"A New World for Women"? Abortion Law Reform in
Britain during the 1930s

STEPHEN BROOKE

"Abortion must be the key to a new world for women," wrote the British feminist Stella Browne in 1935. Browne believed that the public emancipation of women in such areas as politics and the economy demanded and was dependent on their emancipation in the private sphere of sexual and reproductive practice: "freedom of choice and deliberate intention are necessary for [women] in their sexual relations and their maternity, if they are to make anything of their status and opportunities." Toward this end, she advocated abortion as an "absolute right" spanning public and private realms.1	1
Browne evoked modern visions of femininity through abortion and emphasized the issue's liminality between public and private. These are themes also reflected in recent historical studies of abortion in North America and Europe. In work on post-1960 abortion in the United States, for example, Celeste Michelle Condit notes the intersection between changing discursive understandings of abortion and those of femininity, "a negotiated transformation of women's own private discourses" in public and private spheres, a view also adopted by Jane Jenson in her examination of abortion in France.2 Other studies of abortion have emphasized its role in problematizing the private female body in the context of the public sphere after World War I.3 This is particularly true of work on the controversies surrounding Article 218 in interwar Germany and the 1920 loi scélérate in France, as Cornelie Usborne, Atina Grossmann, and Mary Louise Roberts have shown.4 Abortion has also been used as a means of understanding the relationship between public and private spheres in twentieth-century political culture. Leslie Reagan's history of abortion law reform in the United States illustrates how the "private invaded the public" in a dynamic of "ambiguity and interaction," while Donna Harsch's examination of the question in Communist East Germany reflects on the engagement between the private behavior of the individual and the demands of the state in a socialist society.5	2
The history of abortion law reform in Britain similarly offers a valuable site for considering the place of femininity in the public sphere during the twentieth century. The 1861 Offences Against the Person Act made it illegal to procure an abortion under any circumstances. The Infant Life (Preservation) Act of 1929 modified this somewhat, allowing medically administered abortion "for the purpose only of preserving the life of the mother."6 But the definition of "life" excluded social, economic, or psychological considerations. With the exception of insanity, only physiological conditions justified legal abortion. The successful parliamentary and extraparliamentary campaign for the 1967 Abortion Act opened up access to legal and safe abortion on a variety of grounds and established freedom of choice as a cornerstone of "second wave" feminism.7	3
While the debate on abortion is largely associated with the 1960s, the issue had also elicited wide discussion thirty years before. In 1937, an official report on maternal mortality noted that the practice of abortion was "common" and a significant contributing cause of puerperal mortality.8 The 1930s saw the formation of a feminist pressure group dedicated to the legalization of abortion (the Abortion Law Reform Association, hereafter ALRA), the establishment of an official enquiry into the question in 1937, and, in 1938, the well-publicized trial of a prominent gynecologist for performing an illegal abortion. This interest in abortion did not, however, extend into the political sphere. Unlike in Germany in the same period, abortion was never the focus of a popular campaign by parties of the British Left.9 Indeed, until decriminalization in 1967 (passed under a Labour government, but by means of a private member's bill sponsored by a Liberal), abortion was a divisive issue within the British Labour Party.10	4
The present article uses abortion law reform in Britain during the 1930s to explore changing ideas of femininity in the early twentieth century and the relationship of motherhood and female sexuality to distinctions of public and private. These themes will be examined primarily through the work of the official Interdepartmental Committee on Abortion between 1937 and 1939, discussing, in particular, the testimony and evidence presented to this committee by middle-class and working-class abortion reformers. Two arguments run through this analysis: that the discussion of motherhood and female sexuality in the abortion debate demonstrated the instability of the distinction between public and private, and that abortion reformers offered a radical, even subversive, vision of femininity and women's rights through arguments that drew on maternalism. We must first discuss the broader context of abortion in late nineteenth and early twentieth-century Britain as it touched on three areas: the relationship between gender and ideas of public and private, the role of motherhood as a social category of femininity, and the place of class in these considerations.	5
With the 1861 Offences Against the Person Act, public law became more clearly involved in the private sexual and reproductive practice of women, occluding the distinction between public and private promoted by the separate spheres ideology. It has become a truism that this distinction was always powerful but illusory: whether as social or economic beings, women never really absented themselves from the public sphere; within the private sphere, women and femininity were the subject of often unrelenting public scrutiny; and, lastly, notions of the private determined and shaped categories of the public and vice versa.11	6
