme which is of clear relevance to this study is the extent to which appropriate family patterns were a concern of the investigations. Several major issues

are apparent; underlying them was the fundamental assumption of a sexual division of labour: the man in paid work and the woman at home. Women’s ability to be good housekeepers in poor surroundings; the importance of both physical and emotional support for the male breadwinner; appropriate sleeping arrangements for the sexes; and supervision of children by their mothers were the outstanding interests of commissioners and witnesses. Many assumptions about family roles and appropriate living patterns were shared across the overt political spec-

trum, suggesting some form of collusion in these matters between religious and moral reformers; the modern professional, technical ‘experts’

of public town planning and architecture; and representatives of employers and labour. This is not, of course, to argue that their interests or approaches were identical; for some humanitarians and unionists, in particular, demands for improved living conditions were a clear attack on the social, economic and political structures. Nonetheless, a certain coherence is evident with regard to women, home and family. Interest in housewifery standards and domestic science was reflected,

for example, in many of the questions and responses at the Royal Commission. The chairman, R.H. Solly, a Labor parliamentarian, asked the Reverend Charles Tregear, superintendent of the South Melbourne Mission:

—What do you think is the cause for a woman living in a dirty place? —Intermittent work, consequently small wages, so they cannot afford a big rent. I also think that factory life has a good deal to do with that

kind of thing. The girls marry from the factories, and are utterly undomesticated, and have no idea how to manage a home. That is at the back of a lot of poverty and wretchedness. I found it was not so much lack of wages or work as, in many instances, lack of capacity.”

The line of questioning continued unabated; it was a favourite issue in particular for Mr Richardson, a Liberal Legislative Councillor: “Your _ contention is that a great deal of the misery now found in these homes is due to the girls marrying without being domesticated?’.?° He then also dwelt on the numbers and health of their children. Although the Labor chairman showed somewhat more sympathy for the actual plight of women, domestic science teaching and the provision of support services

48 The disenchantment of the home | such as kindergartens were discussed as possible remedies for what were | seen as inadequate domestic skills. Fears were also expressed that if the :

women were not doing their job properly, che men too would become | confirmed in poor habits. Sister Faith, from the Collingwood Mission, strongly recommended compulsory domestic science training for girls ‘because I have seen so much shipwreck through the bad management. Really, some of the homes are-not homes for the men. If I were a man I would not care to come home to some of the homes they come home 7 to. There is no comfort’.*’ So of course the man was thought likely to | drown his sorrows away from home, and further exacerbate the problems. , Adequate sanitary provision and cooking facilities were discussed, not |

only in terms of the general health or the convenience of the housewife, | but because it was important that the breadwinner himself have a regular | bath: ‘You mentioned about baths being essential for men who are working at dirty occupations’; ‘... I think cleanliness always elevates men, and women too’.”® The general support for the garden suburb. concept was based on similar notions of moral uplift, and the idea of , distributing flowers and bulbs to poor families became popular too.”° | Clear concepts of what were appropriate patterns of family living also : emerge from housing reform inquiries. Persistent concerns with the ‘right’ use of various rooms and with the general ‘moral tone’ of a household

were shared by a wide variety of reformers, who expected that steps could be taken to encourage ‘right living’ through the instruction of women. Discussion took place, for example, on whether it was the role of the church or charity organizations to send ‘appropriate’ women in

to teach others—that is, working-class women—‘to advise these people | and help them to clean up’.2° One of Melbourne’s earliest social workers,

a Presbyterian deaconess Janet Henderson, whose sister was involved in | the domestic science movement, expressed her fears for working-class | family life in 1914: ‘Sanitary arrangements at the front door are so

common that I have got quite accustomed to them. I do not notice , them now. That must deteriorate the people’.?! Children, particularly of

| different sexes, sharing bedrooms and beds, as well as sharing the parents’ bedroom was seen as involving grave moral danger. A clerk from the Sydney City Council, for example, would not allow more than one married couple in a flat unless they were relatives, nor would he allow teenage children of mixed sex to share a bedroom.** In discussion of the

size of allotments and the provision of playgrounds and kindergartens for children, it was expected that mothers should supervise their children’s activities carefully. Thus a definite model of the appropriate pattern

The architecture of daily life 49 of family living repeatedly surfaced in the discussions of housing reform;

it included ideas of the proper use and layout of rooms and of the distribution of bodies within them. This was summed up by such comments as ‘if you put a family in a good house, they will rise to the position; if you put a family in a bad house, their tone will be lowered. A slum house makes a slum person, a nice house makes a nice person’.°? What did working-class women themselves think? That they had ideas of their own about their housing conditions is without doubt, although they were not often asked to express them publicly. From occasions when they did, it seems that they shared some of the expectations about what were ‘respectable’ patterns of living, but had pertinent comments from an actual house-worker’s point of view. Mrs Eleanor Wheeler, wife of a Melbourne journeyman printer, had reared children in poor conditions in South Melbourne before moving to a better house in Moonee Ponds. Questioned about the number and use of rooms in her present

| house, the kitchen in particular, she replied: We have breakfast there, and also any cold meals, but we cannot eat our

hot meals in that room where it has been cooked, because it gets too warm. We use the kitchen for meals to save work, as I find the carrying of the meals from the kitchen to the diningroom very heavy work.®

When she discussed the even worse conditions of the cramped, singlefronted houses in South Melbourne, it was practical considerations that stood out: the long draughty passages are very objectionable, as they make a great deal of additional work for the women of the house. They are enough to give a woman varicose veins in these single fronted houses running up and down for the butcher and baker, as everyone of them must come to the front door. No woman likes her food delivered down a right-of-way, and the only alternative is the front door in such places. She may be at the back of the house and if a tap is running she cannot hear anyone at the front door until perhaps a neighbour calls out ‘Mrs. so-and-so, your front door is being knocked down’. You cannot leave the door open on account of the danger of robbery. That means she must keep her mind

upon both her work and the front door and race up and down the passage perhaps six times in a morning, which is a great waste of energy.**

Other women also emphasized the actual work problems created by poor

housing, but on the whole it was not their views which dominated the housing reform movement. Slum reclamation projects of the interwar period continued the earlier preoccupation with working-class morals, hygiene and ‘efficiency’ in the industrial workforce.

50 The disenchantment of the home By the interwar period some significant developments were also taking

place with regard to housing that slightly more affluent social sector generally known as the upper-working to middle class. There was a growing interest in providing suitable living accommodation for the new model family of the twentieth century, a smaller family with its efficient

mother—housekeeper at the helm. In the late 1920s architects and developers in Australia, as in England, were addressing themselves to the design of the appropriate ‘small family home’. Debates also took place about the advisability of flats for family living but, although known to be popular in European cities, they were thought unsuitable — for good Australian family life, which should be based on home ownership.*? Owning one’s home was considered important for the stability

of society at large, but also for the moral worth of the individual, particularly of men. In the suburban building boom of the 1920s, for example, a Melbourne building firm publicized its houses by arguing: To own your own home is the hallmark of Good citizenship. It marks you as one possessing the virtues of a Real Man...Few Men, indeed, would be content to rent and never own their own household furniture. What happiness or confidence could your loved ones have in the knowledge that their natural protector was a weakling, who lacked both the

courage and the desire to own even the table from which they partake of their daily bread. ...The Joy of Home Ownership is natural. It is the parental instinct of man, animal or bird life. Ic forms the very basis of

the Happy Married State.*° ,

The Australian pattern of suburban home building was well established during the nineteenth century; the attachment of Australian families to single-storey dwellings in separate freehold allotments was remarked upon by overseas visitors. The availability of land meant that the suburban detached house was already the common pattern by 1900.

Its virtues, proclaimed to be privacy, fresh air and a garden, were regularly promoted by land development companies. The second wave of suburban growth in the 1920s corresponded with a similar expansion in England and the US, where interest also grew in designing a smaller eficient home for the now servantless housewife. In Australia, however, a shortage of servants even by the late nineteenth century had meant that most women, other than of the upper class, were sharing a similar suburban lifestyle, despite still considerable differences in its degree of comfort. The disparity of the role of women of different classes was further reduced as the dominance of the ideology of woman as housewife

increased. ,

The architecture of daily life | 51 The material basis of this concept was provided by changes in the shape and internal arrangement of the Australian suburban home. It was affected by a variety of factors: developments in building materials

and the labour market; the rise of the architect; and the need to adapt to changing social patterns, such as smaller families, and to new concepts of hygiene and home management. The most popular and characteristic

Australian house has continued to be a basic bungalow or cottage. Although regional and State, as well as class, differences altered the materials of which the bungalow was constructed, and the fashion of each decade modified its stylistic features, a basic model of the Australian | domestic dwelling is readily apparent. In the early years of the twentieth century technical developments and rising labour costs led, however, to changes in building practice. The increasing mass production of many

materials, including fibrous plaster and plywood, and the introduction of other quite new products such as reinforced concrete, allowed alternatives to traditional building methods and styles of decoration. The First World War exacerbated the demands for low-cost, new-style housing, as building materials and decorations such as wallpaper and imported timbers became expensive and difficult to obtain. The postwar house often had to make do with substitutes for, or alternatives to, the effects previously produced by skilled tradesmen. The construction of homes was therefore directly affected by developments in the industrial sector and the labour market. Although the role of local builders and developers continued to be important, architects increasingly claimed the right to shape the average Australian home and by the late 1920s and 1930s participated in ‘Ideal Home’ exhibitions to make their point. As architecture was becoming © more firmly established as a profession, a wider role was carved out for the new breed of specialists and the domestic market was an obvious target. Although the search for the most suitable design for ‘the Australian house’ had been going on since the nineteenth century, architects pursued it with special vigour in the interwar period, increasingly linking

it to advice on domestic management. In a 1922 inaugural edition of For every man his home, a short-lived but significant journal produced by leading Melbourne architect Desbrowe Annear, the editor claimed that the architect should be consulted far more often regarding the planning of the home.’’ On another occasion he inveighed against the ‘feminine conventions’ of traditional plans: ‘If women would consent to live better, simpler and more honest house lives, they would get better

houses; and until they so consent, it will be impossible to give them

52 The disenchantment of the home better houses’. He argued for two-storey houses, a maximum of window |

areas, small and functional kitchens and bathrooms and, most of all, for supervision by an architect. His derogatory attitude to women suggests that architects too, as well as the new domestic science and child-rearing

experts, were aiming at altering women’s lives and placing them under professional dominance. The editorial commented: All habitations are women’s workshops, but the real need of a home is man’s need. . .man is ever an idealist, and subconsciously strives to attain

to perfection in his surroundings. , The value of a man is measurable by what he can do. , | The value of a woman is what she is.28 The conclusion he drew was that male architects knew what was best for man’s needs in the home and how women should provide it!

It was in their emphasis on hygiene and on rational, scientific and, | most importantly, functional planning that the architects echoed and applied the sentiment of others, particularly the domestic economy | advocates. Even the late nineteenth century health reform tracts placed great stress on the appropriate siting of a house, the necessity of attending

to matters of sunny aspect and of drainage. The stress on the hygienic ~ qualities of sunlight and fresh air characterized both domestic economy’s message to women and later that of the infant welfare movement, which recommended ‘sunkicks’ for baby and walks for pregnant and nursing

mothers. By the late 1920s house plans often featured verandahs fly-

wired in as ‘sleepouts’, so that ‘open air sleeping can be indulged in to. excess or in moderation’; and even open-air schools were tried as an

experiment for improving the health of inner-suburban children.” _ | Other aspects of the home were also to be planned according to rational, scientific considerations. Encouragement of built-in furniture and fewer ornamental finishes stressed decreasing surfaces for dust and dirt. It was in the planning of rooms, most importantly of the kitchen

and dining areas, that architects took up the cry of the domestic economists. ‘In short, a kitchen should be scientifically planned and treated as a laboratory which in fact it is’, claimed one architect in the Real Property Annual in 1917. It was readily acknowledged that the demise of domestic servants necessitated a more functional arrangement of working areas for the middle-class housewife. Devices such as serveries

between kitchen and dining-room were introduced to save steps, and the internal arrangement of the kitchen itself was gradually altered to

The architecture of daily life 53 suit the dominant concept of it as a workshop or ‘laboratory’. ‘It is not proper for anyone to have meals in the kitchen, which room being the laboratory of the house, should not be more than 11 ft. wide or longer

than 14 ft., with fittings designed simply and with great care and thought’, wrote a leading architect.*' The typical house plans of the interwar period certainly reveal the kitchen shrinking in size and show features such as shorter passages to minimize the housewife’s labour.

The changing shape and functional arrangement of the kitchen also reflected technological developments and changes in domestic production.

New domestic appliances affected the organization of both kitchen and bathroom; space, for example, being left for a refrigerator in the model kitchens of the 1930s. Moreover, as women’s domestic production role lessened with the growing mass production of foodstuffs, the size of the

pantry diminished, and for a while in the 1940s and the 1950s, it disappeared altogether. Whereas the old-style pantry or larder had been

the warehouse of the productive woman, pantries by the 1930s were built for a rapid turnover of purchased goods. Even the kitchen as a

centre of activity became increasingly circumscribed. The absence of a central table, for instance, decreased the sociability of the kitchen; and the sink against the wall left the housewife with her back to others in the room. The introduction of new technology, and other changes in household equipment, such as furniture, not only themselves implied changes in domestic labour but often came with the advice of domestic economy experts attached. Gas companies and, later, electricity suppliers followed a deliberate policy of providing demonstrations and specially compiled recipe books to encourage the use of their stoves.** It is clear that many developments were closely connected. Not only did changing cooking and food preparation patterns eventually alter the plan of the kitchen, but some appliances themselves encouraged the use of others. The decline

of the large container of hot water ever-ready on the wood stove, for example, in itself created the conditions for the introduction of new separate hot water services. The actual appliances were also linked to other changes in patterns of furnishing and styles of decoration, bringing

with them further outside ‘expert advice’. An advertisement for the Australian General Electric Company in the 1920s was entitled “The modern home and light’; it suggested that ‘modern architecture calls for soft shadowless light even more so than does the older style of decoration. . furniture, carvings, printings and statuary are seen to perfection if the rooms containing them are correctly illuminated’.** Thus not only

54 The disenchantment of the home | were the 1920s and 1930s housewives faced with more daylight into the home through bigger windows, but the full illumination of electricity

at night fell not only on the furnishings but on dust and cobwebs as well. The Australian General Electric Company offered the services of ‘an illuminating engineer’ to help with lighting problems, but it was left to scientific housewifery to fix the ‘illuminated’ dust.

Other changes in furnishings and in colour schemes were also accom- ,

panying the arrival of technology. In particular the functionality of , furniture became increasingly stressed, part of the broader emphasis on scientific and rational planning for use rather than appearance which was fundamental to the Modernist style of architecture: Times have advanced, hygiene is studied, harbors and resting places for dust and dirt are eliminated, and a practical, simple, effective type of furniture is in vogue. . .A successful easy chair is one built to the line of

the human body when sitting in a state of perfect relaxation.“ . Any household furnishings which were not ‘functional’ and most importantly hygienic—according to the advice of interior designers, health | experts and domestic scientists—should be removed. Carpets should be only squares over polished boards or linoleum and heavy curtains should

be replaced with lightweight blinds.*? New products were sold on the basis of the qualities of hygiene and usefulness, but again the interlocking

of themes becomes apparent. A brand of paint, for example, was advertised as producing a ‘moral effect’ on the house’s occupants: ‘clean

surroundings assist in making clean minds... ‘“United”’ paint will work wonders in brightening and beautifying your home surroundings’. It | would, it was claimed, therefore even help the health and mentality of family members, a claim also made for the introduction of electricity itself. The burden of housework was to be lightened by labour-saving appliances and the health of women improved by freeing them from ‘their continuous long hours of domestic work, many of which are spent |

in the torrid heat of an iron-roofed kitchen’.*’ |

This chapter has so far presented an overview of substantial changes

in the material environment which were accompanied by conscious : attempts to reform women’s role in home management. This not only . introduces several other topics but elucidates certain core strands of my , overall argument. First, it is clear that material developments, such as , urban and industrial growth, and changes in the suburban home itself, both provided the basis for and reflected a number of other developments, such as the attempted imposition of certain standards of family

The architecture of daily life 55 behaviour and housewifery. A second major point is that several strategies

| were coming from various class fractions: from an upper class with its own concerns, and from professional groups. The interests of public | health reformers, town planners and architects were united with those of housing reformers and the new advocates of domestic economy. These

in turn often shared a frame of reference with eugenists and reformers of infant care and childrearing. The chief common frame of reference was that of technical rationality as the dominant type of social action in modern Western society. The preoccupation with science, with hygiene, with efficiency, united professionals of various kinds. Their efforts to transform the home involved both an onslaught on its material shape and functioning and on the patterns of labour and social relationship which took place within it. Although they worked in many ways in concert with, and on behalf of, reformers from a class position somewhat different to their own—those more clearly part of the dominant or ruling class—the new professionals’ interests were not always in harmony with those of the ruling class. In particular, the ‘experts’ on home and family,

while ostensibly promoting the separation of sexual spheres and the privacy of the home, were invading it at every point, demanding that women learn and apply the principles of the capitalist industrial world. Such principles, however, flatly contradicted notions of the naturalness of women’s maternity and housewifery.

3 oo

The administration of the home |

Over the space of two generations Australian domestic life was being radically altered as home and family became further enmeshed in the social system of industrial capitalism. In the early twentieth century women’s traditional chores of cooking, cleaning, sewing and generally servicing the needs of others were redefined as scientific work of national importance. This chapter focuses on the social construction of the modern

housewife and women’s response to the pressures of their daily lives.

The evidence suggests both that women negotiated the ideology of housewifery according to their actual circumstances, and that major contradictions underlay this aspect of ‘modernizing’ domestic life. In particular, the theme of the family as a refuge from an increasingly harsh and alien world was widely promoted. The domestic world was also seen as fundamentally the world of women, whose assumed natural instincts were towards ‘nest-building’. Yet home and family were being profoundly affected by changes in the material environment, and principles and techniques of management originating in the world of industrial capitalism were now being applied to the domestic sphere. This was most clearly apparent in the growth of the domestic science — or economy movement which involved demands that women be trained in modern home-making. It was argued that instincts were not enough for the modern world: household management and cookery must become

56 |

part of the school curriculum for girls. Close examination of some of the attempts to establish such training provides a basis for exploring the broader implications of these developments. A group of philanthropic social reformers were collaborating with those seen as technical experts— the professionals in science, medicine, education and architecture—to

The administration of the home 57 reorganize domestic labour through a series of strategies which were full

of ambivalence for women as houseworkers. New technology and materials, changes in architecture, shifts in the patterns of production: all were legitimated through the ideas of household efficiency and economy.

The domestic economy movement had its modest beginnings in cookery classes in state elementary schools between the late 1880s and early 1900s. It was part of a growing emphasis on training in practical skills which eventuated in the extension of kindergarten methods and technical education. As with many of the other efforts to ‘modernize’ the home, the establishment of domestic economy teaching tended to ~ be ad hoc, with diverse sources of support. A summary of the develOpments in Victoria shows some significant tensions between reformers | who were primarily interested in the working-class home and the professionals who saw a much broader role for domestic science. Both shared, however, assumptions about the naturalness of women being housewives which did not sit easily with their efforts to convince women that old ways would no longer do. Although the financial constraints of the 1890s depression delayed the development of domestic science in Victoria, it was then that the real initiative towards domestic science training began. Even the early

attempts were not without controversy. Partly in response to some suffragist pressure in the 1890s, boys as well as girls were being expected

to master plain sewing; but evidently this did not meet with universal approval. In 1895 one of the inspectors for the Melbourne area commented: There is no doubt this work is useful in making the fingers supple and the little fellows generally handy, still, I should like to see knotting, plaiting string or straw, and netting hammocks, fishing nets, etc. substituted.

After all, he said, the boys would prefer it and find it more useful ‘in after life’. A committee on plain sewing, which included two women, however, noted approvingly the improvement in the plain sewing in the schools they had visited and were pleased to see that ‘little boys were included in all the drill classes’.! Parental response to sewing classes also seems to have been mixed. Hints of working-class resistance to domestic training are evident in the committee’s remarks that many parents did not want sewing lessons for their daughters, requesting instead that they be taught such ‘middle-class accomplishments’ as singing, drawing and recitation. ‘It was noticeable that in the better class suburbs the numbers

58 The disenchantment of the home in the higher sewing classes were much larger than in the poorer districts.

The more neglected and untidy the appearance of the children the smaller the numbers in the sewing classes.’ The motives of these parents are not specified, and by contrast, some parents were actually requesting more practical activities for their children. The inspector for the Preston

district reported: ‘It is the opinion of many in the community that the older children are kept too long at mere literary work, and that, as a

result their attention is diverted from, and they are to some extent unfitted for, the ordinary callings of life’. Such views were also shared by other more powerful members of the community, including employers and politicians; and it was in the broader context of practical instruction

and manual skills training, therefore, that cookery and sewing were

introduced into Victorian schools. |

By 1899-1900, Mrs A. Fawcett Story was acting as directress of cookery; a special college was planned; some basic domestic economy teaching was being provided for the women teachers at the Teachers’ Training College; and thirty schools in the metropolitan area were giving some instruction in domestic economy. However, despite the support of the Fink Commission on Technical Education, and of the new director

' of Education, Frank Tate, it was not until 1906 that a College of Domestic Economy was finally established in Lonsdale Street, Melbourne,

mainly but not solely under Education Department control. In 1911-12 this became an actual technical school with its own council, and in 1926

a grander college was built on a new site, with the new title (the significance of which will become apparent shortly) of the Emily McPherson College of Domestic Economy.’ In the meantime, several other ‘domestic arts’ schools had been established which were proudly announced as the first definite step towards the adoption of a curriculum adapted wholly to the special needs of girls’.* After the First World War, domestic science teaching became widely spread throughout the school system in line with similar developments in other States. Several important questions emerge from this brief outline of the institutionalizing of domestic science in Victoria. Who took the initiative

for such developments, what were their motives and arguments, and what was the response to them? The evidence suggests the complexity

of class and gender factors operating. |

In the 1890s and 1900s a group of women led the promotion of domestic science. Organized loosely by late 1904 into the Australian Institute of Domestic Economy, they held meetings, demonstrations and competitions throughout 1905 as part of their pressure on the govern-

The administration of the home 59 ment to establish a major training centre. When this at last eventuated, however, they were defeated in a dispute with the Education Department over its control.’ In the group around AIDE, and providing the general

| initiative for ‘dom. sci.’ as it was later known, were leading women journalists, especially ‘Rita’ of the Hera/d, and teachers in both state and private schools. They were supported by leading upper-class women such as Janet (Lady) Clarke and Margaret (Lady) Talbot, who was also involved in the pure milk campaign. Women’s organizations, especially the National Council of Women, the Women Teachers’ Association and suffrage groups, were other important supporters. The thrust of domestic economy was accepted by Labour as well as non-Labour political groups.°

Educational administrators such as Dr John Smyth, principal of the Melbourne Teachers’ College, were also active in their support. Most vocal publicly were professional women, such as Dr Jane Greig, school medical officer, and Dr Edith Barrett, a founder of Bush Nursing. They participated in curriculum development but also institutionally through membership of the college council. They also took a broad ideological role, sharing with other publicists the promotion of preparing girls for ‘their special business in life’.’ Mrs Stella Allan, as ‘Vesta’, of the Argus eventually replaced Rita Vaile of the Herald as a leading exponent of ‘domestic feminism’: that women’s major contribution to the world was

as wives and mothers and that special training would improve their performance of that role. Although something of a ‘new woman’ herself,

with LL.B. and M.A. degrees from New Zealand, Mrs Allan threw herself into the cause, participating in Melbourne charitable activities for | over thirty years. Through ‘Vesta’s’ column, she had a major influence

on public opinion on child and maternal welfare issues, and on the importance of training girls in their domestic duties.® In ‘Vesta’s’ articles

and in a variety of other sources can be seen several interconnected concerns: with the problems presented by the shortage of domestic help; the need for economy, and managerial skills; the dominance of science; and the significance of new household equipment. These reflected major developments in the public sphere which directly or indirectly affected women’s role as a housewife. Around them an overall ideological framework developed, but one which spanned some basic tensions between the class fractions involved. The motives of some of the most significant supporters of domestic science in Victoria were somewhat different than those of the professional experts of the movement and their closest women colleagues. In particular

two bourgeois philanthropists, employers turned politicians, George

60 The disenchantment of the home | ~ Swinburne and Sir William McPherson provided the institutional bases , in Melbourne for domestic science. Swinburne, with his wife’s encouragement, supported the establishment of domestic science in the major

| eastern suburbs technical schools which he helped inaugurate and later endowed.? Sir William provided £25,000 towards the building of a new domestic science college in 1926, to be named after his wife, Emily.’

As treasurer in the conservative Lawson government, he had been con-

scious of the need for a new building to replace the over-crowded and | underserviced College of Domestic Economy. His personal endowment

however came as a surprise announcement on the eve of the McPhersons’

departure for Europe. In his own words: oo he was greatly impressed with the splendid work being carried on in the interest of the young womanhood and especially the girls of the working

class of our community...My wife and I desire to do something to forward a branch of education which we consider is of great value to the home life of our people."

The significance of McPherson’s benevolence towards ‘institutions aim-

ing at the benefit of womankind’ (he also endowed a women’s hospital)

can be interpreted in various ways. On the one hand, he seems quite clearly to have had the training of working-class girls in mind, both to ‘improve’ their home life generally and also to solve the shortage of domestic servants of which members of his class had: long been complaining. On the other, his patriarchal benevolence was expressed in his insistence that institutions be named after his wife and daughter. In an address to her students on the occasion of Sir Wailliam’s death in 1931, Miss Chisholm, principal of the Domestic Economy College, ‘emphasized

the great value he had attached to home life, and recalled that he had commented on the great comfort it had been to him to be able to step from the stress and strain of business or parliamentary duties into a home life of peace, affection and culture’.'* Not only, therefore, did he

value the bourgeois home as a ‘haven in a heartless world’ but he wanted to spread such homes to the working class. In later years, his daughter-in-law, long associated with the College, recalled his strongly expressed opinion that ‘if a man was to be a good and useful member of society, he needed and deserved a well-run home’.'’ His class position

was significant: | Too often in his capacity as an employer he had uncovered many cases of ineficient home management destroying a man’s capacity for doing a decent job, owing to worry about home conditions, debt caused by bad

The administration of the home 61 management, ill-health through bad cooking. ..and he had very strong . views about women doing their job in the home properly."

The new experts, the teachers associated with domestic economy and their professional colleagues in medicine, education and science did not share Sir William’s narrow focus on working-class families. Indeed they explicitly rejected the idea that domestic science was to train servants. Like her successors, Mrs Story, directress of cookery, was already quite clear in 1900 about the broad role envisaged for domestic economy: One point must be insisted upon. It is not the work of the State to train servants. Girls should be trained and educated to fit them for their sphere in the home, the duties of which no woman can neglect without culpability and disgrace; they should be given the instruction for their benefit, and for that of their home and family and country; and for no other persons or purpose whatever.

People who imagine that cookery schools are established for the convenience of mistresses requiring servants are very much mistaken.”

Nonetheless, not only did the McPhersons think this, but Rita Vaile, Lady Talbot and Lady Clarke had earlier been involved in these schemes to produce domestic helpers as well.'° Although what they wanted was better-trained working-class girls, both as servants and to keep workingclass homes clean and thrifty, the professional advocates of domestic

science were aiming at a wider market, including their middle-class sisters. This difference in motivation and emphasis, although obscured by the co-operation of the different groups, was of long-term significance.

The principles of planning and management put forward by the professional experts for running the homes of the nation, and especially the

emphasis on training women for their tasks, really went against the bourgeois stress on the family as a separate private sphere centred on natural womanly qualities. Even if domestic science training was not always inspired by a desire to improve the standards of servants, it would appear that the response

to it cannot be understood except in the context of the emergence of more working-class women into the industrial workforce. Fewer were available as domestic labour for other women (and men) and complaints about the shortage and poor quality of domestic servants were perennial

in Australia by the late nineteenth century.'’ The shaking of heads over | the unwillingness of girls to enter domestic service pervaded discussions | of women’s paid work, of the decline of the birth rate, and of lightening middle-class women’s load by labour-saving devices and domestic econ-

omy training up to the interwar period.

62 The disenchantment of the home 7 | The patterns of response to domestic science are not fully clear, and the limitations of even oral sources probably means that, especially for the earlier period, they never can be. What is certain is that it was the

women of the middle class who participated most keenly in these endeavours. Not only did the teachers of domestic economy tend to come from such backgrounds, but the women who attended the main Victorian College of Domestic Economy did also. In the late 1920s and early 1930s almost half the girls undertaking the full-time courses were

from private schools, and ‘Emily Mac’ was seen by some middle-class , families as providing a useful fill-in between school and marriage.'® This

is less certain so far as the part-time courses are concerned, but more

students undertook single subjects part-time in training for marriage , than undertook courses as trade-training. The fees alone, even in the early days, would have made it unlikely that working-class girls would have out-numbered those from middle-class backgrounds. In 1910-13 fees for a ten-week general domestic science course were a not inconsiderable four guineas (non-residential) and for diploma courses in cookery © and domestic economy £16 per year for the two years.!° The latter were

designed to prepare women to teach domestic economy and included | theory of teaching and development of appropriate lesson plans and age-

graded syllabuses. For some middle-class girls, therefore, new career opportunities were opened up, as well as their being trained in women’s

‘life’s work’! |

Working-class women, however, seem not to have taken up the

‘dom.sci.’ bandwagon with wild enthusiasm. Although overt resistance

is not readily apparent, it seems likely that many simply took it all | ‘with a grain of salt’. One woman interviewee, Mrs Best, did recall going into the Queensberry Street Cookery Centre in the period just before the First World War, but said that she did not learn much. | Feminist Alice Henry, commenting on early cookery classes, noted that any deprecatory remarks about ‘mother’s ways of doing things’ would be quite amiss.*° Even if they were made, however, working-class girls seem not to have been impressed. As women, they frequently wanted middle-class ‘accomplishments’ such as music for their children, rather

than such patently practical training. They therefore accepted aspects of :

the new training which they considered useful, and went along with | others which only confirmed their established domestic practice. They , tended to ignore, however, such recommendations as keeping full ac- | counts or keeping to a rigid timetable for tasks. In accepting, modifying

or ignoring the advice, they were not passive but making a variety of

The administration of the home 63 responses. Perhaps most telling of all is that as secondary education spread in the interwar period, more girls chose the academic than domestic courses at senior levels. The domestic science movement was never as fully accepted in high schools as its advocates had hoped. It can be seen therefore, that not only were separate interests involved in the domestic science strategic attack on housewifery, but a complex

pattern of response also existed. There were ongoing rivalries both personal and practical. For example, during the First World War, ‘Rita’ from AIDE delivered an onslaught on the ‘low-grade’ cookery methods of the Education Department. One of their instructors, Miss Flora Pell, denounced this as ‘scandalous’, inviting ‘Rita’ to observe demonstrations at their cookery centres.*! Miss Pell herself was embroiled in a controversy

in the 1920s over the publication of a cookery book for use in schools without express departmental permission.”? Such incidents, small in retrospect, reveal the intensity of the domestic science movement's protegees,

but also alert us to the danger of seeing the movement as monolithic. Although the efforts of McPherson and the like suggest a class interest

at work, for many of the women who became the professionals of domesticity it opened up avenues of employment and promised increased

status. And for many women, both working- and middle-class, the movement bore directly upon practical concerns: those of stretching their material resources and physical capacities to meet the demands made on them. Domestic economy or domestic science, the two names which were

given to the movement to reform and modernize the home are both of some significance. They reveal the twin preoccupations with scientific principles and efficiency which characterized its teaching programmes and publicity. The prestige of science and modernity also involved the | conscious attempt to apply the organizational methods of factory and office to the domestic domain. Such efforts, despite their evident ideological overtones were not totally irrelevant to the actual management of both working- and middle-class households in the late nineteenth century. As Heidi Hartmann’s study of US developments suggests, in many respects women’s household experience was becoming more similar

across the classes as changes in material conditions occurred. By the 1930s Hartmann says: ‘Women of all classes came to use similar products

with similar equipment and utilities in their houses. The efficient home and the efficient houseworker became universal standards’.*? Financial

income became more important for families as traditional domestic production was replaced by industrial manufacture, and even consump-

64 The disenchantment of the home tion patterns became more standardized through the introduction of | mass-marketing. The remainder of this chapter, therefore, will examine | in more detail the actual domestic science message and its relationship , to women’s experience in several aspects of their role as a housewife:

| planning and cleaning, cooking and feeding, clothing and comforting. There were several aspects to the pattern of home management advocated by the domestic science or economy movement. In particular,

its leaders stressed careful economic management and planning and efficiency in work. Although their references to economy and efficiency

in the household entailed their own special meaning, they also had , strong roots in widespread ideas about the importance of ‘thrift’ which | went back into the domestic manuals of the nineteenth century. An emphasis on personal economy and on running a household with a minimum of effort was also to be found in these manuals. Nonconformists in particular stressed the importance of living an unostentatious but nonetheless comfortable life. Editorials in the Melbourne Methodist paper in 1884, for example, explained the principles of life assurance;

recommended the use of Savings Banks and Building Societies; and : argued that ‘he trusts Providence best who uses all rational and proper

methods which Providence puts within his reach’. Careful to stress that ,

they were not urging ‘the hoarding up of money to the extent of | depriving the home of comfort, and making life a continual grinding

struggle’, the Spectator claimed that: , | What we want in Victoria, is economy in the household, less expenditure on dress and amusement, temperance, and a reduction of the smoking and drinking bills, and saving habits. Given these, there would not be a

more happy or prosperous people on God’s earth.” : This concern with thrift continued throughout the period, also ap- | pearing in the goals of the many youth organizations which were formed in the late nineteenth century. The stress on the moral value of economical __ living was a recurrent theme of middle-class reformers, who were particularly critical of what they saw as the working class’s excessive love

of pleasure, a point they regularly brought up in discussion on the declining birth rate. In the 1890s the demands for economy were related

materialism. | | |

| to a severe economic depression and, in this case at least, employers and |

land speculators shared the accusations of wanton extravagance and

The theme of economy or thrift again became dominant during and |

after the First World War and in Victoria an annual ‘Thrift Week’. was

The administration of the home 65 | instituted. By then the exhortations to frugality drew both on older, moralistic notions of thrift and on newer scientific justifications for economy in the household. From conservative quarters domestic training

towards household economy and traditional ‘thriftiness’ were recommended to counter what was thought to be the wild extravagance of the immediate post-War years. The Argus claimed that much of the evidence revealed ‘wanton extravagance. . .common observation and common knowledge are more eloquent than statistics in proving how ‘‘easy money” has gone easily in the last few years’.?? Some middle-class women themselves took a similar position in a ‘campaign against extravagance’ in late 1920, but also pointed to wider economic factors. A boycott was

proclaimed against the wearing of gloves ‘in order to draw attention of traders to the fact that they were tired of the high prices being charged for wearing apparel, and were determined to stand them no longer’.”° The community was bombarded with ‘thrift’ talks, and savings banks and friendly societies for ‘thrifty’ saving. The 1921 executive of National Thrift Week included representatives from the major professions, the

trades, the public service and community organizations. Unlike the moralizing commentators of the 1890s depression, this committee was _ at pains to point out that ‘the campaign was introduced not in the interests of the wealthy, but primarily for those of limited means’. Workers continued to be suspicious of its purposes, and they seem to have had some cause for concern: The purpose of National Thrift Week is to stimulate the individual to fit his income and abilities into the purposes of a well-rounded rational

life, and to enable him to bear his full share of responsibility to his family, his employer, society and the nation.?’

The stress on organizing and balancing the budget was however directed most explicitly at women and was an important aspect of domestic science. The techniques of accounting seen as characterizing the

modern office were also promoted as essential to the well-managed household. From that early advocate of domestic economy, ‘Rita’ of the

Herald in the 1890s, to ‘Vesta’ in the Argus in the 1920s-1930s, a recurrent but strengthening theme was the need to estimate all household expenditure, to record purchases and, all in all, to plan most carefully.

