feminine-genius

Two interesting women

Sashimani Devi was the last of the ritual temple dancers, whose vocation stems back to the 12th century. At the age of three. she was left at the temple by her parents, and the women there raised her and taught her what she needed to know.

The Hindu god Jagannath, an avatar, or incarnation, of Vishnu, gives his name to the English term juggernaut, inspired by a festival in which the image of the god is pulled along the streets in a huge, ornately carved wooden temple cart. Traditionally, devotees would sometimes cast themselves under its wheels in the hope of freeing themselves from the cycle of death and rebirth.

Devadasis were girls who were given to the temple by their families during childhood to be the mortal wives of the god. After their “marriage” to Jagannath their duties included performing ritual baths and private songs and dances at the god’s bedtime, dressed in special jewellery and bedecked with flowers. During and after the colonial era, however, the devadasi system fell into disrepute, owing to the corruption of the practice in other parts of India, where devadasis became, in effect, prostitutes for upper caste temple patrons.

By contrast the devadasis of the Jagannath Temple, also known as Maharis, never practised prostitution, and were expected to remain celibate. In 1988, however, the practice of dedicating young girls to Hindu temples was outlawed on human rights grounds.

It was a long, proud tradition, and although she adopted a young girl who normally would follow the same path, her daughter took her myriad talents elsewhere.

[Sashimani] continued to dance into her fifties and sang well into her eighties, until her legs were broken by a rampaging bull and she could no longer make her way to the temple.

She died at the age of 92, but you can find some of her reminiscences here. A few years younger, Sheila Kitzinger also died recently, having a smashingly successful career as a social anthropologist who advocated strongly for changing the way babies are born.

Sheila Kitzinger, who has died aged 86, was a social anthropologist and powerful proselytiser for home birth, natural birth, and the avoidance of unnecessary obstetric intervention – what she called the pathologising of childbirth; to women who had undergone the experience, her views were either appalling — or empowering and liberating.

Sheila Kitzinger battled her way into the labour ward with The Experience of Childbirth, published in 1962. The medicalisation of childbirth was at its peak and her message that birth was a wonderful, exhilarating event where women needed to retain control struck a chord. Over the next three decades, her efforts saw an end to routine enemas and shaving and a sharp decline in episiotemies.

As a result of her campaigning it became normal for partners to be present at the birth and she helped to establish the importance of breast-feeding to maternal and infant health. In the 1980s she introduced the birth plan — by which prospective mothers can insist on various procedures during labour — to Britain.

The social commentator Polly Toynbee hailed Sheila Kitzinger as “the Earth Mother, or Birth Mother of the Nation,” observing that “if Britain is now one of the most progressive countries in obstetric practices, it is largely due to her.” One newspaper bestowed on her the title of “high priestess of the childbirth movement.”

Of course, we take these things for granted now, but they were radical innovations for her day. As with any pioneers, one can be so enamoured of a new vision that the seer can lose perspective.

But the flip side of this revolution was that childbirth became hugely politicised, with women caught between the natural-birth, breast-feeding zeal of the Natural Childbirth Trust (which Sheila Kitzinger helped to found), and medical professionals with their statistics showing that, thanks to modern medical techniques, the rate of maternal and child mortality in childbirth was lower than it had ever been.

Some mothers also felt that she contributed to pressures which make women feel inadequate — even guilty — if they did not experience epiphanies when giving birth or enjoy the rose-tinted joy of breast-feeding that they were led to expect.

Indeed some found Sheila’s Kitzinger’s writings about childbirth decidedly eccentric. In Birth & Sex (2012) she celebrated the “eroticism” of childbirth, likening the second stage of labour to “a multiple orgasm that comes in great rushes with each longing to push” and “the most intensely sexual feeling a woman ever experiences.” She urged women to “be wild, to roar like a lion, scale mountains and revel in the birth passion.”

Um, yeah. One might be a little too swept up in the excitement of it all.

Sheila Kitzinger tended to claim that she was misunderstood and that some women had taken her pronouncements on the orgasmic aspects of childbirth rather too literally. “I’m not starry-eyed about this. It’s like if you plan a picnic in this country; you have to imagine what happens if it rains as well. The main point is that if women want to, they can share in the decision-making. If they don’t want to, that’s fine, too.”

Evidently, her own maternal career manifested itself to be curiously apart from the norm as well.

Only one of Sheila Kitzinger’s five daughters chose to become a mother, having all three of her children using the water birth technique. Three of Sheila Kitzinger’s other daughters came out as lesbians, to which their mother’s reaction was entirely positive. When the headmaster of the first to come out called Sheila in to discuss her daughter’s “unhealthy” relationship with her female maths teacher, she invited the teacher to spend Christmas with them. Shortly afterwards, two more daughters made similar announcements. “They’re terrific,” she maintained. “I must have done something right.”