The criminalization of abortion in the late nineteenth century also coincided with growing interest in motherhood as a public issue. Between the 1870s and the end of World War I, concerns about national strength increasingly brought motherhood within the ambit of state and voluntary social reform.12 The recurring figure in this landscape was the working-class mother, who had to be both supported and disciplined for the good of the nation.13 As Seth Koven and Sonya Michel have suggested, this not only allowed state and voluntary agencies to shape ideas of the private, it established "women's public relationships to politics and the state, to community, workplace, and marketplace."14 Motherhood became a valid social category of femininity, a borderland between public and private spheres. Travelers through this territory mapped it in disparate ways. Feminists deserve particular attention. Susan Pedersen's work has shown how some feminists saw the new emphasis given to motherhood as legitimating a "citizenship function" for women. According "mothers the economic and social recognition they deserved" would not only usher women into the public sphere as citizens but improve their position within the home (with reforms such as children's allowances, for example).15 This was a double-edged sword: while such feminist maternalists cast women as citizens equal to men, the accent on their civic equality through the role of motherhood perpetuated the "division of the world's work along sex lines."16 As Carole Pateman has argued, the meaning of motherhood was often fixed or constructed as subordinate and dependent.17 However paradoxical, even dangerous, this feminist maternalism might be for promoting women's rights, it was an important legacy for abortion reformers in the 1930s.	7
Concerns about working-class femininity transected discussions about abortion. Middle-class observers indeed often identified abortion as a specific problem of working-class women. To some degree, abortion was accepted within working-class communities. While all strata of society in Britain witnessed a general trend toward family limitation in the late nineteenth century, differences of income and access between classes left an uneven pattern of contraceptive practice. Compared to other forms of contraception, access to abortion was relatively easy within working-class communities. Despite its potential physical risk, it was seen by working-class women as an effective and economical means of family limitation.18 But given that firm statistics about abortion were either elusive or nonexistent, prejudice rather than empiricism also guided middle-class perceptions of working-class abortion, a disposition that had other biases about working-class women as its companion pieces. Doubts about working-class women's maternal (and thus patriotic) abilities were complemented, for example, by doubts about their sexual morality.19	8
Well before the 1930s, therefore, abortion helped bring sexual and reproductive behavior into the public sphere, shaded by considerations of femininity and class. In the interwar period, five factors complicated this process: a falling birth rate, the problem of maternal mortality and morbidity, the perception of sexual liberalization, the formalization of women's status as public actors, and high unemployment. A consistent theme was the nature of "modern" femininity, in particular, the character of motherhood.	9
In Britain, as in other European countries, the birth rate fell substantially throughout the century, from nearly thirty births per thousand in 1900 to just over ten by the 1940s.20 Increased contraceptive practice accounted for this change. In 1949, the Royal Commission on Population maintained that "the spread of deliberate family limitation has certainly been the main cause, and very probably the only cause," of the falling birth rate.21 During the interwar period, this prompted concern from a wide spectrum of pronatalists, including eugenicists, imperialists, and supporters of family allowances.	10
Part of this disquiet arose from the problem of maternal mortality. Infant mortality had steadily declined through the first quarter of the twentieth century. But until the introduction of sulphonamide drugs in the late 1930s, maternal mortality remained at approximately five deaths in every thousand births, a figure that rose slightly between 1923 and 1936.22 These trends excited much concern from women's groups and the government. The Ministry of Health commissioned two enquiries into the problem in 1932 and 1937. The second report noted illegal and unsafe abortions as a significant cause of puerperal mortality. Even though the statistics were understandably sketchy, the 1937 report suggested that the number of abortions had risen between 1926 and 1934; mortality as a result of unsafe abortion amounted to about 14 percent of all puerperal deaths. This finding led directly to the establishment in 1937 of an interdepartmental committee on abortion by the Home Office and the Ministry of Health.	11
The observations of the 1937 Maternal Mortality report were consciously placed in the context of shifts in femininity and changes in sexual mores. Its authors noted that women exhibited an "increased nervous tension" in the modern age, shown by their "fashion of 'slimming' and the habit of cigarette-smoking."23 As for sexual morality, they drew a clear distinction between the pre-1914 period and the postwar era: "Since the Great War there has been a loosening of the conventions which formerly governed the relations between the sexes, an extended use of contraceptive measures and a reputed increase in the practice of abortion."24 This apparent and lamented erosion of traditional values and sexual mores was a common cultural touchstone during the 1920s and 1930s. In T. S. Eliot's poem "The Wasteland" (1922), for example, a young promiscuous typist and a working-class woman—the latter prematurely aged by the abortifacient pills she took "to bring it off"—are particular and highly gendered symbols for a more general loss of meaning and order in postwar society.25	12