The principal of the Emily McPherson College gave lectures stressing the value of careful budgeting to meet the many calls on one’s money. In 1930 the Anglican Mother’s Union newsletter provided the gist of Miss Chisholm’s talks for the benefit of its members. ‘ ““By wise economy

66 The disenchantment of the home every woman can help balance the national budget’’, said Miss Chish-

olm.’ She recommended that women open savings bank accounts, and | teach children to divide their weekly pocket-money up and regularly a

save some of it.”8 |

As well as the emphasis on preparing a budget and on saving, the domestic economy experts also suggested a variety of cost-cutting tech- | niques, such as buying in bulk, purchasing cheaper cuts of meat but cooking them better and so on. ‘Rita’ was an early proponent of these. | Although other writers, such as an ‘Old Housekeeper’, and earlier housekeeping manuals had generally advised thrift or economy, ‘Rita’, like later writers, went into considerable detail about how actually to

achieve it in the area of cookery. Her popular book Cottage cookery, based on her Herald articles, sold thousands of copies within weeks.”?

‘Rita’ claimed to be writing for ‘the masses’ and did indeed have a | similar message for artisans’ wives as for middle-class women with servants. However, sometimes she decried working-class extravagance: ‘I

am told by those who work most amongst the poor, such as ladies connected with the various charitable organizations, doctors, nurses, etc., that it is hopeless to expect those who most require to manage carefully

~ to do so’. She said that women too often chose an expensive item,

something tasty’, when they could get more and better nourishment, especially if they shopped according to a planned weekly menu. The expectation that women should learn better ways of economizing, planning and budgeting was, in many respects, a realistic response to

the altered conditions of the family household by the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Women’s domestic world was becoming | increasingly tied into the market economy through the purchase of items

formerly produced at home. This entailed regular planning of pantry stocks and shopping for consumables. Even the introduction of gas and

electricity to the home was part of the tightening of links between the | broader economy and the household. Regular payment of fuel bills | became necessary, replacing the provision of firewood which, if not , available from the immediate vicinity or through family and friends, | could at least be bought from a local tradesman rather than a larger organization. The emphasis on household management touched upon significant changes in the urban environment, in the system of capitalist

production and consumption and, therefore, on the operation of the household itself. Moreover fluctuations in effective wages, or ‘standards

_ of comfort’, were part of the context in which women attempted to . balance family budgets.

The administration of the home 67 In the early twentieth century, as economic conditions improved after the Depression, women’s task of juggling resources would have been

eased temporarily, but by 1911-12 prices started to rise much faster than wages, a trend which continued until after the War.*° In 1914 prices had risen sharply as the availability of imported goods declined; a severe drought that year lessened rural production; and resources were diverted into production for the War.*?! These developments aroused the public expression of wage-earners’ and housewives’ wrath. Unions de-

manded Federal control of prices and industrial unrest increased. In 1915 a group of Melbourne middle-class women had formed a house-

wives’ co-operative in order to buy in bulk and cut costs. As the Housewives’ Association, they held mass meetings to campaign against the high prices of clothing and commodities.** Mrs Eleanor Glencross,

a well-known political activist, led the fight, attacking price rises, demanding street markets and bulk-buying facilities. Throughout the 1920s and, to some extent, the 1930s, the housewives’ campaigns continued. They attempted to boycott price increases, especially in the price of bread, but ultimately were not very effective. With their small numbers and internal divisions they were no match for the economic forces they confronted.*?

Whatever the motives of its advocates, encouragement to women to plan carefully, budget and economize was clearly relevant to the circumstances of both middle- and working-class families, the rising cost of living being a favourite topic for letters in the Press.** Before the end of the War, pressure was mounting for a full-scale inquiry into the basic wage and its relation to the cost of living. The prime minister, W.M. Hughes, made such an inquiry part of his election platform in 1919.

In 1920 he initiated the Royal Commission on the Basic Wage as a measure towards fending off more radical demands and industrial strife.* Its chairman was Mr Justice A.B. Piddington, a liberal thinker, married to Marion Piddington, who was prominent in Sydney women’s affairs. Both were leading advocates of many of the re-forming strategies with

which this study is concerned and Mr Justice Piddington had already established a reputation, especially in New South Wales, for his role in

public activities. |

| The Commission’s Report recommended a basic wage of £5 16s 6d rather than the existing £3-4. When, to his disappointment, the report was ignored, Piddington proceeded to agitate further for a national child - endowment scheme. In 1921 he published a pamphlet, The next step: a family basic income, to vent his conviction that ‘it is necessary to

68 The disenchantment of the home provide a Family Basic Income, ie,, a basic wage equal to the needs of man and wife, plus an auxiliary wage for mothers paid in the form of an endowment for each child’.*° He was quite clear about the economic

value of childrearing and domestic labour: ,

Such service to the community is just as real or just as valuable as the work of the factory hand or of the farmer which results in the visible | products of industry. In bringing forth and nurturing the human factor | in the production of wealth, woman does her share in its creation.?” _

Acknowledging the housewife’s economic role implied that it should be given greater recognition, but also that it be subjected to increased social control. Piddington and his wife Marion regularly championed training

in domestic economy for girls so that they would be better fitted to

undertake their national duty. oo oe | In the Report and minutes of evidence of the Royal Commission on

the Basic Wage, repeated references were made to ‘a well-managed home’ and to what could be expected of a thrifty housewife. The extent —

to which some clothing should be bought at sales, and other clothes adapted from parents to children and from one child to another was

discussed; for example: | oe _ The Commission considered. that it would. be unfair to expect. that men or their wives should buy all clothing at sale prices. It could not, indeed, be done. On the other hand, people of average prudence do purchase at

sales to the extent of their opportunity.** . , | The Commissioners admitted that housewives ‘are amongst the most arduous toilers in the whole community’, but were convinced both that these economies were ‘an admirable form of thrift’ and that ‘the work

, involved is not itself the most laborious of a housewives’ duties’. The Commissioners, particularly the employers’ representatives, insisted strongly on the duty of the housewife to provide, organize and manage

sewing: | | oO |

household resources to the best of her ability. The employers’ counsel, | Mr Ferguson, went so far as to press the matter of women’s home Supposing a woman was keen on assisting the State through being

intelligence? _ | ,

economical, and took an ordinary interest in the matter and had ordinary _

_ Mr Gibson—Did you say assisting the State? 7 a By Mr Ferguson—Yes. The war is over now, and every person. who

economises is assisting the State. | | a

The administration of the home 69 (To Witness)——Take an ordinary woman who is desirous of assisting her

family and the State and be economical—could she not make all the garments you mentioned??? __

Such expectations of women’s competence in all aspects of domesticity

were legitimized by the popularization of the message of domestic science. A woman was to be taught how to do her duty to the family and the State even more efficiently.

For the advocates of the new science of the household, it was not only the spending of money which was the focus of economy but the expenditure of energy as well. Even ‘Rita’ in the 1890s commented: “To my working hints, this should be added—work quickly. I do not wonder

at some women complaining of being tired. It is enough to tire one to watch them move about, so slow are they’.*° Other writers of advice literature gave detailed directions for the management of the housewife’s

time. These instructions became more explicit and technical in the literature of the later domestic economy movement. Miss Rankin, for example, supervisor of cooking in New South Wales schools, wrote that

‘The educated housewife is the economical one’. She had to manage people, food, clothing and income as well as her own time. Like other experts, Miss Rankin went on to prescribe an afternoon walk and a rest period for the busy but well-organized housewife. She specified details of a weekly routine: Sunday—rest,; Monday—extra cleaning because not done Sunday; Tuesday—washing; Wednesday—ironing, mending, putting clothes away, and the afternoon free for visiting, etc.; Thursday—

thorough cleaning of dining-room, stairs, hall and silver; Friday— thorough cleaning of kitchen, lavatory, drains, etc.; and Saturday—extra cooking for Sunday. Moreover, Saturday afternoon should be set aside

for going out and recreation: “To be always working is not a sign of good housekeeping but rather of mismanagement’.*?

Not only the week’s but the daily routine was specified in detail by the home economic experts. Sometimes this was to guide any domestic staff still employed, but more often it was directed at the mistress of the home herself: ‘A good plan is to have a time-table of work written out and pinned up in some convenient place so as to be easily referred to’.“* The housewife’s day was to be organized according to a strict regimen all directed towards the efficiency of time and energy. In 1921 ‘Vesta’ advocated a definite carry-over of wartime lessons into the home; lessons learnt from industry:

That time means money and that method saves both time and material, |

70 The disenchantment of the home that co-ordination of work leads to efficiency, that exactitude in the smallest detail is necessary if a perfect product is to be secured—what a transformation of domestic work would result if these principles could

be brought to rule in the kitchen as they do in the factory.” , ‘Vesta’ argued that many women who had been exposed to organizational

principles should no longer be content with ‘our wasteful empirical methods of the past’ but should bring into the home ‘a passion for efficiency; a zeal for method and organization, a knowledge of the value of things, that will go far to solve the problem of domestic labour’. The extent to which this explicit direction on the management of the

household was followed is not easy to ascertain. Advice on directing maids or cleaning silverware was of course only likely to apply to upper-

middle-class women, and not all of them. In the early decades of the twentieth century, however, it does seem that women had regular patterns

for performing domestic chores, and these are reported regularly in autobiographies, diaries, novels and oral history interviews. The message

of domestic science, therefore, was probably not altogether foreign to women, but entailed to some extent a codification of existing practices, although now phrased in a gloss of industrial efficiency. The washing on Monday or Tuesday was an accepted routine, although some prepared for it on Sunday night by cutting up soap, sorting clothes

and preparing the boiler. Others were still influenced by strict Sabbatarian | principles and would perform only absolutely essential tasks on Sunday.

Mrs Best, born 1904, said that her routine was: ‘My washing on a Monday, my ironing on Tuesday, Wednesday was a free day, Thursday

I done all my cleaning, Friday and Saturday were for messages’. Her | friends had a similar routine and, like her, had learnt it from their

generation:

mothers. On Sunday they entertained family or friends, often to a high tea. She recalled that she was not as strict about Sunday as the preceding We weren't even allowed to clean our shoes or peel a potato. ..My mother wouldn’t do any washing or anything like that on a Sunday. Sunday was

a day of rest...Mum would do a pie, a big pie, the night before. . .and that would be warmed up and when she had had her dinner we would go off to Sunday School, she would take a book and go and lie down...

After spending the rest of the week labouring for a large family, she no

doubt needed her Sunday afternoon. |

The women who gave evidence before the 1920 Basic Wage Commission mentioned somewhat similar routines. Regularly referred to as

iad .

:. wae co SH a ee : 3 Aa S ae ; ae eeft aeeaon. an iaaaEE oe Sie a Se

4 tai Bg . see aie siapin ose aie sacearse cis gD . TR, Bes St Reet NS « g .

a Pte cae ims a eye Te ms a nee = : * ig a

ag eeeee i ajie: Te eaeBeeaeaeae ‘Me eget.ge ete.: ae . See TS

i: ; -gei Me i: arPee aeee slr! aZZ: |aeeey ‘See, Feil ania hl lc ieee oll a Ye >. ae a perDS eee der Se lc Saee |ee BS ee i .

o fo EE oe: See. ee. ee ere eso : : BURR BREaeam RRM coo eee 8 PETES, PN ©ae Sethe pretence cea eeanMaY neee i)geeee 2g Serre pee FESR 9ee teas epi eeeee ae“a ee aaeRae ty Eee pee feeeee ee nn ;#:ue ifEd susfee BOO MRR MMMM = ES Pari aes oe ee ee oe , (ELD peat se 'pee Bacaisaehe ABBR oss ee eis ae :Re yales . OS. ietseee Bees eee 2h pation 0 eeBT aR Bares,SS Pentre SRR: dg : SS eima Crum New experts and a new audience: Mi [ 1ving IVI a

e.

ge 7 vv 4 VETER 7s BREE SRR Boe oe rr vie MMR AS Bich gee Sage we Bee, 6 TR

emonstration of a a

SPublic COOKIN rom lati dofg .Good e Colonial Gas Association, Fifty Ye Service, | | !o— ervice, 1938.

D stic Manag t

eee S @| =a is aeScience nN

yal — with Electric Cookery They used to say “good cooks are born, not

- made’’, when each range had its own artistic

temperament—and cookery was done on the | “trial and error” method.

yuo SS} But now recipes are given with degrees of

" heat to be applied for certain periods—yjust like the ingredients you put in your dishes.

oe No more vague terms like “simmer slowly”

\{§ ——— or ‘‘cook till done.”’ Cookery is a SCIENCE a now—not = » " guesswork.

a a of There’s nothing which can match an elec-

Li | tric range for preparing all kinds of food. mM Electric heat can be absolutely controlled.

ManerAr ad” The achievements of science are now at the

{ My) feet of the Home-maker—at service at Mf the snap of a switch. The her electric range \ gives you precisely the temperature that the | recipe calls for. It cooks the most difficult dishes perfectly. And with its marvellous

dial controls, you don’t even have to be there to watch it!

Ask us for further details. We are at the

t= service of our public. —— = — — 3 og (pre ————

Ferrey omsion,

An Electric Appliance for Every Need

KS \\ 238 Showrooms : // wD Flinders Street

, And Country Centres throughout the State :

Technology and the construction of the modern housewife. From the Emily McPherson College of Domestic Economy Magazine, 1931.

The administration of the home 71 ‘working men’s wives’, they rose early and toiled long. Some took in out-work such as machining, but their evidence pointed so overwhelmingly to arduous domestic labour that even the Commissioners were impressed, suggesting in their final report that the basic wage ought to be adequate to allow the housewife some leisure and an annual holiday. The Commissioners asked the most extraordinary range of detailed questions on all aspects of home management; the evidence thus provided gives a rich picture of the domestic economy of the working-class family just after the First World War. Although the women who gave evidence,

somewhat unwillingly in many cases, testified to their busy lives, they

did not themselves refer to any influence from the domestic science movement. Rather, it was the sheer pressure of economic hardship that caused them to plan and shop carefully. Although they did not report actually keeping household accounts on a regular basis, they certainly showed great familiarity with prices and the purchasing patterns of their households. Mrs Ruby Burley of Footscray, who had three children, gave such an account of her work in the home that eventually the Chairman quizzed her to ensure that she had never had help in the home: Do you do the washing as well?—yYes, I do all the washing, ironing, scrubbing, cleaning and everything in connection with the house.

cakes? —Yes. As well as making the clothes for the family and making jam and

You may not be emancipated, but your husband will consider you a treasure. —I am striving for emancipation; that is why I am here.“

A few minutes earlier it had been put to Mrs Burley that she was naturally industrious, to which she replied: ‘Yes, and I am economically forced to be industrious. [On sewing:} I have to make the things, and

I have to make the time to do them’.*? Other women made the same point: they rose early and frequently worked at sewing, particularly mending and darning, late into the night. Mrs Burley never even went visiting without her knitting. And witness ‘D’ reported lengthy hours of regular toil from 6.00 a.m. until 8.30 p.m., commenting: ‘I am not living now; I am only existing’.*° The sheer multitude of tasks to be done made reliance on a routine a reasonable response to the situation of a modern housewife without domestic help. By the 1930s, rising expectations of cleanliness put new pressure on the housewife despite the worsening economic conditions. Not only was

72 The disenchantment of the home a wider range of products being advertised for cleaning purposes, but when bought, they and other equipment required regular use to justify being purchased at all. The domestic science movement looked somewhat

scornfully at traditional standards of housewifery and proudly exalted modern scientific housewifery. The application of the methods of industrial eficiency advocated by the really zealous domestic scientists in the US involved a quite unrealistic appraisal of the patterns of privatized

domestic labour. As Heidi Hartmann has pointed out, the nature of housework is simply quite different from that of the factory and cannot benefit from either scale of operation or totally routinized tasks. Although

it seems that Australian home economists did not go to such extremes as some of their American colleagues, they did believe in the advent of a new age of housewifery. Labour-saving devices would remove the drudgery and the housewife would be left to enjoy her creative home management role. For working-class women the equipment was not readily available, but they were still exposed to the changing expectations.

As the new experts started providing advice through newspaper and magazine columns in the 1920s and 1930s, old-style household hints which women shared with each other became overshadowed, though not totally replaced, by recommendations that they purchase cleaning prod-

ucts formerly made at home. Formalized housewives’ pages took the place of more general, homely and chatty journalism. Working-class women were certainly the focus of much of the reform of housewifery messages, although educating all mothers was being made a prime national objective: Many troubles in the family are too often caused by crass ignorance and inefhciency. Babies are born into dreadful homes and how they survive is a miracle. One cannot blame the mothers entirely. Some of them come from homes probably equally filthy and mothers equally inefficient ... the vicious cycle goes on until mothercraft and domestic science are made compulsory in schools. Teach the girls of Australia how to use soap and

water, how to cook a meal, and how to attend a baby. We would then find fewer men deserting their families and fewer children dependent upon the state.*’

Women’s response to these reforming efforts is not often recorded in the

sources, but hints of resentment and bitterness at some of their living conditions are evident. Some of the women who were distressed at the Press publicity given to their evidence to the Basic Wage Commission in 1920 were worried about publicizing the conditions under which they

The administration of the home 73 carried out their domestic role: ‘they do not wish to give evidence of this nature about how they really live’.** When material resources were inadequate, the expectations of spotlessly clean, well-managed homes were just extra pressures for women to bear; and they used many strategies

of their own in return, including refusing to have too many children. Even middle-class women, with more chance of meeting the modern standards of housewifery, could find them a strain. One woman wrote that Modern homes, theoretically should be easier to look after than oldfashioned ones. I have lived in both and the modern home with its good lighting, light paintwork, polished floors, large windows, etc., shows every

fleck of dust, every fingermark and calls for a high degree of housecleaning. Modern cooking ...is more varied and the more one knows of calories and vitamins the more the menu has to be studied. Modern clothing although less than our parents thought necessary, is made more

often. All these things make living on a higher standard harder, not easier, the continual mending and making, cooking and cleaning that has to be done nowadays limits a woman’s capacities in caring for a family:

each extra one is not a matter of money it is a limit of one woman’s energy and time to look after all the family competently according to present standards of cleanliness and comfort.”

She argued that mothers of large families years ago had become aged before their time, and that ‘those who had much money and were ‘‘well-

preserved’’ were only so at the expense of many poor drudges who supported families only by doing the hard work for others’. Apologizing for her lengthy letter, she made the telling comment, reflecting woman’s lot: ‘frequent interruptions don’t make for succinct thought’. These perceptive remarks show a recognition of the new pressures women faced. It was becoming evident that despite the exclusion of the

housewife’s labour from the world of ‘real’ work, it was nonetheless being profoundly affected by developments outside the home. Rising standards of housewifery were produced partly by the changing material conditions of urban industrial life, but were also consciously promoted

by the ideology of the domestic science movement. Not only did its advocates seek to justify the removal of many of woman’s traditional productive tasks into mass commodity production, but at the same time to extend its management techniques and standards, as well as general ‘scientific’ principles, to the sphere of domestic production. In particular, this meant new pressures on women’s performance of kitchen duties: the planning, preparation and execution of meals. The

74 The disenchantment of the home two major components of the attempt to transform the labour of food production and consumption both reflected the influence of science, and the advocacy of new modern equipment appropriate to each task and of the principles of nutrition. One of the many ironies of the developments with which we are concerned is that the importance of using the right equipment and utensils was impressed upon the housewife at a time when she was losing much of her traditional knowledge concerning their

effective use. It seems that the training in domestic skills of daughters by mothers was diminishing as a result of geographical mobility, the introduction of new methods and equipment, and changing ideas about children’s household contribution. Furthermore, increased knowledge of nutrition was being demanded of housewives just when control over many of the ingredients of their pantries, as well as many of their actual products, was being replaced by outside forces of production. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the role of the wife and mother in the kitchen was given added importance by increased

interest in health issues. Not only traditional adages about reaching ‘a man’s heart through his stomach’ were popular, but the growing focus on the health and diet of children focused attention on the activities of the kitchen. In particular, it was the principles of ‘hygienic, scientific’ cooking that were put forward from the 1890s on. ‘Rita’ for example, stressed ‘modern cooking’, ‘modern dining’, ‘scientific cooking’, consciously aiming at streamlining and modernizing traditional household habits. She stressed the right equipment in the kitchen—colanders, saucepans and so on; adequate light over work areas; and in particular the scientific principles of rational planning and orderly work. She cited overseas developments in domestic economy and placed great emphasis on hygiene. ‘Briefly, modern methods and utensils are the outcome of ideas promulgated by scientific men and cooks. These modern utensils make cooking easier, cleaner and healthier.’”° The new, however, could also make for more rather than less work; aluminium saucepans on gas stoves required more scouring than the enamel ones rejected on the ground of enamel particles contaminating the food.’! Some of the advice was practical and sensible, such as cleaning the chimney regularly and providing a chair in the kitchen to rest on. Other prescriptions simply increased the pressures to perform as a housewife. ‘Now that manufacturers are producing such gay and charming cooking utensils, it should inspire women to make both their kitchens and their menus more varied and picturesque in colour’, ‘Vesta’ told her Argus readers in 1938.°* The popularizers of the new modern ideas complained

The administration of the home 75 of the monotony and blandness of the Australian diet, exhorting housewives to vary menus, serve foods more attractively and shop with more routine. The advice of the earlier period was less systematic in organi-

zation than that after the First World War, but the recommendation that the housewife herself be systematic and organized in the kitchen was a recurrent theme.

As well as the rationalization of menus which was suggested, the emphasis on science led to discussion of the chemical properties of various foods and hence the best ways of cooking them. The amount of technical detail strikes a late twentieth-century reader as surprisingly specific; in later decades there is less knowledge of food composition. The teaching programmes of domestic economy colleges were particularly emphatic about the importance of such knowledge, but even cookbooks and advice aimed more at the mass of women carried such information.”

Throughout the 1920s and 1930s a growing interest in maternal and child health and welfare, and in national fitness, produced heightened awareness of nutritional issues. At the government level this was evident in various Royal Commissions and other Reports, and particularly in

the formation of the Advisory Council on Nutrition in 1936 and the National Health and Medical Research Council in 1937.°* Australian developments were closely related to overseas ones, especially those under

the auspices of the League of Nations. Although conditions induced by the Depression were part of the immediate context of the developing interest in nutritional problems, the professionalization of state-employed dieticians had already generated interest. In embryonic form, some of the concern with the health of children and national physique can even be seen in the medical literature of the late nineteenth century, especially in comparisons between Australian and British epidemiology. One of the major recurrent themes was that ‘Australia needs not only a numerous

but a virile population and virility is very largely a matter of proper feeding’.°? Much of the focus was on the health and nutrition of infants

and children, but this also involved general research on standards of nutrition in the community. Between 1936 and 1938 the Common- _ wealth Advisory Council on Nutrition carried out a major survey both of household expenditure on and consumption of foodstuffs and the physical condition of children in various States.°° The Council was composed mainly of leading members of the medical profession, but also relied on State Committees which included other interested professionals from dietetics and domestic science, infant welfare and social work. Although the Report found there was no undue cause for alarm

76 The disenchantment of the home about nutritional standards in Australia, the work of the Council is significant both in representing and in fostering the stress on the national

stake in the welfare of the individual. | It was of course to the women of the nation that the propaganda was heavily directed. Women’s magazines and newspapers’ ‘ladies’ pages, except those addressed to upper-class women, carried information about techniques of food selection and preparation. With the advent of the Depression in the late 1920s, women’s role in managing resources to the utmost was stressed, including the need to provide tasty nutritious meals as ‘thriftily’ as possible.?’ When the Advisory Council on Nutrition

was underway, ‘Vesta’’s column stressed its significance for women, discussing progress reports and using the opportunity to attempt to educate readers on ‘nutritive principles’. She also urged women’s organizations to take up the campaign.”8 Ironically enough, but quite significantly, on this occasion ‘Vesta’’s column was flanked on one side by readers’ own suggested recipes (ragout of kidneys, pork and beans, pumpkin pie) and on the other by an advertisement for Rosella soups. This featured a steaming bowl of soup and was captioned ‘There’s a pleasing surprise when you serve one

of these nourishing soups. No others taste as good, for the skilful art of expert chefs have made Rosella Soups incredibly delicious’. The advertisers therefore cleverly drew on the theme of nutrition and skill, implying, however, that no individual housewife could produce soup of

similar quality to Rose/la. Such an example hints at the real changes taking place in the domestic economy; that more food was becoming available as commodities in standardized packets or tins. Although Australian developments lagged behind those in the US, where the domestic science experts were busily working in the kitchens of the food companies, health educators were aware that commercial production used their message for goals of profit. They therefore again turned to domestic science teaching for girls at school to prepare them for their consumer role. Instruction in food values and purchasing could potentially provide a source of resistance to the increasing bombardment from the commer-

cial sector, but unfortunately it seems that women turned increasingly to reliance on ‘experts’ on the one hand and to the blandishments of the mass market on the other. The ideology relating to women’s role in managing the health of the nation has therefore to be seen in the context of the removal from home to industry of the production of many foodstuffs. Women’s response reflected their negotation of changing circumstances. The Advisory Coun-

The administration of the home 77 cil on Nutrition found that only a small proportion of foods consumed

in the 1789 households studies had not been purchased. In their Melbourne sample, only 2.56 per cent of the mean gross weekly consumption per ‘adult male’ unit was home produce.” Other evidence testifies to the ongoing nutritional and economic significance of such produce in family diets: the value of the fruit, milk and eggs outweighed its small proportion of the average weekly diet. Women were at times hard pressed to stretch the family budget to provide adequate meals, as the average cost of food and groceries relative

to wages regularly increased. Although wages rose between 1912 and 1920, prices rose faster, only falling again after the War, and then only temporarily, for by 1924 they rose again. It was claimed that during the War, food and grocery costs had increased by 55 per cent from

£1 4s to £1 17s 2d. When the dissatisfaction with the rising cost of living eventuated in the Royal Commission on the Basic Wage in 1920, detailed estimates were made of food costs for a family of two adults and three children. The household budgets submitted to the Commission

were, according to the final Report, misleading in some respects; but they also showed what working-class families would like to have, as well as what they normally achieved. The interpretation of living costs and food needs varied considerably

amongst members of the Commission, depending on whether they represented the union or employers. Questions about using egg powder rather than fresh eggs were a nice illustration of the employers’ ideas of

economy and appropriate standards, as were some of their inquiries regarding alcohol usage.°’ The housewives, on the other hand, were concerned not only with the value for money, the nutritive and ‘satisfying’

nature of the food they served—but also with matters of taste and family members’ idiosyncrasies. Furthermore, they showed a realistic appraisal of needs varying between children or of the demands of their husbands’ occupations. Women were following their own rationale based

on experience and circumstances. While evidence of resistance to the expectations laid on them is fragmentary, exchanges such as the following suggest that they were not just passive victims but responded realistically

to the pressures upon them. Mrs Burley was asked by an employers’ representative about her housekeeping experience. She answered that she

had been the eldest of ten: I suppose you do not know anything about calories?-—No.

And when you order a thing, you do not estimate its caloric value?—

78 The disenchantment of the home No, I do not go in for calories, but if I hear a thing is going up I generally get a supply in.”

In the area of clothing as well as in feeding the family, women’s role

of managing to adjust the family to outside circumstances was also important: they had to ‘make do’ in wartime and depression and ‘keep

up’ as fashions changed throughout the period. The movement for simpler more hygienic dress was underway in the latter part of the nineteenth century, but major changes escalated after the War. The implications for women were considerable. On the one hand, they were exhorted by advertising and ‘advice to women’ columns in magazines

to look after their appearance, but on the other, to be thrifty and not vain. Whereas before the War fashion was a matter of good taste and, to a lesser extent, practicality, by the 1920s and especially the 1930s it was becoming a matter of mass-produced ‘style’, increasingly set by Overseas movie queens. For women of limited means, these decades produced added pressures, as renovating old clothes for a new season became increasingly difficult. Paper patterns were offered for the home sewer, and it seems to have been taken for granted that most women could sew, especially children’s clothes, underwear and household linen. This assumption was built into first the questions, and then eventually the official calculations of the Basic Wage Commission. It conducted minute calculations regarding the clothing thought necessary for a man, wife and three children. The minutes of evidence reveal a fascinating dialogue on the issue of women’s role in clothing the family and about a working-class family’s actual needs. The questions of both the employers’ and employees’ representatives, and of the chairman, took for granted that home sewing and ‘cutting down’ was an essential traditional skill that women still possessed. They quizzed several witnesses about their skills in this area, being particularly anxious to ascertain how much family sewing the ‘average’ working-class woman could do.% What was especially revealing was their refusal to acknowledge the women’s own perspective—one put forcefully by Muriel Heagney—that women’s la-

bour also had to be costed and allowed for in the basic wage. From many exchanges in this evidence it is clear that for working-class women home sewing was not necessarily pleasant dressmaking as either leisure or domestic production, but an oft-resented chore of darning, patching

and stretching limited resources. In the discussions of cutting-down parents’ clothes, for example, there are signs of considerable resentment that this should even be expected of them. One woman commented: ‘I

The administration of the home 79 do not think that the fathers have that many clothes to enable the mothers to cut them down for the children’, and others pointed out that working men’s and women’s clothes were not usually fit for this anyway since they were quite worn out.” The links between the Commissioners’ expectations of women’s dressmaking skills and the influence of the domestic science movement were

made quite clear. Mr Ferguson, the counsel for the employers, emphasized it quite strongly with comments such as ‘and remembering the

fact that all girls are trained in needlework at school’. When it was pointed out to him that this was a recent innovation, he continued unabashed: ‘Would you mind going through the list and telling me what an ordinary woman could not make. Some women can make their own hats’. On another occasion he asked Mrs Jennie Jobson, who was apparently an accomplished needlewoman, ‘Do not many women do this fancy work as recreation or amusement, even wealthy women?’.” The clear answer, of course, was that sheer economic necessity was what motivated many women to sew arduously. Mrs Ruby Burley, the ‘husband’s treasure’, pointed out that her health had suffered at times: . If I could have got the garments ready-made I could have saved a lot of that, but I have all the time been economically forced to make them myself. I have a great fear of getting into the degraded condition in which I see some people, and that is why I sew so much.

In this passage Mrs Burley raised another point which also seemed to fall on the fairly deaf ears of at least the employers’ Commissioners: the working class’s quite rational desire for both comfort and self-respect.

Repeatedly throughout this series of questioning, claims were made about what was, and what was not, an appropriate standard of clothing for families on the basic wage. The women fought back quite strongly about expectations of what they, their children and menfolk ought to wear. The employers’ representatives persistently complained that the number of items of clothing claimed by the unions was too high; that expensive materials were chosen when others would suffice; and that a ‘reasonable standard of comfort’ should not entail any consideration of fashion. Witnesses pointed to the many problems of ready-made men’s suits and the far greater comfort and lasting qualities of those tailormade. Detailed questions ranged from the number of men’s underpants

worn out per year; what various pieces of underwear were made of; whether women now wore ‘combinations’ or camisoles and bloomers or knickers. There is no space here to describe the extraordinarily intimate

80 The disenchantment of the home exchanges which took place, but discussions of women’s corsets, for example, showed the importance women placed on comfort, practicality and respectability. Women insisted that they expected certain standards of clothing and resented implications that they should be satisfied with

less, either in terms of quantity or quality. Their task, then, was to manage the resources of the family in order to maintain an appropriate level of living, their definition of which did not necessarily square with that of the employers. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, public recognition was being given to a further aspect of women’s role in managing the family household. The maintenance of both physical and psychological health was now being defined as their duty to the State. As many feminist social theorists have recently pointed out, the reproduction of capitalism includes both the physical reproduction of the labour force and the reproduction of the social relationships of capitalism. In this

period there is clear evidence of the close links between them: the maintenance of the physical well-being of the family was definitely seen as part of the teaching of ‘right living’. Not only was woman’s obligation

to reproduce proclaimed to be her national duty, but she was assigned the responsibility of both preventive health care and the management of illness. In the earlier part of our period, the latter was no mean feat as childhood illnesses frequently proved fatal. The Australian Health Society and other advice literature’s detailed instructions for the preparation and administration of the sick room reflected an often grim reality. The significance, the physical and emotional drain, of ‘night-watching’

with the sick and dying appears in many accounts of deaths that were printed in newspapers and magazines. These tasks eased in the twentieth century as the risks of diphtheria and scarlet fever eventually abated. As the burdens of physical illness lightened to some extent, other pressures mounted instead. Although by the 1930s the role of the State included funding a variety of educational and public health schemes, such as the provision of free milk for children, the nation’s mothers were exhorted to do the rest. In particular, as personal relationships took on extra significance as a realm in which to seek meaning in life, women’s

task of administering that sphere also grew in importance. Not only were women the main links in the kinship network, but through their role in social, charitable and behind-the-scenes economic and _ political negotiations they played a crucial part in reproducing the social structure of the emerging industrial capitalist society. In the early twentieth century

women’s handling of the essential tasks of social reproduction came

The administration of the home 81 under scrutiny, and by the Second World War a variety of ‘experts’ were offering advice not only on managing family relationships but on how to be a woman. Two largely contradictory themes emerged. On the one hand, the modern woman was to be, in some respects at least, the famed ‘new woman’: one not confined only to interests of hearth and

home but an interesting person in her own right. On the other hand, she was increasingly being advised on how to produce herself as a physical object, as an item of exchange in a system of heterosexual attraction, the marriage market-place. In both respects, through the hints

on how to be an interesting ‘person’, and on how to be desirable and

to win and keep a mate, women were being exhorted to produce themselves as a mass commodity. In the early decades of the century, close links were seen between the reform of the home and the contribution of women to the improvement of the outside world: When women acknowledge that their work in the past has not been well-done ... instruction in domestic science will be demanded for the girls of Australia, and we may hope to see architects compelled to build healthy houses, plumbers to make drain and sink connections which are not disease traps, ... butchers unable to sell bad meat, milkmen adulterated milk, grocers inferior provisions, and drapers shoddy material. This desirable state of things will be brought about by women understanding their work and doing it.°’

Such was to be the burden of the housewife! In order to carry such a load she had to fit herself for these mighty responsibilities by both a liberal and domestic economy education. The emphasis on ‘cultural’

activities, music and reading and the stress that went with them on moral qualities, slowly diminished during the following decades. Although public support for women’s role in charitable activities continued, and there were occasional pleas for women to participate more in political activities, increasingly these were contradicted by the growing dominance of the theme of woman as sex /fashion object. The production of woman as ‘mannequin’ was still to be completed after the Second World War,

but the development was clearly set in motion during the 1920s. The influence of the ‘movies’ produced a change in the attitudes expressed towards beauty and the body. Just as domestic science informed the attempts to re-shape the physical environment of the home, so too did ‘scientific’ beauty advice; but it was accompanied in the interwar period

by the glamour of movie stars and the advertising of the beauty care products they were claimed to endorse. The extent to which women

82 The disenchantment of the home accepted or resisted this message, like that of the domestic scientists and other professionals, still needs more extensive investigation. Did the likes of Mrs Ruby Burley, the epitome of the solid, practical working-class woman of the 1920s, take any notice? Certainly, considerations of fashion

were not especially marked in the 1920 inquiry, either on the part of the housewives or the commissioners. On the other hand, their model of the thrifty, productive housewife was already being undermined and replaced by a new one. Throughout the period under scrutiny, significant changes in the production and promotion of commodities were certainly

related to the production of woman herself. The woman was to be produced in order to continue her role as household and family manager in a new guise. Increasingly shorn of her major productive role in food and clothing, a twentieth-century housewife was to turn to ‘scientific

housewifery’ on the one hand, and the cult of youthful beauty and modern mothercraft on the other.

Part Il Reproduction

4 Modernizing confinement

The period from the 1880s to the 1930s charted not only the rapid growth of gynaecology as a professional specialty but increased interest in obstetrics on the part of both doctors and some women’s organizations. By the end of the 1930s major changes had taken place in the organi-

zation of pregnancy and childbirth; in particular, the period included the extension of ante-natal care, and of hospital-based, medically managed, male-dominated labour and birth. It would be simplistic and naive, however, to attribute these developments solely to the conscious intention of the medical profession, whether interpreted as benevolent or malevolent. Doctors’ motivation combined compassion arising out of their practical experience with a general taken-for-granted paternalism towards females. Furthermore, the role of professionally trained women

was most important, as was that of the upper-middle-class women’s welfare network. Ordinary women themselves also contributed to the changed management of their ‘reproductive functions’, turning to hospitalization and anaesthetized labour in order to avoid the very real risks of nineteenth century childbed. Sources drawn on in this chapter include oral history and the records of the women who helped in the transfor-

mation of childbirth, as well as the predominantly male discourse of the medical profession. In the popular advice literature a marked shift over the period can be traced. First, guidelines for ante-natal care became

much more detailed and specific, and second, home-birth became no longer assumed and directions for managing labour and birth correspondingly diminished. These changes in the literature were symptomatic of the major developments, producing an outcome full of irony: professional male supervision thought essential to women’s performance of their most ‘natural’ function. 84

Modernizing confinement 85 The late nineteenth century’s increasing interest in health heightened awareness of the need for more hygienic and rational dress for women.