May the God of mercies consider the good these two women pursued with all sincerity, and may they rest in peace.

A decade in Persia

For years now, I've been trying to cover the interesting lives I find in the obituaries around the world, but I missed the passing of this woman, who was used as a backdrop in one of Mark Steyn's older columns. Princess Fawzia Fuad was the first wife of Shah Reza Pahlavi of Iran, although their marriage only lasted a few years.

Princess Fawzia bint Fuad was born on November 5 1921 at Ras al-Tin Palace in Alexandria, the eldest daughter of King Fuad and his second wife, Nazli Sabri, and grew up in royal palaces and gardens, shielded from the outside world by an English governess.

A shy, pretty girl with blue eyes and black hair, she was described by the Egyptian writer and courtier Adel Sabit as a “supremely naive, over-protected, cellophane-wrapped, gift-packaged little girl” who lived “in bucolic surroundings, mobbed by adoring servants, aunts and ladies-in-waiting”.

She was 17 when the match with the young Iranian crown prince was first discussed. By this time she had been educated in Switzerland, and she enjoyed socialising, European fashion, and had never worn the veil. But once back in Egypt, her status as royal princess allowed her little freedom. “Fawzia was in those days virtually a prisoner in her mother’s houseboat on the Nile,” Adel Sabit wrote. “She rarely went out, and when she did she was surrounded by ladies-in-waiting and retainers. At a time when all other young girls were enjoying a relative freedom, Fawzia, by virtue of her position, was closely hemmed in.”

Marriage to a foreign prince seemed like a way out — or at least something different.

There was a language barrier, a religous barrier (he was Sunni, she was a Shi'ite), and there was the difference in countries. We may see the Middle East as a blurry whole, but there are wide diversities in the respective cultures. And then there was the standard in-law challenge that is often exacerbated by power and influence.

Despite having given birth to a little girl, by 1948 she had returned to Egypt alone, divorced after a few years, and remarried. The circumstances of her departure meant that she lost contact with her daughter, Princess Shahnaz, and I don't know if they ever reconciled. (Of course, the daughters life changed forever in 1979 with the fall of her father's dynasty.)

We've learned our lesson well concerning the gilded cages in which many royals live. This woman's life was no different, but goodness she was beautiful. She died this summer at the age of 91. May she rest in peace.

Loving the sinner--passionately

The LA Times has a astonishing story of a nun who chose to live in jail:

Sister Antonia Brenner, a Beverly Hills-raised mother of seven who became a Roman Catholic nun and moved into a notorious Tijuana prison where she spent more than three decades mending broken lives, easing tensions and dispensing everything from toothbrushes to bail money, has died. She was 86.

She was born Mary Clarke in Los Angeles on Dec. 1, 1926, to Irish immigrant parents. Her father grew wealthy running an office supply business, and the family counted Hollywood stars such as Cary Grant among their neighbors. She married and raised four daughters and three sons, all the while becoming deeply involved in charity work.

In 1977, after her children were grown and two marriages had ended in divorce — a source of sadness that she rarely talked about — Brenner gave away her expensive clothes and belongings, left her Ventura apartment and moved to La Mesa penitentiary. She had delivered donations in the past to the prison, each visit filling her with compassion.

"Something happened to me when I saw men behind bars. … When I left, I thought a lot about the men. When it was cold, I wondered if the men were warm; when it was raining, if they had shelter," Brenner told The Times in a 1982 interview. "I wondered if they had medicine and how their families were doing. …You know, when I returned to the prison to live, I felt as if I'd come home."

Small of stature, with blue eyes peeking out from under her traditional black–and-white habit, Brenner cut a strikingly serene presence in the overcrowded prison of 8,000. She lived as any other inmate, sleeping in a 10-by-10-foot cell, eating the same food and lining up for morning roll call.

She would walk freely among thieves and drug traffickers and murderers, smiling, touching cheeks and offering prayers. Many were violent men with desperate needs. She kept extra toilet paper in her cell, arranged for medical treatment, attended funerals.

Guards and inmates alike started referring to her as the prison angel. In the cellblocks she was known simply as "Mama." "There isn't anyone who hasn't heard my lecture on victims," she said in a 2002 Times story. "They have to accept that they're wrong. They have to see the consequences. They have to feel the agony. ... But I do love them dearly."

What an extraordinary path! She took her generous soul to the cell block and offered these men the very maternal affection that could transform their disoriented lives. It was not an isolated gift of self, but the divine gift borne of intimacy with God, Who was able to work through her. 

It is clear that her prison door wasn't locked, and that she could come and go--which she did for the benefit of her sons in jail.

A revered figure in Tijuana, where she counted police chiefs and politicians among her friends, Brenner was honored with the naming of a street after her outside the prison. In the late 1990s, she established her own religious order, the Eudist Servants of the Eleventh Hour. Tijuana Archbishop Rafael Romo said she possessed the qualities of a saint and said her death was a "terrible loss" for the city, the Tijuana newspaper Frontera reported.