Whether marked by the spread of family advice clinics or the success of Marie Stopes's Married Love (1918), there can be little doubt that the 1920s and 1930s were a period of moderate sexual liberalization.26 Popular culture helped create a freer sexual climate, especially through the cult of glamour and romance in cinema and pictorial magazines, while the strains placed on private life by the exigencies of two world wars also forced a more open approach to sexuality.27 But the extent of this change should not be exaggerated. Ross McKibbin has rightly noted that traditional mores and practices "gave way only slowly," and other recent scholarship has emphasized a continuing sexual conservatism and respectability, not least among working-class women.28 Between the wars, there nonetheless remained much hand-wringing about the decline of sexual standards. Once again, perceptions about femininity and class imbued this anxiety. The new position of women after World War I was sometimes taken as a causative factor in moral decline. Writing on "sex-delinquency" (a category that included all non-conjugal sexual activity from prostitution to premarital or extramarital sex), one of the contributors to The New Survey of London Life and Labour (1934) located the prevailing laxity of moral standards in the post-1918 "liberated" woman: "The demand for equality of status has been to some extent translated as an equal right to extra-marital sex adventure."29 The younger working-class woman was often taken as a specific exemplar of the new Gomorrah. The middle-class author of I Lived in a Slum (1936) drew a clear contrast, for example, between the sexual behavior of different generations of working-class women; the younger woman was dismissed as "undoubtedly a baggage."30 It was testament to the prevailing assumption that working-class women were the locus of a more general moral decay that pre-1939 advocates of legal abortion had to stress that "there is no deterioration in the character of the young working-class woman of the present day."31 But this impression persisted well into the 1940s and 1950s. The evacuation of children and mothers in the first years of World War II gave vent, for example, to much opprobrious indignation at the "sluttishness" of some working-class mothers, while some sex surveys of the late 1940s and 1950s regularly trooped out the sexually active younger working-class woman (whose "promiscuity" was associated with other vices such as gambling, heavy smoking and drinking, and with the frivolities and corruption of popular culture) as a cipher of modern immorality.32	13
To contemporary observers, the visibility of women in the public sphere might have confirmed this link between the modern age and the ruin of traditional sexual standards. It certainly bespoke a new awareness of transformed gender roles. World War I formalized women's importance as economic actors and left them (with the enfranchisements of 1918 and 1928) at least legally equal to men in the political realm.33 The interwar period also saw some progress toward female emancipation in other ways, with, for example, legislation such as the Sex Disqualification Act (1919), which freed up female access to the professions, public offices, and postsecondary education, property acts in 1926 and 1935 that allowed single and married women to hold property as men did, and divorce reform in 1923 and 1927. Jane Lewis has rightly warned against seeing such reform as unqualified feminist progress in interwar Britain. But these changes did enshrine a public place for women and the discussion of femininity and female rights.34 This public place was nonetheless fraught with complexity. Most political parties saw women as problematic political subjects.35 To some extent, this was rooted in the perceived nature of women as exceptional political subjects, whose interests (as mothers, for example) derived from sexual difference. But the complexity of the relationship of femininity to the public after 1918 lay in the stutter of such difference within increasing synonymity. Developments such as the equal franchise, wartime mobilization, and shifts in the labor market contributed to a sense of the diffusion of clear borders between men and women as social actors. However, the maintenance of the marriage bar for women in local government and the civil service represented one backlash against this blurring of sexual difference.	14
If a stagnant birth rate, maternal mortality, sexual liberalization, and the emancipation of women affected considerations of femininity and domesticity, the specter of high unemployment among the working classes in the 1920s and 1930s haunted motherhood and family life. Between the beginning of the postwar slump in 1921 and the outbreak of World War II, no less than one million people were out of work in any given year. At the trough of the Great Depression in 1932, the unemployed comprised 23 percent of the manual labor force. Skilled male workers suffered disproportionately from unemployment, a fact that did much to undercut the viability of the male breadwinner ideal. What little growth there was in the interwar work force occurred largely within the ranks of young single women, only deepening the threat to working-class masculinity.36 It is hardly surprising that a palpable sense of emasculation animated images of unemployment. Faced with the taunts of his sister, the unemployed hero of Walter Greenwood's famous proletarian novel Love on the Dole (1933) feels the shame of his "miserable muscles," for example.37	15