The advice offered to women in pregnancy was part of this general health consciousness, focusing mainly on diet and exercise: To sum up, a pregnant woman should breathe plenty of fresh air day and night ... should have eight hours sleep nightly ... Her food ought to be plain and substantial, with plenty of fresh fruit at meal times— and she should above all things avoid spirituous or intoxicating liquor.

However moral improvement was as significant as physical: Her mind should not be neglected. Beautiful pictures and books, sufhciently intellectual to promote thought—though not so abstruse as to impose severe mental strain—will help her, and improve her and her child.'

It was strongly emphasized that the state of mind of the woman would have a direct and certain effect on the child. Although later advice also assumed the need for a quiet and peaceful life, the expectant mother was given more explicit directions on actual diet; and by the 1930s, the idea of ante-natal exercise was starting to appear and medical supervision was encouraged.’

Oral and diary evidence makes an important contribution to our understanding of the experience of pregnancy; it seems that modern ideas of ante-natal care and professional supervision took some time to

filter through. Mrs Watts commented that she had no trouble with either of her two pregnancies and could not remember that her friends had either, but they lived a quiet life: As for going out as people do today, it just wasn’t done, you just didn’t, you stayed in seclusion until your babies were born, you’d go out perhaps in a trap or something, but to go walking in the streets, it just wasn’t done.

The delicacy with which pregnancy was discussed publicly is suggested by the euphemisms used: enceinte, ‘time of trouble’, ‘the difficulty’. Even the guide books produced under the auspices of the infant and maternal welfare movement in the late 1920s and 1930s were restrained in their discussion of pregnancy, and made little attempt to inform the woman in detail of the physiological developments taking place. Although the first signs of pregnancy and ‘quickening’ were mentioned, only a few

gave advice about problems of pregnancy such as morning sickness. Rarely was any information given about foetal development, whether

86 The disenchantment of the home from constraints of propriety or lack of knowledge is not clear. Most women interviewed said they had known very little about what was happening when they first became pregnant: ‘I was under Dr White and

he wouldn’t say anything much about it. I never learnt much at all’. And Mrs Cope, born 1884, had to ask her sister’s advice in 1913 when she first began ‘feeling different’ after eight years of marriage. Her sister replied: ‘I think you’re going to have a baby’. Mrs Cope pointed out that only one visit to the doctor took place and there ‘were no exercises or anything’. The advice literature written by women for women generally

included instructions on preparing the baby’s layette, a ritual of some

importance. A woman doctor in general practice in the late 1920s recounted how she was often delayed on her ante-natal calls by women preparing afternoon tea and wanting to show her all the garments they had made. Mrs Clifford told how she had been most unhappy to find herself pregnant after only six months of marriage, and so chose the cheapest dark flannel for the layette: ‘My mother was disgusted with me. Ooh I was a nasty wretch’.

Just before the First World War, with increasing interest in infant mortality, the first suggestions appear of the concern with maternal health which was to grow rapidly in the 1920s. In the discussion on the ‘baby bonus’ in 1912, male politicians repeatedly referred to the need to assist women in their ‘time of stress and trouble’. Although there were accusations that the Labour government was acting only from

political expediency, and disagreement over whether the maternity allowance should be paid to single mothers, or for stillborn children, there was general consensus that women’s health at such a crucial time should

be safeguarded in the interests of family and nation. It was not until the 1920s that a major effort was made to promote maternal welfare. There was already ample evidence of the extent to which many mothers

lacked ‘proper nourishment and rest’. The middle-class women on hospital committees and other charitable organizations were aware of the

difficulties faced by their less fortunate sisters in preparing for, and coping with, childbirth. The ladies working for the MDNS, for example, visited all those who applied for a nurse at their confinement, reporting

in detail on the condition of the home and its occupants. The picture which emerges is far from that painted by the advice literature of wellfed women in comfortable surroundings having afternoon naps. On 24 May 1910 ‘the sister reported that her [Mrs McD.’s of Richmond} mental state was much improved; she was apparently suffering from hysteria induced by her condition and want of nourishing food’.* The

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‘seh , = ef ; Much of the acrimony of the vBHCA was evidently directed at the director’s attempt to pursue an independent line, perhaps

they had expected her to favour them more than she was prepared to do as director. In August 1929 she reported — A vile meeting with the B.H.C. executive at which I was subjected to insolent and ignorant speeches ...I outlined my policy which annoyed them because I will not tell new centres that they must belong to one | or other organization.”°

Although at the start of that year she had hoped that plans for coOperation would bear fruit, which they eventually did in the 1930s, there were times when she despaired: ‘It is not exactly a quiet life being

138 The disenchantment of the home Director of Infant Welfare’. Dr Scantlebury Brown went on sadly to conclude that too often people were using infant welfare for the wrong |

purposes, ‘all through this wonderful movement from top to toe is a

| network of petty jealousies and personal ambitions’ .?’ |

In spite of differences of opinion, the rival groups shared many common features; in particular their methods of propaganda and the major thrust of their mothercraft teaching show a similarity of message _ which then differed in style, presentation and detailed content. Several major avenues were used for dissemination of new infant welfare precepts. One of the most prominent was lectures and pamphlets directed at both girls and women: “The mother’s duty to her baby’, ‘Milk and the baby’,

‘Errors of maternity’. The VBHCA appointed a nurse particularly for publicity work: by 1926 regular articles were appearing in magazines; and lectures were given not only to schoolgirls but to organizations such | as mothers’ clubs, church clubs, and the ywca.”® Liaison was established with the Free Kindergarten Union and with the Domestic Arts schools. Other main avenues of propaganda work were actual demonstrations,

| particularly those given at the Royal Agricultural Show and at the Town Hall during Health Week. On these occasions, and during the annual , Baby Week which commenced in 1918, clothing and feeding the baby, — preparing foods, ‘simple hygienic garments’ and baby equipment were shown. The Baby Weeks were being held in the various capital cities by the end of the First World War, generally under the auspices of the Australian Women’s National League and other local women’s organizations. Baby Week campaigns included concerts, displays of laboursaving devices for the home and lectures, as well as baby clinic, creche and kindergarten displays. Other exhibits in Melbourne included those of retailers, such as Buckley & Nunn’s Model Nursery; displays of Nestle’s Anglo-Swiss milk and those of the Talbot and Willsmere model dairies; and the Empire Trade Defence Association showed Australian-

made baby garments. a | Oo | | The spread of infant welfare also enlisted the co-operation of the

, Victorian Railways Department. In 1925 the ‘Better Farming Train’ | added a special home and infant care section which travelled to rural areas. The train was part of efforts at agricultural rationalization in the

interest of greater productivity, but the inclusion of a women’s section was prompted by the Education Department’s cookery and sewing — demonstrators and the VBHCA. The three carriages comprising the wom-

en’s section became so popular that they were sent out independent of the original train; classes of schoolgirls were brought out for demonstra- ,

Producing the model modern baby 139 tions and many women flocked around for advice and demonstrations.?? Another propaganda channel was a correspondence service run by both

Victorian infant welfare organizations and continued by the Health Department’s section of Infant and Child Welfare. By the late 1920s and 1930s, the infant welfare movement also turned to utilizing the new medium of radio, broadcasting weekly talks to mothers on infant cate which were claimed to be ‘having a far-reaching effect’ .*°

A network of individuals and organizations was therefore making a concerted effort to transform women’s traditional childcare practices. The well-meaning motivation sprang from a combination of traditional philanthropic concern for the condition of the children of working-class and

destitute women and a newer and broader social interest in the general

| management of mothering. The very naturalness of mothering became redefined in the light of discussions about the need for mothercraft and

for the application of rational, scientific knowledge to the process of | childrearing. In England the growth of ‘schools for mothers’ was quite directly associated with fears of declining national fitness and, in particular, with an onslaught on working-class women’s ‘neglect’ and ‘ignorance’ in matters of home and family. In Australia the focus of attention was less specifically on the working class, and certainly directed less towards mothers working in industry. Nonetheless, fears were regularly | expressed that ‘modern’ women were greatly deficient in the necessary capacities relating to their domestic role, including mothering. Some argued that civilization had destroyed the mothering instinct so that it now had to be supplemented with learning; others emphasized reason and intellect as the highest special faculties which could lift humans above the purely instinctual. Some advocates of mothercraft managed to argue that the human mother its intelligent but that intelligence, while it can learn everything, ‘has everything to learn’. Saleeby, a leading advocate of infant welfare in England, waxed eloquent about the superiority of maternal instincts in animals and the problem of its relative diminution in women. Sister Primrose, a strong Saleeby and Truby King follower, shared such sentiments, arguing that mothercraft was ‘not learnt by instinct’ but was ‘a science that has been delved from the heart of nature’. Those who scorned the application of science to such a supposedly natural activity, she said, had to understand that the human mother lacked the strength of instinct to be found in animals.*! Making up for the ‘deficiencies of instinct’ also entailed, however, dispensing with the accumulated knowledge of previous generations. Like other infant welfare

professionals, Sister Primrose was at pains to rid the modern mother of

140 The disenchantment of the home any ‘foolish notions’ and ‘mistaken ideas’ she might have acquired from _ other sources. The modernization of infant care meant the extension of ‘rational scientific principles ... to the feeding and rearing of babies’;

with regard to natural as well as artificial feeding, to clothing and to several aspects of the general handling of infants, the experts hoped to

stamp out old practices and establish new ones. | Between the 1880s and the 1930s even the patterns of breastfeeding babies became part of a scientific campaign. In the process, an established

traditional practice became increasingly removed from the domain of traditional female wisdom into that of the professional medical, technical

— world—and made much more difficult. In Australia during the nine-

| teenth century, particularly during summer, the risks of hand or bottle feeding were generally so great that babies tended to be breastfed of — necessity, either by their natural mothers or by wet-nurses. The guide books of the period gave instructions on the choice of a wet-nurse rather than much attention to the mother’s own milk ‘supply. When writers _ did bother to discuss breastfeeding, it was with the assumption that it was the normal pattern and advice was only needed for specific problems

such as cracked nipples or overfeeding. |

_ There was already a cautionary note in this literature which became | much stronger with the infant welfare specialists, that too many mothers give ‘the child the breast whenever it cries’, but the general consensus was that babies should be fed every two to three hours when very young. _

There was also fairly general agreement that feeds at night should be lessened, but there was not yet the later insistence on no night feeding at all.°* Although a regular routine was advised, it was likely to be accompanied by comments such as ‘Although regularity in feeding is good, it need not in all cases be rigidly adhered to’ and ‘Never wake a baby to feed him, if he wants food he will wake quickly enough’.** The ,

a other area of discussion in the earlier guide books referring to breastfeeding is that of weaning, which, without its later psychological over-

| tone, is suggested as taking place slowly at about eight or nine months of age. The recurrent theme right through to the 1920s, however, was the advice against weaning in the Australian summer months because of the risk of diarrhoea. The expression of this theme did vary, though, becoming more scientific and precise in the later period. Comments in the late nineteenth century were often like the following: ‘Do not wean

between November and April ... Let no-one frighten you that your milk is bad; it must be bad indeed to be surpassed by such cows’ milk

as we get in the city’.** —_ , | |

Producing the model modern baby 141 The contrast between the period in which doctors such as Hunter wrote in a chatty, friendly style to women and the later professional directives of the infant welfare specialists is nowhere more marked than in the discussion of breast and artificial feeding. The advice on breastfeeding became much more detailed and specific and was associated with

a campaign to popularize natural feeding which they thought was declining. Lewis has discussed the Sydney campaign led by Armstrong, but has not noted the increasingly technical discussions of breastfeeding

which characterized the medical literature of the early 1920s. While doctors were not writing in popular guide books about these technicalities, especially by the 1920s, they spent time campaigning amongst fellow doctors for greater recognition of the importance of breastfeeding

and of the techniques to maintain and re-establish supplies of breast milk.*» This discussion was then passed on to women by way of actual

teaching practice in infant welfare clinics, and via the newer style of guide books with their very specific scientifically phrased advice. In particular, the spate of material generated by the development of the clinics, which included books and pamphlets published by government health departments, was characterized by a stress on scientific, rational feeding patterns.*°

Although neither the new little infant welfare books, such as those by Sisters Peck and Purcell of the Melbourne movement, nor the articles in women’s magazines went into the same detail as the doctors’ discussions, their encouragement of even breastfeeding has to be seen in the context of medical control. Dr Margaret Harper from Sydney made it quite explicit that mothers should not only accept the care of a doctor

during pregnancy, but went on to say: ‘it is no less important that mothers should recognize the necessity for medical supervision during the period of lactation’.*’? Furthermore, as the infant welfare nurses were being given intensive training in the establishment and maintenance of breastfeeding, doctors were also under pressure to keep up their own knowledge in order to remain ‘the natural directors’ of the infant welfare movement. What had, to an earlier generation even of doctors, been a natural, fairly straightforward process was now one fraught with complexity and requiring their professional supervision. All aspects of breastfeeding came under scrutiny. As well as concern with the actual technique of secreting and expressing milk, the advocates of modern infant welfare were consciously reforming earlier patterns of irregular and frequent feedings. Stress was increasingly placed on the rational control of feeding, on calculating more precisely the amount of

142 _ The disenchantment of the home milk the baby was receiving, on the necessity of clockwork regularity.

In the ‘modern’ infant welfare literature on breastfeeding new attention . was also placed on the amount the baby should be fed, an issue which — was still more significant with regard to artificial feeding. Whereas in the earlier period it had been assumed, as one doctor still said in puzzlement in 1927, ‘that the baby would not take more than satisfied _ him’*®, increasing precision was applied to how long the baby should _ remain at each breast and whether or not both breasts should be given at each feed. Furthermore, whereas the nineteenth-century advice liter-

ature did not presume to direct the mother as to the specific hours for | feeding her baby, by the 1920s it was common to find the following -

routine advocated: | |

The mother should have a time-table for the feeding of the baby. If he is fed three-hourly, it should be 6 a.m., 9, 12, 3, 6, and 10 p.m. {and

, 2 a.m. if advised]. If the baby is fed four-hourly—6 a.m., 10, 2, 6, 10 {and 2 a.m. if advised}... It is advisable once a time-table is arranged ©

to keep to it absolutely.*? ,

The onslaught on what was perceived as the dominant tradition of demand feeding, and the insistence on three- or four-hourly feedings was mainly justified on the grounds of scientific understanding of a baby’s digestive system. The newly recommended patterns were also said

to be better for the mother’s daily routine, allowing her greater leisure.

It was, moreover, for the sake of the child, and of the future citizen, that regularly spaced feeds were of the utmost significance. Sister Primrose, following Truby King, insisted that baby’s ‘first lesson’ would have _

long lasting impact: | |

, - Fostering sound regular hygienic habits and self-reliance at the earliest possible age ... not only established these habits for life, but ... their

depend.” , influence would be seen on higher planes. Tendencies trained early into the very tissue and structure of vital organs would assert themselves later

in assisting in the development of those peculiarly human parts of the _ organism upon which character control, and conduct, to a larger extent , Regularity took on overtones of considerable moral significance, a theme

occurring in the earlier literature but now more consistently explicit.

From early after birth, babies should be wakened regularly in order to _

reference of the mother. | |

keep to the feeding schedule and the clock was invoked as the standard _

Producing the model modern baby 143 It seems too that the infant care specialists were in full accord with anthropologists and sociologists who stress the significance of childrearing

patterns for society at large. The experts’ emphasis on an ‘orderly existence’, on diminishing ‘frictions, rebellions, discontent and strain of

any kind’ through adjusting the child to regular discipline, reflected broader social developments. In the industrial sector, scientific management was promoted on the grounds that it would bring industrial peace and improve productivity. Stuart Ewen suggests that, at least in the US,

the 1920s saw the growth of an ideology of harmony and national interest which was at odds with the real conflicts of the time, but was increasingly promoted in advertisements.*) American writers have also noted the growing emphasis in middle-class circles on socializing for social adjustment**, a development which will be taken up again in the next chapter. It is at least possible, then, that the emphasis on training

the child in the regularity of the clock right from birth was of deeper significance than even its protagonists claimed, in laying the foundation

in the individual for adjustment to the various demands of modern, industrial capitalist society. In spite of the infant welfare specialists’ enthusiasm for rationalized breastfeeding, their attention also had to be applied to artificial feeding.

Much to their consternation, the statistics of the baby health centres

showed a slow but persistent decline in the numbers of women fully | breastfeeding. Whereas in 1927-8, the approximate percentage of Vic-

torian babies completely breastfed, for example, was 55 per cent as against 28 per cent completely artificially fed, in 1938-9 it was 46.4 per cent as against 37.1 per cent.**? As these estimates were based on

the records of the clinics, which pressured women to breastfeed, the actual figures were potentially much higher for artificial feeding. The routines of hospitalized childbirth and the regimented schedule being recommended to mothers ironically enough were themselves undermining

| the experts’ advocacy of ‘natural’ feeding. Even before many statistics were available, medical attention had turned to the relationship between artificial feeding and infant mortality.

From the 1890s on doctors were taking an increasingly sophisticated interest in the composition of human milk and hence the provision of an adequate substitute. Although nineteenth century advice to mothers

| was often imprecise, the infant welfare movement eventually refined quantities and measurements with scientific precision. | In the 1880s-1890s discussion of artificial or, as more commonly expressed then, ‘hand-feeding’ usually took the form of general admo-

144 , The disenchantment of the home nitions about seeking quality milk and about cleanliness. Controversies

about whether the milk from one cow was preferable to that from several, and the amount of water to be added were the dominant issues.

| Advice on hygiene was limited to suggestions that the feeding bottles be washed at least once a day, and while the old-fashioned feeding tube

was increasingly deprecated, no explicit advice was regularly issued regarding sterilization of equipment. The main concern of doctors in the late nineteenth century was to discourage feeding infants on foods other than milk. Some proprietary foods such as Benger’s food, Mellin’s food

and others were allowed, but the advice literature decried what were said to be common practices of feeding babies starchy foods such as arrowroot and maizena and beverages such as tea, coffee and even alcohol.

Forty years later the use of completely unsuitable foods was less of an issue, but artificial milk mixtures were a much greater preoccupation

| and more explicit advice was given concerning their preparation. In this, as with regard to breastfeeding, a major shift in the style and content — of the advice is apparent in the early decades of the twentieth century. The imprecise, fairly informal directions to mothers by doctors such as Hunter and others associated with the early Australian Health Society | contrast markedly with the more systematic, precise instructions of later infant welfare professionals. The attempts to rationalize the measuring of milk formulas typify these developments. Because of the greater variability in calorie content according to techniques of measurement, it was important to standardize both techniques and measuring implements. That the latter was not a simple matter was suggested by Dr Scantlebury Brown who, in her official capacity, noted: ‘I have studied , in detail the measures and the measuring of foodstuffs in infant feeding . . . Household tablespoons and teaspoons vary very much, often showing 100% error’.** Her diaries showed the seriousness with which the matter

was taken; even her husband lent assistance: ‘Eddie has been testing - spoons for me. He has just found a new balance and some wonderful , spoons at Coles’.*? However, it was apparently not easy to modernize women’s thinking on the matter of measurement; one doctor announced: ‘the persistence with which mothers calculate in tablespoonfuls, is fatal

ounces’ .*° | | | to accurate measurement. They must be trained to think in fluid

One significant dispute between the rival infant welfare organizations | concerned the relative proportions of protein and fat to be included in ,

artificial formulas. Truby King and his advocates, the ‘low protein , school’, were insistent that scientific analysis of the composition of human |

Producing the model modern baby — 145 milk showed it contained ‘about 6% to 7% of lactose, 3% to 4% of fat and from 1.3% to 1.5% of protein’. On one occasion in Melbourne

Truby King became ‘violent over the high and low protein and we arrived with him telling me I compromised and that the Almighty had shown us that only ‘low protein’ was right’.*” This dispute seemed to have lessened after Dr Scantlebury Brown’s tables for infant feeding were

accepted by both schools of thought, providing as they did a system of altering the caloric value according to the child’s age and weight. It was

therefore particularly in the intricacies of artificial feeding that the application of scientific knowledge to infant care held sway. Some doctors continued to mix scientific and pre-scientific comments; others showed signs of resistance, of older attitudes continuing. One doctor, for example,

said somewhat caustically, ‘the caloric system of feeding was a danger

in unskilled hands, as it tended to concentrate attention on figures instead of on the baby. He would prefer to feed a baby instead of to a baby’.*® Another upset some readers of the MJA when he suggested that, regardless of what the infant welfare people were saying, an infant could be reared quite satisfactorily on artificial foods. He was quite against the regular feeding fashion: ‘Babies were simply young animals and should

be fed like them, when they wanted it... ‘Fill them up and keep them

full should be their motto’.” |

The overall transformation of medical opinion which made infant feeding a highly complex issue was reaching its zenith by the late 1920s. During that decade it also began to be more widely disseminated to the

lay public both through the actual practices taught at the baby health centres and through the written material aimed at mothers. In Melbourne two of the prominent infant welfare sisters published small books based on articles they had previously published in newspapers or magazines.

These were then joined by Dr Scantlebury Brown’s Guide to infant feeding, a still more technical manual. In New South Wales, Dr Margaret Harper, a leading infant welfare doctor, published a similar one and the government several pamphlets. Clearly evident in these various books, and in the articles in the women’s magazines over the period, is the new emphasis on regular 3-4 hourly feeding, on the technicalities of formulas, on medical supervision and on the necessity of weighing and measuring the baby. The considerable preoccupation with graphs, charts, and stand-

ardized measurements belied the repeated claims that each baby still had to be treated as an individual. The notion of the average or normal

baby increasingly took on statistical as well as moral or idealistic overtones as age/weight graphs became common. The promotion of an

146 | The disenchantment of the home | ideal baby was further reinforced by the growth in popularity of baby competitions, frequently under the auspices of companies marketing babycare products. The reformers often attacked the ‘old-fashioned’ ideal of a plump baby (which was nonetheless still portrayed in many adver-

tisements) replacing it with their new norms.” a

The effects of prescriptions for a model baby cannot be easily ascer-

tained. Although the experts insisted that they were only providing | general guidelines and averages, some anxiety was experienced by mothers. Even one of the professionals, Dr Scantlebury Brown herself, wrote

of her baby son when he weighed 10lb 114%0z, aged six and a half weeks: ‘I wish he could make up that pound lost at the beginning’.’' Moreover she was not above rivalry; in 1931 she wrote to her sister: ‘Dottie darling, I am thrilled to bits about Daryl’s weight—it is splendid.

He has beaten Catherine hollow and she seems huge and well and fit.

She is 18lbs now’.>? If the professionals themselves were putting into _ practice the emphasis on measurement of the baby, it is not so surprising _ that other women were likewise influenced. Certainly a generation of

| mothers were advised to include the technicalities of measurement and

calculation in their childrearing. _ , |

The infant welfare experts gave advice not only on feeding and charting

the healthy progress of the baby, but on a variety of other aspects of handling the child. The area of infant clothing was one such example, © with the nineteenth century’s long clothes for the early months and the custom of ‘shortening’ giving way to an emphasis on short, hygienic clothes right from birth. The earlier advice literature had deprecated

habits of not covering the arms and backs of babies adequately, but otherwise gave few details of clothing. By the 1920s, the advice in women’s magazines and the guide books was increasingly detailed and specific. Sister Purcell’s and Sister Peck’s books gave instructions for the

types of material to be used; the appropriate stitches (a flannel. binder’s - edges ‘should not be hemmed but may be left raw, or just blanket stitched’); and the size needles to be used in knitting various garments. To some extent this was probably a reinforcement of common sense but in other cases reflected external economic and technological developments.°? The extent to which fashions and customers were changing for other reasons, quite apart from the new specialist advice, -is impossible

to say. Infant clothing styles certainly did change markedly over the

| period; a Melbourne department store’s catalogues, for example, show | the shift away both from long clothes and from many frills and flounces.™ |

Producing the model modern baby | 147 One aspect of popular practice which was anathema to the reformers

was the use of dummies or comforters. Although the writers of the earlier period usually advised against them, it was not in the strong tones of later writers. Hygienic opinion became more and more adamant

that dummies were not only a danger to health, but the source of bad habits and a sign of poor mothering: Germs attach themselves to the rubber and may cause disease. A lack of self control is also developed. Patient waiting is never practised. It has ‘been said with a certain measure of truth that you are not a good mother if you cannot keep your baby happy and contented without a dummy.”

This is one area in which mothers seem to have continued ever since to resist experts’ advice. As one woman in the oral history sample com-

mented: ‘The only thing I did against the Health Sister was to give them dummies’. When she went to the baby health centre, she hid the dummy under the pillow. The discouragement of dummies reflected the same concern with disciplining the baby as did regular feeding. Both

aspects of infant management were related to stringent guidelines on cuddling or physical contact with the baby. The nineteenth-century advice

literature rarely bothered to discuss this issue except to decry too much fuss and handling of the child by a large number of visitors. A common

attitude was expressed however by Dr Hunter: | See then that baby is nursed and handled enough. Better to let it crawl about on the floor and dirty its clothes than keep it spotlessly clean, if cleanliness means also to lie in bed or sit in a perambulator most of the day.*°

By the 1920s mothers were advised quite differently. Not all baby experts went as far as the really strong Truby King advocates, who encouraged only cuddling the child during a ‘mothering hour’ in the late afternoon, but fears of ‘spoiling’ the child became common. Dr Dunlop from Sydney, for example, wrote: ‘It is not good to nurse babies

| more than can be helped. When breastfed babies are being fed they get their fair share of nursing and cuddling’.*’ The discouragement of much handling of the baby was reflected also in the experts’ vigorous rejection of the practices of rocking a child to sleep, patting its back or leaving night lights on. Along with recommending that babies sleep in separate

beds, these habits were to be replaced by firm regular management rather than ‘molly-coddling’.

148 The disenchantment of the home Associated with these prescriptions towards encouraging discipline and |

independence in the baby, was a fear of excessive stimulation. Dr

Margaret Harper, like several other writers, warned that: | | _ Mothers generally do not realize the extreme delicacy of the nervous — ,

system of a baby... The things that are particularly to be avoided are ~ undue playing, tossing or jumping him up or down, sudden or loud noises to awaken him or to attract his attention, tickling him to make

him laugh, shaking or of any other form of boisterous playing. : Here the influence of psychology was apparent: ‘A great deal of nervousness which is apparent later in life has its foundation laid in infancy’. This was taken seriously by Vera Scantlebury Brown, who watched her young son’s activity sometimes with apprehension; at four months he ‘has discovered his hands’ and ‘spends hours looking at them, twisting

them and alas putting them in his mouth! He will have to be cured of © the latter habit!!’.°9 The following day she noted that baby was ‘extraor-

, dinary {sic} active—too much so as regards his brain. He talks to himself for hours’. As the grounds for her apprehension were not specified, she apparently assumed her mother understood the dangers of a baby’s activity. It was both to curb infant activity as well as to keep babies

| clean and under control that baby playpens or playgrounds were recommended: ‘Baby must never crawl about floors, as he may pick up germs from dirty boots, etc.’ Certainly such specialized infant equip-

the 1920s. oo

ment did become available just after the First World War and catalogues —

show an increasing range of playpens and other infant furniture during

It is evident, therefore, that in many ways a baby’s life was being subjected to a variety of controls, both of her/his physical behaviour and emotional contacts, and that this entailed new pressures on mothers.

No doubt many women and other family members did continue to give ‘lots of love and cuddles’, to rock babies to sleep, to jostle and ‘over- , stimulate’ them, but by the 1920s and 1930s much of their behaviour was clearly against the advice of the professional infant care experts. For those women with the continued support of mother, sisters and friends, |

, the new patterns of advice were probably taken with a grain of salt. Mrs Poster, for example, went with a friend to a health centre only once, and when one baby was said to be too fat, the other too thin: ‘we

never went back!’, their attitude being, ‘who are they to tell us!’. The | many women who shared this view, or who never went to a health centre, could avoid direct professional interference in their handling of

Producing the model modern baby 149 their babies. On the other hand, women whose traditional source of advice had broken down, or who really accepted the ‘modern, scientific’

justification of infant welfare were exposed to the types of advice described in this chapter. For some women, the emergence of the professional childcare experts was doubtless a welcome development, replacing earlier forms of support. One elderly doctor who had been both in general practice and very involved in infant welfare said that the health centre sisters were certainly welcomed by young and inexperienced mothers: Oh they were a tremendous comfort ... all young mothers need help,

the nuclear family of course exacerbates that ... with the extended family—I know when I was a child nearly all my friends had a grandmother live with them or a maiden aunt ... they had that kind of help. But you see when all that went out the mothers, they were left high and

dry... Oh I think they needed help.®* , | She went on to recount how in the 1930s, when visiting a mother when the baby was a month old, the mother would often ask how the infant welfare sister had known to visit. Despite the Registration of Births Act, mothers regarded it as ‘just white magic!’. ‘How did she know, that first visit was most appreciated.’ Important questions remain as to actual patterns of response to the infant welfare movement. Although in the early years of the movement centres were started in working-class areas, they very quickly spread to | a wide range of middle-class suburbs as well. Whereas in England and in the first decade of the Sydney movement the aim was quite clearly to re-educate working-class mothers away from traditional styles of infant care, during the later period in Australia, it was definitely more broadly

directed. Some evidence does suggest that middle-class women were more likely to respond favourably to the new styles of infant care, partly because they had much in common in terms of attitudes and values with the scientific, professionally oriented experts. At least as significant was their shared material circumstances; it was far more likely that most

of the new precepts of infant care, like those of housewifery, could be carried out in a secure and comfortable home environment. In spite of the decline of domestic service, many of the prescriptions for appropriate

mothering, for example, those about the mother’s rest and relaxation,

| presumed her being able to offload some domestic chores and care of

older children. ,

The diaries of Dr Vera Scantlebury Brown, expert and new mother

150 The disenchantment of the home , - in the late 1920s, indicate that her experience was quite different from _ that of many other women. She, like many other contemporary profes- —

sionals, had considerable domestic help not enjoyed. by most of the mothers advised by the health centres. She not only had a nurse after the confinement, but then a live-in mothercraft nurse who also shared | some of the domestic chores, and a housekeeper. Dr Scantlebury Brown

, was, however, to some extent a victim of her own mothering advice; _ she was not altogether happy about sharing the baby with. others, a_

| phenomenon middle-class women of the nineteenth century took for granted. She wrote: ‘I do so want to look after the babe myself—I am |

| wondering if it could be done. I did so much enjoy that time at Xmas in spite of fatigue—I simply hate seeing and hearing him handled by

| others’.°? She continued to accept it as unavoidable, but the extent to which the care of her baby was unlike that of most twentieth-century | - mothers is suggested by the fact that when he was four weeks old she 7 wrote: “We were both {with husband} invited to watch his Lordship’s

_ ablutions. He is a funny little thing—it is the first time I have seen | him ‘‘in toto’. I shall be glad when he is very much fatter, though he | | is vigorous enough’.®? She also had a great deal of assistance and cooperation from her husband, Professor Brown, whose flexible academic lifestyle was also conducive to his participation in the domestic sphere.

They were of course under extra pressure to produce a perfect infant, and Dr Scantlebury Brown did worry at times that he did not always | fit the model. On some occasions she was aware of breaking the new

, infant care rules: ‘he was rather overtired and beside himself so I fearI | broke the rules and gave a little nurse and held his hand and he went off to sleep at once—dear wee pet’.©! On the whole, however, Dr

| Scantlebury Brown had plenty of opportunity to put the new methods

into practice and evidently made an attempt todo so. —— | It is obvious that Dr Scantlebury Brown and other women of her

, class had more resources available than many of those instructed at infant welfare clinics. Many of the principles and practices beloved of | infant welfare advocates were far less possible for working-class women | tO put into practice. The preoccupations with babies sleeping in separate _ cots, with the provision of plenty of fresh air and with discouraging too much handling by other members of the family all assumed middle- — class mothering styles and resources. Babies were to be bathed regularly,

| using special equipment kept only for the baby, and by the 1920s increasingly detailed instructions were being given about cots and other _ infant furniture. Other recommendations of infant welfare experts which

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the back are some very fine Nursery Recipes.

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Producing the model modern baby 151 would have been easier to practise in a larger house were those of letting

the baby cry until feed time if there was nothing else the matter; and

of finding a quiet place, removed from other family members, for feeding. Some of the rules for preparing artificial feeds, especially the ‘Plunket’ method of ‘humanizing’ milk, were also unrealistic for women

without adequate kitchen facilities. | | Although women’s response to the pressures of the infant welfare experts obviously varied according to their circumstances, there is little

doubt that by the 1930s most were under the sway of these new authority figures. They developed techniques of resistance and negotiation in dealing with doctors and clinic sisters, but generally seem to have accepted that their specialized training, with its scientific basis, justified the often difficult to follow routines. Mrs Best for example went along with allowing her children to cry until the four-hourly feed time because the sister said, You should just let them wait. They were very strict at the Health Centre

... She reckoned it was their digestive organs, that it takes them that long to digest... I believed that ... because she was educated for that so she must have known what she was talking about.

In several distinct aspects of infant care, therefore, not only feeding but in the general management of the baby, we can see a definite strategy

under way. In the early years working-class women were its primary object, but as the infant welfare movement developed, a broader campaign of ‘modernizing mothering’ became institutionalized. This project represented the combined efforts of various groups, in particular uppermiddle-class women who worked as volunteers for the new movement; members of the medical profession, including an active group of female

doctors; and a still more recent group to emerge, the infant welfare specialists: the baby health centre sisters. In staking out their new field of expertise based on hygiene and science, the infant care professionals ‘were engaged on a project of managing motherhood: directing women’s traditional activities along new lines. They used economic and nationalistic justifications for their onslaught on ‘inadequate’ maternal instinct, stressing the productive value of each child to the State and the nation.

The content of their reforming message, like that of the domestic scientists, drew on notions of industrial efficiency, order, regularity and

discipline. In this area in particular the experts operated on a firm institutional basis provided by the expanding state bureaucracy of health departments, and women too took advantage of the new job opportunities

— 152 | The disenchantment of the home offered by the infant welfare movement. Although their aim was the preservation of infant life and health and they saw themselves as simply responding to existing needs brought about by modern urban conditions,

| their practice in effect went against one of their own central tenets, the ‘naturalness’ of maternity. The redefinition of motherhood as mothercraft therefore implied more in the long term than just ‘modernizing’ another aspect of traditional family life: it threatened one of its foundations.