Brenner often visited her family in Southern California, where she would regale her more than 45 grandchildren and great-grandchildren with stories about her charity work. "She was a tiny woman with a little fire and a lot of passion," Christina Brenner said. "We called her the Eveready battery. She wouldn't stop. She was always going."

"You walk in her presence and you know you're in a different world," Carroll said. "Rhyme, reason — you can't rationalize why she did it. She has that one-on-one relationship with God."

She reached out to women as well, those who were prayerfully considering what God might have in store for them:

Many women in mid life or later find themselves longing for something more in their lives. While the heart is searching, listening for a call, the head is saying I want to do something good, something important, with the rest of my years.

Her invitation was to join her in the ministry, to offer an "a kind of encore dedicated to Our Lord." Priceless!

It gives us something to think about when we ponder the word "penitentiary." Would that many of these men find Truth through her ministry, and may this dear Sister rest in peace.

Another heroic voice silenced

While one archaic saying says that children should be seen and not heard, hard-line Islamicists insist that women should be neither seen nor heard. One woman who insisted on speaking has been silenced:

The killing of Sushmita Banerjee was the latest in a string of attacks on prominent women in Afghanistan, adding to fears women's rights in a country where many are barely allowed outside the house will recede even more after U.S.-led foreign forces fully withdraw in 2014.

The militants arrived before dawn at Banjerjee's residence in eastern Paktika province, which lies in Afghanistan's east — a region where the Taliban are especially influential.

Perhaps buying her book--even now--would provide some solace to her family, and enlighten us as to what a "war on women" really looks like.

Banerjee described trying to flee Afghanistan multiple times to get away from the Taliban, and how she was ordered executed as a result of her attempts. She made it back to Kolkata in August of 1995.

"I still remember the day I stepped on Indian soil for the first time after I had left," the interview quotes her as saying. "It was raining outside. People were scurrying for shelter. But I didn't run. I just stood there and let the rain wash off my pain. I felt if I could bear so much in Afghanistan, I can surely bear my motherland's rain. I don't know how long I stood there, but I won't forget that day."

Mrs Banerjee did not know Christ, but perhaps her generous kindness towards her new compatriots, and the medical assistance she offered them redound to her salvation. May she rest in peace.

"Quintessential matron"

According to Wikileaks, that is how American diplomats assessed the "Iron Lady" back in the mid-1970's (as well as "frightfully British"), but she proved to be so much more. The family announced that she has just gone on to her eternal reward:

• Margaret Thatcher dies: coverage in full

Margaret Thatcher's journey from Grantham grocer’s daughter to 10 Downing Street was not quite without parallel — her predecessor, Ted Heath, started from if anything more humble origins — but her achievement over 11 years once she reached the highest office left most of her fellow prime ministers way behind.

After winning a scholarship to Oxford, where she read chemistry, Margaret Roberts became fascinated by politics. Her father, who had been a councillor in Grantham, had certainly inspired her, and she determined to try to secure a candidacy to be a Conservative MP.

Her two attempts in the safe Labour seat of Dartford in the 1950 and 1951 elections were unsuccessful, though she made a name for herself as a doughty fighter with a bright future. The other bonus of her time in Dartford was that she met and married her future husband, Denis Thatcher, who had taken over and was greatly reviving a family chemicals business. They married in 1951, when she was 26 and he 36, and two years later she gave birth to twins, Carol and Mark.

Motherhood meant that she did not fight the 1955 election, but instead concentrated on a new career at the Bar. In 1959 she was adopted for the Conservative seat of Finchley, and was returned to parliament for the first time at the election of that year. She held the seat until her retirement from the Commons in 1992.

Prayers and for her soul and for her family. May she rest in peace.

Well done, good and faithful steward!

Dr Evelyn Billings, wife and partner of Dr John Billings, who founded the World Organization Ovulation Method Billings (WOOMB) in order to help women to understand and manage their fertility naturally, has died at the age of 95. Her book, The Billings Method, was first published in 1980, and has been translated into 22 languages. From LifeSiteNews:

For half a century the Billings traveled the world teaching and promoting their method in faithfulness to Pope Paul VI’s call to “men (and women) of science (and) physicians (to) be obedient to the Lord’s call and to act as faithful interpreters of His plan.”

In 2003, Pope John Paul II made Dr. Lyn a Dame Commander of St. Gregory the Great in recognition of the fiftieth anniversary of the Billings Ovulation Method. She was an active member of the Pontifical Academy for Life.

She was recognized with Honorary Doctorates from universities around the world including an Honoris Causa Degree from Tor Vergata University in Rome in 2005.

In 2002, Drs. John and Evelyn Billings were jointly declared International Catholic Physicians of the Year by the International Catholic Federation of Medical Associations.