A less obvious victim of unemployment was the working-class mother or wife. If the male worker suffered the shame of joblessness, it was the mother or wife who bore the brunt of its poverty, attempting to manage the family on a reduced standard of living. At the dusk of the 1930s, Margery Spring Rice noted the damage to women's physical health such deprivation had caused and the "intolerable burden" it placed on such women in other ways: "[She is] faced not only with the lack of sufficient income to buy for her family what is needed, but with the constant strain of uneasiness caused by the shadow of unemployment, with the the fear of a reduction in an already insufficient wage, and with the fear of running into debt while endeavouring to meet such unvarying obligations as rent, hire-purchase, insurance, etc."38 George Orwell's The Road to Wigan Pier (1937) is striking for its valorization of male labor, but the author's own epiphany is triggered by the sight of a working-class housewife, vainly trying to maintain a respectable domesticity against the ravages of poverty: "At the back of one of the houses a young woman was kneeling on the stones, poking a stick up the leaden waste-pipe which ran from the sink inside and which I suppose was blocked . . . She had a round pale face, the usual exhausted face of the slum girl who is twenty-five and looks forty, thanks to miscarriages and drudgery; and it wore . . . the most desolate, hopeless expression I have ever seen."39 For many, unemployment represented a crisis within the working-class family.	16
It was against this background that abortion was discussed during the 1930s in the spheres of government policy, the law, and feminist activism. These debates raised a number of important issues about the distinctions between public and private and about changing perceptions of femininity and sexuality. The recurring theme was motherhood, not only as a category of femininity but also as a threshold between private and public spheres.40 It was, for example, partly for this reason that abortion inflamed the confusions already attending ideas of public and private in the early twentieth century.	17
The abortion issue also served as a forum for the generation of new and radical visions of women's rights and femininity by a variety of advocates of legalized abortion. Abortion and feminism have, of course, become inextricably linked; Vicky Randall has suggested that abortion became "almost the definitive issue of contemporary feminism" in the 1960s and 1970s.41 In the words of a British pro-abortion organization of the 1970s, abortion on demand ensured a woman's entitlement to control her "body and her life . . . to control its reproduction function": abortion was, simply put, a mark of ultimate autonomy.42 In the United States in particular, the argument for abortion has also devolved from a liberal individualism centering on rights of privacy.43	18
Compared to these approaches, abortion reform in interwar Britain had distinctive qualities. It comprised a more complex language, bringing together different vocabularies of femininity toward the aim of legalizing abortion. Abortion advocacy did demand a public recognition of a woman's private right to control her body. But it also drew on a more established vocabulary of women's roles, specifically that of maternalism. The campaign for abortion was also grounded in concerns about equality of access between middle and working-class women and the maintenance of living standards in working-class households during a period of high unemployment. The skein of abortion rhetoric was thus woven from strands of feminism, maternalism, and socialism.	19
Some accounts of the abortion campaign of the 1930s have suggested that, because it concentrated on the established social category of motherhood, it had "little to do with feminism as such."44 In part, this judgment reflects the critical eye turned on maternity by "second wave" feminists. Juliet Mitchell's influential work of the late 1960s and early 1970s, for example, delineated reproduction as one of the four sites of female oppression, while maternity was a "substitute for action and creativity" on the part of women; arguments for reproductive control were thus placed in opposition to maternalism.45 By contrast, the interwar abortion movement saw maternalism and reproductive control not in opposition but as complementary. It might be argued, indeed, that abortion reform was a variant of feminist maternalism. It was grounded in an interest in motherhood, particularly working-class motherhood; in this, it was similar to the German movement for reproductive rights before World War I.46 The maternalism of the British abortion reform movement did not, however, dull the edge of its feminism. It still comprised a radical challenge to established gender ideologies. There are two arguments here, the first about the content of abortion reform, particularly as it related to maternalism, the second about the working of the language of abortion reform.	20