7 oe

The remaking of childhood ~

The forces tending towards a transformation of infancy also affected the later years of childhood. In particular, developments within the medical profession, in educational thinking and in concepts of childrearing reflected a concern with a more scientific approach to childhood, a more intense interest in children themselves. Before exploring these developments, this chapter will discuss what childhood was like in Australia in

the period before the First World War; in particular, childhood in ~ suburban Melbourne. From the oral history interviews, from manuscript and literary evidence, a dominant picture emerges of childhood during this period as a fairly relaxed but ordered existence in an apparently safe

and stable world. The parent-child relationship was not always free of conflict and tension, but tended to be one of some distance. From either

side, expectations were of adequate role-performance rather than interpersonal intimacy; parents were concerned more with the physical and moral wellbeing of their children than with their individual personal development. In the period under study, however, many forces were at work to change the patterning of family experience. Children, and parent-child relationships, became a focus of attention for educationists, doctors and psychologists who were involved in a series of connected strategies directed towards a more complete control of the production of the individual. Mothering in particular became the focus of. new

guidelines; not only the physical care of children, but responsibility for |

mother’s door. | |

_ their psychological and emotional development was increasingly laid at

| : _ 153

These developments have to be understood in the context of others,

| including the moves to keep. children out of the industrial workforce

, 154 , The disenchantment of the home and to deal with ‘neglected’ children. Neither issue. can be dealt with in any detail here, but in most Australian States the turn of the century saw a spate of legislative action to ‘protect’ children. The State became increasingly interventionist in supervising the boarding-out of destitute

or ‘problem’ children and children’s courts were set up in Victoria as well as in South and Western Australia and New South Wales. These developments were influenced by a similar movement in America which,

| as Lasch points out, reflected the application of a medical model to , judicial processes and the deliberate attempts to reform offending adolescents. The initiative for the establishment of separate juvenile courts _ came in Australia, as in the US, from social reformers who shared an increasing focus on preventing social problems through ‘child saving’.' Although one of the aims of the reformers in the early twentieth century _

was to protect children from employers’ exploitation, it is clear that

| their ambition was also to promote a particular notion of childhood. ‘The goal of dependency for women and children pervaded the various attempts to ‘protect’ them: the legislation relating to controlled working

conditions for example, but also the campaign for women police and the action of vigilante groups. Undoubtedly there was cause for genuine

alarm, especially with regard to working conditions, but the ‘reform’ a attempts were based upon a model of family life to which working-class _ families in particular were to be ‘re-formed’. Father in the workforce, — mother and babies at home and children at school was the aim to be © achieved. The implications of the professionals’ attempts to reach this

goal can only be grasped with reference to some significant features of existing patterns. Considerable freedom of children from adult surveil-

lance but an orderly daily life and, in particular, clearly ordered par| ent-child relationships was the setting against which newer notions of

childhood and parenting were introduced. | me |

| Not only those in rural families, but suburban children generally had a set pattern of domestic chores and when economic circumstances warranted it, they also played a direct economic role. Oral evidence shows that they were expected to contribute to the maintenance of the family in a variety of small ways. Their work tasks varied from simple jobs around the house to quite major efforts, such as helping in a shop

, run by the mother. Tasks were largely segregated according to sex, with _ boys doing household chores such as chopping wood and watering © gardens. Girls, of course, helped with household chores, often only | dusting and drying dishes, but sometimes taking on major tasks such as cooking, especially if mothers were ill or busy with other responsi-

The remaking of childhood 155 bilities. Mrs Johns for example had to cook not only for her father but for farmhands during her mother’s confinement, and with only occasional

help from aunts; even the large family wash fell to her, including all the linen from the delivery. She was never taught these skills specifically,

just expected to learn by observation. She was not allowed to be idle, one of her mother’s favourite sayings being: ‘the devil makes work for idle hands’. Very few of these girls’ mothers had domestic help and in no case was it residential. In cases where interviewees’ parents ran commercial enterprises, extra assistance was necessary on the part of children. Mrs Wilson’s mother, who ran a delicatessen and sweet-shop after her husband’s death, relied heavily on her daughter’s assistance both with domestic chores and in the shop. When her mother had a ‘nervous breakdown’ she had to take over completely:

the time. , , the doctor said that he would have to put her in hospital and give her _ some treatment ... she said “You will have to manage ... you look after the shop...’ ... I thought—how am I going to cope with all this ... but I had to and I did it. I don’t think I was much more than 15 at

Children also of course did ‘messages’, but these sometimes included __ delivering home produce in those cases where families had more than enough for their own needs. One of Mr Troedel’s major tasks for example

was delivering milk from their cow and Mrs Morris and her brother and sister had to try and sell vegetables. This was to supplement her father’s meagre income as a labourer in a brick factory, especially when

he had an accident. Her father, however, also drank a great deal and she had heard that her mother, who died when she was very young, had sometimes had to go from one hotel to the next after him, trying to get her housekeeping money. Children’s work experience therefore was not always part of a pleasant, ‘happy-family’ scenario, but was usually a significant ingredient of the overall upkeep of the family. It was certainly part of the general ‘nature of things’. Despite these commitments, children also enjoyed a fairly unstructured outdoor leisure-time, playing in motor-less streets and on any available open ground. The interview sample recalled playing with siblings and

with neighbourhood children, games requiring little or no equipment such as hide and seek, chasey, hopscotch and skipping. Apart from as adolescents joining more organized activities such as cricket for boys, gymnastic or drama clubs for some of the girls, children ran their own games fairly free from parental restriction or supervision. This was

156 The disenchantment of the home — particularly so for boys, as some of the escapades recounted by Mr Upton and Mr Troedel suggest. Mischief-making, including tripping-up

, _ returning churchgoers with a string across the street; knocking on front _ doors and then running away; and turning down gas lamps from behind the scenes in churches and halls. Church socials and Sunday School picnics were major highlights of the year, and are vividly described in , literary sources such as Lewis’ Sunday at Kooyong Road. From children’s — literature too, especially the works of Ethel Turner, Louise Mack and Mary Grant Bruce’, it would seem that both middle- and working-class

, Australian children were allowed considerable freedom in their leisuretime, and that the climate induced them to spend much of that outdoors.

| No doubt this increased freedom lay behind the comments of some | commentators that Australian children, especially girls, were too inde- |

pendent, were ‘forward’? , | When children came indoors, their freedom was then much more curtailed; playmates other than siblings tended not to be welcome there;

and orderliness was the norm. Even the games played there were more | _ likely to be card games or charades, sometimes with their parents or with relatives during the regular Sunday evening visit. As Miss Troedel

| pointed out, these games required concentration and were not always | conducive to conversation. Recreation, and everyday life in the home generally were part of an overall pattern of which routine and order were keynotes. This orderliness of daily existence is a recurrent theme in many sources. For many families the patterns continued throughout _ the interwar period, alchough oral history responses show some sense of

changes in the air as motor-cars and movies arrived. What did the orderliness involve? The recollections of some authors express clearly _ what is also present in the oral evidence; what it meant to be ‘properly

brought up’: | Oo | |

The rituals by which my own life was regulated it never occurred to me to doubt. They were so utterly reasonable. When I came in from school ~

___T.changed out of my good things into a sweater and shorts ... , I didn’t | _ shout- indoors, I never said ‘she’ (she was the cat’s mother); and I never swore .. . I ate my vegetables, even horrible silverbeet, without complaint; a

oO always washed my hands after the lavatory and never called a shilling a ‘bob’. All these rules and regulations, I was convinced, not only trained

| you in the best behaviour, they also taught you discipline, and discipline

was character-building.* ee ,

| Shortly before this passage, Malouf had noted that the orderly plan of | existence enacted by his family in Brisbane in the late 1930s was his

The remaking of childhood 157 mother’s attempt to reproduce ‘her own orderly childhood in prewar

| {that is, pre-1914} London—even though it was no different from the : life that was lived in other houses where we went to play in the long evenings after school’. Hal Porter too points to a similar heritage of a central plan of living, ‘one of well-tested attitudes inherited by my parents from the late nineteenth century, and faithfully adhered to’.° Despite the greater freedom of Australian children outdoors therefore, a certain accepted pattern of everyday ritual existed. It was, no doubt,

most typical of the middle-class homes described by Malouf, Porter, | Lewis and others, but oral evidence suggests that certainly some workingclass families shared it. For children this meant doing their chores and following parental guidelines against swearing, untidiness, dirtiness and _ ‘forwardness’. The general absence of live-in domestic servants in Australia meant that children came quite directly into contact with parents in the implementation of the rules of family life, and it is to the nature of this relationship that we shall now turn. The interpretation of parent-child relationships which emerged in interviews accords with the literary evidence: parents were often somewhat

distant figures, respected unless unusually harsh, sometimes revered but only occasionally warmly loved. One or other parent was usually more distant than the other, but mothers were not surprisingly the more salient figure. Fathers were not always the stern, authoritarian figures represented in the classic, Seven little Australians, and in cases where they were, this was strongly resented. “What my father said was law, we couldn’t open

our mouth at the dinner table—he used to fly at us, y'know ... the horse whip was laying there. . .’, said Mr Upton. His father was a rather eccentric man, a loner, who worked at his shoemaking trade and making other things ‘from cameras to organs’ in a backyard shed, talking politics to male visitors such as the local policeman. For Mr Upton, his mother

was ‘definitely ‘the centre of the family’. Mothers were, however, not known closely as individuals, very few of those interviewed seemed to

know much of their mothers’ hopes and fears, past experiences and desires for the future other than ambitions for particular children. In memoirs and autobiographies, too, parents are portrayed without a great deal of understanding. While this would not be surprising from a child’s

perspective, these are after all written by adults. Even Henry Handel Richardson in the famous Fortunes of Richard Mahoney seems to have less of a sure sense of Mary’s innermost heart than that of her husband Richard. Although her letters show Richardson, in real life Ethel Robertson, to have been close to her mother insofar as discussion of daily

| 158 | a The disenchantment of the home

to each other.® | |

occurrences was concerned, their emotional life was probably less open

On the other hand, parent-child relationships were perhaps more easily expressed in written form in the early than late twentieth century. , ‘Letters from politician Alfred Deakin to his young daughter, forexample, reveal enormous warmth and tenderness towards his children. He sent

her kisses, asked her to give a kiss to her older sister, and said he was sad to be away from her, wishing he could take her on his knees. In another very expressive letter he told her how often he looked at her

portrait, kissed it, and that of her mama too. He concluded, ‘no-one | | loves you more than your ever loving Papa’.’ Thus while Deakin and certainly other fathers too could be affectionate towards their children in

writing as well as in person, it was probably still more common for a oe certain reserve and formality to characterize parent-child relationships.

| What is apparent both from oral and written reminiscences is that this relationship was taken for granted and often therefore not reflected upon. In interviews when elderly people were asked about family relationships generally, and about those with parents in particular, they did not find answers easy—the quality of family relationships was not an issue about _

| which they had thought much. Only in cases where there had been clear instances of family fighting, or ‘not getting on’, were they readily able

to discuss. family relationships. _ a

"his was possible true for their parents as well; some available evidence | suggests that nineteenth-century parents were more likely to fear for the health, safety and prosperity of their offspring than be overly concerned about the trauma of relationships. The letters of Georgiana McCrae and

Eliza Chomley, for example, give a detailed picture of their domestic _

| experiences and the health and economic problems of their families, but show little evidence of psychological concerns. Instead Georgiana McCrae

was concerned with the overt behaviour of her 4-year-old grandson, ‘a

very mischievous, uncontrollable child, I hope to inspire him with my | , _ power to punish’.® Furthermore, physical safety was of considerable , moment; for example, a series of letters written from England to her adult son in the colonies by interviewee Mrs Cork’s great-grandmother

, show how fragile relationships could be, the fear of death a repeated theme. With high infant mortality rates and children’s diseases still | often proving fatal, it is perhaps not surprising that the parent-child relationship particularly was not overly intimate. To some extent the

| romanticization of children’s death which is evident from many sources | in the nineteenth century was a cover for the harsh reality. That parents

The remaking of childhood 159 too might ‘goeth away’ was also a regular possibility and one which led Alfred Deakin in 1890 to prepare a ‘testament for the guidance of his

daughters’ in the event of his death.’ |

In this very moving expression of his ideals for them, Deakin was concerned primarily with their moral conduct and then with their living

of a healthy and sensible life. His intellectual /political stature meant that his expression of his aspiration for his children was far beyond the ordinary, but other evidence suggests that many others shared his basic emphases. A moral uprighteousness founded in a liberal, undogmatic and rational Christianity was to issue forth in unselfish conduct and a -_ well-ordered life. He wanted the best education and professional training for them and healthy bodies, ‘neither blue stockings nor athletes’, and

a quiet home-centred life: ,

- What I am anticipating is no marked eminence, no public renown, but lives of secluded study, domestic study, quiet cheerfulness, intellectual in

constancy. | oe , | , , cast and unselfish in end, such as shall ensure happiness to you and to all connected with you if undertaken with religious zeal, humility and

Despite the intellectual stamp of his aspirations, Deakin’s ideals for his

daughters were like those of his contemporaries in their interest in external behaviour and in motives understood as morally rather than psychologically based. A letter written from overseas to daughter Ivy aged 5 also sums it up simply and clearly. Writing of baby Stella too,

he wanted © |

to know if she is a good girl and is beginning to eat plenty of porridge and Nestle’s food and if Mama has yet found a nice nurse for her. He would like to know if Ivy goes to school and is a good girl doing what aunt Katie tells her and taking pains that when Papa comes back he will find her a clever little lady and a strong one too with a straight back

and strong chest and arms and straight legs and a good appetite.’

In neither the ‘testament’ nor Deakin’s letters, nor in other similar late nineteenth-century manuscript sources is there a concern with the quality of relationships or any agonizing over intricacies of the child’s psyche. A moral and a healthy life was therefore the ideal of parents for their children and was attainable by following the guidelines of

religion and of what popular health writer, Dr Philip Muskett, called , the five laws of health, cleanliness, fresh air, diet, clothing and exercise."' This can also be seen from the evidence concerning discipline. Children were punished for disobedience, for ‘back-chat’ and particularly for

160 The disenchantment of the home dishonesty, for violating the code of acceptable social behaviour. Some ‘parents were no doubt as irrationally violent as writer George Johnston's father, who beat him regularly even for unknown misdoings, but on the whole the sources point to a firm code of acceptable behaviour with a

_... series of graded punishments only some of which were physical. Late nineteenth—early twentieth-century Australian children’s classics such as _

Coles’ Funny Picture Book, give some indication of behaviour deemed unacceptable. In ‘Girl land’. the faults included nail-biting, not brushing hair, lack of cleanliness and neatness and not eating what was given as well as disobedience.'* On the other hand, physical chastisement was a more common theme in ‘Boy land’, with stealing of fruit and other

- foodstuffs, lying, teasing, throwing stones and being dirty or cruel mentioned as faults. Some other misdeeds were less gender specific; sloth, _ greed, lying, stealing, cruelty, temper and pride were thought deserving |

of ‘lands’ all their own in which verse told of the evils that followed.

Children were quite clearly held responsible for their own misdoings. Miles Franklin’s account of her first experience with such an expectation was engrained on her memory. As a fairly young child she had refused |

| to eat her egg, wanting the meat reserved for her elders and throwing a temper tantrum when not indulged. Her mother took severe and | immediate action: ‘ ‘‘Hoity-toity! She must be whipped—yes whipped". . . “She must be taught self-control!. .. She must be corrected for her own , _ good and the safety of society’’.’. So the child was chastised with a light switch, punishment as much for temper and defiance as for not eating

| the egg.’ , | | OO

In oral history accounts too punishment was swift for unacceptable behaviour such as disobedience. However, the picture which emerges is

| less one of heavy-handed enforcement of rules than, as in the literary sources, a general acceptance of an ordered way of life. Indeed their quiet, home-centred life led several interviewees to think they were |

useless as historical sources. What they provide, though, is a general picture of stability and overall contentment despite economic ups and | downs, and high expectations of neither material success nor personal fulfilment. Their recurrent theme is that the pace of life was slower then; __ that there is more stress and strain in contemporary affluent society and _ bringing up children is vastly more difficult than it was for their parents _

or even for them. Mrs Watts, born in 1885, commented when asked

_ about what was important in bringing up children: , Well, respectful of their parents, and er, I just can’t explain it... You know in my day, the children never dreamt of doing the things they do

The remaking of childhood 161 today, they wouldn’t dream of it, you’d have no cause to worry about them. You know, destroying things... I don’t know, born in them, I s’pose..., {but} it was all quieter then, more peaceful, until the wars came, I think the two wars made a big difference, you know, the First World War, and then specially the Second War, women got caught up in it you see, it was different altogether... and then all these gadgets

came in. | ,

She thought the rot had really set in because then the women went out to work to buy them. For Mrs Watts, and for others interviewed, mother had been the centre of this life and motherhood a simple, uncomplicated

affair. |

Allowing for a possible romanticization of the past and bearing in

mind children like Susan Morris’s experience of a motherless home with a cruel, drunken father, one theme remains fairly clear. Parenting in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century was seen as less a matter of relationships between individuals than a matter of economic provision

and moral guidance. This is the assumption also of the childrearing advice literature of the period. In the early twentieth century changes can be perceived in the assumptions about parenting and about mothering in particular. The child became constituted as a new object of concerned attention, and motherhood a nationally controlled, learned activity. These developments were evident in the advice being given to mothers, but were rooted in professional and organizational interests in the control of the child which themselves were responses to broader social changes. It was now recognized, said Sydney paediatrician Harvey Sutton in 1923, that ‘true humanity requires control of the human being

in the making. ..’, concluding therefore, ‘Above all it is to the child that we look as the saviour of society, the creator of health, for it is far easier to form than to reform... .’.'* The increased interest in childrearing, particularly on the part of the State, reflected the removal of children from the labour market yet the recognition of the importance of their socialization to their future role as workers and citizens.

Between the 1880s and the First World War, when the new ideas were only just taking hold, the childrearing advice being offered to parents was still characterized by nineteenth-century emphasis first on diet and health, and second on appropriate moral behaviour, which was seen as closely related to these. The books, pamphlets and articles of

this period moved readily from the first to the second. One of the hallmarks of the literature appearing in the twentieth century was a change in style: material was now more carefully organized into separate

162 oe The disenchantment of the home , _ topics and more systematic. There was not of course a complete transformation of style and some books such as Maybanke Anderson’s Mother —

_ lore continued the older style while conveying quite new ideas. , _ However, the earlier literature was more like the little book written by a nurse, Sister Aitken, The Australian mother's own book, which quite

| haphazardly, and despite an attempt at alphabetical arrangement, moved

from. discussion of dislocation of the hip, to education, to medicine, with several small comments of homely wisdom and moral advice | inserted throughout.'® The theme of health and diet was particularly | strong and advice was generally practical in orientation, suggesting fresh air and adequate exercise for girls as well as for boys. Dr Philip Muskert’s __

series of popular books on the health and care of infants and children, and his general medical guide were fairly typical, providing a great deal

of information for home treatment of minor illnesses, and general education in health matters. Noticeably absent was any real interest in the psychological development of the child. Muskett, for instance, stressed adequate diet and exercise to provide for the development of the brain and nervous system, but this was conceived of in the physiological rather

than a psychological sense. When Muskett discussed ‘night terrors’ of a |

- child, his first explanation was a deficit in the diet, and only after discussion of digestive disorders did he allow for the possibility of = _ ‘nervous’ problems, the nature of which was somewhat vague. In either _

case, he recommended correcting diet first, lessening starch, treating |

constipation and soon.” oe oe The other major concern of the advice to parents of this earlier period

was, as Deakin’s testament suggests, with the moral conduct and overt — behaviour of children. The regular themes of respect for parents, obe-

_ dience and quiet demeanour on the part of children were accompanied by exhortations to parents to discipline gently, to lead by example but

to exercise a firm authority. Thus a sermon ‘On the -duty of parents’ stressed the need for skill, patience and self-control in the moulding of the young character.'® The tone of the literature, while often admonishing

: parents for the ‘forwardness’ of colonial children, was moral guidance _ rather than professional decree. Mrs Marian Weigall made explicit the underlying assumption of writers of the period, that parents had to do _ their best but could not be held solely responsible for each child’s final. character. Although a well-ordered home and family life should produce —

good children, it was difficult to say ‘how far we have the power to

affect the future of our children as regards their moral character and

The remaking of childhood 163 proclivities’.'? No training was foolproof and none of us could be perfect

parents anyway. | Increasingly in the twentieth century such parental reassurance dwindled, being replaced by a conviction that parents, especially mothers, were indeed responsible. The influence of psychological theory was the

| key factor in this transformation of ideas about the parent-child relationship and the significance of mothering. By 1929 Dr Bostock was stating the modern accepted opinion of the professionals: Every psychiatrist learns that the mental symptoms of today are usually

the result of faulty adaptation in the past, not yesterday, but years previously ... the seeds are sown in childhood ... at the age of greatest receptivity, harsh or too indulgent or ignorant or selfish parents mould

the little mind into faulty grooves.

Bostock then went on to draw the logical conclusion: } There is no doubt that an enormous amount of psychic ill-health could be avoided by better management in the home. The scope for mental hygiene in childhood is so wide as to embrace the needs of every child. . . Education of parents becomes a necessity. . .”

Dr Bostock’s remarks are worth quoting at length, summing-up as they

do the major shift of childrearing opinion from the late nineteenth

century to the 1930s. , ,

The new ideas about children and childrearing had a clear institutional basis in education and several separate strands can be traced. The first two, manual and technical training and the kindergarten are most closely linked, both in content and chronological development in Victoria and New South Wales. Other strands or developments were those of physical education and the increasing inspection and measurement of schoolchil-

dren. These stemmed from several roots including a seeking-out of the mentally retarded (the ‘feeble-minded’) in the schools. Through all of them the influence of psychology can be traced, and they contributed to

increased pressures on parents to ‘perform’ in childrearing within the _ family. Although the reforming experts generally started with those children defined as problems, their supervisory interest eventually spread

to the socialization of all children. a

In the late nineteenth century, several aspects of the elementary school

curriculum were the subject of discussion with a view to ‘practical’ education. What was called ‘hand and eye’ training included modelling, drawing and working with paper, cardboard and wood. This was accom-

, 164 : The disenchantment of the home panied by extra emphasis on nature study: on the use of natural objects

| for discussion in class in the ‘object lesson’. A concern with national | eficiency and technological progress lay behind an increasing emphasis. , | on training in manual skills. Fears of German superiority in technological development were already being expressed, and the Fink Royal Com-

| - mission on Technical Education in Victoria, for example, was.quite _ explicit in its emphasis on the need to train a better workforce through , systematic technical education.*' In conjunction with the interest - in manual training, State education departments from the 1890s on looked with increasing favour on kindergarten educational techniques because

of their perceived craft-training value. OO a

; _ A major point of controversy in the kindergarten movement itself | revolved around the primary aim of kindergartens. In Victoria in 1908

_ the Free Kindergarten Union, only recently established, was bitterly divided over whether or not kindergartens were to reform working-class

; children, to teach them hygiene and manners, or whether the newer _ ideas of developing each child’s potential were paramount.** As in Sydney, the earliest kindergartens, as distinct from kindergarten methods

used in the infant school, were established by the upper-middle-class , ~ women whose other charitable activities have been noted in several other _ chapters. Mrs A. a’Beckett, Mrs Pattie Deakin, Mrs Stella Allan (‘Vesta’)

and others formed the Free Kindergarten Union of Victoria in the wave | of activity associated with the women’s work exhibition of 1907. The division of opinion between some of them and the professional educationists- continued for many years, eventuating in rivalry in training ,

programmes and general orientation. Although both groups were con- | , cerned with reforming the child, the charitable voluntary workers were interested in working-class children in particular; the educationists, whose

influence was greatest in the long run, with all children. The early kindergartens clearly aimed at re-socializing working-class children and , at infiltrating new ideas of hygiene and child-raising into their homes. |

| One account proudly described how children were OS -

| coaxed into the kindergartens and they experience what are for many of — them absolutely new sensations. They step from dust, squalor and vice

, into an atmosphere of cleanliness, and refinement, of bright lights and — soft voices... They begin to dislike having dirty faces and hands. And then, ... they go back to their homes and begin to exert an influence

upon their family surroundings.” a re

The original Froebelian thrust of developing each child’s special abilities

The remaking of childhood 165 was, however, by the 1920s strengthened and increasingly joined by American influences. Professionally trained kindergarteners, such as Mary

Gutteridge, principal of the Kindergarten Teachers’ College in Victoria by the early 1930s, had brought back from the US a greater emphasis

on the role of the kindergarten in fostering both personal and social development in each child. In the late 1930s and after the Second World War, the working-class orientation of the early kindergartens was

replaced by the concept that the kindergarten or pre-school was an educative and social environment. This was particularly evident in the development of nursery schools and the research oriented pre-schools, the Lady Gowrie Centres. Here the focus was on professional guidance of child development and the accumulation of information in order to allow it to be as effective as possible.7* Children generally therefore should be firmly under the direction of trained specialists whose ideas

were also to inform parental practice. |

The major thrust of the kindergarten educational principle of developing individual potential also characterized a broader movement known as the ‘new education’. This term came to embrace a variety of curricular

and teaching method innovations, beginning in England in the late nineteenth century and becoming influential in Australia early in the twentieth. As well as a heavy emphasis on the moral value of education,

the ‘new education’ linked kindergarten and manual training ideas, emphasizing the preparation of the child for real life. Behind both kindergartens and general curricular reform movements lay the influence

of the new science of experimental psychology. The interest in its application to educational testing was apparent in Victoria in the early 1900s, when a kindergarten branch of the Psychological Society was formed in 1901 with leading kindergarten specialist Miss Eva Hooper ‘as its president. At the same time, the Child Study Association of New South Wales under Dr Alan Carroll’s influence was founded to ‘create a greater interest in the young’.”? Psychological theories of children and child-raising were thus being introduced in professional circles, with kindergarten experts first leading the way but others soon following. For example, Dr John Smyth and his associates at the Melbourne Teachers’ College and at Melbourne University became fascinated with the techniques and principles of mental measurement.”° Leaders of the educational innovation were attempting in classroom practice to implement the new stress on individual development, on categorizing and measuring 7 each child, which derived from psychology. In particular these emphases

can later be seen in the work of Dr K.S. Cunningham, the founding

| 166 oo | The disenchantment of the home

1929.2? ae eR | _ director of the Australian Council of Educational Research, an organization set up with a grant from the American Carnegie Foundation in

| - It was not long, however, before the medical profession too was

| becoming interested in the scientific study of the child, psychological as well as physical. By 1908-11 interest in children’s health became more _ apparent in papers at the Australasian Medical Congress and in medical _

journals. By 1911 the paediatrics section of the Congress was firmly established and there were hopes for an Australian Paediatric Society,

: following the establishment of an informal group in- Melbourne based on the staff of the Children’s Hospital.?8 In the same period, the links between the educationists and. the medical profession. were becoming

strengthened as the interest in the physical health of small children a spread to schoolchildren-as well. School medical services developed on similar lines to those in England, in both cases prompted by England’s | inquiry into the poor state of national fitness evident in the recruiting _ for the Boer War. Regular medical inspection of children every three years brought them increasingly under professional surveillance. In cases

, where some- medical treatment was deemed necessary, but was not _ undertaken by parents, the surveillance. extended to the home with a | visit from a nurse. A significant dimension of this development was the _ | emphasis, later also evident in infant welfare, on measurement: on — scientific precision in surveying this part of the population. An article in the Education Gazette and Teachers’ Aid in 1914 described the process

the children-had to go through, lining up in stockinged feet for weight and height to be taken.”” The ‘batches’ of children who responded to | | _ the command, ‘Tallest.to the right, shortest to the left’, were experiencing

| at first hand the impact of the new scientific approach to children. Not surprisingly, anthropometrics, as it came to be called, was also linked to another early twentieth-century innovation in the schools, physical — | _ education or ‘physical culture’. Gymnastic displays and exercises or ‘drill’

had already existed, but outdoor exercise-in a systematic fashion for both girls and boys reflected the concern in the 1900s with the physical deterioration of the British race. Not only the physical health and fitness of children came under increased surveillance by doctors and teachers, - their mental ‘fitness’ was also being subjected to close scrutiny. Amongst —

_ the educationists the concern with mental retardation was closely linked , with the surveillance of the normal population. of schoolchildren, especially through the School Medical Service, and attempts to make institutional provision for those found not suitable for ordinary classes. The

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The remaking of childhood 167 | interest in IQ and other educational testing instruments was part of a broader concern with developing a standardized picture of the school population’s mental as well as physical capacities and this in turn was part of the still broader influence of psychology which was becoming evident in medical and educational circles in the early twentieth century. In scientific sources the growing interest in the child was clearly evident by 1908 and then a more general interest in ‘mental hygiene’ developed by the 1920s. As doctors as well as teachers and researchers developed

a special interest in the area, a modern consciousness emerged which stressed the significance of unconscious factors and the importance of

environment in the rearing of children. ©

By the 1920s and 1930s explicit theories of child development and parent education were being imported from America. These were first disseminated amongst professionals and then conveyed to the public through such avenues as demonstrations of IQ testing alongside the infant welfare and kindergarten displays on occasions such as Health Week. The growing interest in child development, which is evident from the developments described so far, reveals three major preoccupations: first with ordering and classifying types of children; second with the management of ‘problem’ children; and third, with the implications for the upbringing of ‘normal’ children. Although the latter was of the greatest significance, the wider developments provided the context in

which the new advice to parents was disseminated.

_ By the interwar period, the mental testing of children was producing interest in general personality types and patterns of ‘normal’ psychological development and a change in attitudes to children’s moral responsibility.

- Anita Muhl, a psychologist, explained in 1939 that different types of , children must be managed differently in order to avoid ‘mental disease’.*° The ‘types’ she discussed still verged on moral categories, the ‘shut-in’, ‘grouch’, ‘open’ and ‘spoiled’ child types, but there was now a psychol-

ogizing of aspects of childhood defined as problems only in terms of

overt behaviour by the previous generation: oe Some of the easily observed traits of (the shut-in type) are inefficient psychomotor activity, often called laziness ... too great willingness to withdraw into day-dreaming and phantasy; refusing to face reality by creating a more satisfying and pleasing artificial environment.

As suggested by the analysis of Lasch and Donzelot as well as by Australian evidence, the rise of notions of ‘delinquency’ reveals an enormous shift in conceptions of children’s responsibility. Late nine-

168 The disenchantment of the home | teenth-century attitudes towards the formation of character and the child . taking responsibility for whether its behaviour was or was not acceptable

contrasted with the views of the modern child guidance professionals of ©

a few decades later. In 1930 the officer in charge of the Victorian , _ Children’s Courts expressed very clearly the new official attitude towards

‘problem’ children: 7

many of them are to be regarded as patients needing skilful diagnosis and soulful remedies, rather than as little people who are wilfully vicious

oo and who are deserving of punishment. oe | Inherent weakness, degrading environment, retarded development, |

_ mental deficiency, physical disability, and other factors—such as unfit

parents—the absence of religious influence, and lack of moral training and sex instruction each play their parts in creating the problem.*! ~

The child as victim, as ‘patient’, thus replaced ideas of children as responsible moral agents and professionally run ‘child guidance’ clinics

were invoked as remedies. = |

It was in the implications of child psychology for the management of normal or average children, however, that the greatest significance of _ these developments lay. ‘Just as physical hygiene is for everybody, so too is mental hygiene for everybody. No matter how well adjusted and healthy one seems from the mental standpoint, there is always room for improvement’, concluded Anita Muhl.?? Medical officer Jane Greig went _ to pains to argue that the School Medical Service was not only interested

in ‘sick’ children, but demanded that they all be ‘well’ rather than just ‘not sick’.33 Although the complexities of child development were pri| marily discussed amongst the professionals, their ideas were also dissem-

| inated more widely. Not only did they simply inform the actual childrearing advice given out to parents in the 1920s and 1930s, but © child psychology was explicitly presented as a great new scientific break-

through. Public lectures were held and the professional leaders in the

| field spoke at women’s groups. In Victoria, the Council of Mental Hygiene, formed in 1930, included leading children’s doctors and educationists; one of its first tasks was to sponsor a series of public lectures on the subject of The young child>* The lectures were well reported in

| the press, and were regarded as a local introduction to the field of child a guidance. The details of these lectures provide clear evidence of the new

| - professional experts on children and their interests: , | “Why children are naughty’ by K.S. Cunningham, M.A., Dip.Ed., Ph.D. (director of ACER, eugenist, educational psychologist). _

The remaking of childhood 169 ‘The Mischief of Fear’, John Williams, MD, MRCP, DPM (psychol-

Ogist). ‘Should Children Obey’, May Gutteridge, B.Sc., NFU (principal of FKU’s Kindergarten Training College, recently returned from US).

‘The Child in a Temper’, Guy Springthorpe, M.B., MRCP, (medico son of Dr Springthorpe of infant welfare fame—now becoming interested in psychiatry). ‘The Growth of Personality’, Professor Alexander Gunn, M.A., B.Sc., Ph.D. (academic psychologist).

The recurrent theme of the lectures was parental responsibility for many of children’s problems, and the need to understand children’s normal development in order to manage them satisfactorily. In discussions amongst the experts themselves, and eventually even in dissemination of their ideas, the range of detailed instruction regarding

childrearing provides an extraordinary contrast to nineteenth century sources. Parents, especially mothers, were confronted by a burst of new knowledge with specific implications for childrearing practices. Each

child was to be seen as a distinct personality (albeit of a particular ‘type’) with a special pattern of development; the importance of play was stressed; and children’s sociability and social ‘adjustment’ was to be carefully fostered. Each of these in turn had implications for parenthood especially motherhood, making it a complex relationship, the particular

skills for which had to be achieved. In particular, they had to be ~ acquired from child guidance professionals. Good mothering, if we were

difficult task.

to take the professionals very seriously, was to be an extraordinarily The growing stress on the child’s individuality evident in the theories of pre-schooling and in the ‘new education’ movement spread to general

management advice. A pamphlet, for example, which set out to give parents the results of all the modern child guidance studies, claimed tht

‘there is no child ... who cannot be made happy and find a useful place, if only his own special needs are understood’.*? The following paragraph headings emphasized ‘every child is an individual’, ‘each child

has an individual environment’ and ‘each child of a family requires different treatment’. Several specific manifestations of this emphasis on

individual personality emerged, including the need to study the child in great detail, to provide special play opportunities and to encourage the use of the child’s own special equipment.

170 The disenchantment of the home It is in the notions of children’s play that we see several interesting,

and somewhat contradictory, forces at work. On the one hand, play was more definitely encouraged and freedom of expression through play

| expected. But on the other hand, it was now more clearly tied to a general scheme of expectations about child development and to encour-

| aging particular skills, including those necessary in the industrial and commercial workforce. Like kindergartens, the management of children’s

, play had some clear roots in the management and reform of workingClass children, especially the playgrounds movement, but then became broader in intent and impact.*° With strong links to town planning, the playgrounds movement, in Australia as in the US, aimed at providing

- supervised healthy play opportunities for children in inner industrial areas. Organized play was seen as one way to decrease juvenile delin| quency and to extend the reformative work of kindergartens and schools

| into leisure-time. oe | |

‘With regard to children generally, play was increasingly redefined as __ quite a serious business. Concern was being expressed that ‘children in busy cities’ no longer knew how to play with freedom and naturalness, _ but organized games were referred to as training for ‘the game of life’

, in which challenge and competition were seen as important. Parents as well as teachers were now to be particularly aware of the significance of stages of child development for play experience.*’ Play with others, and organized activities were to be based on suitable free play experience of

the younger child. Moreover, parents were now exhorted to provide the , right equipment, and toys took on a new significance in preparing the

child for later life. a , |

Whereas Miles Franklin could comment, regarding her childhood in an earlier period, “Toyshops are a phantasmagoria of artificiality, untidy _ and inflammable’*®, they were now to become the essential resource of

- the concerned modern parent. Nineteenth- and early twentieth-century _ children had to content themselves with fairly simple toys: dolls, whip-

ping tops, toy soldiers and the like. By the late 1920s and 1930s, despite the problems of the Depression, parents were expected by the

child development experts to pay attention to the utility of toys and of play. In some cases fairly difficult expectations were set forth: “The backyard should provide excursion and adventure, and contact with animals, plants and people... The child needs to find adventure in his | backyard’.*? The influence of child psychology’s promotion of toys and , the concept of creative play can be seen in some comments of Dr Vera

The remaking of childhood 171 Scantlebury Brown. She reported that May Gutteridge, the leading | kindergartener, had recommended that her young son was ready for quite big bricks and cubes—the latter nine inches square and the bricks

14 in. by 4% by 9—or thereabouts. We must get them soon— We went over this morning and saw the toy samples she had brought back from her travels. They are all of an educative nature and hygienic and so on and some are most cleverly and simply made.”

Special children’s equipment was also recommended; May Gutteridge told an Anglican Mother’s Group that young children had to learn to

do things for themselves: ‘For instance, abandon the high chair and | substitute light little kindergarten furniture with which the child feels at home, and which it can move for itself’.4' A room of the child’s own and a special play area were also promoted as desirable for the child’s development.

The extent to which this emphasis on ‘the business of play’ was listened to, let alone heeded by parents, is not of course accessible from the prescriptive literature. For many families the material resources of an ‘adventurous’ backyard and special toys and equipment were totally

out of reach. Examination of some department store catalogues does’ suggest that more children’s equipment was becoming available and therefore, at least potentially, bought. Christmas catalogues from the pre-War period showed teasets and dolls, guns and musical equipment; listing also rubber balls, skipping-ropes, wooden engines, boats and whips. By 1910-13 some mechanical toys were mentioned, but by the

1930s not only was a greater variety of toys on the market, but advertising was more detailed and explicit. In particular, the 1930s catalogues clearly reflected changes in the economic sphere, toy motorcars,

aeroplanes and mecchano sets were promoted and the development of synthetic materials such as celluloid increased the range of ‘gimmicky’ toys. Furthermore, the 1935 Foy’s Christmas catalogue showed more ‘housewifery’ toys for girls than even in the 1920s. Not only were teasets and brooms suggested as suitable toys for little girls, but small stoves, dressers, baking-sets, carpet-sweepers, brooms and mops were suggested as appropriate equipment for ‘busy little housewives’! Such propaganda suggests the influence of the increased emphasis on housework that was central to the domestic science movement, and that broader developments filtered through to the socialization of children.

