In 16th-century Glasgow, societal norms surrounding sexual conduct were heavily influenced by religious authority, particularly the Presbyterian Church. Sexual intercourse outside of marriage was strictly forbidden, leading to severe repercussions for those who defied such norms. A notable example is the case of James Wardrop and Marion Cumming in 1595, who were ordered by the Glasgow Presbytery to separate and atone for their cohabitation, highlighting the rigid moral framework of the time.
The enforcement of these strictures extended to broader societal interactions. Couples who engaged in relationships deemed inappropriate were admonished to abstain from all forms of intimacy "in carnal deal" under the threat of church censures. This reflects the deep intertwining of personal relationships and ecclesiastical oversight, where love and desire were often met with legalistic reprimand.
Case studies, such as that of Robert, Lord Semple, illustrate the harsh reality faced by individuals. After the birth of his child with Helen Drummond, a servant he was involved with, Semple was ordered to banish her from the Sheriffdom of Renfrew and cease all relations. Such actions were not isolated; they were part of a broader system where the Presbyteries, including both Glasgow and Paisley, enforced stringent moral codes. Women found bearing children out of wedlock faced particularly severe scrutiny, often suffering societal ostracism and personal upheaval, irrespective of the circumstances surrounding their situations.
This historical context serves as a reminder of the complex dynamics between personal freedom, societal expectations, and the moral guidelines dictated by religious institutions. The struggles of individuals like Wardrop, Cumming, Semple, and Drummond reveal the profound impact of these norms, illustrating how love could be fraught with peril in a world governed by stringent moral codes.
On 16 November 1603 Isabell Brennat made a personal appearance before the Glasgow Presbytery - ‘’craving her bairn to be baptised, gotten by an unknown man upon her on the lands of Provand, she coming from the town of Glasgow with a pack on her back, at the Fair of Glasgow, in the year 1602‘’, as is described in the bill given in by her to the moderator and brethren of the presbytery of Glasgow; the case is continued pending further information, because it may be that she has borne the said bairn to another wife's husband, or has committed a heinous sin by the begetting of the said bairn.
The historical narrative surrounding unwanted pregnancies in 17th century Scotland reveals a haunting tapestry woven with pain, desperation, and societal injustice. It is not surprising that many women of this era resorted to concealing their pregnancies, giving birth in secrecy, and either smothering or abandoning their offspring. Such tragic choices emerged from the harsh realities of their circumstances, marked by societal stigma and punitive repercussions.
Between Michaelmas 1687 and 1688, Glasgow Town Council recorded payments related to these heart-wrenching incidents. However, the scarcity and inconsistency of the source material hinder our ability to draw clear statistical conclusions or establish whether these records pertain to separate cases of children. The stark reality of increasing instances of infant deaths due to concealed pregnancies prompted the Scottish Parliament to take significant action. In 1690, they passed the Child Murder (Concealment of Pregnancy) Act, a piece of legislation that starkly reflects the misogynistic attitudes of the time. This draconian law stipulated that if it could be demonstrated that a woman failed to seek help during her confinement, resulting in the delivery of a dead infant—or if the infant was unaccounted for—she could be charged with child murder, a crime punishable by death.
The passage of this Act significantly exacerbated the plight of pregnant women without financial support, particularly those who found themselves unmarried. It created an environment of fear, whereby women faced the terrifying prospect of capital punishment for their circumstances. The literary world later grappled with these themes, most notably through the works of Sir Walter Scott. In his novel The Heart of Midlothian (1830), set in Edinburgh during 1736, Scott draws upon the true story of Helen Walker—a woman who undertook a perilous journey to London to secure a pardon for her condemned sister. The narrative vividly captures the agony, shame, and injustice experienced by women entangled in the web of societal expectations and legal repercussions related to extramarital pregnancies.
Scott’s portrayal of Jeannie Deans, the novel’s heroine, resonates deeply with the memories of countless women who suffered under the weight of the Child Murder Act. The Act, which was ultimately repealed in 1809, shifted the legal narrative from execution to a two-year imprisonment for women found guilty of such transgressions. This shift, albeit a welcome relief, did little to eradicate the stigma associated with unmarried motherhood, particularly in Scotland.
The Heart of Midlothian achieved considerable success, in part due to the lingering memories of the tragic fate that befell numerous women under the Act, compounded by the societal shame surrounding out-of-wedlock pregnancies. Scott himself, a lawyer by profession, held deep admiration for Helen Walker’s resilience and sacrifice, culminating in his decision to erect a tombstone over her grave in 1831.
As we reflect on this dark chapter in Glasgow’s history, it becomes evident that the intersection of legislation, societal norms, and gender dynamics created a dire landscape for women. The pain and isolation endured by many serve as a stark reminder of the ongoing struggle against misogyny and stigmatization within societal constructs. The legacy of the Child Murder Act and the stories of figures like Helen Walker prompt us to confront the complexities of history, urging contemporary society to remain vigilant against the perpetuation of such injustices.
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