That the abortion movement of the 1930s boasted a maternalist tinge is hardly surprising, given its lineage and the social circumstances that shaped it. Both highlighted the problem of maternal health in the early twentieth century. As groups such as the Women's Cooperative Guild and individuals like Maud Pember Reeves chronicled before and during World War I, and the letters written in the 1920s by working-class women to Marie Stopes bore poignant witness, working-class women paid a heavy physical price for multiple pregnancies.47 Shocked by such evidence, feminists and working-class activists within the Labour Party launched a campaign in the 1920s for wider access to birth control and contraceptive information, determined both to enlarge all women's rights and to narrow the gap between middle and working-class women.48 In 1925, the socialist-feminist Frida Laski noted, "For twenty or thirty years every middle class woman has had this information at her disposal."49 Reticence about questions of women's health, what Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway could refer to as "that," might have been a mark of respectability, but it was one only those with access to private medical care could afford; those who could not risked potentially fatal consequences.50 With abortion, there was a clear class divide between the availability of safe, therapeutic abortion (curettage) and the more dangerous use of abortifacient pills, nonsurgical implements such as crochet hooks and knitting needles, and "folk" remedies such as slippery elm bark.51	21
The definition of "maternal health" had social as well as medical boundaries, particularly with respect to the economics of working-class domesticity during the Depression. In their 1951 survey of four hundred urban working-class subjects, Eliot Slater and Maya Woodside remarked that "large families are firmly associated in their minds with poverty, hardship and the lowering of standards."52 This was a class memory of long standing, but one that interwar unemployment undoubtedly sharpened. Not all working-class families suffered unemployment in the 1920s and 1930s, but all working people felt its menace, the chill of which did not lift until the advent of full employment and a comprehensive welfare state in the 1940s and 1950s. Family limitation was one strategy against the threat of poverty. Although there was greater access to contraceptive advice in the 1930s, legal, effective contraception remained largely inaccessible to many working-class women. It is worth noting that well into the 1950s coitus interruptus and abstention remained the principal forms of birth control, a trend that only changed in the late 1960s.53 During the 1930s, the unreliability and inaccessibility of many forms of legal contraception left abortion as a weapon, albeit a dangerous one, against the threat of poverty.	22
Given the crisis facing working-class women during the 1930s, therefore, it would have been more surprising had feminists interested in abortion not taken up maternalism. Whether safeguarding women's physical health or helping strengthen the hand of working women in maintaining an adequate standard of living for their families, abortion was seen as a means of protecting motherhood rather than abandoning it.	23
This rationale might seem tepid compared with the defiant rejection of the traditional family structure found in "second wave" feminist arguments for abortion. But maternalism is not necessarily a conservative strategy even if it has, at its core, what is seen as a traditionally feminine role. As Lisa Brush has suggested, although motherhood might be associated with subordination and exploitation, maternalism can be a language of empowerment and rights: "To protect, nurture, and train children, mothers must have access to the conditions that will allow them to flourish as persons: bodily integrity, moral autonomy, material security, relational integrity, and political efficacy."54 The maternalism of 1930s abortion reformers brought out these assertive qualities, rather than promoting a fixed maternalism of dependence and subordination.	24
The radicalism of the abortion campaign of the 1930s can also be seen in the question of control and autonomy. In 1922, Stella Browne wrote, "Birth control is woman's crucial effort at self-determination and at control of her own person and her own environment."55 The argument for abortion might have been rooted in maternalism, but abortion was also about the limitation of motherhood. Legalized abortion would enable women to have power over sexual and reproductive practice. This was what Browne termed "intimate liberation."56 Most abortion reformers assumed that the ultimate arbitrer of whether a pregnancy would proceed would be the individual woman, not the state or any other mediating body. Once granted, the right of choice would be inalienable, regardless of changes in social circumstances. Ironically, though some socialists and feminists found much inspiration in the Soviet Union's legalization of abortion between 1920 and 1936, it was a faulty model for the British campaign. Contraceptive rights in the USSR derived not from the rights of women or the rights of the individual but from the needs of the state; when the state decided that abortion was no longer desirable, that right was revoked.57 It is also worth noting a comparison with the campaign to abolish Article 218 in Germany. Atina Grossmann has suggested that, "[d]espite the slippage into rights rhetoric, for most sex reformers, the right to choice in sexual and reproductive matters was never inalienable"; at least in the case of the German Communist Party (KPD), it was believed that the advent of a socialist state would eliminate the need for legal abortion.58 While British abortion reformers shared with their German counterparts a belief that abortion was a class issue, they did not allow gender to be subsumed in this analysis: women's inalienable claim to the right of choice remained a centerpiece of their arguments.	25