The final theme in the changed childrearing advice concerned chil-

, 172 , The disenchantment of the home dren’s sociability. A major thrust of the kindergarten movement was to

develop the social skills of the child, but other sources too showed an emphasis on the peer group and sociability as essential training for ‘getting on with others’ in urban industrial life. In contrast with Deakin’s wish for his daughters to remain independent of others’ opinions, the

| advice to parents now was that they should encourage children in ‘habits

that help the child to understand, digest and adjust himself where necessary to his society’.** The theme of social development was the other side of the coin to that of individual development, the child was

, to develop as an individual in ‘happy social adjustment’ with others. This emphasis on developing social skills had several implications for parents as well as children. Parents, but most likely mothers, were to

be supervising the child closely in order to ascertain that appropriate social interaction was occurring, ready to intervene should tiredness or stress make it desirable to send a child’s companions home: one expert advised, ‘If he plays with children in his own garden, the mother can keep a wise, unobtrusive, kindly supervision and see that difficulties do

not arise’.*? Oo |

| In many other ways, too, mother was to supervise all aspects of the _ _ child’s existence—his/her physical, moral and social and intellectual development—continually watching for any ‘adjustments’ that might need to be made to the environment. The home itself was to be the well-adjusted setting and the parents’ marital relationship and the par-

oo ent—child relationship were now under particular scrutiny. New notions

of parental responsibility were put forward: , oo

No child is wilfully troublesome; it is his reaction to some strain, some -- wrong adjustment in his environment. Difficulties can be avoided if parents will realize that an understanding of their child makes demands not only ©

character.** , , , |

| upon their love but upon their intelligence, their whole personality and Any tension in home life was therefore of great, possibly tragic, importance as ‘wrong adjustments’ could produce problems of ‘mental hygiene’. In the interests of social development, therefore, the mother was also to become more of a comrade and playmate to the child, although exercising parental surveillance. An English writer, Mrs Chesser, expressed it most — clearly, saying that mother was to be a ‘chum’*’, but the Everylady’s

Journal also popularized this redefinition of the mothering role. In the early 1920s, articles advised women not to let themselves become dull

7 or untidy after marriage; they must be young to keep up with children.

The remaking of childhood 173 | Mothers of previous generations of course had more children and still more domestic toil, but now the ideal of mother as guide also included participation in and supervision of play activities.

To what extent was this advice taken seriously? The oral history interviews and literary sources suggest that some changes in actual parental behaviour were taking place. Some interviewees with children,

for example, did think that they had probably spent more time with and given more attention to their children than had been given to them, or they implied as much by their descriptions. This was most clearly expressed, along with a nice example of expectations regarding toys, by

the interview with the Troedels. Mr Troedel said that he had gone around with his son to sporting events much more than his father had with him, and Mrs Troedel said: Well, we were all interested in them [their children}, reading their stories, and you know, bedtime stories and trying to help with their puzzles and

things they were trying to do and all that kind of thing.

Int.: Did that happen to you? Mrs T.: No, no... it was a different life when we were younger. We

, didn’t even have the things to play with that they had. You see, I think my parents had a pretty hard struggle, I don’t think they had much in my younger days to come and go on. You see one Christmas I asked for a doll’s pram having seen — those cane doll’s prams, they weren’t very dear in those days. I got just a little thing, a little toy one, with a note to say, ‘no prams this year, perhaps one next year’. Well, you see, they didn’t have any money, even to buy a doll’s pram.

| Well, we were never that, we never bought anything on time payment in our lives, but, eh, we weren’t that flash with cash, but we did manage to get them pretty well what they wanted didn’t we?

For many families however the necessary material resources of special toys and equipment, let alone an ‘adventurous backyard’, were simply not available.

Furthermore, not all parents were equally exposed to the new childrearing ideas; those who did not read advice literature or have much interest in intellectual discussions of psychology could avoid it to some

extent. Even the women’s magazines varied in the amount of new homemaking and childrearing ideas they conveyed. Although not all

174 , | , The disenchantment of the home , carried the message of modernity as clearly as the Everylady’s Journal — with its 1930s series of articles by a psychologist, by then it certainly infiltrated most discussions of children and family in daily newspapers and elsewhere. Advertisements also began to play on parental anxieties, |

on the theme of the health and nutrition of children, on maternal responsibility and on the increasing stress of family relationships. For example, many advertisements for tonics and laxatives suggested that , they were exactly what was needed to make a listless or feverish child

, ‘a well, playful child again’. One for Ovaltine showed a picture of a rural scene with people in old-style clothes: ‘In the good old days when

life was simpler there was none of the strain and stress of modern business life’; and Clements tonic was also recommended to remedy the family depression and stress which were the result of industrial life.“

Once again, it is not possible to estimate the overall effect of these or of the other messages being conveyed to parents. What can be claimed with some confidence, however, is that a massive transformation related __

| to childhood occurred in the media, one which had a strong basis in institutional developments. Economic considerations of national and

, industrial development underpinned the discourse on the importance of children. The emerging professionals not only in infant welfare, but kindergartens, education and psychological guidance were becoming _ established as ‘experts’ on childrearing; and it was to children in general,

not only ‘problem’ children, that much of their message was directed. The implications were significant not only for children, of course, but for parents too, particularly mothers, at whom much of the advice on _ childrearing was directed. It is quite clear that these reforming strategies were not only directed at working-class families. Although some began _ that way in the hands of philanthropists, once they were in the hands

of the professional experts, they became part of a broader series of interconnected programmes aimed at family life in general. The interweaving of traditional charitable endeavours with the newer ‘modernizing’ strategies can be seen clearly in the attempts to change patterns of childrearing, especially in the activities of the kindergarteners and playgrounds advocates. In the growing dominance of the trained professionals, __

| especially the child psychologists, we can see a development akin to | _ domestic science: that women’s traditional tasks were exalted as of new importance, yet increasingly to be carried out according to the ‘rational and scientific’ prescriptions of experts. Parenting, and especially moth-

ss efing, was subjected to new pressures which implicitly made it a more | , difficult, anxiety-prone and psychologically oriented enterprise than in

The remaking of childhood 175 the late nineteenth century. In spite of the general goal shared by the earlier philanthropists and new professionals alike—that of a well-ordered

secure domestic haven—their efforts had the ironic unanticipated consequence of making it a good deal more vulnerable.

Part IV Sexuality

The sexual enlightenment of the young

One of the most marked transformations of personal and family life

taking place in Western societies by the early twentieth century related to sexual matters. Increasing freedom to talk about sex has been noted,

and interpreted both by contemporaries and more recently as a positive |

| movement away from Victorian prudery. It was claimed by sexual | reformers that a new age of enlightenment was dawning, in which sexual | ) matters would be considered rationally and sexual activity brought under | ‘rational control. In Australia the growing discourse on sex and the tentative introduction of sex education were influenced by particular factors. The concern with racial types and the need to control the | population through rational means, for example, was greatly stimulated by the consciousness of Australia as a white outpost on the edge of Asia. - Around the time of Federation in 1901 fears about the future of the , white race in the tropics were accompanied by considerations of national consciousness. This was further heightened by the First World War, when the conviction that populating Australia in the most desirable— | that is white, preferably Anglo-Saxon—way had became a key element _

| of national policy. While the developments to be described in this section reveal some peculiarly Australian concerns, similar ones were

taking place in the United States and in Western Europe. The local , reformers of sexual attitudes, morals and behaviour were acutely conscious of these overseas developments. They regularly referred to movements

elsewhere and communicated with like-minded reformers.

| In the period from the 1880s to the 1930s, discussion of sexual matters certainly became more overt, although we have little evidence available regarding actual sexual activity. Advice about sex, although

178 |

remaining strongly moralistic, also became more explicit, more technical

The sexual enlightenment of the young 179 in its detail and eventually more ‘scientific’. As in the general childrearing advice literature, the impact of psychology became evident by the 1920s

and 1930s, fuelling a greater attention to, and concern with, individual development and personal relationships, including sexual. During the period, the controversies about the provision and nature of sex education

need to be seen in the context of several other concerns: those with health generally, with regulating the production of the future population and of campaigns against VD and prostitution. In the late nineteenth century two related yet distinct campaigns were developing, both stimulated by comparable movements overseas. On the one hand, health reformers produced books and pamphlets giving rem-

edies of one sort or another for a variety of ailments, including those thought to have sexual origins. They were also deliberately providing increased sexual information, including that on birth control, as part of their general commitment to enlightenment through scientific knowledge. On the other hand, stemming from more conservative religious groups, was a ‘social purity’ campaign to reform public and private morals. The

latter movement had many links with the temperance campaign but concentrated on inveighing against the deteriorating state of the country’s morals, particularly those of its youth, and of the working class generally.

These two campaigns both tended to increase the discussion of sexual matters, to inveigh against an earlier silence. The tension between their

motivation was not always very obvious; in fact people with quite different long-term goals often co-operated, seeking sex education in schools, VD clinics and the dissemination and application of the principles of eugenics. However, the fundamental contradiction between them was never actually resolved and the tension continues to underlie present-

day sex education controversies. | |

Late nineteenth century childrearing advice literature rarely mentioned sexuality at all. Any occasional references tended to be oblique, such as making the child’s clothing loose to avoid ‘irritations’, or references to

- the dangers of ‘bad habits in later life’. The general health education literature was much more likely to refer to personal hygiene, and hence to sexual matters. Even in this genre, sometimes the silence was conspicuous. One of the few attempts to provide children with physiological information described the body in considerable detail but stopped short of mentioning the internal reproductive organs and genitals.’ One of the most notable exceptions was Dr James Beaney’s The generative system’,

reprinted twice during the 1880s. This was clearly a new departure, marking the transition to a more modern, secular and increasingly

180 The disenchantment of the home — scientific approach. It was popular and widely read, but also denounced as pornography.’ Its significance in. pointing to future developments, as well as what it reveals of contemporary concerns, makes it worthy of

attention. Fe , re ne

| - Dr Beaney was something of a local notoriety who was involved ina court case in 1880 with his publisher.* His standing in the medical

profession. was apparently not very high but he published a series of i popular treatises on sexual matters. The ‘introduction’ to The generative ___ system revealed a theme which became a recurrent one in sexual reform literature. Beaney, like other sexual reformers, claimed that ‘false mod- |

a esty’ had prevented. doctors from writing on this subject in the past, but that now people ‘are becoming aware of the physiological influences.on the generative functions, and of the necessity for their intelligent control’, __- Beaney’s discussion of children’s sexuality is of particular interest. It was -—._- pre-Freudian in its insistence on-children’s absence of spontaneous sexual _

feeling, and -yet revealed considerable concern with their possible corruption. by either ‘vicious servants’ or ‘depraved’ schoolfellows. He | - discussed the ‘unfortunate precocity’ of some children, in. whom irritations or hereditary predisposition produce ‘unchildlike and unseemly

habits’, arguing that parents must be alert for signs of genital irritation = and take care to keep the genitals clean. Beaney then went on to accuse colonial servants and schools of lowering moral standards: ‘a few. viciously

_ trained children, who-have learned their first depraved lessons from the

herd of immoral servants who infest the houses of the colonists—will _ contaminate the children of a whole neighbourhood’.> The major focus __. of the discussion of children’s sexual. behaviour was, of course, mastur-

bation. Beaney was considerably ahead of his time in his use of the term, referred to by everybody else, even in medical discussions, as ‘the ,

| secret vice’, ‘self-abuse’ or ‘self-pollution’. Beaney, too, was ahead of others in that the nature of his. discussion was quite secular. Although __ | a concern with morals was assumed, most of his diatribe against mas-. -——- turbation was directed at its injurious effects on health and vitality; like | American and English writers he stressed the importance for the whole __

body of ‘the vital seed. = | ‘Whereas Beaney represented the health and science orientation to

sexual matters which was -later to spread in conjunction with other a hygienic reforms, other writers denounced masturbation from a more intensely. religious and moral ‘point of view. A minister, Henry Varley, _ - for example, produced ‘an Australian version of leaflets directed at boys, |

The sexual enlightenment of the young 181 youths and men. These were far more vehement than anything Beaney

had written. Varley implored young men to realize: |

| You may sin away the freshness and bloom of boyhood, and gradually sink into the effeminacy of an unclear and licentious wreck; you may degrade yourself by this sin until memory, moral force and manhood are

spent, and the human body, ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’ as it is, becomes a diseased and broken ruin.°

Varley went on to warn of what this diseased body could look like. Australian doctors in the nineteenth century also seem to have judged patients rather harshly in this respect, the pallor of skin and so on, being deemed incontrovertible evidence of secret vice. Varley and similar writers

stressed that ‘self-pollution and its kindred wickednesses are moral and physical evils of a fearful character. .. They are a crime against manhood, and a terrible sin against God’.’ It was because of a concern with all forms of ‘sexual evil’ that ‘social purity’ campaigns were mounted. In England the campaign against the Contagious Diseases Act had led to the formation of several organizations to fight prostitution and VD.° It was largely as a reaction to the English furore over the ‘white slave trade’ that a variety of organizations were

also started in Australia in the 1880s to fight the onslaught of ‘the fleshly school’. In a major address to the Victorian Church of England

assembly in October 1884, Bishop Moorhouse told his enthusiastic listeners that “The world is full of signs that the struggle for purity is to be the great struggle of our age’. A White Cross Union had therefore been formed to work along similar lines as the English body, encouraging

every young man to ‘treat all women with respect, ... frown down all | obscene conversation, ... never defile his eyes with foul pictures or literature ... and defend the weak and ignorant’.? Other organizations which sprang up from church sources included the Social Purity Society, and they were supported by several women’s organizations, especially

the wcTU and Church of England Mothers’ Union. From the 1880s through the 1900s such groups worked together to promote legislation for the ‘protection of girls and women’. They fought any attempts to introduce recognition of prostitution through Contagious Diseases legislation with its implied double standards of morality. They also achieved the raising of the age of consent for girls from 12 to 16, and campaigned until 1915 to achieve women police, ‘police matrons’. It was within this context, then, that a debate was growing within

182 - SO The disenchantment of the home the churches,..as well as in secular: society, about the propriety of _ discussing what had been’a taboo subject. The White Cross Union, for | example, was said to have been opposed by some clergy who ‘have held

back in this work, chiefly, it would seem, because of its delicacy and , ___ difficulty’.!° Even those dedicated to speaking out only did so because of their sense of grave moral danger to the nation. It was also the particularly susceptible nature of colonial society, the freedom from -__- restraints of propriety, that spurred the religiously motivated to'discussion __

om: sexual issues. The fears for the preservation of the race-and the _ emphasis on the role of human reason and will were concerns that were _ shared by secular reformers -as well as the church-based: social purity , campaigners. Both Dr James Beaney and Bishop: Moorhouse alike decried

_- the danger and threat to society of sexual vice. Only in later years was - it to become apparent that. the sexual reform school, secular and mod-ernizing, was quite antithetical to the moralists’ emphasis-on sexual

, - control and personal guilt. © | ee

“Between the 1880s and 1930s, however, they jointly fostered greater a public discussion of sex. They co-operated in a variety of ventures, including moves towards provision of sex education for the young. | ~ Controversy on the role of the State with regard to education-soon _ became lively and has not yet concluded: The arguments of -the early -_-years are clearly revealed in a series of correspondence held by the — | Victorian Education Department. The Rev. William-Bligh, of the White

Cross League, had started giving short talks to schoolchildren on the necessity of sexual purity. A parent, however, objected to his son having

been addressed in this fashion and having brought home a pamphlet of which he severely disapproved. This father expressed in 1903 the parental

objection that has dogged the efforts- of sexual reformers, especially

secular ones, ever since: that of interference ‘with the duty of parents.in — --.- gegard to their children’.'' Although: his- particular cause for -complaint was also the fact that Bligh was.an outsider and not even a teacher, sex .

— education has continued to-be an area in which some parents: have resisted experts replacing them, claiming a special right to control

knowledge in such personal matters. sissies

- The -conflict between the Rev. William Bligh and the: Education. _ Department over the advisability of warning children ofthe dangers of __ sex continued for several years. The Department issued directives forbidding him entry to schools, against which he continued to fight. The _ prime motivation of religious groups like the White Cross League was — to provide children with information about physiology and the processes

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The rational management of sex 207 summer’s tan fast disappearing... You will never look as Rochelle Hudson looks in her swimsuit if you are all hunched up, so start right

away to get into trim for summer.” Oo A tone of scornful disapproval of the body that would not reach the approved standards became evident. The tone and language of articles altered and advertisements for beauty care products increased. Women were now addressed—hailed as subjects—in a derogatory tone, in words and sentences that lacked the richness, complexity and gentle irony of advice before the First World War. This was particularly noticeable in comments on ageing. By 1927 articles such as that entitled “New faces

for old’, on surgical ‘uplifts’, appeared, informing women that they should no longer tolerate ageing with equanimity. A 1937 article went so far as to suggest aids such as make-up to delay and then camouflage growing old. ‘Growing old gracefully means growing old disgracefully’®,

readers were told in a new tone of disgust. Beauty was becoming a moral obligation in itself, and furthermore a ‘science’ of beauty was emerging. In the Argus a series of articles in 1933 included “The structure of the skin’ and discussion of the harsh effects of the Australian climate.?'

In the 1930s the first mention of dieting for beauty appeared, although

| the emphasis was primarily on health: after the Second World War, however, diets and reliance on ‘foundation garments’ were to be essential for the modern woman to achieve an acceptably youthful figure. The considerable cultural changes evident in sources in the late 1920s

and 1930s requires further detailed study. But the effects of increased anxiety about the body are hinted at by a revealing letter found in the Wallace clinical material. A woman doctor referred on to Wallace a letter she had received from a girl who was worried about being flat-

chested: | | |

It would not have occurred to me to consult anyone about this bur I

_ read an article in the magazine Woman by Dr Wykeham Terris on this. , He said it was due to a hormone deficiency, and mentioned injections. If you could do anything for me or give me any advice, could I come __ - and see you in my lunch hour one day?”

‘Wykeham Terris’ was the pseudonym for a leading sexual reformer, Norman Haire, who like some other doctors was by then providing regular counselling, both personal and generalized, through the women’s magazines. An increasing professionalization of health and beauty care advice was apparent in the Everylady’s Journal, both in the area of child-

, 208 , The disenchantment of the home -- ¢are advice and other aspects of health. Through these columns and

through the portrayal of body imagery, the ‘modern’ approach to sexuality began to be conveyed. Certainly it was not without resistance; _ both religious groups and racial hygienists loudly decried the introduction - of false sentimentality in the portrayal of marriage and sexual relationships, and the ‘immodesty’ of dress which was becoming fashionable. _ ‘Women’s organizations and the churches pressed for film censorship, — _and the eugenists for ‘racial responsibility’. The forces of cultural change, _

however, were greater than even they realized. 2s” oe In concluding this analysis, therefore, we can see that a complex series

of developments interlocked at some points and cut across each other at others. On the one hand, groups with radically different aims and premises co-operated in the field of sex education: the onslaught on | | what was seen as traditional prudery was the common goal which drew | together secular reformers of ‘sexual hygiene’ and profoundly conservative

_.. Christian evangelists. On the other hand, some more liberal church , people were supporting the extension of a model of rationally controlled __ sexual activity in marriage, even beginning to accept contraception as — the logical culmination of human evolution, mind and will triumphing — | over ‘animalism’. The particular groups of middle-class professionals who espoused,-and promoted, eugenic principles saw themselves as — ushering in a new enlightened era. Much to their dismay, of course, other developments were undermining their ideals. In the media, for — example, models of sexual relationships and activities were presented _ __ which were far more explicit in portrayal of sexual pleasure than anything _

they thought appropriate, granted their emphasis on sexual restraint. Furthermore, their own activities contributed to a redefinition of sex as oo not only a matter of social activity but a sphere of personal, psychological —

} fulfillment. There were significant contradictions not only between the _ , _ mystical /spiritual and psychological /pleasurable emphases, but between

both these interpretations of the meaning of sex and the rational, ss $cientizing, calculative mode of the eugenists with their ‘marriage cer-

tificates’ and the like. oe OO

What these contradictory developments actually meant for people at -—— Jarge it is still difficult to say. Oral and clinical evidence tends to suggest _

, relief at the breakdown of nineteenth-century sexual taboos, and a readiness to turn to contraception, but the social process of constructing male and female sexuality in the interwar period and the 1940s certainly , requires further study. What is clear is that considerable changes were , taking place in this period which were the culmination of those set in |

The rational management of sex 209 motion in the late nineteenth century. The national and racial concerns

of the eugenists, while they dominated ideological discourse on sex amongst the professionals, were undermined both by a psychologizing

tendency and by cultural changes rooted in the sphere of capitalist production. It is likely that the responses to such developments were class specific, but as yet we do not know in what ways. Moreover, despite

their interest in working-class breeding patterns, even the eugenists in Australia were aiming at a broad transformation of attitudes to sex and reproduction, and the growing openness about sexual pleasure characterized both popular media and professional sources. In this aspect of their re-forming strategies, the experts spearheaded, but could not control, an invasion of familial relationships of far-reaching significance.

10 OS -

The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment —

--—— The series of strategies directed at the home which I have discussed in

this book were sometimes subtle and always complex. Although Aus- _ tralian attempts to reform domestic life reflected similar movements in North America, Northern Europe and Britain, there were differences of —

} audience, timing and direction. I have argued that a coherent thread runs through the several, seemingly disparate efforts to make the household more efficient and scientific and family life itself more ‘rationally’ -- ordered. This thread I have analysed as an ideology of technical ration-

ality, the attempt to represent the family as governed by the same principles of means-end relationship, calculation and rational control a which are essential features of commercial and industrial activity. The --_-technocratic consciousness, as Habermas terms it, was particularly char, acteristic of an increasingly significant section of the middle class, those _ - with professional or technical training. These ‘experts’ worked closely

with bourgeois reformers, but their interests were not identical. I do not | _ claim that the differences between them were always readily apparent or

that a fundamental clash of class interests existed in their co-operative |

| efforts to transform the family and the household. By looking carefully at their respective goals and. strategies, however, I have pointed to an

underlying contradiction between the experts’ model of an organized, - hygienic home, and psychologized, rationally managed family, and the form of domestic life adopted and promoted by the bourgeoisie. My analysis of Australian developments contributes to our understanding of

210 | a | |

, the role of the professionals, or intellectuals as they are also referred to, _ __ with regard to the social structuring of the family. Interpretative accounts

and theory in this area frequently suffer from failure to explore tensions _

The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 211 and ambivalences, and hence too great a readiness to accept the effectiveness of domination along class and gender lines. As I noted earlier, theoretical interest in the role of the professional middle class has come from non-Marxist sociologists as well as Marxists. In spite of the differences in their critiques, Lasch, Donzelot and Ehren-

reich have also pointed to the impact of the experts upon the family.!

Whereas many other writers make at least passing reference to the imposition of ‘middle-class’ patterns of domestic life upon the working

class in the early years of the twentieth century, the argument of this work, as that of Lasch, Donzelot and Ehrenreich, is somewhat different. We all argue that the professionals were emerging as a social force in their own right in this period, and that the efforts to remake workingclass domestic life were part of a broader effort to reshape the culture of industrial capitalist societies. Where our analyses differ, however, is in interpretation and explanation of this development. Donzelot seems to me to provide no coherent let alone convincing explanation, and that

of Lasch, while his discussion is provocative, is only implicit in his argument that the shift to corporate capitalism has required a new form of personality, the family’s production of which has been supervised by the experts. Ehrenreich has also argued that the experts’ project has to be understood in terms of the changing nature of capitalist society, but that the goal of the new strata of professionals was to instil the work _ habits necessary to industrial capitalism. The difference in interpretation

here no doubt reflects Ehrenreich’s emphasis on the early twentieth | century, Lasch’s on developments coming to fruition in later decades. Ehrenreich at least includes an emphasis on the dynamic role of the experts, their emergence in the class structure and conscious attempt to carve out a niche for themselves. The limitations of these interpretations were discussed in Chapter 2 and I shall only briefly recapitalute here. Lasch and Donzelot’s antifeminism is not shared by Ehrenreich but in none of their accounts do women play an active role. Rather the professionals impose the new

notions of domestic life largely on behalf of the ruling class, or in Donzelot’s view, in the interest of general social administration.

Moving now from these broader interpretations to the Australian context, there have been few comparable discussions of the role of the professional middle class. While debates have been lively over the role of women and the family in Australian history, even writers most critical of the class and gender arrangements evident in the developing Australian society have stressed the dominance of ruling-class men in laying down

— -212- i ee The disenchantment of the home _ the established patterns of domestic life. Summers, for example, strongly _ - emphasizes the extension of a bourgeois model of the family in the late / nineteenth century, and Game and Pringle see the post-Second World _. War period in terms of the largely successful incorporation of working- _ class families into the bourgeois cultural hegemony.” There is much that

| is accurate and insightful in their interpretations, but my own work _ produces a different emphasis. By stressing the complexity, yet coherence, _ of the attempts to reform the family, I have argued that the professionals’

| strategies and goals were not always at one with those of bourgeois | reformers. Furthermore, women were not just passive victims but participated in a variety of ways in the remaking of home and family. _ _- The analysis of domestic science, the medicalization of reproduction __

and the changes in childrearing and sexuality, reveal the interlocking efforts of a network of professional and technical experts. Although _ further research would uncover more of the links between members of

| _ this network, and clarify further the nature of their interaction, it is _ already clear that by the early decades of the twentieth century the - Australian States each had a core of ‘experts’. They corresponded and met with each other, both professionally and socially, and despite factions | and disputes, frequently supported each others’ endeavours. The same , people regularly appeared on committees and in government inquiries

| and the overlap of concerns was evident in many contexts. Housing reform for example included notions of an appropriate sexual division oe of labour, women’s role being to provide the clean, well-managed, | _ ‘domestic scientized’ home for her husband returning from the industrial workforce. It also included an emphasis on orderly sexual relationships __

in the family: mother and father should share the double bedroom; , children should be in separate rooms, boys in one, girls in another. The _ reformers shared many of their basic assumptions whether they were __

doctors, teachers, psychologists or childcare specialists. = , There are some indications that they also shared a similar social _ background. Frequently of Nonconformist, but increasingly secular, back-

ground, they came from families of the colonial urban middle class in which values of sobriety and diligence were accompanied by aspirations

for worldly advancement. They were then an emerging social group for | _ which formal education and particular skills promised greater prestige and power than held by their professional or petit-bourgeois parents. _ | The growth of State institutions provided the opportunity; not only the - general expansion of the public service but particular developments such as the emergence of the bureaucracy of health and education departments

The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 213 provided a new range of positions. The school medical and infant welfare - services were significant institutional bases for the experts’ intervention

in the family. — oe

In Australia, in spite of many strategies explicitly directed at working-

class domestic life, the broad thrust of the reform programme was towards all social strata. This was reflected in, and made possible by, the provision of universal services by the State. Although the geographical

reach of these services varied in different States, in the metropolitan areas the infant welfare clinics for example provided centres of reform action, their influence spread wider by deliberate propaganda and the diffusion of the modern principles of infant care through newspapers and magazines. These clinics, but also domestic science teaching, school

medical services, kindergartens and child guidance services, did not remain confined to industrial working-class areas. Indeed, I have argued that middle-class families adopted their message with the greatest zeal. The evidence suggests therefore that any interpretation which concentrates exclusively on the reformers’ efforts, undoubtedly strong though they were, to incorporate working-class families into another set of cultural

values and practices, at least partly misses the point. The home management and childcare experts, along with reformers of sexual and reproductive practices, were engaged in a broader missionary endeavour.

_ The experts shared not only a generally similar social background,

but a pattern of formal training and work experience, frequently in Britain and the US, which led them to emphasize the value of efficient management. Not only was this the motif of the emerging industrial order as exemplified by Taylorism, but it was seen as the golden rule of all social life. The experts’ stress on technical efficiency, on the application of scientific knowledge to practical problems, reflected their own material

interests and became their general pattern of consciousness. It took form in a variety of ways, such as style of language: the precision of termi- _ nology and orderly arrangement characteristic of the later childrearing literature for example. The emphasis on measurement and regular rou-

tine, so typical of the infant welfare movement, provided organizing principles for the rituals of everyday life. Enthusiasm for the new, the modern, the technical, indeed for gadgetry of all sorts, frequently accompanied other aspects of the technocratic consciousness. Dr Vera Scantle-

bury and her husband Professor Edward Brown, an engineer, were for instance extremely excited by their new washing-machine; were interested

in radio; and embraced other accoutrements of modern society, such as motor cars, with considerable delight. Like their colleagues, they shared

214 | a The disenchantment of the home | some apprehensions about the stresses of modern life, but were generally _ confident that social relationships too were amenable to rational control,

that problems of mental ‘hygiene’ were those of adjustment to the new ways of living made necessary by industrial society. So the technocratic

«Consciousness was not confined to the public sphere, the professional , middle class aspired to extend it throughout society, through all social classes and all aspects of life. Management therefore became a favourite — — term not only in industry and commerce but in discussion of housework, _ _-—--- childrearing and sexuality. The kitchen was.to be a laboratory, children’s

a play a training ground for business, and the marital bedroom the site

of family planning, = So a

_ The various aspects of this preoccupation with efficient management

came _together in the professionals’ emphasis on national and social efficiency as the unifying goal of all classes. As Rowse has also argued in. discussing the intellectuals’ ‘liberalism’, they saw their role as ushering _ , in, and then also directing, a new harmonious social order freed from | outdated class ‘antagonisms’.*? In this respect the experts were clearly

providing ideological leadership in the interest of the status quo of bourgeois dominance. In a period in which the working class was becoming more organized through unions and the political labour movement, the professional middle class proclaimed the necessity of consensus.

Not only during the First World War, but at many other points they

played on the theme of national: survival, meaning of course white | _ Anglo-Saxon dominance. Concern with Australia’s birth rate, with the

. _ behaviour of children and with adults’ work and leisure habits, all , reflected this theme and were common to bourgeois philanthropists and

ss professional reformers alike.- Oe CO

However, I have argued that the experts had a particular message of _ their own: a representation of reality which meshed with their own | experience of the world especially their position in the labour market

— . . and the skills related to it. In advocating the rational management of --. the home, they did not just want to make working-class families cleaner | - and better behaved, although they wanted that too. They were striving _

for the reordering of even bourgeois homes. The Truby King infant __ welfare faction argued explicitly that ‘mismanaged’ homes were not the

province of the working class, and a// mothers required education in the scientific principles of baby care. The widening of the ambit of reform

strategies, I believe, is of some significance. © Fe

| _ . At several points in the preceding chapters I contrasted this broader goal of the professionals with the narrower focus on the working class

The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 215 which characterized bourgeois reformers. This analysis raises the question of the relationship between these groups. It is one which Ehrenreich, for

example, on the American evidence, answers by suggesting that the professionals constituted a new ‘class’ threatening the established bourgeois dominance. The argument that the professionals have been ‘stooges’ of the ruling class has however been more common; but neither interpretation fits my reading of the Australian evidence. Connell and Irving’s

brief discussion of the ‘reorganization of the ruling class’ in the early decades of the twentieth century more closely accords with the interpretation I have provided.* The growing dominance of industrial capitalists and the technocrats of both business and the emerging State bureaucracy

provided the impetus in the economic and political sphere for the ideology of technical rationality. Moreover, labour representatives came to share the technocratic consciousness as part of their accommodation tO, Of incorporation into, the structural arrangements of Australian urban

industrial capitalism. On the one hand, we can interpret the developments I have outlined in terms of a remaking of the bourgeoisie, a realigning of fractions within the ruling class; and on the other, as part of a process of enmeshing the working class in the culture of twentiethcentury capitalism. | ,

I have argued, however, that we can trace an even more complex

picture. First, it is one in which women were playing significant roles; and second, I believe that it was around the experts’ ideological construction of womanhood that the underlying contradiction of ‘disen-

, chanting’ the home emerged. A major thrust of my argument has been

the extent to which it was women who were bombarded with the

ideology of the rational home and family. I have not only been interested _ in describing the changing pressures on women however; the strategies to reform domestic life impinged directly on children too, and on men >

as well, especially in the discourse on the ‘management’ of sexuality. But it was upon women’s shoulders in particular that the mantle fell; it was women who were responsible for producing healthy children in a

| hygienic home on behalf of the white race in Asia, the British Empire

and the glorious Australian Commonwealth. | There are several ways in which I have emphasized that Australian women were not just the unwitting dupes of a male ruling-class programme. In many of the developments with which I have been concerned, groups of women actually took much of the initiative. On some occasions, such as the establishment of the earliest kindergartens, creches and infant

welfare centres, it was primarily bourgeois women who led the way.

216 ee The disenchantment of the home oo _ Even then, though, they acted from a variety of motives. Certainly there

were strong emphases on reforming what they saw as bad manners, ‘uncleanly’ domestic habits and unsuitable childrearing practices. Insome instances though they were also motivated by concern for their fellow —

women, for the practical difficulties which arose out of their economic - situation. Until professional ‘helpers’ replaced bourgeois women’s char- | --—- jtable visiting, the ‘lady bountifuls’ were at least exposed to the actual __ | conditions of working-class family life and met the women and children

| _ face-to-face. While they nonetheless wanted to keep the social order’ intact, they wished to ameliorate its worst results, acknowledging quite

rightly that many of them hit their working-class sisters hardest. So despite wanting domestic science training to improve their ‘servant , - problem’, they also supported public health reforms. Along with using - kindergartens to instil obedience and cleanliness in working-class chil- _ dren, they frequently recognized that their mothers needed a break. The game mixture of motives occurred in infant welfare and in the extension —

of antenatal and birth control services. - OO , These women of what I have called the ‘charity network’ were joined, _

especially by the interwar years, by another group of women whose role | was also significant. As the reform strategies became institutionalized,

they produced new career opportunities many of which were suited to, a and seized by, women. The women medical graduates of the first decades

of the twentieth century are the most outstanding examples, but women © - teachers and nurses, particularly the infant welfare specialists, found economic reward and personal satisfaction in this sector of the workforce. — They accepted that the sexual division of labour should carry through

a into the public sphere from the home, seeing the welfare of women and _ children as their ‘natural’ calling. Ironically enough, of course, they also — had to learn skills and undertake tasks considered unwomanly, putting

a a cloak of cool professional distance over their supposed emotionality. _ The personal accounts of these early professional women reveal their __ , _ ingenuity, dynamism and often lively sense of humour. They drove | motor cars and fixed them en. route, went out on night calls or into — remote country areas, and the nurses in particular even went to war. It

_ was all in the course of what they saw as their duty, but, as the diaries | of Vera Scantlebury Brown indicate, they also suffered the strain of juggling personal lives and professional commitments. In many aspects

; of daily life they experienced at first hand the contradiction between being ‘natural’ women, domestic and maternal, and being modern, —

- organized and efficient managers. — | |

_ The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 217 | ‘Women’s role in reforming domestic life was not confined however to those who played a public part. Although historical research cannot readily make out the full picture of how ordinary women participated in the movements I have described, there is considerable evidence that they were active participants, either accepting, rejecting or modifying the experts’ decrees. Many continued to use dummies and rock and cuddle

babies to sleep, and brought up their children more or less as their mothers did them, thumbing the nose at too much modern nonsense out of books. They cooked and sewed as their mothers had too, rejecting experts’ definitions of economy and nutrition for what they knew suited the tastes and resources of their own families. Mrs Jennie Jobson’s lively

resistance is permanently recorded in the 1920 Basic Wage Enquiry evidence; responding to the implication that she was unnecessarily extravagant she retorted ‘I do not think there is anything extravagant unless it is the price of eggs, but ... I am not going to eat egg powder

as long as fowls will lay eggs!” a a

When women did go along with the experts’ advice, it was for a

variety of reasons. In some respects the aura of professional knowledge did overwhelm them, such as in accepting that four-hourly feeding must be right for babies because ‘scientific’ evidence of digestion ‘proved’ they

needed. that length of time between feeds. Women who had no supportive network, or who had lost confidence in the guidelines of their mothers’ generation, did welcome the professionals’ advice. There were also often quite reasonable grounds for following it: early toilet-training

lessened nappy washing, and regularity of domestic routine made it easier to reconcile the opposing demands of childcare and a clean house.