Joan Clements, Director of WOOMB International Ltd., noted that "couples in more than 100 countries bear testament to the wonderful work of this selfless woman and her husband."

Along with her husband, Dr. Lyn has been instrumental in bringing the Billings Ovulation Method to China, where it is now incorporated into the Chinese Government Family Planning Program as a method of choice by fertile couples. "In China alone," Clements observed, "where they trained thousands to teach their Method, a substantial drop in the abortion rate has been attributed to their work."

She was preceded in death by her husband, who passed into eternal life in 2007. May they both rest in peace.

A Curious Gift of Self

The widow of TS Eliot died last week at the age of 86, and her story reveals a singular arc of dedication, begun in early adolescence.

Valerie was sent to school at Queen Anne’s, Caversham, near Reading, where the ethos was sporting rather than intellectual. At the age of 14, however, she was visited by a sudden illumination when she heard a recording of John Gielgud reading Eliot’s Journey of the Magi. Thereafter her obsession with the poet became a family joke.

The headmistress of Queen Anne’s may also have smiled wryly when Valerie Fletcher told her, on leaving, that she was determined to become TS Eliot’s secretary. For six months she worked at the Brotherton Library of the University of Leeds, and then as private secretary to the novelist Charles Morgan. But her aim, as she artlessly phrased it, was always “to get to Tom”; and in August 1950 she duly succeeded in becoming his secretary at Faber & Faber.

Not only did she doggedly become a fine secretary and guardian of his life's work, but she managed to hide her tremendous affection for him, so that when he finally hovered near an engagement, he had to ask if she even liked him.

Her life's goal wasn't some dark machination to coopt the poet, but a gift borne of devotion to him as a person. I admit I've never heard of such a tale, but then there are few men of the calibre of Eliot who pass our way. There was nothing in it for her other than the great satisfaction of serving a man she adored, easing his later years, and offering him joy.

When the new-marrieds returned from their honeymoon in Menton [1957], the change in Eliot was startling. “You look as if, like Dante, you’d passed into Paradise,” someone told him. “Exactly,” he replied. “I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he would say, “I do not deserve such happiness.” If Valerie had to endure the disdain of some of Eliot’s circle, she rejoiced that through unstinting devotion all her intuitions were justified.

“He obviously needed to have a happy marriage,” she observed after her husband’s death in 1965. “There was a little boy in him that had never been released.” At parties the Eliots would hold hands and gaze at each other like lovesick teenagers, in defiance of the 38 years that lay between them.

The wounds in Eliot ran deep, stemming from a short and stormy earlier marriage to a woman who later had to be committed to a mental hospital. It's not clear how much Valerie knew of those details, other than that his first wife had died in 1947. For years he had been wracked with guilt, and '[h]is conversion to a gloomy Anglicanism in 1927 had only reinforced the mould."

But with Valerie came a wholesome affection and selfless love. It was in giving that she received a great deal, and they both benefited by the trajectory of her life. There is no indication of what sort of faith life she had, but may God smile favourably on her fidelity and oblation. RIP, dear sister.

[BTW, it would appear that she worked closely with this lovely woman.]

We've lost the “doyenne of decorum”

Letitia Baldridge has died at the age of 86. As Jacqueline Kennedy's social secretary, she was most visible in this country during the Kennedy presidency, but she's written much since then.

Above all she sought to preach the virtues of a little decorum as a brash new-money age of celebrity washed away the values of old. “Many people feel we’ve lost all sense of taste,” she noted in an interview with Women’s Wear Daily in 2007, making no secret of the fact that she was one of them. “Notoriety is what counts, and what sells. As far as excellence, half the people don’t even recognise it when they see it. These celebrity fashion icons, if they have screamingly bad taste, no one seems to care. When [Barbra Streisand] wears nightgowns for her fourth wedding and puts her bosoms in people’s faces, everyone thinks that’s the way to behave.” Jacqueline Kennedy, by contrast, “did not know a moment of bad taste.”

The obituary has some funny anecdotes, because despite being a little pretentious in her early years (which she readily admits) she did find a gracious ability to laugh at herself over her many faux-pas.

The catalogue of calamity began in June 1947, she admitted, when she was invited through her father to attend a garden party at Buckingham Palace. It was crowded and, turning from one conversation she stretched out a leg over which a large figure tripped and was sent flying. It was Winston Churchill. “I wanted to die,” she said.

Priceless! I did mention etiquette in the ACW book, since it is usually a constructive body of rules that are based on basic charity. Most etiquette is filled with lovely courtesies, but when there is no faith to keep it focused, it does have a tendency to devolve into meaningless trifles that become increasingly exclusive.

RIP, dear sister, and thank you for returning to your duties when President Kennedy was assassinated. Your strength and guidance helped the country through the crisis.