In particular, medically managed pregnancy and birth did entail fewer risks than delivery at home without adequate household and nursing help; ‘managed’ sexuality did recognize women’s sexual pleasure as legitimate; and most significant of all, contraception promised relief from , additional financial burdens, emotional demands and sheer physical toil. As well as these quite understandable patterns of response, there were also unanticipated effects of professional intervention. For example, the decline in breastfeeding which went against the experts’ advice and was | not in the best interests of mothers and babies was an unforeseen outcome

of changing childbirth practices and of the extension from artificial to natural feeding of techniques such as regular feed times and a preoc-

cupation with calculation and measurement. ,

In all therefore our interpretation of these developments would be quite remiss if we saw them in simplistic terms. The implication of the

218 | a The disenchantment of the home material used in this book is that our interpretation must include - emphasis on the coherence of technical rationality and its significance,

| and also recognition of the ambivalences in the reform message and — | variety of class and gender factors operating. I have argued in fact that sone outstanding contradiction -runs through all the material: that between

, women seen as natural homemakers and mothers and the extension of _ | technical rationality to family relationships and household organization. _ Many manifestations of this tension have been described, and I will not |

, repeat them here. Instead I will turn to some final discussion of the

| significance of this contradiction. __ | ee In setting out the book’s conceptual framework in Chapter 2, I argued

| that the experts’ project should be understood as part of the broad process of disenchantment of which Weber and Frankfurt School theorists

sin particular developed a powerful critique. However I also suggested that their analysis did not go far enough and that feminist theory takes

us further. Much feminist discussion of the relationship between the . | social structures of class and those of gender inequality has produced a fairly depressing picture of the degree of interpenetration between them. | Capitalism and patriarchy are frequently pictured as mutually reinforcing __

social systems, the tentacles of which surround us on all sides. Such a view leaves little room for optimism about the possibility of major , change; all developments can be interpreted as ‘functional’ for some

aspect or other of capitalism or patriarchy. My argument has been different. I have suggested that the technical rationality characteristic of Capitalist social arrangements was actually quite antithetical to patriarchal

| assumptions about women as more ‘natural’ than men. In the over__ -whelming expansion of the capitalist system, not only have virtually all

corners of the earth been- rendered available for the exploitation of — physical resources, but all social relationships have been opened to relentless considerations of calculation and exchange. In spite of the | enormous ill effects caused by making relationships between people take __

on the features of relations between ‘things’, for women there has been _

at least the advantage of admitting their inclusion in the sphere of | culture. The critique of technical rationality as a distortion of human ~

-.- reason, however, remains pertinent but incomplete. = = | In the Dialectic of Enlightenment, Adorno and Horkheimer commence _

their account of the hollow triumph of the rationality of civilization -. over magical world views with the comment that ‘the Enlightenment

has always aimed at liberating men from fear and establishing their sovereignty. Yet the fully enlightened earth radiates disaster triumphant’.6

The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 219 They go on to argue that the science and technology characteristic of modern Western civilization are the apotheosis of long-standing attempts to conquer the natural world which stands in juxtaposition to the human and intrinsically threatens it. This conquest involved the growth of the

division of labour, discipline and organization and necessitated the renunciation of physical pleasures. Adorno and Horkheimer provide a detailed discussion of the Odysseus saga as encapsulating this overall course of human development. Without going into the intricacies of their analysis, what does stand out is the extent to which the dangers facing Odysseus are fundamentally female, and delineated by Homer primarily in terms of sexual temptations. Horkheimer and Adorno almost confront the significance of this, noting in passing that Odysseus’s journey

is symbolic of patriarchal society. Repression of sexuality and with it the suppression of woman have, they say, been the price paid for marriage and social order, ‘for the establishment of systematic conditions of sexual

reproduction’ upon which property and organized labour depend. They argue that the ancient identification of women with nature has taken a different form in modern bourgeois society—that of incorporating women

into a male-dominated world—but only in a broken form, that of ‘female chastity and propriety’.’ Painting, however, as ambivalent a picture of modern womanhood as Christopher Lasch, Adorno and Horkheimer recognize the injustice of women’s situation, but have little hope

that ‘the scoldings of the fury ... will become a sign of humanity’. They conclude with the scornful remark that “The last vestiges of female

opposition to the spirit of a male-dominated society are engulfed in a morass of paltry rackets, religious sects and hobbies’.2 _ Other critical theorists have also touched on these themes, but not so explicitly. Marcuse and Fromm shared a romantic yearning for ‘matriar-

chal’ values and agreed that sexual and even gender oppression had accompanied the development of civilization; and more recently Habermas has addressed the domination of nature theme.” While he has raised issues of significance for the ecological crisis, like earlier Frankfurt School theorists he has not addressed the relationship between the domination of nature and of women by men. However, from the early formulation of Simone de Beauvoir to the work of several 1970s writers, a relevant interpretation of the ideology of patriarchal societies has been developed.

De Beauvoir argues, quite clearly along lines similar to Adorno and Horkheimer, that in the course of the development of civilization women

have been posed as the ‘Other’, as object to the human subject, which has hence been fundamentally masculine in character.'° Like Adorno and

220 - , The disenchantment of the home - _Horkheimer she regrets this, but accepts its inevitability as the price paid for human transcendence of the natural world, in which she sees _ fewer dangers though than do they. Not all feminists-have agreed with —

this conclusion. The lines of historical development traced,- for example,

by Ruether show great similarity to Adorno and Horkheimer’s and de -- Beauvoir’s accounts. However, she sees gender and class oppression as |

intimately related but not inevitable concomitants of human progress. __ —-- Ruether argues that a world view which valued female creative powers and saw the cosmos as a non-hierarchically ordered unity was: replaced ©

by. one stressing male power, a transcendent God and domination of the natural realm.'’ She locates this major transition in mythic symbols in the period of the birth of Western civilization, ancient Hebrew-and —

- Greek cultures. Its. material basis lay in the growth of sedentary agriculture and early urbanization, and therefore a change in the society’s __ gelation to nature. Exploitation and mastery of physical resources replaced _ _. dependence on and. harmony with the natural world. Women, slaves _

and other races came to be identified with the lower sphere which was _. to be subjugated. Furthermore, the origins of class oppression can be

seen in the same period, as the appropriation of surplus production _ provided the basis for a ruling-class economic and political power. _ Ruether draws attention to the ways in which sex and race imagery, a _ body /spirit dualism, provided the model for other forms of oppression _. throughout following epochs. According to this. analysis, therefore, West- _

- etn. civilization. has been characterized by a world view and_ socioeconomic system in which the domination of nature was linked to the _ _. domination of some persons by others and most notably of women by : _ men. Moreover, since the Enlightenment, the growth of modern-science_

and. technology have continued this project of domination, the roots of which are deep in our history. Ruether also describes the secularization _ of the domination of nature theme, emphasizing how the identification — of women -with a now romanticized ‘nature’ remained, even: intensifying 7 ~_ as the dehumanization and alienation of the industrial world of work

_ became apparent.’? This then was the context of the bourgeois family’s — ideology of separate sexual spheres and their construction of femininity. —

can now return to my argument about the implications of ‘disen- _ _ chanting’ the home: that a basic contradiction emerged through the ever |

- widening expansion of technical. rationality which followed capitalist ___ industrialization. I noted in Chapter 2 that critical theorists saw the bourgeois family as ‘more than.a mere lie’, as encapsulating at least an emancipatory moment. Although they tended to view this in terms of

The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 221 , the formation of an autonomous masculine self, they suggested that even | for women, the bourgeois family ‘endowed them with an idea of dignity,

which ultimately, as human dignity, worked toward emancipation’. Ruether makes a similar point: the rational liberalism of bourgeois society ineluctably broke down traditional hierarchies, including those of ‘head-people and body-people’.’’ If all people, women as well as men, possessed ‘practical rationality’, inequality could not be justified on the grounds of separate natural capacities. Distinctions which had been fundamental to class and gender oppression and reflected domination of the natural world were implicitly threatened; if the realm of

spirit, the mind and will, can be extended to familial and gender relations—supposedly the epitome of the body, the natural sphere—the

model of domination collapses. Does this mean that domination is complete, or that emancipation becomes possible? When the experts intervened in the management of the home and domestic relationships,

they demonstrated not only that housework and childcare were not ‘natural’ qualities embedded in women, but that reproduction itself could be controlled by rational means. We are left however with the same dilemma that Weber and more recent critical theorists have argued is intrinsic to societies like our own. In the realm of personal and family

life, as in the public sphere, the temptation is to mistake merely technical | rationality for a really reasonable human existence.

:.

Appendix On sources and methods a

As the Introduction and Chapter 1 focused primarily on the conceptual framework, there was not space to elaborate also upon issues of meth-odology. The following discussion has two purposes: first to situate the _

research reported in this book in the context of wider methodological — debates; and second, to provide some more specific discussion of sources

than is appropriate in the text and notes. The actual use of relevant - sources varied: some sections relied more heavily on a few important _ - sources, others on a wider range. Rather than a comprehensive discussion of each and every source material, the comments below concentrate on specific problems or issues: relating to those sources most deserving of | - mention. A fuller discussion is available in the thesis upon which the |

book is based. | ee , |

1 +Records of government and organizations | | As will be readily apparent from the text, considerable use was made __ of government reports and the records of some organizations. It has been - quite regular practice in both history and sociology to utilize data from _

| - such sources while making allowances for the frequently quite different , purposes for which it was collected. In this study, however, a further — caveat was borne in mind, that such sources had to be read in two ways:

| as revealing the attitudes and so on, of the ‘experts’, of the dominant _ groups; and as allowing, nonetheless, a reading from ‘below’. Thus the

, minutes of evidence of the Birth Rate, Housing and Basic Wage Royal Commissions, and the minutes of the Melbourne District Nursing Society

can be used to show the responses and resistance of working-class women _ and men to the attempts to extend a form of hegemony over them. The _

222 7 , TT |

patterns of questioning in the Commissions indicates the concerns of

Appendix 223 their ‘betters’ but the replies and the other issues raised by witnesses provide at least hints of another side to the story, as well as giving some

valuable descriptive data. The 1920 Basic Wage enquiry was an outstanding example of this possibility of using official sources somewhat

‘subversively’.

2 Literary sources | 2.1 Unpublished manuscript sources Traditional historians have relied quite heavily on the material provided

by diaries, letters, unpublished speeches and so on. So much so that they are regarded as part of the historians’ stock-in-trade and, methodologically, are seen to present only the usual problems of contextualization and accuracy. In this study some reliance was placed on these materials,

but less for details of events than for perceptions, attitudes and personal | experiences. In recent years the emergence of women’s history as a field of enquiry in its own right has generated considerable interest in the use of diaries and letters for insights into women’s experience in particular, attempting to explore the patterning of personal life in ways far removed from the historians’ traditional attention to the papers of politicians and other public figures. This again has constituted a ‘history-from-below’ endeavour which has been closely related to the emergence of new-style social history emphasizing the everyday life of the common people. To

the extent to which such endeavour is a counterbalance to traditional historiography’s attention to the public world, such accounts are of great

value, particularly in bringing to light issues in the patterning of childhood and familial life. However, not only are the traditional problems of historians’ sources still encountered—that is their bias towards the literate middle and upper classes—but the sources are only of real value if set within their context. This requires not only attention to the personal biography of the speaker in the specific text, but also

location of the speaker in a structural analysis. The exploration of meanings and interpretations, important as they are, can only be of more

general value to our understanding of the society and changes of the past if it is combined with critical examination of the social structuring, particularly by gender and class, of that personal experience. Apart from this general comment regarding the principle which has

guided the use of manuscript material in this research, the specific sources require little comment as their relevance and value is self-evident

in the text. The diary letters of Dr Vera Scantlebury Brown, written

) 224 2 So The disenchantment of the home — - --ysually to her mother, provided an excellent source of data both-on the —

Oo domestic experience of a- middle-class woman in the interwar period, - but also concerning the infant welfare movement. They are even fuller, richer and more detailed in-their account of everyday life than is indicated

by their use here. Likewise, other similar manuscript sources gave |

| _ descriptions of the management of home and family. — an - The other major manuscript collection used, the papers of Dr Victor —_ _ Wallace, are of multiple value. Not only do they include organizational _ ss material and correspondence relating to the eugenics movement, but — they include a goldmine of material on birth control. The clinical records will be discussed separately below, but the collection also includes | - Wallace’s unpublished manuscripts on birth control issues and the letters from patients which he used as data. The variety of material in this collection and the meticulous order in which Dr Wallace kept it have — - made this collection of inestimable value. Here, in particular, is a possible

| unique combination of the papers of one of the ‘experts’ along with the oe views of quite unknown women and men. The issues of confidentiality __

and referencing this collection are discussed more fully below. = = 8

- 2.2 Newspaper and magazine sources en _ There is nothing remarkable about my fairly routine use of these sources, _

Newspapers

but a few technical comments on sampling procedures are called for.

_. The sources are grouped together where similar procedures were used. __

a) Daily. The Argus, the major conservative Melbourne daily, was used

extensively from the early 1900s to the 1930s. It was not sampled but a published index was used to suggest relevant topics and dates. | b) Religious papers. In the early stages of research a detailed study of _ major Victorian denominational journals was undertaken for the 1880s- |

oe 90s period, and this. was later followed up by a survey of the-same --—- papers in the twentieth century. The basic sampling principle followed | - was to skim four weekly issues every three months. To avoid seasonal

bias, rotating starting months were used. = i ss—(‘—‘“CiCts~™S Exceptions to this were the Presbyterian paper which was a monthly, —

$9 every second month. was used; and the Anglican paper, for which an _ available index was used for the 1890s. For the twentieth-century period, __

similar principles were applied, but only at five-year intervals.. =

Appendix : 995 — c) Local paper: the Preston Post. In the early years of the research, the

Melbourne suburb of Preston was a focus of data collection. As the project shifted in emphasis this became less important, but the material found in the local newspaper continued to be of value to understanding everyday familial and neighbourhood life. The weekly Post was sampled

on a rotating four months per year basis from its commencement in 1891 to the early 1900s when the paper became of less value for my purposes as style and content changed.

Medical journals a |

The transactions of the Australian medical congresses throughout the period were searched thoroughly, but no complete coverage of all medical

journals was attempted. The MJA however was searched for the 1920s and 1930s, the major period of infant welfare, ante-natal and maternal

health developments. ae Women’s magazines

Following the consultation of work of others, it was decided to select a variety of women’s magazines. The New Idea was studied fairly fully for

every fifth year from 1902 to 1939, by which time it had changed its title to the Everylady’s Journal. The amount of material provided by this source gave it special importance; study of the Home and Woman’s World, magazines running in the interwar period, generated less data _ but useful comparisons. The latter magazines were aimed less at the —

housewife than the New Idea, which was full of the ‘new ideas’ about | domesticity. As the study was not primarily based on these sources and they were used as a supplement to other material, it was not essential to trace those difficult ‘facts’ of journalism, actual circulation figures. Likewise with the Housewife magazine of the Housewives’ Association, considerations of total readership were less important than the content

and the involvement of some leading women in the movement with which it was associated. In conclusion, women’s magazines cannot, of course, tell us the response of the readers, except through letters, but they can indicate changes in domestic ideology and cultural style as well as provide clues to the timing of social change such as the introduction

of infant welfare and child psychology as popular concerns and the _ changing ideological messages of the advertisers.

Store catalogues | | Although only limited use was made of one collection of department-

/ 226 | | The disenchantment of the home store catalogues, such sources are of considerable value and greater use

could be made of them if a wide and full range were available. Those used in this work were from a major Melbourne retailer, Foy & Gibson’s,

and they covered the period 1901 to the mid-1930s, with a few years , missing for the earlier period. Sampling was unnecessary as they do not

_ require exhaustive reading; changing styles and availability of clothing, —

toys and household equipment were readily apparent. —

2,3 Other published sources : | a Several aspects of the study were based on miscellaneous published books __ and pamphlets on health and childrearing. Such literature was generally of a prescriptive or advice nature, written by doctors and other ‘experts’

or by some women themselves. Previous work on childrearing advice | ~ manuals has tended to focus either narrowly or widely in terms of time - span.’ Although this literature cannot tell us enough about actual | _ childrearing practices, changes within this genre over time and the variety _

| of advice are themselves of interest. In order to make the pamphlets and books on the childrearing aspect more readily comparable with each

other, and with those studied by others, a systematic content analysis was attempted. A scheme of coding was derived from a study of English _ sources since the sixteenth century, modified on the basis of existing a knowledge of Australian material.?’ The coding system identified material

. as more or less present, e.g., on home birth or artificial feeding.

- Advantages and disadvantages of coding |

The attempt to quantify these sources was very valuable in alerting attention to themes in a systematic fashion. Thus the actual filling in of

the coding scheme necessitated a careful check which guarded against excessively subjective impressions. As a research process, therefore, it was —

| successful. However, in terms of the later stages of analysis, when attempts really to use the sources in a quantitive sense were made, the / gross limitations of the small sample (30-40) became evident. Moreover, the lack of direct comparability of such sources is also one of their outstanding characteristics: some were lengthy, others short; some highly | / technical, others popular; some narrow, others broad in focus. While a the coding scheme picked up and crystallized some such differences, for the purposes of illustrating the analysis it was the flavour of the sources— _

| their qualitative, not readily quantifiable characteristics—which were of | - greatest value. To make claims about the numerical strength of the change in recommended feeding patterns, three- to four-hourly, for

Appendix , 227 example, would be possible but would be less meaningful than to stress

the change in style as well as specific instruction. Furthermore, it is the | context of the later infant care books, their institutionalization through

the baby clinics, which is more important than the actual number of them recommending regular feeding patterns. It can thus be seen that excessive quantifying of such sources would only provide an illusion of facticity; rather the process of systematic content analysis should be seen

aS an important research strategy, and the analysis of such sources is only meaningful in a broader scheme of theoretically informed interpretation of a wide range of data. 3 = ©=Clinical records

At several points reference was made to the clinical records held in the Wallace collection, University of Melbourne Archives. Dr Victor Wallace’s records are invaluable source material not only for his own attitude and professional activities but for the insight which they provide into the problems brought to him by his patients during the late 1930s and 1940s. The handwritten card records contain highly confidential material, sO names were not recorded in any way, and only very basic information

- such as occupational status was noted as background data. Originally I had hoped to quantify a sample of the 1930s contraceptive records, but this became impossible due to the inconsistent amount of data. Some basic counting of a selection of contraception and sexual problems cases was undertaken, but it does not seem appropriate to use even a numeric identification system for such confidential material. Nonetheless, as will have been evident from the use made of this data, it provided consid-

erable insight into the material circumstances, attitudes and familial experience of a selection of Wallace’s patients. Criteria of selection included time period and amount of information available on the record card. No claims to representativeness can be made for this data but as

a qualitative source it proved invaluable. A judicious combination of further quantification with a sensitive use of the experiential material would be the most fruitful way to utilize such data fully.

4 Oral sources _ The emergence of historical research using oral sources has been a feature

of the last couple of decades, although a tradition of oral testimony in other social sciences such as anthropology and sociology has been long established. Two major areas of debate have emerged within history

228 / The disenchantment of the home - concerning the use of oral material and the controversial issues will be —

, briefly discussed before the methodology of this study is described. __ Although two aspects of debate can be distinguished conceptually and

in terms of the timing and location of the discussions, they overlap — considerably. Oral history has been promoted on the one hand by left- — _ wing historians attempting to reveal the experience of oppressed people, | analysis of which comes from a broadly socialist tradition; on the other - hand it has also been espoused by less theoretically oriented researchers attempting to record, more or less for its own sake, the everyday life experience of ‘ordinary’ people. This has included both academic his- __ torians and a variety of community members working in local history

or areas of special interest. The dilemmas which have arisen have been at least threefold: first, the acceptability of oral sources in mainstream, | _ traditional professional history; second, the technicalities of data collec-_

tion, recording and analysis; and third and more substantively, the significance of theory in guiding oral history research and in making use of the material it provides. On this score opinion has not only been divided amongst those who argue for the ‘pure’ voice of the subject _

with as little editing and analysis as possible; those who use oral testimony as one source amongst many and within an unabashed analytic

, framework; and those who, fairly recently, have been arguing for a _

themselves. | ee

complete deprofessionalization of oral history—but only in a context of - radical politicization of the subjects so that they can speak clearly for --- The first of these controversies, the response of traditional professional

historians to the use of oral sources, has been so thoroughly worked over _

that it does not seem to require many further remarks here. Paul | Thompson’s The voice of the past, and discussion in the oral history | journal literature make quite clear the significance and value of oral sources, particularly for the study of personal and everyday life in the. late nineteenth and twentieth centuries.? All the usual skills of the © ___-- historian in responding critically to the data generated from sources are _

| of course still crucial to the use of the spoken word. As Italian historian Allessandro Portelli has argued, oral sources certainly are different from

, - written sources, but many of the difficulties in their use are also found | with written material: ‘What is written is first experienced or seen, and — is subject to distortions even before it is set down on paper’.* Therefore the reservations applying to oral sources ought to be extended to written —

ss material as well. | - oe

Appendix 229 However, the debate over the theoretical and political value of oral history has raised more important questions than those concerning its respectability or technicalities. To some extent the rivalry between professional historians and those outside the fold of academic history can also

be seen reflected in the dispute over the use and presentation of oral material. I am less concerned with this issue, however, than with that of the nature of the claims made for oral history as a means of access to ‘alternative’ history, that of non-ruling classes and groups, and the practical /political import of such history, Portelli points to several specific contributions oral sources can make to history, particularly that of ‘non-hegemonic classes’, arguing that they have been both over- and under-valued. First, oral sources are precisely that, oral. Despite the use that is then made of transcripts, the original source is of value for its form: the style of speech, intonation, velocity and so on which convey an emotional richness not found in other sources. Moreover, oral sources are basically narrative sources, linked to a tradition of folk narrative in which meaning and interpretation become at least as important as events. As Luisa Passerini has pointed out in her exciting

use of oral sources for the study of Fascism, it is what is absent from the sources—the silences—which can also be as important as what people articulate.* Portelli also points out that oral sources are not only subjective but always unfinished and partial, but that this of course is true of other sources as well. A final point made by Portelli goes directly against some

of the claims put forward for the value of oral history: that it allows the working class/women/other oppressed groups to ‘speak’ directly for

themselves at last. He argues strongly that the control of the historical discourse remains firmly in the hands of the

historian: It is the historian who selects the people who are to speak; _ who asks the questions; and thus contributes to the shaping of the testimony; who gives the testimony its final polished form.°®

What is involved, however, is the necessity of the historian being involved

in the political process itself, taking sides in the interpretation of the past and of current reality. Other discussions of the increasingly sophis-

ticated use of oral history in the context of social theory shaped by socialist political practice have also drawn attention to its potential challenge to the traditional categories of history, raising questions of subjectivity and consciousness as central to historical enquiry. The debate on these issues must also be extended to use of women’s oral testimony

230 - Se The disenchantment of the home in particular. Not only can oral evidence provide the detail of the routines of women’s daily existence, but their creative responses to the |

exigencies of material existence, their sense of themselves and their ; relationships with others. It is in the light of these methodological , ~ considerations that oral evidence has. been used in this study, as part of , a variety of evidence drawn upon, hopefully, in the words of a History Workshop Journal editorial, as part of ‘a dense interaction between theory,

ss method, and a very careful listening’. oe Fe

Interview sample Be

_. Although a larger project was planned, the limitations of time and —

_ resources meant that only a relatively small number of interviews were _ , eventually undertaken. Almost all interviewees were from the Melbourne

suburb of Preston, the majority of them having grown up there in the early 1900s. The sample, which can make no claims to representativeness, ©

, was found through the assistance of the local historical society and senior citizens’ clubs. However, interviews also took place with three profes| sional women who were involved in the ‘reforming’ efforts as ‘experts’. ‘Two quite different types of interview were therefore involved: one | ~ concerning the experience of childhood and everyday life including later _ | life; the other with professional activities. The former series of interviews _ used a detailed interview schedule, but discussion usually flowed freely _

| over the topics with the questions being used as a guide. Interviews — oo lasted on average two hours, and in a few cases, two quite lengthy ©

‘interviews took placew sts | re "Two particular difficulties seem worthy of methodological note. First,

the difficulry of the interviews with the professional women (and one

man in particular) all of whom wanted to portray a picture of their public life and professional achievements. Questions concerning attitudes _

and personal life were treated warily, and considerable concern was shown that the interview transcript seemed inarticulate, not showing —

| _ them to advantage, _ a De , The second problem concerns the flood of material generated by oral

sources. The richness, depth and variety of responses produced from

| within a very small sample indeed raised questions of the utility of collecting vast amounts of such ‘qualitative’ data. It now seems to me , that oral sources can be used in three distinct ways: (1) to generate hypotheses and insights in- an exploratory way; (2) to provide full — accounts of individuals’ experiences to be used as completely as possible; _ | ~ and (3) to flesh out, confirm and contribute to further development of

Appendix 231 _ ideas. This latter role has basically been the value of oral sources here, and their value within a theoretically formed broader project is indisputable. Full details of the interviewees and the interview schedule are

available in my thesis. .

| 5 Preston: an unfulfilled research promise , As this study was originally planned, it was to have a strong focus on exploring domestic life in a local geographical context. The suburb of Preston, to the north of Melbourne, was chosen because its development coincided with the period under study and relevant source materials seemed to be available. The original goal was to use Preston as a data base through the use of quantitative sources on residence and life cycle patterns, and other local records to fill out the background to the oral history project. However, as the research developed, it became increasingly apparent that the important questions being generated from literary evidence and from the establishment of a coherent theoretical framework

simply did not lend themselves readily to a local research framework. |

For some time research simply proceeded on two fronts: on one the - sources finally used; and on the other, local evidence concerning the development of Preston. The problem this presented for the development

of a coherent argument was eventually only resolved by the critical

abandonment of the latter. | | It was originally hoped that a combination of rate-book data, local church and other organizational records, and possible Registrar-General’s

, material would throw light on patterns of kinship and the social structure of the local community. Although several years’ worth of data on home and land ownership, occupations and value of property was recorded for the purposes of computerization, delay in finding suitable records for

appropriate linkage with this data led to problems. However, the major difficulty was that the inadequacies of property-oriented sources such as

| rate-books for the study of women’s and family history became increasingly obvious. Women’s marital names too easily concealed their kinship connections, and the sources revealed only glimpses of families living

near each other. Although access to the Victorian Registrar-General’s records, which was denied at the time of this study but has since been granted other researchers, would go some way to relieve these problems,

considerable limitations must be recognized in the use of quantitative sources. Although they can provide some basic data on family patterns, they require enormous outlay of time and energy for little return by way

, 232 -—- BS The disenchantment of the home of material concerning familial relationships or neighbouring patterns, both of central importance to understanding the dynamics of familial

and social change. With a team of researchers working on a project, _ _ such difficulties can be overcome, but for an individual scholar, the © intoxication with quantitative methodology, which has marked one stage

- of the emergence of family history, is fraught with some peril. , -_- In conclusion therefore, the local study proved to be something of a —

disappointment despite early optimism concerning the possibilities of linking a local study with a broader study of familial ideology. However, _ the study of Preston was an invaluable ‘grounding’ for many issues; not only did detailed use of local sources provide a much fuller context for

a the interviews, but for understanding the material conditions of Austra- | lian suburbia. The reforming strategies with which the final study is

| primarily concerned became less abstract when the practical realities of | housing, work, transport and other, often inadequate, facilities were — borne in mind. In conclusion therefore I believe that the original goal 7 of combining detailed, locality-based research with a broader study was

| too ambitious, but a not unworthy ambition. Although future research attempting anything similar would do well to draw on the work of | others on general Australian developments, and then move to a detailed

local study, it must also be recognized that some issues can only be

addressed best at one or other level of research. — Oo |

Notes —

Introduction — . | l eg., B. Kingston, My wife, my daughter and poor Mary Ann: women and work in Australia, Nelson, 1975; A. Summers, Damned whores and God’s | police: the colonization of women in Australia, Penguin, 1975; P. Grimshaw, ‘The Australian family: an historical interpretation’, in A. Burns et al. (eds), The family in the modern world, Allen and Unwin, 1983. 2 A. Giddens, Central problems in social theory: action, structure and contradiction

in social analysis, Macmillan, 1979, p.141. | ,

3S. de Beauvoir, The second sex, Jonathan Cape, 1953; R.R. Ruether, New woman|new earth: sexist ideologies and human liberation, Seabury Press, 1975.

4 eg., A. Giddens, A critique of historical materialism, Macmillan, 1982.

5 Ruether, op.cit. | OO , oe 6 R. Samuel (ed.), People’s history and socialist theory, Routledge and Kegan

Paul, 1981, p. xxx. | a , 1 Setting the questions

1 E. Shorter, The making of the modern family, Basic Books, 1975; L. Stone, The family, sex and marriage in England, 1500-1800, Penguin edn, 1979.

1976. | ,

| 2 J. Mechling, ‘Advice to historians on advice to mothers’, Journal of social history, vol. 9, Fall 1975, and subsequent ‘Comments’ in vol. 10, Winter

3 H. Gadlin, ‘Scars and emblems: paradoxes of American life’, Journal of

social history, vol. 11, no. 3, 1978. ,

| 233

4 M. Poster, Critical theory of the family, Pluto Press, 1978.

5 To my knowledge only psychologists Graham Little and Ronald Conway . have ever raised these issues, although current work of Bob Connell and colleagues is more directly relevant; eg., R.W. Connell, et al., Making the

difference, George Allen and Unwin, 1982. ,

| (234 , Ce ‘The disenchantment of the home 6 Frankfurt Institute for Social Research, Aspects of sociology, “The family’, | | _ _ Heinemann, 1973, pp. 129-45; M. Horkheimer, ‘Authority and the family’,

oo Critical theory, Seabury Press, 1972. — 7 | 7 | ,

7 For these debates, see in particular, P. Walker (ed.), Between labour and

Se _ capital, Harvester Press, 1979. its | — 8 Aspects of sociology, p. 137. oO ee 7 , _. 9 ibid.; for a general discussion of these issues, see M. Jay, The dialectical ss dmagination: a history of the Frankfurt School and the Institute of Social —

, Research, 1923-50, Heinemann, 1973, and D. Held, Introduction to critical ss theory, Hutchinson, 1980. Be 10. P. Berger and H. Kellner, The homeless mind, Penguin edn, 1974. > 11 P. Halmos, The faith of the counsellors, Constable, 1972; C. Lasch, Haven —

| ; in a heartless world: the family besieged, Basic Books, 1977, and'The culture =

me of narcissism, Abacus edn, 1980. __ re

12 Lasch, Culture, pp. 47000 History of sexuality: vol. I, An introduction, Allen Lane, 1979.00 «14 Foucault, op.cit, p. 140000 13. J. Donzelot, The policing of families, Pantheon Books, 1979; M. Foucault,

--: 15. M. Barrett and M. McIntosh, The anti-social family, Verso, 1982, p. 104. 16 N. Chodorow, The reproduction of mothering: psychoanalysis and the- sociology —

| __ of gender, Uni. of California Press, 1978. re

| 17 B. Ehrenreich and D. English, For her own good: 150 years of experts’ advice

| to - women, Pluto Press, 1979. ts | re 18 B. & J. Ehrenreich, “The professional-managerial class’, in Walker,-op.cit.

Uni. Press, 1972, ee a

«19 e.g., M. Vicinus (ed.), Suffer and be still: women in the victorian age, Indiana -. 20. C. Hall, ‘Gender divisions and class formation in the Birmingham middle _

lass, 1780-1850’, in R. Samuel (ed.), People’s history and socialist theory,

Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1981. — BR Oo

21: «See S. Ortner, ‘Is female to male as nature is to culture?’, in.M. Rosaldo , and L. Lamphere, Woman, culture and society, Stanford Uni. Press, 1974; and for recent debates, C. MacCormack and M. Strathern, (eds), Nature, =

23 ibid, Be

ss ¢ullture and gender, Cambridge Uni. Press, 1980. OO | ,

- 22 Ruether, op.cit, p. 189.00 a

-25.sss 24 Ehrenreich, op.cit, ss—Sss Be T. Rowse, Australian liberalism and national character, Kibble Books, 1978.

~ 1979, pp. 49-77, :

-..-26 R. Johnson, ‘Histories of culture/theories of ideology: notes on an impasse’, : _ in M. Barrett et al., (eds), Ideology and cultural production, Croom Helm,

27 A. Giddens, Central problems, p. 188. = =. |

- 1976. , ; | BS

28 R. Williams, ‘Base and superstructure in Marxist cultural theory’, (1973),

7 rep. in R. Dale et al., Schooling and capitalism, Routledge and Kegan Paul,

, Notes , , , 235 29 S. Hall, et al., (eds), Culture, media, language, Hutchinson, 1980, p. 29. , 30 L. Althusser, ‘Ideology and ideological state apparatuses’, in Lenin and

221-2. , , 1964. } |

philosophy and other essays, New. Left Books, 1971.

31 eg., A. Giddens, Critique of Historical Materialism, Macmillan, 1981. 32 Foucault, op.cit., p. 93.

33 A. Giddens, Profiles and Critiques in Social Theory, Macmillan, 1982, p. |

34 A. Giddens, Central problems, p. 69. .

35 e.g., Berger and Kellner, The homeless mind, H. Marcuse, One-dimensional

man: studies in the ideology of advanced industrial society, Beacon Press, 36 M. Weber, Economy and society, Uni. of California Press edn, 1978. 37 M. Horkheimer and M. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, Allen Lane edn, 1973; and see -M. Jay, Dialectical imagination, p. 261.

38 Marcuse, ibid. . a

39 A. Giddens, Central problems, pp. 220-41; J. Habermas, ‘Technology and science as ‘‘ideology’’’, in Towards a rational society: student protest, science

and politics, Heinemann, 1971. oe

| 40 ibid., p. 112-13. a

41 J. Habermas, Legitimation crisis, Beacon Press, 1975; and D. Held, Critical

theory, p. 293. | ,

42 J. Habermas, ‘New social movements’ (tr. from Theorie das kommunikatien _ handelers, 1981), Telos, no. 49, Autumn 1981, pp. 33-7. 43 Giddens, Profiles, p. 98.

44 Rosaldo and Lamphere, op.cit.; Ruether, op.cit. ,

45 Horkheimer and Adorno, op.cit., pp. 72-80. | ] 46 B. Easlea, Science and sexual oppression, Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1981.

2 The architecture of daily life 1 e.g., E. Shorter, The making of the modern family, for a fuller analysis see

E, Zaretsky, Capitalism, the family and personal life, Pluto Press, 1976. , 2 G. Davison, The rise and fall of marvellous Melbourne, Melbourne Uni. Press, 1979; id., ‘Public utilities and the expansion of Melbourne in the 1880s’, Australian Economic History Review, 1979, vol. 10, pp. 169-89. 3 R.V. Jackson, ‘Owner-occupation of houses in Sydney, 1871-1891’, AEHR,

vol. 10, 1970, pp. 138-54; Davison, op.cit., p. 187; A.E. Dingle and D.T. Merrett, ‘Home owners and tenants in Melbourne, 1891-1911’, AEHR, vol.

, 12, no. 1, March 1972, pp. 21-35. | 4 -B. Lewis, Sunday at Kooyong Road, Hutchinson, 1976, p. 15.

5 G. Johnston, My brother Jack, Collins/Fontana, 1964, p. 7; see too D. | Malouf, Johnno, Uni of Queensland Press, 1975, Penguin edn, 1976; H. , Porter, The watcher on the cast iron balcony: an Australian autobiography, London, Faber and Faber, 1963.

236 | The disenchantment of the home —

pp. 107-37. rs | - Zaretsky, op.cit. | oe / | a 6 J. McCarty, ‘Australian capital cities in the nineteenth century’, AEHR, 1970,

, 7 M. Poster, Critical theory of the family, C. Lasch, Culture of narcissism; E. -

- & Spectator and Central Mission Gazette, 27 August 1880, p. 883. ,

9 Presbyterian Monthly, 1 February 1888, p. 35. a

10 Preston Post, 6 August 1904. — | .

— -11-s«sNew Idea, 1 November 1902, p. 329. - |

12 eg., Preston Post, 1 March 1890. | ee - 13 Australian Health Society, A guarter century’s record, Melb., AHS, 1900. | 14 Australian Health Society, The meetings for wives and daughters, Melbourne,

Walker, May and Co., 1884. | , ee 15 Australian Health Society, Pure air and ventilation, Tract no. 2, 1876. |

, 1914, 7 , - 0 e

16 J. Greig, ‘Report of school medical inspectors’, attached to Annual Report

, of Minister of Public Instruction, 1913-14, p. 109, vePP no. 1, vol. 2, «17: Editorial, Intercolonial Medical Journal, vol. 3, 1899, pp. 106-11; J.W.

1918, vol. 2, p. 5. Bn -

Barrett, The twin ideals: an educated Commonwealth, H.K. Lewis and Co.,

18. A. Hyslop, ‘The social reform movement in Melbourne, 1890 to 1914’, , , unpublished Ph.D. thesis, La Trobe Uni., 1980, pp. 342-3; for Sydney — _ developments see M. Lewis, ‘Populate or perish, aspects of infant and |

,| of Sydney, 1976. Se,Se, | 19 Barrett, op.cit, pp. a6-8. maternal welfare in Sydney, 1870-1959’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Uni.

20 B. Gandevia, Tears often shed, Pergamon Press, 1978, ch.10; ‘History of infectious diseases in Victoria’, Health Bulletin, Vic. Dept of Health,no.43,

; 1936, pp. 1221-9. , | |

21 V. Scantlebury Brown, Mss. diary letters, 21 September 1928, 9 February —

| 1929. Papers held at Uni. of Melbourne, Social Studies Department Library. _ 22 Victoria, Royal Commission on-Housing, 1913-17, Final Report, vpP V.2,

sion, Evidence). re te

_ 1917, Minutes of Evidence, Q.6392 (hereafter cited as Housing Commis-

— - 23, L. Sandercock, Cities for sale, Melbourne Uni. Press, 1977, p. 68. 24 e.g., Mr John Sulman, Housing Commission, Evidence, Q.6387-8, 6389.

25 ibid., Q.2704-2711.ee | — 26 ibid., Q.2717. , 7 _ ' oo , — 27ibid., ibid.,Q.8951-6. Q.2828. Bn ., oo Oo , —-:28 Oo | | .2930 ibid., Q.2124-5,6465. =”,.oe | ] , ibid., Q.3247. OS

332: ibid, Q.2124-5,.00 7 _ , ibid., Q.6589. a - - oO |

Notes 237 33 ibid., Q.6465. 34 Royal Commission on the Basic Wage, 1920, Minutes of Evidence, taken , at Melbourne, Vic. Govt Pr. 1920, Q.6398. 35 R. Boyd, Auwstralia’s homes: why Australians built the way they did, Melbourne Uni. Press, 1952, Penguin edn, 1968; F. Costello, ‘Development in flat life: its sociological disadvantages’, Architecture, 1 January 1936, p. 5. 36 D. Stephen (ed.), A message to the homeless, Melb., {1925}. 37 H. Desbrowe Annear, For every man his home: a book of Australian homes

and the purpose of their design, vol. 2, no. 1, October 1922, p. 3; Boyd refers to this publishing venture as ‘an ambitious propaganda magazine’ launched by a ‘group of prominent artists and enthusiastic young architects’.

38 ibid., vol. 1, no. 1, March 1922, p. 11. | 39 e.g., Everyman's home, p. 12; J. Greig, Report on School Medical Inspection,

Minister’s Report, 1916-17, App. D, pp. 23-5, VPP, no. 10, vol. 2, 1918.

The latter gives an account of the operation of the open-air school at

Blackburn, Victoria.

40 R. Alsop, ‘The kitchen as it should be’, Real Property Annual, 1917, p. 33; Argus, 5 April 1934, p. 13, referred to ‘a kitchen which has been planned scientifically as a modern factory’.

41 Everyman's Home, March 1922, p. 12. : 42 In 1938 it was reported that nearly 400 women per week attended demonstrations of cookery in one Melbourne centre, Colonial Gas Association, Fifty years of good public service, 1888-1938, Melb., Col. Gas Assoc. [1938];

The State Electricity Commission by then also gave demonstrations of electrical appliances, Argus, 15 January 1938, p. 13.

43, Everyman’s Home, vol. 1, 1922. , 44 R.B. Hamilton, ‘Home furniture and artistic interiors’, Everyman’s Home,

vol. 1, 1922, p. 45. , ,

45 eg., R.W. Telford, ‘Hygienic clothing and hygienic house furniture’, Health

Bulletin, no. 3, 1925, pp. 67-70. 46 J.R. Adams, Distinctive Australian homes, 1925, p. 78.

47 Health Bulletin, no. 18, 1929, p. 604; ‘Electricity in the home’, The Housewife, February 1934, p. 11.

3 The administration of the home 1 Vic. Minister for Public Instruction, Annual Report, 1895-6, pp. 34, 53, VPP no. 35, vol. 4, 1896. 2 Minister’s Report, 1894-5, Appendix B, p. 7, VPP no. 50, 1895-6. 3 J.H. Docherty, The ‘Emily Mac’: the story of Emily McPherson College, 1906-

1979, Ormond Book and Educational Supplies, 1981, p. 4. 4 Miss J. Flynn, Chief Inspector of Secondary Schools, ‘Report’, attached to Minister's Report, 1927-8, p. 23, VPP no. 2, 1929.

238 - The disenchantment of the home ~ ---§, Docherty, op.cit., pp. 6-7. | , ae |

6 -F. Kelly, ‘The woman question’ in Melbourne, unpublished Ph.D. Thesis,

Co Monash University, 1982. = | a ee a 7s Mrs Fawcett Story, ‘Domestic economy in state schools’, Education Gazette — and Teachers’ Aid, July 1900, p. 12. a _ 8 See ‘Stella May Allan’ by Patricia Keep, Australian dictionary of biography,

oe vol. 7, 1891-1939; ‘Interview with Mrs E.F. Allan’, New Idea, 1 January — 1903, p. 451. It was reported here that, after a meeting in New Zealand, Mrs Allan was challenged by a local publican to compete with his 13-yearold daughter in ‘making a bed, darning a stocking, playing a tune, and

cooking a chop’. She had, of course, performed admirably. She then married

and moved to Melbourne, raising four daughters. _ oe

9 George Swinburne was not only an employer but a ‘technical expert’ himself,

hig interest in domestic science being part of his enthusiasm for technical , education, see S. Murray-Smith, ‘A history of technical education in Aus_ tralia’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Uni of Melb., 1966, vol. 2, p. 771.

10 Docherty, op.cit., p. GOff , , So

Oo 11 Letter from McPherson to Premier Lawson, quoted in Emily McPherson

a — Council, 1935, pp. 6-7. oo

College of Domestic Economy, unpublished pamphlet by J. Goodchild, College

6,1931,p.5. 0 2 , —.. 13. Docherty, op.cit., p. 64. ; a

12 ‘Obituary: William McPherson’, College of Domestic Economy Magazine, no. -

14 ibid. on | oe 15 Story, op.cit., pp. 12-13. es , Oo

| 16 Argus, 20 August 1907, p. 4; 17 September 1909, p. 7. Oo

—-- 17 See Kingston, op.cit., ch. 3.00 | | Se

18 Docherty, op.cit., p. 92. | oO oe

19 College of Domestic Economy, Prospectus, 1910-13, p.6.. . 20 A. Henry Papers, ANL, MS. 1066/17, newspaper clipping from the Argus,

a January 1900, ‘Cooking and cooks for the million’. a

~~ «Ys Vic. PRo Education Department, special case file 1213, ‘Red Cross cookery’, _ 22 ibid., Flora Pell to the Director, Mr Hansen, 20 December 1915. She asked

pleased. OS | | Oo

permission to bring out the book, and did so in 1916 (Argus, 8 July | - 1916); but correspondence in 1928 reveals that the Department was not

23 H. Hartmann, ‘Capitalism and women’s work in the home, 1900-1930’,

Ph.D., Yale University, 1974, p. 168. an

24 Spectator and Central Mission Gazette, 7 March 1884, p. 547. | ,

25 Argus, editorial, 29 March 1921. SO | , 27 Argus, 6 November 1901. SO Se

, 26 Church of England Messenger, 5 October 1920. ST ,

Notes ; . 239

17. , |

28 Leaflet, October 1930, ‘The housewife’s pages: saving time and money’, p. 29 R.M. Vaile, Cottage cookery, hygienic and economic, Geo. Robertson and Co.,

1892, press notices in 2nd edn, 1897. 30 W.A. Sinclair, ‘Aspects of economic growth 1900-1930’ in A.H. Boxer —(ed.), Aspects of the Australian economy, Melbourne Uni. Press, 2nd edn, 1969, pp. 101-12; E.A. Boehm, Twentieth century economic development in Australia, Longman Cheshire, 2nd edn, 1979, pp. 26-7. 31 CB. Schedvin, Australia and the Great Depression, Sydney Uni. Press, 1970,

pp. 51-2. ,

32 M. Maxwell, ‘History of the Housewives’ Association’, The Housewife, June

1937, pp. 26-9. 33, See Ivy Brookes papers, MS. 1924, ANL, series 38, for reference to conflicts

between Ivy Brookes, a founder, and later patroness, of the Association, and the executive. 34 e.g., ‘Bedrock’, Argus, 18 June 1911, p. 20. The New Idea in February

, 1903, too, had unleashed a hornet’s nest of readers’ letters with a letter on how three people lived on £50 per year, New Idea, 1 April 1903, p. 699. 35 ‘Trades’ Unions’ deputation to Prime Minister, Prime Minister’s Dept,

1921. . ,

correspondence files class 5 (Royal Commissions), ‘Basic Wage Main File’,

1920, Australian Archives, CRS A460 Item A5/2, Argus, 26 September

37 ibid., p. 58. }

36 A.B. Piddington, The next step: a family basic income, Macmillan, 1921. 38 Australia. Royal Commission on the Basic Wage, 1920, Report and Minutes of Evidence, vol. 1, (Melb.), Melb. Gove. Pr., 1920, pp. 32-3.

39 ibid., Evidence Q. 12268-12270. |

40 Vaile, op.cit., p. 72. .

41 H. Rankin, Handbook of domestic science, W. Brooks & Co., {n.d.], p. 95. Miss Rankin therefore recommended that Saturday must be for ‘recreation’. 42 Lady (Deborah) Hackett, The Australian household guide, 1916, p. 308.

43 ‘Vesta’, Argus, 4 April 1921, p. 12. 44 Basic Wage, Evidence Q.12200-3.

45 ibid., Q.12181.

46 ibid., Q.14370-4, 14407. | 47 Argus, 16 April 1936.

48 Basic wage, Evidence, Q.11B 16-17. | 49 Wife of a commercial artist writing to Dr V. Wallace in the 1940s, letter held in the clinical records, 1940s ‘reasons for contraception’ series, V.H. Wallace MS. papers, University of Melbourne Archives. .

50 Vaile, op.cit., p. 75. oe 51 Basic Wage Evidence, Q.28502-4, 26856. 52 Argus, 18 May 1938, p. 8.

240 | OS | The disenchantment of the home 53 e.g., Everylady’s cookbook, ed. and compiled by Miss Lucy Drake, Melb.,

| | 1934: My daily dinner cookery book. The work of a practical housewife. What — to have and how to cook it. (by KEAB) [n.d.} (early 1920s?); IJ. Holmes, —

ns 7. | | oe | 56 Nutrition, op.cit, , ,

| Breakfast, dinner, tea, recipes and menus, Veritas {1925}. re

54 Advisory Council on Nutrition, Final Report, Govt. Pr., 1938. ~--- 555 Comments of Prime Minister Lyons, quoted in ‘Resolution of NHMRC’,

Australian Archives, Dept. of Health No. 455, C.R.S. 1928, item 155/ |

| Leaflet, April 1931, p. 18ff. 58 Argus, 25 May 1938, p. 6. 7 :

57 e.g., Church of England, Mothers’ Union, ‘Good recipes for hard times’, __

59 Nutrition, op.cit, p. 46 , - a

60 List ‘C’ attached to ‘Basic Wage Main File’, 1920, Prime Minister’s Dept, ,

A460, Item 5/2. ee ee ,

a ‘correspondence files class 5 (Royal Commission), Australian Archives CRS |

61 Basic Wage, Evidence, Q.26966, 24619. , oe

62 ibid., Q.24462-4. =... re , | G3. thid., Q.12193-5, 12262-3, 12271-5, 12288-99, 12985-6, 11634-7. | ,

64 ibid., Q.13757-9. Ss BS 65 ibid. Q.12842-3.0 _ 66 cf., E. Zaretsky, Capitalism, the family and personal life, and S. Ewen,

a Captains of consciousness, McGraw Hill, 1976, ch.6. — ©. a

—. 67. Story, op.cit., pp. 13-14. , Sn a

4 Modernizing confinement | ee |

ss Healthy mothers and sturdy children, 1893, pp. 7-8. oo

2 eg, articles of Sister M.A. Peck in issues of the Everylady’s Journal, 1933;

3 ibidg So BS - 4 MDNS Weekly Minutes, 24 May 1910. SO a

- M. Purcell, The Australian baby, {Age?}, 1928. Oo ,

5«& ibid., 27 April 1926. | | a| |a_ , — «ibid., 13 June 1923. ! 78 ibid., 26 October 1926. , _ _ ibid., 4 May 1926. | Se — Y ibid., 26 October 1915. oe Bn , 10. ibid., 4 October 1932. | OS 11 M. Chamberlain, Old wives’ tales, Virago, 1981, pp. 111-12. | | 12 N. Williamson, ‘Mary Kirkpatrick: the biography of a midwife’, Second

53-4. | an , | Women and Labour Conference Papers, 1980, vol. 1, pp. 410-19; interview

a with infant welfare sister, Sr E. Dawson of Box Hill, December 1980.

, 13M. Allan, “The need for ante-natal clinics’, MJA, 15 July 1922, vol. 2, pp.

Notes : 241 p. 17. ,

14 Argus, 29 December 1928, pp. 8, 15; M.R. Allan, ‘Report on maternal | mortality and morbidity in the state of Victoria’, MJA, 2 June 1928, pp. 668-84; ‘Vesta’, ‘Maternal Mortality’, Argus, 11 January 1928, p. 4; ‘Vesta’s

, _ Appeal supported’, Argus, 13 January 1928, p. 15; Argus, 3 May 1928, 15 J. Main and V. Scantlebury, Report of the Minister of Public Health on

the Welfare of Women and Children, 1926, p. 13, VPP no. 9, 1926; Dame Janet Campbell, Report on Maternal and Child Welfare in Australia, Canberra, Govt. Pr. 1930; ‘Maternal Mortality’, editorial, MyjA, 1 December

| 1934, pp. 725-7; C. Thame, ‘Health and the State’, Unpublished Ph.D.

p. 162ff.

thesis ANU, 1974. 16 E. Sydney Morris, ‘Maternal morbidity and mortality’; C. Thame, op.cit.,

17 Morris, op.cit., p. 337.

January 1937, p. 88. |

18 B.H. Swift, ‘Some remarks on the relief of pain in childbirth’, mMyA, 16

19 Morris, op.cit., p. 308. 20 D.B.R. Evidence, Q. 3600, 3179-3180; see too letters to the editor of the MJA, e.g., MJA 19 February 1921, vol. 1, p. 66, 17 January 1925, vol. 1,

pp. 75-6. Oe

21 Interview with Dame Mary Herring, May 1980.

22 MDNS Minutes, 14 May 1918, 26 November 1918, e.g., the medical students were not always ready on time to accompany the midwife. 23 Dunbar Hooper, ‘Address’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., in Supplement to the MJA, 27 August 1927, pp. 79-80.

24 FW. Way, ‘President’s address to section of midwifery and diseases of women’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1896, p. 321. 25: F. Barrington, ‘Presidential address to section of obstetrics and gynaecology’,

Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1920, p. 156. |

26 e.g., A. Ellis, The Australian baby: advice to Australian mothers, Ward, Lock & Co., 1902; E. Aitkin, The Australian mother’s own book, 1912.

| 334. | Oo , Cong., 1889, p. 712. , 27 P. Muskett, [lustrated medical guide, William Brooks & Co., 1903, p.

28 F. Meyer, ‘The obligations of gynaecology to obstetrics’, Trans. Int. Med.

29 CJ. Pike, ‘A plea for the more frequent administration of chloroform in confinements’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1903, pp. 379-80.

30 T.G. Wilson, “The early recognition and treatment of puerperal sepsis’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1908, p. 6. 31 Interview with one of her contemporaries, Dr C., August 1980. 32 M. de Garis, ‘Pain and other reflexes in labour; mechanism and source of visceral pain’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1929, pp. 331-5; ‘A redefinition of

normal labour; the cause of pain in labour’, MJA, vol. 2, 22 August 1925,

pp. 222-5. : |

2420 ; | The disenchantment of the home . - 33, TH. Small, “Analgesia and anaesthetics in midwifery’, Trans. Aust. Med. |

— Cong., 1929, MJA, 23 October 1937, pp. 208-09. ,

oo 34 e.g., Discussion at 1937 Aust. Med. Cong., MJA, 23 October 1937, p. 712; ,

_ 16 January 1937, p. 88. a | -

a Dr Brian Swift, ‘Some remarks on the relief of pain in childbirth’, MjA, |

oe 1929, pp. 306. on Be | - 35 H. Jellert, ‘The future of obstetrical practice’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong.,

314. |

, - 36 Discussion at the 1889 Inter-Colonial Medical Congress, see Trans., p. 714;

| Wilkinson, Trans. Int. Med. -Cong., 1892, p. 544; A.M. Wilson, “The | ae prevention of disease in infancy and childhood’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., —

| Supp. MJA, 29 October 1927, p. 312; C. Thame, op.cit., pp. 163-4.

_- 37 Barrington, op.cit., pp. 153-5. ,

38 Sir E. McLean, comments in discussion, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1929, p.

39 e.g., H. Jellett, op.cit., p. 311. - : ee

40 -R. Tate Sutherland, ‘Some notes on early rising during the puerperium’,

41 ibid, p. 403, =. , a a oo 42 P. Muskett, op.cit., p. 37. , , oo ee a Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1911, pp. 403-09. 7 on 43, Editorial, ‘The relief of labour pains’, MJA, 20 March 1937, p. 442. -

| 5 Planning the family OS Oo 1 J. Donnison, Midwives and medical men: a history of inter-professional rivalries

; and women’s rights, Heinemann, 1977; M. Chamberlain, op.cit., B. Ehren- , reich and D. English, Witches, midwives and nurses: a history of women ,

a healers, Feminist Press, 1973. | } | _ _ 2 J. Foreman, ‘Chairman’s address, section of Gynaecology’, Trans. Int. Med.

Con., 1887, p. 171. OO - Be

| 3 e.g., ‘Essay on maternal morbidity and mortality’, the prize-winning essay

/ by Dr E. Sydney Morris, MJA, 12 September 1925. = | 4 F.C. Batchelor, ‘President’s address to section of obstetrics and gynaecology’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1889, p. 633.

SS, 6Argus, 18 March 1914, p.6. | ee e.g., W. Balls-Headley, Dress with reference to heat, Melb. Aust. Health — Society, 1876; W. Balls-Headley, ‘President’s address to section of mid-

a wifery’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1892, pp. 512-23. ss

7 ibid., p. 512; also The evolution of the diseases of women, Geo. Robertson

and Co., 1894; see too, M.U. O’Sullivan, The proclivity of civilized woman — to uterine displacements: the antidote, Stillwell and Co., 1893, = = © , 8 R. Worrall, “The causes, results and treatment, immediate and remote, of ee injuries in the genital tract’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1908, p. 20; and F. Meyer, “The obligation of gynaecology to obstetrics’, Trans., 1889, p. 712.

Notes , 243 9 Worrall, op.cit. a , 10 See L. Doyal, The political economy of health, Pluto Press, 1979; J. Lewis, The politics of motherhood, Croom Helm, 1980. 11 Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1937, in MJA, 30 October 1937, p. 764.

12 e.g., Speakers at the National Conference on Infant Mortality, London,

1908; see too C. Dyhouse, ‘Working class mothers and infant mortality in England, 1895-1914’, J. of Social History, vol. 12, no. 2, 1978, pp. 24867; A. Davin, ‘Imperalism and motherhood’, History Workshop Journal,

Spring 1978, pp. 9-65.

3438. a 16 ibid., p. 3444. ae

13 Dr Abbott, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1929, p. 12.

—-'14 Argus, 18 June 1913, p. 5.

15 Debate on Maternity Allowance Bill, 25 September 1912, CPD, 1912, p.

- ANU Press, 1978. | 7 |

17 _N. Hicks, This sin and scandal: Australia’s population debate, 1891-1911, 18 Australian crude birth rates fell from 34.4 per 1000 in 1890-2 to 16.4 in 1934, although they temporarily rose after the Second World War (e.g.,

1979. ,

| 24.07 in 1947). Population and Australia: a demographic analysis and projection, the first report of the National Population Inquiry, AGPS, 1975; E. Browne, The empty cradle: fertility control in Australia, Uni. of NSW Press,

19 Dr J. Foreman, ‘Conservative gynaecology’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1899,

op. 171.

20 G. Horne, ‘Causation of ectopic pregnancy’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong., 1903, p. 392. 21 Dr V. Wallace papers, case records of sexual counselling cases. 22 NSW Royal Commission on the Decline of the Birth Rate, 1903, vol. 2, Minutes of Evidence (henceforth cited as DBR), Q. 3162.

23 ibid., Q. 5994. 24 S. Warren, The wife’s guide and friend, 1893. 25 Mrs B. Smyth, Limitation of offspring, Rae Bros., 1893; see Farley Kelly,

, ‘Mrs Smyth and the body politic’, in Second women and labour conference, Papers, Melb., 1980, vol. 1, pp. 159-75.

26 DBR, Evidence, Q. 3851-2. 7 , 27 ibid., Q. 1086-7.

| 29 ibid., Q. 3496. | 28 ibid., Q. 2889-2890, 2336-7, 6019.

30 Evening News (Syd.), 20 October 1903, cited in DBR Evidence, p. 268. 31 J.W. Barrett Papers, Melbourne University Archives, personal correspond-

ence file, letters from women re the birth rate. ,

32 Daily Telegraph (Syd.), 1 July 1903, quoted DBR Evidence, p. 265. 33 Wallace, Women and children first, 1946, ch. 5. In 1944 Wallace undertook

| 244 | The disenchantment of the home , a small sociological survey of 530 of his patients to ascertain their reasons

| for family limitation. Apart from his collation of the results, the actual __

_ letters are held in the Wallace papers. ne

| --- 34 ~Argus, 15 March, 1928, Dr Marshall Allan speaking to meeting of Victorian

Women’s Citizen Movement. oo oo

a 35 DBR Evidence, Q. 5674. = ae 36ibid., ibid., Q. 5680, 5719-22, _ SO 7 |--.-37 Q. 5780-5781. ae 38 Newspaper clipping field held in MDNs records, held at the After-Care

- Hospital, Victoria Parade, East Melbourne. - _ - --- 39 Barrett, op.cit., p. 346. OO | a oe Oo , - 40 Dr Abbott, ‘Presidential address to section of obstetrics and gynaecology’, , Trans. Aust. Med Cong., 1929, p. 12. : } 41 D.HL.E. Lines, ‘President’s address’ given at Aust. Med. Congress, 1934, a MJA, 17 February 1934, p. 216. 7 Oo } oo 42 From discussions in an interview with the late Dame Mary Herring, May _ 1980; Dr Anderson’s lecture on medical ethics, reported in MJA, 16 July

- 4921, vol. 2, pp. 40-6. - ; : ee

43, ‘Mz. Allan, ‘President’s address to section of obstetrics and gynaecology’,

| - Aust. Med. Cong., 1937, MyA, 23.October 1937, p.698| 44 Wallace papers, Unpublished MS., ‘The development of family planning»

papers. OO a , Se Hospital. = a , 47 Wallace, ‘Family planning’, ch. 3. . , 48 ibid., p. 37. CS | ee a | in Australia’, p. 57; Vimy Wilhelm, ‘The Australian Federation of Family _ Planning Associations: a brief historical outline’, typescript in Wallace _

oe _ 45° M. Piddington, ‘Institute of family relations, 1/1/33’, in Bessie Rischbieth |

ss papers, MS. 2004, series 12, held at ANL, Canberra. OS _ 46 Interview with Dame Mary Herring; N. Rosenthal, People not cases, Royal _

, | District Nursing Service, Nelson, ch. 6; MDNS Minutes, held at After-Care

49 Coogee ALP Branch to Mr S.M. Falstein, MHR, 10 July 1942; Rev. T.R. , - Pelham to Prime Minister, 2 June 1942; W. Hunt to Prime Minister, 17

oo June 1940; and others in Prime Minister's Dept, correspondence files. MultiNumber series, 3rd system, 1934-50, ‘Birth Control 1940-1942’, Australian

Archives, CRS A.461, item Q347/1/1. re

; 51 Browne, op.cit. a | a |

50 ibid.; Broken Hill Housewives’ Assoc. to PM, 25 March 1940. — oe

> 6 Producing the model modern baby _ BS , 1 Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1924, MjA Supp., 12 July 1924, p. 482. — - 2 N. Hicks, This sin and scandal, ch. 1; M. Lewis, ‘Populate or perish’, ch.

Notes — , 245 5; see too, Gandevia, Tears often shed, pp. 79-82, 122-127, ch. 15; and C. Thame, ‘Health and the State’. 3K. Laster, ‘The forgotten crime: infanticide’, Unpublished paper presented

to 3rd Women and Labour Conference, Adelaide, June 1982. , 4 C.D. Hunter, What kills our babies, Australian Health Society (1878), tract no. 7, Mason, Firth and McCutcheon, 1878 (rep. 1883). 5 Sir H. Allen, ‘Opening address to general session’, Trans. Int. Med. Cong.,

1908, Govt. Pr., 1909, pp. 29-31. :

6 Lewis, op.cit., ch. 4; Thame, op.cit., p. 208; B. Gandevia, op.cit., p. 126. 7 ‘History of the maternal, infant and pre-school movement in Victoria’, typescript MS. (undated and unsigned), held at Vic. Dept of Maternal and Child Welfare; interview with Sr E. Dawson, December 1979; see also, Jubilee Conference on Maternal and Child Health, April 5-8, 1976, Session 1, The progress of infant welfare services in Victoria over the past 50 years; VBHCA, The story of the baby health centre movement in Victoria (n.d.), both

made available by Sr E. Dawson of Box Hill, Victoria. : 8 VBHCA Minutes of Executive Committee 1918. 9 VBHCA Minutes, 9 May 1919; W. Kapper, ‘Biographical Notes on Dr Vera Scantlebury Brown’, Typescript MS., 1977, held with V. Scantlebury Brown

papers (p. 3). , ,

10 V. Scantlebury Brown papers, MS. diary letter, 24 January 1919. 11 ibid., 14 December 1919 (letter to her brother, Cliff Scantlebury). 12 After arriving from England in 1887, J.T. Tweddle, an accountant, rose to become managing director of a woollens firm. A Methodist, he was on the council of Wesley College, and was vice-president of Queen’s College at the University. His interest in infant welfare was strong and sincere, leading him and his wife to play an active role in the movement. Who’s Who in

Australia, Syd., 1929. Oe , ,

13 Victoria, Director of Infant Welfare, Annual Reports, 1928-9, 1938-9. 14 vBHCA, ‘The story of the baby health centre movement’, p. 2. Similar

pp. 102-03. |

arguments were advanced in England; see Lewis, The politics of motherhood,

15 H. Main and V. Scantlebury, Report to the Minister of Public Health on | the Welfare of Women and Children, Dept of Public Health, Victoria, 1926, pp. 45-6, VPP, no. 9, vol. 2, 1926; Lewis, ‘Populate or Perish’, pp. : 141ff; In North America, however, paediatricians were in clear control, V. Scantlebury Brown, ‘Experiences abroad with special reference in infant welfare’, MJA, 8 January 1927, esp. pp. 40-41.

16 Main and Scantlebury, op.cit. oe 17 Argus, 14 August 1926; 15 September 1926. 18 Report of Royal Commission on Health; Dame Janet Campbell, Report on

Maternal and Child Welfare in Australia, Govt. Pr., 1930. ) 19 V. Scantlebury Brown, A guide and tables for infant feeding, Melb., Dept

246 , The disenchantment of the home of Public Health, 1929; id., ‘Some Aspects of the infant welfare movement in Victoria, 1917-1935’, Health Bulletin, July-December 1935, pp. 1239-

Report, 1920-1, p. 2. | | , a

| 20 Society for the Health of Women and Children of Victoria, First Annual 21 For fuller details see the biography written by his daughter, Mary King,

: Truby King: the man, Geo. Allen and Unwin, 1948. - | a

_ ~ 22 V. Scantlebury Brown MS. diary letters, 5 December 1928.

23 ibid., 18 August 1929. - Se a

24 Interview with Dr C., 5 August 1980. } 25 C.E. Sayers, The Women’s, chs. 18-22. Be 26 V. Scantlebury Brown MS. diary letters, 18 August 1929. , oo 27 ibid., 5 December 1929. -—— — ee

28 sHMCV Annual Reports, 1920-1, 1921-2; Main and Scantlebury, op.cit. 7

~-- 29 E. Dawson, ‘The maternal and infant welfare movement: reminiscences of , early training and field work’, and “To do with trains’, RVCN, Infant Welfare Section, Newsletter, April and July 1973; Report of the Victorian Railway

---— Commissioners, 1925, pp. 34-5, VPP, no. 19, vol. 2, 1925. = 30 Main and Scantlebury, op.cit., p. 41; SHMCV Annual Report, 1931-2. 31 Sr Maud Primrose, ‘Mothercraft not learnt by instinct’, The Housewife, 2

January 1939, p. 32,0 , rs

a 32 eg., C.D. Hunter, What kills our babies, C. McCarthy, On the excessive 7 mortality of infants and its causes, Geo. Robertson, 1867, pp. 18-19; J.

Usher, The perils of a baby, Samuel Mullen, 1888. _ Oo

33 -S. Warren, The wife’s guide and friend, p. 49, p. 80. , a

-- 34- Hunter, op.cit., p. 9. oe a |

35 e.g., V. Scantlebury, ‘Some aspects of infant welfare work in Victoria’, Aust. Sc Assoc. for the Advancement. of Science, Proceedings, 1928, pp. 496-502; G. Springthorpe, ‘Restoration of breast milk feeding: a consideration of fifty cases’; H. Boyd Graham, ‘Infant feeding to the age of six months’; A. Jefferies Turner, ‘Infant feeding’, F. Truby King, ‘Infant feeding’, both in >

‘Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1927, Supp. to MJA, 3 September 1927. — 36 e.g., V. Scantlebury Brown, Guide; M. Harper, The parents’ book, Angus

a and Robertson, 1927; NSW Dept. of Public Health, Notes for mothers, — SO NSW Gove. Pr. 1916; Your baby: a practical guide to mother and babies,

Woman’s World, 1925, 1938: _ a , : 37 M. Harper, ‘Maintenance of lactation’, Trans. ‘Aust. Med. Cong., 1924,

} MJA, Supp. 5 April 1924, p..187. - © 7 ee 38 Dr J. Wood, ‘Comments’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1927, p. 121.

39 M. Harper, The parents’ book, p. 29. © oe oo

1937, p. 22. Oe oe a

, 40 Sr M. Primrose, ‘Giving baby his first lesson’, The Housewife, 1 September

41 -~S. Ewen, Captains of consciousness, pp. 13-18. Oo :

Notes — 247 42 D. Miller and G. Swanson, The changing American parent, John Wiley, 1958; ‘Fun Morality: an analysis of recent American child-training literature’, in M. Mead and M. Wolfenstein (eds), Childhood in contemporary

493-4. ,

cultures, Uni. of Chicago Press, 1955. 43 V. Scantlebury Brown, Annual Report of the Director of Infant Welfare,

1938-9, p. 6; see too comments of Dr Dale, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1929, p. 497. | 44 V. Scantlebury Brown, ‘Aspects of infant welfare work’, AAAS 1928, pp. 45 V. Scantlebury Brown, MS. diary letters, 2. March 1929. —

46 J. Turner, ‘Infant feeding’, p. 118.

47 V. Scantlebury Brown MS. diary letters, 8 July 1929 (B.6).

— 48 Dr S.F. McDonald, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1929, p. 452. . 49 mjA, 30 September 1922, vol. 2, pp. 395-6. Contradictions emerged such as paediatrician Dr Jeff Wood arguing that scientific analysis of milk and

| accurate measurements are very important, but, ‘One must ... be guided solely by the baby’s condition and his weight chart. It is easy to advise -_ that he have less or more without knowing exactly how much he 1s getting’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., Supp. MJA, 3 September 1927, p. 119.

(1928). , , : 52 ibid., 8 October 1931. |

50 e.g., Everylady’s Journal, 1 February 1928, p. 165; M. Peck, Your baby, pp. 84-5; A. Purcell, The Australian baby, Melb., rep. from articles in the Age,

51 V. Scantlebury Brown MS. diary letters, 2 November 1928. |

53 e.g., Sr Peck advised care in choosing a shawl, not too lacy as baby’s fingers __

would get caught, not too fluffy or wool in his mouth, Peck, p. 67. The increased stress on Australian-made products after the First World War was reflected in the emphasis on Australian wool, on dried fruits and locally made infant products, e.g., in London Baby Carriages Stores’ advertisements.

54 Foys catalogues, 1906-30s. See Appendix for discussion. |

55 Harper, The parents’ book, p. 67.

56 Hunter, op.cit., p. 17. ae | 57 G. Dunlop, Our babies: a textbook for mothers, Aust. Medical Publishing , Co., 1928, p. 62; on the ‘mothering’ hour see M. Primrose, ‘Affection as essential as food’, The Housewife, 1 October 1937.

58 Harper, op.cit., pp. 69-70. —

59 V. Scantlebury Brown, MS. diary letters, 13 December 1928. 60 Purcell, op.cit., p. 55.0 | | | 61 Interview with Dr C., 5 August 1980.

62 V. Scantlebury Brown, MS. diary letters, 28 December 1928.

63 ibid., 14 September 1928.

64 ibid., 5 December 1929. | ,

248 , a _ The disenchantment of the home

7 The remaking of childhood _ - . a 1 B. Dickey, No charity there: a short history of social welfare in Australia,

| Nelson, 1980, pp. 127-32; A. Hyslop, “The social reform movement in ~ Melbourne’, chs. 7 & 8; C. Lasch, Haven in a heartless world, pp. 16-17. |

{n.d.}. : Be |

- 2 B. Lewis, Sunday at Kooyong Road; E. Turner, Seven little Australians, Ward, —

OO Lock and Co., 1894; id., The family at Misrule, Ward, Lock and Co., — OS 1894; L. Mack, Girls together: a story of Australian school-girl life, Melrose

3 eg., R. Twopeny, Town life in Australia, 1883, Peng. edn, 1973, pp. 81, 93; J. Ackermann, Australia from a woman’s point of view, Cassell, 1912, | Oo — p. 207; M. Franklin, Childhood at Brindabella: my first ten years, Angus

and Robertson, 1979 (Arkon. edn), pp. 141-2. _ Oo

4 D. Malouf, Johnno, Penguin, 1976, pp. 37-8. Oo

| 5 Porter, op.cit, p. 140. = , | | | 6 H.H. Richardson, The fortunes of Richard Mahoney, Heinemann, 1925;

Ethel Robertson papers, MS. 133, series 2 /1, 91, Canberra, ANL 7 Alfred Deakin to Ivy, 14 July 1884, Deakin papers held at ANL, Canberra, . MS. 1540, Correspondence, 1884-99. “To Ivy on her second birthday’, and

then also 15 April 1887. | | _ on , 8 ~Georgiana McCrae to Edie, 21 April 1886, McCrae family papers, held at La Trobe Library, Vic., MS. 9162; see too Eliza Chomley memoits, La | Trobe Library, Melbourne, MS. 9034, Box 912/5; letters made available

Oo _by interviewee Mrs Cork. oe 9 Deakin papers, 1540/19/356, 7 September 1890. re |

10 ibid., Correspondence, 20 February 1887. | _

- . 11 PE. Muskett, The feeding and management of Australian infants. 12 E. Coles, Coles funny picture book, 1st published Melb. 1909, 7 1st (Surprise)

| edn, 1979. (See illustration ‘Whipping machine for naughty boys’.) _

13 Franklin, op.cit., p..7. , a | ,

14 Harvey Sutton, ‘Recent progress in child hygiene’, Presidential address to. i Sanitary Science and Hygiene Section, AAAS Meeting, Wellington, N.Z.,

1923, N.Z. Gove. Pr., 1924, pp. 646 and 665. Oo

15 M. Anderson, Mother lore, Angus and Robertson, 1919. , |

16 E. Aitken, The Australian mother’s own book: a complete treatise on the rearing —

and management of Australian children, 1912. Oe

: Ballarat. re Be

, 17 ~ P. Muskett, Wustrated Australian medical guide, p. 117. 7 , — 18 Church of England Messenger, 3 June 1885, report of Archdeacon Julius at

19 M,. Weigall, Our children, Melville, Muller and Slade, 1895. | 20 J. Bostock, ‘Mental hygiene’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1929, p. 302. , 21 Victoria, Royal Commission on Technical Education (Fink Commission) , Report, 1901, p. 85 vPP 1900-01; Vic. Education Dept, Special Case File,

_ no. 1110, FKU held at Vic. PRO. |

Notes , 249 22 D. Edgar, ‘The educational ideas and influence of Dr John Smyth’, M.Ed., Uni. of Melbourne, 1967, esp. pp. 261-284; A.M. a’Beckett, The growth and development. of the Free Kindergarten Movement in Victoria, 1939; M. Walker, “The Development of Kindergartens in Australia’, M.Ed., Uni. of

Sydney, 1964. | - |

23 Lady Hackett, A complete Australian household guide, p. 82; for similar sentiments see too the Education Gazette and Teachers’ Aid 22 September 1914, pp. 351-3, and both the ‘General report on the work of the free kindergarten union of Victoria’, and a questionnaire on the ‘Missionary endeavour of the FKU’, held in FKU Special Case file, 1110.

24 C. Heinig, ‘Child development as promoted by the facilities for child and parent education in nursery schools and kindergartens’. AAAS, Proceedings, _ 1939, pp. 218-223; M.V. Gutteridge, “The story of an Australian nursery school’, Australian Educational Studies, 1st Series, Melb. (ACER), 1932.

25 Child Study and Adult Health Association, Memorandum and Articles of Association, Syd., PS. Garling Pr. [n.d.}; D. Izett, Health and longevity, according to the theories of the late Dr G. Carroll, with an account of the

, Child Study Association, Syd., Epworth, 1915. 26 Edgar, op.cit., p. 385fF. ,

27 K.S. Cunningham, Review of education in Australia, Melb., ACER 1939. 28 Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1909, p. 199; Gandevia, Tears often shed, p. 140. 29 ‘Medical inspection in State Schools: weighing, measuring and recording’,

Educ. Gaz. and Teachers’ Aid, 22 September 1914, pp. 345-6. 30 A. Muhl, ‘Mental hygiene’, Health Bulletin, Nos. 57, 58, 1939, pp. 1603-

07; see too The young child: a series of five lectures on child management, Melb., Melb. Uni. Press, 1931. 31 F. Morris, ‘The children’s court and the problem child’, The Housewife, 5

February 1930, p. 10. oO a 32 A. Muhl, ‘Mental Hygiene’. ,

33 J. Greig, ‘Report of School Medical Service’, attached to Report of Minister

of Education, VPP, 1927-8, p. 37.

34 The young child, Preface. |

35 M.V. Gutteridge, The child at home/The child growing up, a series of lectures by the Principal of the Kindergarten Training College, Melb., Free Kinder-

garten Union of Victoria, [1934], [1937]. ,

36 Typescript History of Playgrounds Association, in Ivy Brookes papers held

at ANL, MS. 1924, series 29, item 181. : 37 ‘The business of play’, Everylady’s Journal, 6 October 1912, p. 588.

38 Franklin, op.cit., p. 68.

39 Gutteridge, op.cit., p. 13. , :

40 V. Scantlebury Brown, MS. diary letters, 8 February 1930. 41 Leaflet (Mothers’ Union), April 1932; Gutteridge, op.cit., p. 11. 42 C. Heinig, ‘Child development as promoted by the facilities for child and parent education in nursery schools and kindergartens’, AAAS, 1939, p. 221;

- 250 oe | The disenchantment of the home

A. Gutteridge, Muhl, ‘Mental hygiene’. oe| BO 43 op.cit., p. 16. a| ,en

44 ibid, p. 25.00 , ne ; ,

45 E.M. Chesser, Perfect health for women and children, Methuen, 1912, p. 55.

46 ~Everylady’s Journal, 6 May 1922, p. 65, 2 April 1922, p. 380. — ,

8 The sexual enlightenment of the young OS 1 J. Ellis, The human body described for the instruction of the young of both

ss sexes, Geo. Slater {n.d}. © a en _- .2.J. Beaney, The generative system and its function in health and disease, FF.

, Press. 1976. re

- Bailliere, 1872, 3rd edn, 1880, 4th, 1883. +: ae

3 EF, Ford, A bibliography of Australian medicine, 1790-1900, Sydney Uni. — 4 ‘J. Beaney, The medical embassy to England, being a report of the trial Bailliere

5 ibid., p. 85. - Se oo

ws. Beaney, May 1880, Stillwell & Co., 1880 (rep. from the Argus),

«6H. Varley, Private addresses to boys and youths on an important subject, | containing valuable information for boys, youth, and parents, Vatley Bros., 1895, p. 30. His lecture to. Men on a vitally important subject was published —

-. in 1894; his The curse of manhood seems no longer to be available. - |

7 Narley, Private addresses, p.5. Se |

ss «8 ELM. Sigsworth and T.J. Wyke, ‘A study of Victorian prostitution and a venereal disease’, in M. Vicinus, Suffer and be still: women in the Victorian —

age, Indiana Uni. Press; 1972; J. Weeks, Sex, politics and society: the

regulation of sexuality since 1800, ch. 5, Longman, 1981. a

, 9 Church of England Messenger, 12 October 1885, p. 15. _ Se «10. Church of England Messenger, 12 October 1885, p. 14. oO

11. ~ Courtney to Education Dept., 23 July 1903, PRO (Vic.) Education Depart-

‘ment, Special Case File 1106. = : re ,

Education Dept. , a , ee , 12 ibid., Dr Kitchen to Bligh, enclosed with Bligh’s 1903 letters. to the

13 ibid., Mr McGillivray, testimonial on behalf of Mr Bligh, 22 July 1903. —

OO 14 Advocate, editorial, 7 June 1884, p. 14. pe }

| _ 15 Miss Douglas to F. Tate, 25 November 1913, Special Case File 1106. . 16 ibid., Council of Sex Hygiene and Morality to Director, 5 June 1916, and

, Memo to Director, 25 July 1916. _ re

|18 Education 17 Argus, 12 July 1916. oo Oe , Gazette and Teachers’ Aid, 20 June 1929, pp. 151-2 and 21

October 1930, p. 472,” —_ a | 19 Argus, 17 September 1926, p. 16. — ; re :

| , against it{n.d.}. = BS a

20 Australian Association for Fighting VD., The silent foe and my campaign

8.

Notes a 251 21 ibid., p. 23; p. 25. 22 ibid., pp. 25-6. , |

23 M. Piddington, Te// them, or the second stage of mothercraft, {1925}, pp. 47-

24 ibid., p. 33.

25 G. Sweet, The responsibility of the community towards sex education, 1916. 26 Mrs Carpenter, ‘Sex education in relation to the youth of our state’, address to Racial Hygiene Congress, 1929, Report, Sydney, RHA 1929, p. 18.

27 V. Smith and E. Irwin, The story of ovum and sperm; and how they grew into the baby kangaroo. Stories of birth and sex for children, Australasian

League of Honour, 1920. , , 28 Piddington, op.cit., pp. 95-6. 29 ibid., p. 99.

30 ibid., p. 33; E.J. Bamford, Growing and knowing: a simple story of life for

boys and girls, Kyneton, Vic. [1940]. , ,

9 The rational management of sex | 1 J. Beaney, The generative system, p. 11. |

1914, p. 138. ,

2 Sir James Barrett, ‘Venereal disease’, Address, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong.,

3 ibid., p. 159, Dr Hallen. ,

4 Australian Association for Fighting VD, ‘Annual Report’, 1929, in Health Bulletin, no. 23, 1930, pp. 761-4. The Society was established in 1921, largely as a result of Sir James Barrett’s pressure, Argus, 9 October 1921,

IV, pp. 443-93. . , ,

| p. 17; Argus, 24 November 1921, p. 10; J. Barrett, The twin ideals, section 5 WCTU convention report, p. 111 included in the Association for Moral and Social Hygiene (UK) papers (later known as the Josephine Butler Society), Correspondence Box—‘Australia’. Papers held at Fawcett Library, London.

G6 Discussion, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1937, p. 517. , 7 For an overview of the British eugenics movement, see G.R. Searle, Eugenics and politics in Britain, 1900-1914, Leyden, 1976; and for divergent views concerning the class basis of the British eugenics movement, see D. Mac- kenzie, ‘Sociologists in competition: the Biometrician-Mendelian debate’ and G.R. Searle, ‘Eugenics and class’, in The roots of sociobiology, Past &

Present Society, London, 1978.

8 Truby King, ‘Education and eugenics’, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1914, p. 84; for fuller discussion of these attitudes, see C, Bacchi, ‘Evolution, eugenics

and women: the impact of scientific theories on attitudes towards women, 1870-1920’, in E. Windshuttle, (ed.), Women, class and history, Fontana,

1980, pp. 132-56. , a

9 SA Branch of British Science Guild, Race Building, 1916 (reprinted from

252 , _ The disenchantment of the home a _ series in the Adelaide Mail), p. 20. | | Oo | | 10 V. Wallace, unpublished MS. ‘The development of family planning in , Australia’. The papers of the Victorian. Eugenics society are held with the _

a Wallace papers, Melbourne University Archives. ne

11. «Eugenics Society, Minutes, Mrs Currie, 23 March 1938.

| 12 ‘Physical and Mental Testing’, MJA, vol. 2, 12 September 1925, pp. 352-

|- ~14Vic, Be es ee ibid,1938.0 pp. 12-13, 13 A. Booth, Voluntary sterilization for human betterment, Eugenics Society of

«15 W.E. Agar, Eugenics and the future of the Australian population, Eugenics

Society of Vic., 1939, p. 10-11. | | _ oe

-.-. 16 Eugenics Society, Minutes, March 1938. re

Report, pp. 62-3. oe Bn oe . 80-1: OS } | | SC : | | | Eugenics Society papers. a _-—«17-:*‘Dr:~ Granville Waddy, ‘Eugenics’, Aust, Racial Hygiene Congress, 1929, 18 GR. Searle, The quest for national efficiency, Oxford Uni. Press, 1971, pp. |

«19 Eugenics Society of Victoria, List of Office-bearers and Members, 1938, in

20 J.S. Moyes, (Bishop of Armidale), Marriage and-_sex: the church’s task, St ,

—-—-s John’s College Press, Morpeth., NSW [1932], p. 19,00 , ——-- 21-=«SSA Branch of British Science Guild, Race building, p. 20; ‘Health Certificate

OO before marriage’, Argus, 30 July 1917, p.8. 00 22 See Mrs L. Goodisson, ‘Marriage advice centre’ [n.d.}, p. 30, and also

a - papers, 4/12. — I a

typescript broadcast [1940] on the work of the RHA, both in Wallace

23, Institute of Family Relations, Prevention of racial decay {n.d.}, held with --- ¢orrespondence from M. Piddington to B. Rischbieth, Rischbieth papers,

MS, 2004, series 12, held at AN.L. _ a , 24 eg., E. Atkinson and W.J. Dakin, Sex Aygiene and-sex. education; Angus , and Robertson, 1918; Piddington, Te// them, pp. 118-19. : 25. Discussion, Trans. Aust. Med. Cong., 1914, p. 148. = > a

| 26 Australian Racial Hygiene Congress, 1929, Report, p. 43;see too a-collection __

_. of papers for a decade earlier, Workers’ Education Association of NSW, ;

“Teaching of sex hygiene, WEA, {1918}. re 28 «Everylady’s Journal, 1 March 1933, p. 107. Be |

27 Agar, Eugenics, p. 3. re a , a30.29 ibid., 1 January 1937, = a ibid., ‘Beauty for the older woman’, 1 July 1937. a

3b Argus, 17 July 1918, p. 13.00 a | 32 Wallace papers, Sexual Counselling files; advance proofs of the Woman in 1941 announced that Dr ‘Wykeham Terriss’ is the pen name ‘of a distin-

, - guished Harley Street specialist’ whose work was widely known. overseas,

Notes 253 and who wrote on ‘a subject that is of vital importance to the people of the Commonwealth’, a confidential page proof attached to P.M.’s file E. 347/1/7 Aust. Archives, item 267/1, Sect. I.

10 The experts and the dilemma of disenchantment 1 Donzelot, Policing of families, Lasch, The culture of narcissism, B. and J. Ehrenreich, “The professional managerial class’. (I have referred to Barbara

Ehrenreich’s work in particular.) | 2 Summers, Damned whores and God’s police, A. Game and R. Pringle, ‘The making of the Australian family’, Intervention, 1979.

3 Rowse, Australian liberalism, ch. 2. |

4 R. Connell and T. Irving, Class structure in Australian history, Longman Cheshire, 1980, pp. 200-01.

5 Basic Wage, Evidence, Q. 26966.

6 Adorno and Horkheimer, Dialectic, p. 3.

7 ibid., p. 69ff.

8 ibid., Notes and Drafts, p. 250. , , } 9 J. Habermas, ‘A reply to my critics’, in J.B. Thompson and D. Held,

Habermas, Critical debates, Macmillan, 1982.

10 S. de Beauvoir, op.cit. a oo

11 Ruether, op.cit. , , 12 ibid., pp. 190-191; see too R. Easlea, op.cit. . 13 Ruether, op.cit., p. 192. _

Appendix 7 1 eg., D. Hunt, Parents and children in history: the psychology of family life in

early modern France, New York, Basic Books, 1970; M. Wolfenstein, ‘Fun ,

morality’. — | ,

2 AJ. Stewart, D.G. Winter, and A.D. Winter, ‘Coding categories for the study of childrearing from historical sources’, J. of Interdisciplinary History,

vol. 4, Spring 1975, pp. 687-701. 3 P. Thompson, -The woice of the. past, Oxford Uni. Press, 1978.

, 4 A. Portelli, ‘The peculiarities of oral history’, History Workshop Journal, 12,

1981, pp. 96-107. a 7 5 L. Passerini, ‘Work ideology and consensus under Italian fascism’, History Workshop Journal, 8,1979.

6 Portelli, op.cit., p. 104.

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_ is available in the original thesis. — a OS ,

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WALLACE, DR V.H. Papers and records held at Melbourne University Archives (includes Eugenics Society material).

256 - a re The disenchantment of the home -C Contemporary books, pamphlets and articles = = = — | _ A’BECKETT, A.M. The growth and development of the Free Kindergarten. -

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| AITKEN, E. The Australian mother’s own book: A complete treatise on the rearing —

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, _ ANDERSON, M. Mother lore. Syd., Angus and Robertson, 1919. -. ANNEAR, DESBROWE. For every man his home:-a book of Australian homes and

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_. . AUSTRALIAN ASSOCIATION FOR FIGHTING VD. ‘Annual Report’, 1929, in —_

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1884. , , Be

_——-s AUSTRALIAN HEALTH SOCIETY. A bad smell. Melb., AHS, 1880. = | ,

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Index oe , Abbott, Dr 122 ss Barrett, Dr Edith 59,193 0

"Beckett, Mrs Ada 164,185 = ~~—~——s&Barett, Dr James 117, 121, 192,193 abortion 95, 104, 110, 114, 115, 119, Barrington; Dr Fourness 100 0 3

_ _-121;-medical opinion 123 =~ —__ base/superstructure 23-0 -

|, 19 sion on the Basic Wage | advertising 2, 15, 174 OO Batchelor, Dr 106 | | ,

, _ Adorno and Horkheimer 26, 29,-218- _ Basic Wage Enquiry see Royal Commis, Advisory Council on Nutrition 75, 76-7 —_ Beaney, Dr James 179, 180, 182, 191

Agar, Professor 198 ~ beauty) «81, 82, 207-8

- age of consent 1, 181 ss Berry, Professor Richard 197 | | 7 Aitken, Sister 162 — ss Better Farming Train 138

a Alfred Hospital 89 — biowpolitics 2400-00

Allan, Dr Marshall (Professor) 89,99, birth control 122-3; acceptance by med-

123 , | ical profession... 122; class distinc_ — Alilan, Mrs Stella see “Vesta tions 119; clinics 123, 124, 134,

Allen, Sir Harry 129,192 conservative reaction 124, propa- —_ , _ Althusser 23, 24 © oe gandists 114; services 216; see also

Annear, Desbrowe 51 — © birth rate; contraception; family plan7 - ante-natal. care 84, 88, 89, 90, 98, 216; ming ss Clinics 89; exercise 85 birth rate 40, 61, 64, 102, 107, 110-

anthropometrics 166 © = | 11, 114, 214; see also Royal Com- ~

women = 552. ee Rate

; architects 45, 46, 51-2; attitudes to mission into the Decline of the Birth architecture, Modernist style 54. ——séBBligh, Rev. William 182-3, 184 _

artificial feeding see infant feeding _ - Booth, Mrs Angela- 197,198 7 Association for Fighting VD 185, 193 Bostock, Dr 163 | oo |

Association of Creches 135 . ~~ bourgeoisie 2,3, 13,20 | Australian Church 33 © SB breastfeeding 140, 141-2, 143; see also

| esSoa ~.infants, | reBrown, Drfeeding. Macarthur. 194. | baby bonus 89, 109; see a/so maternity | Brown, Dr Vera Scantlebury 132, 134,

allowance ts” re 135, 144, 145, 146, 148, 149, 150, —

baby competitions 146 170-1, 213, 216 , | ,

064 co |

centres budgeting 65, 66 — a

_ baby health centres see infant welfare Brown, Professor 150, 213 ,

_ Baby Week 138 SO Bush Nursing 59 |

_Balls-Headley, Professor 107 — Butler, Mrs Janie 124,199 = = |

Index | 265 calculation and measurement 217; in in- class orientation: of reform strategies 9, fant feeding 144-5; see also measure- 34, 174, 213; ‘of domestic science 60;

ment — 7 of infant welfare 139 |

Campbell, Dame Janet 134 class structure 14-15, 211; see also

Carpenter, Mrs 187 | _ professional middle class

Carroll, Dr Alan 165. clothing 68-9, 78-80

charity network 10, 92, 216; see also Clarke, Lady Janet 59, 61 upper middle class charity network; College of Domestic Economy 58, 60,

philanthropists | : 62; see also Emily McPherson College

charity workers 137 of Domestic Economy |

childbirth 2, 8, 9, 19, 84, 89, 104, Collingwood Mission 48 217; analgesics and anaesthesia 97, contraception 2, 8, 40, 104, 106, 110,

98, 99, 100, 101; bed rest 101; doc- 112, 120, 121, 123, 200, 202, 208, tors in attendance 89, 90-1; effect of 217; medical supervision 122; reacivilization 107, 108; episiotomy sons- for adoption 116; techniques

101; home 84, 94, 96, 97, 217; . 113, 120, 122; women’s attitudes

hospital delivery 84, 94, 95-6, 143; 115-17 ,

medical event 93, 95; pain in contradiction 5, 10, 20, 103, 104, 196,

labour 98; perineal tears 101; po- 215, 218, 220

sition of woman 100-1; psychologi- Cook, Joseph 110 cal aspects 94; use of forceps 99, cookery 56, 66, 74; classes 57; courses

100; women’s perceptions 95, 96, 62 ,

117-18; see also lying-in homes; mid- cost of living 67, 77

wifery Council of Mental Hygiene 168 child development 167 creches 9, 130, 215 , childcare 28, 221; professionals 128 Craig, William 109

child endowment 67, 109 critical theorists 220, 221; see also child guidance 2, 169, 213 Frankfurt School childhood 174; chores 154-5; leisure Cunningham, Dr K.S._ 165, 168

155-6; orderliness 156; see also par- |

ent-child relationships; play; toys ~ Dale, John 108

child psychology 16, 168, 174 de Beauvoir, Simone 21, 28, 219 Child Study Association of New South de Garis, Dr Mary 98, 99

213 rate

Wales 165 , Deakin, Alfred 158, 159; 162, 172

child welfare 59, 75, 130 ; Deakin, Mrs Pattie 164, 193 childrearing 1, 7, 9, 10, 12, 16, 19, delinquency 167

129, 174, 212, 214; literature 161-3, demographic transition 104; see a/so birth

children: medical inspection 166; work deserted wives 39

experience 154-5 discipline 159-61 . Children’s Courts 168 diet 85

Children’s Hospital 129, 166 dieticians 75 Chisholm, Miss -60, 65 — disenchantment 3, 10, 25, 218, 220

, Chodorow, Nancy 18-19 domestic economy 52, 68; moveChomley, Eliza 158 , ment 8, 40, 57, 69; see also domestic Church of England Mothers’ Union 65, science ,

181 Domestic Economy, Australian Institute

civilization: effects on disease in women of 58-9 .

107, on home and family 108-9, on domestic labour 18, 19, 28, 71, 72; see

mothering 139, on parturition 107-8 also housework :

266 , , The disenchantment of the home : domestic science 3, 41, 47, 56, 57, 61, Franklin, Miles 160,170 = | oc 62, 63, 71, 76, 121, 171, 174, 212, Free Kindergarten Union 135, 138, 164

en’s response 62-3 TS _ ne , a

213, 216; movement 73, 79; wom- Freud, Sigmund 14, 18, 186, 219° | ,

-.... domestic servants 32, 50, 52, 61, 149, gas appliances 53 oO ,

oo 216 en gender 4, 5,6, 17, 24, 27, 28, 34,211, ~ domination 17, 18, 27, 221;- medical, 218, 220, 221 -

of women 125, of nature 29, 218- Giddens, A. 24, 26,27 © |

~ 20 a Glencross, Eleanor 67>

a - Donzelot, Jacques 16-17, 18, 24, 167, GPs 93 — |

, Oodummies 211 | a oe Greig, JaneAlexander 42,59, 168169 | OO 147, 186 Dr Gunn, - _-Dunlop, Dr 147. OS Gutteridge, Mary 165, 169, 171, 185

| | - a gynaecological problems: effect of modern

Education Department 135, 182, 183, civilization 167; and faulty obstetric BAD Se practice 105; and working con- _ , education of girls 109 OO ditions 109 a : ,

an of 166. , oe oo | ee | , Educational Research, Australian Council § gynaecology 84, 104-7

Ehrenreich, B.D. 20, 211, 215 © Habermas 26, 27, 210,219 | | - -— @lectrical suppliers 53 ~ Haire, Norman 207 7 Ellis, Dr Constance 131, 185, 193. ‘hand and eye’ training 163 - |

Emily McPherson College of Domestic Harper, Dr Margaret 141, 145, 148 Economy 58,62,65 = = ~~~ ~~ Heagney, Muriel 78

, English Ladies Sanitary Association 41 health: centres 148, see also infant wel-

eugenic movement 195-6 fare centres; departments 151, 212; —

, eugenics 42, 109, 194, 199, 200, 202, education 41,42 — | / 208, 209; ‘negative’ 195, 196; | Health Department 184 OO

‘positive’ 195,198 - - - ~~ Health Inspectors’ Association 193 | _ Eugenic Society 124, 196 : _- Health Society, Australian 40,80, 129, |

Society, British 195; Vic- 131, 133, 144 oe a a —Eugenics torian 197, 198, 199 ; Health Week 167 § | | > Faith, Sister 48 re _ Henderson, Janet 48

| BO hegemony 23, 24, 212 , family: bourgeois model 11, 13, 18, 19, Henry, Alice 62 So

Oo 28, 212; extended 12; nuclear 12; Herring, Dr Mary 123 - , patterns of living 48-9; planning home as a haven 37, 38,175

, 214; relationships 1, 2, 116,.209, | home ownership 38,50 ~ 211, 212; working class 19 - ~~~ home birth see childbirth mo family allowances 106; see also child en- Hooper, Miss Eva 165 | ,

dowment | SO housewife, reconstruction of 2, 8, 19,

-father, fashion 81-2 | 35, 59, 68-9, 81,82 | theory of 14, 15, 18, 20 - | housewifery 10, 20, 40, 47, 55, 63, 73,

oe femininity 3, 5, 6, 18, 20, 28, 220 | 82, 149 ne -

- feminism: domestic 59; theory 4, 5, | Housewives’ Association 67,125 |

flies 44 a domestic labour | 7 foetal development 84 Oo housing 45; reform 212; views of

, —-: 18, 28, 80, 218 housework 28, 54, 214, 221; see also Foucault, Michel 17, 24, 189,194, 202 . working class women 49 —

, Frankfurt School 13-14, 18, 26, 218, human agency 6, 25 Oo

— 219; see also critical theorists a Hughes, W.M. 67

Index 267 | , , Lines, Dr 123 , Hunter, Dr Charles 129 layette 86 |

‘Ideal Home’ exhibitions 51 , lying-in homes 94, 95 ,

ideology 11, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27, 40, ,

125, 196, 219; domestic 28; McCrae, Georgiana 158 femininity 220; home and family MacKellar, Charles 110 , 33, 37, 38, 120-1; national effic- McPherson, Emily 60 iency 199; resistance 24; technical McPherson, Sir William 60 rationality 210; woman as_ house- Main, Dr Henrietta 134

wife 51-1; womanhood 20, 21, management 17, 22, 61, 214; house-

215 hold 66; illness 80; infant 147; illness 80 | sexuality 215 individualism 12, 27 - manual training 163-4 infants: clothing 146; equipment 148; Marcuse 26, 27, 219 feeding 140-5, 217, artificial 140, marital conflict 39 141, 143, 151, ‘hand feeding’ 143; marriage 12, 200, 208, 219

rational control 141-2, see also Marriage Advice Centre 200 breastfeeding; furniture 150; Marxist analysis 5, 17 management 147; mortality 86, masculinity 5, 6, 18 95, 129, 143, 158, 196 —_— mass media 2, 15, 16

infant welfare 3,9, 121, 216; centres or masturbation 180, 185-6, 191 clinics 90, 130, 133, 149, 150, 213, maternal attachment 19 medical control 133; role of women maternal mortality 89, 90, 95

215, women’s reactions 148-9, 150- maternal welfare 121 |

1; movement 52, 89, 128-40, 194, maternity allowance 89, 94, 134; see also

class direction 139, 149; services baby bonus

213; specialists 151, 216 MDNS_ 86-8, 92, 97, 120, 123, 124, infectious disease 36, 44 193 Institute of Family Relations 123, 200 measurement: of children 165; mental

intellectuals 22 166; see also calculation and measure-

IQ testing 167 | ment medical students 92

Jellett, Dr 101 Medical Women’s Association 131

_ Jobson, Jennie 217 , Medical Women’s Society 193 juvenile courts 154 - medicalization of reproduction 212 _ Melbourne Teachers’ College 165

kindergarten movement 2, 9, 164, 172; menstruation 111, 112

, role of women 215 mental hygiene 168, 172 Kindergarten Teachers’ College 165 Mental Hygiene Movement 201, 214 kindergartens 48, 130, 163, 170, 174, mental retardation 166

213, 216 . , | Meyer, Dr Felix 97

King, Dr Frederick Truby 129, 136, midwifery 87, 93, 108; ‘meddle-

142, 144-5, 147, 195, 214 some’ 99, 100, 101; see also obstet-

kitchens 52-3, 73-4, 214 | rics

midwives 88, 90-1, 93; untrained 92,

labour, ‘cavé-dweller’s’ 101; see. also 95; registration 91

childbirth — , Midwives Act (1915) 91, 92 Lady Gowrie Centres 165 milk 36, 42, 129; supply 42-3; see Laidlaw, Mrs W. 193 © also infants, feeding Lasch, Christopher 16, 18, 167, 211, Ministry for Motherhood 134

219 modernization theory 12-13

268 | OO , The disenchantment of the home — _ Moorhouse, Bishop 181, 182. philanthropists 33, 59, 174, 175, 214;

Oo Morris, Dr E.S. 89, 90 ot a see also charity network — -

mother, theory of 18, 20,157 = physical education 163, 166 -

nurses 150 Oo 188, 200 . ,

, _ mothercraft 5, 82, 128, 139, 152; — Piddington, Marion 67, 123, 186, 187,

| motherhood 10, 117, 152, 161, 169; Piddington, Mr Justice A.B. 67 _

— gedefinition 152 © -- Pittaway, G.R. 185 | | Mothers’ Union, Church of England 65, play 169, 170-1, 214; see also toys | ee ¢) Ge playgrounds movement 170 | | , ~ _Muhl, Anita 167,168 | ae Plunket system 133, 151 ae - Muskett, Dr Phillip 96, 101, 159, 162 Prahran Health Centre 89, 123 ,

an | , | pre-contraceptive consciousness 111-13

narcissism 16 | , pre-schools 165 _ ,

183 prices 67 oo

National Council of Women 43, 59, pregnancy 2, 8, 84-5, 217 | National Health and Medical Research — Primrose, Sister Maud. 136, 139, 142

- - Council 75 oe a professional middle class 11, 18, 19,

National Thrift Week 65 = 22, 34, 211. ne - nature/culture division 21, 29,218 _ professional-managerial class 15, 20 - ‘nature study 164 a prostitution 181, 191, 192 ‘neglected’ children 154 - psychoanalysis 18, 188 oe

_ neighbourhood network 87 = ____ psychiatrists 16 }

, ‘new education’ 169 Psychological Society 165 :

‘new woman’ 40, 59, 81 - psychology 22, 122, 148, 163, 165, |

, _ Notification of Births 135 0 167, 186, 196, 200, 201, 202

| nursery schools 165 = ~~ | ‘psy’ complex 17 © a | nurses 9, 216; infant welfare - 133-4, puberty 106, 112, 187 |

monthly 94 _ Public Health Department - 108, 134-5 _ |

; nutrition 74-5, 76 oe public health officials 22

punishment 160; see also parent-child

- -- abstetrics §=84, 89, 90-1, 92, 93, 95, 104; relationships , , , |

see also midwifery ~- -s Purcell, Sister 141, 146 -— SC Osborn, A.R. 185 , | pure food 36 Oe ovulation 111 | purposive-rational action 8 .

Odysseus 219 So Pye, Emmeline 185 _ oo , 202 789° Oooe BnO’Reilly, , oo QueenCresswell Victoria Hospital

paediatrics 134 ee Queensbetry Street Cookery Centre 62 Paediatric Society, Australian 166; ne . } Melbourne 197 | Te Racial Hygiene Association 123, 200 |

_ parental behaviour 173 Se - Racial Hygiene Congress 187 — _ parent-child relationships. 153, 157, Racial Hygiene Movement 196 | ,

, 158-9; changing assumptions 161; Rankin, Miss 69 | , _ feserve and formality 158 = rationality 3, 6,9, 16, 25, 26,55,221; parenthood 169 _ OS control of procreation 125; formal - _ parturition see childbirth , and substantive 25; instrumental patriarchy 4, 5, 218 a 25; technical 3, 4, 6, 25, 28, 215, : , Peck, Sister 141,146 | 218,222 ©» © | , Pell, Flora 63 BO reason: instrumental 7, 26, 27; liberpersonal relationships 80-1 | - ating 26; moral or practical 3, 26

Index — | 269 reform: programmes 24; strategies 214, slum clearance 46

women’s reactions 217, women’s Small, Dr T.H. 98 | role 215-17; see also class orientation Symth, Dr John 59, 185 of reform strategies , Smyth, Mrs Brettena 115

Registration of Births Act 149 social action 3, 4, 29 } Richardson, Henry Handel 156 7 Social Darwinism 194

‘Rita’ 59, 61, 63, 65, 66, 74 Social Hygiene Society 124 |

romantic love 12 | ‘social purity’ campaign 179, 181, 190 routine, domestic 69-70, 71; and infant social workers 16

care «142, 151 socialist feminist theory 5

Royal Commission on the Basic Wage Society for Sex Education 185

67-9, 70-1, 72, 77, 217 Society for the Health of Women and

Royal Commission into the Decline of the Children of Victoria 133, 135, 136,

Birth Rate (1903) 91,95, 110, 113, 137 , :

114, 118, 129 | Solly, R.LH. 47 ,

Royal Commission on Health 134 Springthorpe, Guy 169 Royal Commission on Housing (1913- squattocracy 33, 34

17) 46 | State 1, 3, 15, 61, 80, 130, 155, 161; tion 164 sterilization of the ‘unfit’ 195, 197 Ruether, Rosemary Radford 21, 220, Story, Mrs 61 221, 234 Strong, Reverend Charles 33

~ Royal Commission on. Technical Educa- institutions, growth of 212

suburbia 35, 50-1

Sanitary sensitiveness 42, 43, 44 suffrage, women’s 106 Scantlebury, Dr Vera see Brown, Dr Vera Sulman, John 45

Scantlebury surveillance, professional 8, 24; of child-

school medical officers 42 ren 154

School Medical Service 166, 168, 213 Sutton, Harvey 108

separate spheres 8, 20, 32-3, 61 Sweet, Georgina 185, 187 separation of home and work 32, 38-9, Swinburne, George 59-60

45 Sydney City Council 48

servants see domestic servants

sewing 57, 78-9 Talbot, Lady Margaret 43, 59, 61 sex: counselling 203-5; education 9, Talbot Milk Institute 43, 131 | 129, 178, 179, 182, 183, 184, 192, Taylorism 213

193, 201 — a teachers 2, 22; women 216

‘sex-blind’ social theory 4 , , technical rationality 3, 4, 6, 25, 28,

Sex Education Society 184, 185, 187 215, 218, 222; see also technocratic sexual division of labour 37, 38, 39, ~ consciousness

47,212,216 | technical training 163

sexuality 2, 7, 9, 10, 17, 111, 122, technocratic consciousness 26-7, 28, 210,

208, 212, 214; children’s 180; 213, 214, 215; see also technical racommercialization 206; and _hy- tionality

giene 10, 201, 208; ignorance § temperance 2, 21, 179, 190 . 111, 112, 204-5; problems 203-5; Terris, Dr Wykeham 207 repression 13, 14, 18, 29, 194, 219; thrift 64, 68-9 social construction 194, 208; social town planning 45, 46

, pressures 194; spiritual aspects 202; Town Planning Association of New South

women’s 194, 217 , Wales 45

Simpson, Dr George 123 | Town Planning Commission (1922) 46

| 270. The disenchantment of the home | toys 170-1 | - Weigall, Marian 162 — | 7 Tregear, Reverend Charles 47 | wet-nurses 140 a - Truby King Mothercraft Society 136 Wheeler, Mrs Eleanor 49 _ oo

_. . "Tweddle, Joseph 133 White Cross Union 181, 182, |

- OB a White Cross League 184 , oe upper middle class charity network 33, Williams, John 169 | |

7 84, 105; 193; see also charity network; § Wilson, Dr T.G. 98 | -

. _ philanthropists | SO ~ womanhood: bourgeois ideal 20, 21; urban growth 36 | a Victorian ideal 2; see. also reform

oo | | ee strategies , - 7

Vaile, Rita see ‘Rita’ oe women: career opportunities -62;-doctors =~

~ Varley, Henry 180-1 oe 131-3, 216; household experience |

— . . VD 179, 181, 184, 190, 191, 192, 63; police 154, 181; reaction to

! , 193, 194, 196, 198, 200; compulsory = —_—s experts 217; as social agents 9, see ,

, notification 193 2 also reform strategies; teachers 216 — . Westa’ «59, 65, 74, 93, 164 =~ =~ Women’s Hospital 89, 95, 99, 131 an _ Victorian Baby Health Centres -Assoc- women’s magazines 39, 173, 206-7

iation 89, 135, 138 ‘Women’s Medical Association - 184 ,

violence, domestic 39 == © women’s movement 27. | oo Wallace, Dr Victor 116, 120, 124, 197, Women’s Welfare Clinic 124

Way, Dr 95 , a , a

ae 202 an Women Teachers’ Association 59. ~ , waste disposal 36, 43 — ~~ Worrall, Dr Ralph 107,192 ~ ~WCTU 181, 183, 184,194 .- ———~—~—~—- Younger-Ross, Dr Isabella 131.

Weber, Max 3, 12, 25, 27, 218,221 © YWCA 184 > oo

; — Sources of illustrations = © a 1 and 2: from the Emily McPherson College of Domestic Economy Magazine, 1931. 3: from Colonial Gas Association, Fifty Years of Good Public Service, Melbourne, 1938; . - courtesy of the Gas and Fuel Corporation of Victoria. 4 and 5: from N. Rosenthal, People — Not Cases, The Royal District Nursing Service, Nelson, Melbourne, 1974; courtesy of the author. 6 and 7: from the Aunual Reports of the Society for the Health _

_ of Women and Children ‘of Victoria; made available by the Tweddle Baby Hospital, - Footscray. 8: courtesy of Cath James. 9: from Maternal and Child Welfare Manual, , - courtesy of the Victorian Health Commission, Division of Maternal and Child Welfare. , , —--:10: from-Woman’s World, 1931. 11, 12, 13, 14 and 16: courtesy of the Institute of , Early Childhood Development, Melbourne. 15: from M. Piddington, ‘Tell Them’, The ‘Second Stage of Mothercraft, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1925. 17 and 18: from S. D. | Yarrington, The Silent Fox, Melbourne, ‘Pitt-way’ Institute, 1941; efforts to trace the

, copyright holder have not yet been successful. 7 Oo