In these ways, advocates of abortion not only pursued the recognition of and support for women in their roles as mothers but also expanded the idea of maternity to include a public recognition of women's right to reproductive control and autonomy. This argument drew from a maternalist language, but it assumed a modern vision of independence for women, of which the most fundamental quality was freedom from motherhood itself. The determination to formalize private choice for women—to choose or reject motherhood—and to invest that choice with public legitimacy lies at the heart of abortion's radicalism. Motherhood would take on a new meaning, implying not dependence or subordination but autonomy and empowerment, recognized in the public sphere. In her work on the origins of the British welfare state, Pedersen has argued that the sexual difference of women in the category of motherhood was "encoded in policy as dependence."59 In the abortion debate, by contrast, such difference was encoded as independence.	26
The concern for the social context of abortion also lent its arguments a practical radicalism. In an important critique of the contemporary American abortion debate, Mary Poovey has offered the vista of a "nonindividualistic" politics of abortion, which situates the question not only within individual rights but in a context of greater private scope and social complexity.60 With its attempt to place abortion in the social category of motherhood and the specific category of working-class motherhood and domesticity, the abortion campaign in interwar Britain effaces some of what Poovey proposes, without completely displacing a belief in female autonomy. Indeed, the radicalism and realism of the campaign is found in its vision of female autonomy within the landscape of working-class domesticity between the wars.	27
Poovey's arguments rest on her reconceptualization of the individual as a "heterogeneous rather than homogeneous entity."61 This line of argument has some importance in considering the workings of abortion reform language in the 1930s. I have suggested that the radicalism of abortion advocacy lay in the manner in which maternalism was invested with other meanings, such as citizenship, control, and autonomy. This helped destabilize set ideas of motherhood, making it a more ambiguous category of femininity. The dynamic of abortion rhetoric did not rest with a particular meaning of femininity as motherhood but instead moved between disparate meanings. In terms of the working of abortion reform language, this dynamic was itself radical, resisting a crucial element in the construction of gender ideologies: the reliance on reductive categorization.	28
To expand on this, one might borrow a theoretical analogy from another sphere. The postcolonial critic Homi Bhabha has written of the radical potential of "in-between spaces," borderlands between cultures or races, between colonizer and colonized, in which discourses are left "wavering between vocabularies," particularly with the "mimic man" of the colonial relationship.62 It is in these spaces that, Bhabha argues, "newness enters the world" through the ambivalent identity ("almost the same, but not quite") of the colonized subject, expressed in the very wavering of his or her vocabulary, always escaping certain categorization by the colonizer, creating room for the "emergence of new historical subjects."63	29
Without conflating women in interwar Britain with colonial subjects, this dynamic might also be seen as applicable to the workings of gender in the abortion debate. During the 1930s, arguments for abortion melded traditional and innovative languages of femininity; these arguments moved between established ideas of femininity, such as woman as mother (both in the private and public spheres) and newer ones, such as woman as autonomous agent (again, both in the public and private spheres). In part, such rhetoric simply reflected or described the interstitial position of women in the interwar period, poised between public and private, and between similarity and difference as public actors. But playing on this ambivalence served to create a new vision of femininity by eluding a simple characterization of motherhood. To adopt Judith Butler's phrase, it rendered the feminine as "a site of subversive multiplicity."64 The degree of the subversiveness and radicalism of this challenge can be seen, as will be discussed, in the response of those who opposed it. In these ways, abortion brought the discussion of femininity and feminism to a new threshold. This was especially clear in the work of the Abortion Law Reform Association and in the 1938 trial of Dr. Aleck Bourne.	30
In 1935, Joan Malleson, a doctor with an office in London's prestigious Harley Street, called an informal meeting on abortion with Janet Chance, Stella Browne, and Alice Jenkins.65 All were London-based, middle-class, socialist-feminist women interested in the welfare of working-class women and the broader problems of contraception and sex reform. All had been involved in the Workers Birth Control Group, part of the wider campaign within the Labour Party for birth control in the 1920s. Early in 1936, joined by other socialist-feminists such as Frida Laski and Bertha Lorsignol, they formed the Abortion Law Reform Association at a small café off Piccadilly.66 For over thirty years, ALRA was the principal locus of the pro-abortion movement in Britain, playing a critical role in the campaign for the 1967 Abortion Act.	31
The association was formally nonpartisan, but it saw its political fortunes linked with the Labour Party. While never approaching the Conservatives or Liberals, ALRA worked through spheres of the Labour movement and left-wing politics, such as the Women's Cooperative Guild, Labour Party Women's Sections, and publications such as Tribune and New Statesman. One of its early aims was persuading "six 'key' women" in the Labour Party and Co-operative Society to sponsor a resolution at a Labour women's conference.67 Much of ALRA's local or provincial activity was conducted in affiliation with or even through Labour women's sections.68 By the outbreak of war in 1939, sixty-nine groups had affiliated with ALRA, mostly Labour women's sections and Women's Cooperative Guilds. The association's class composition is more difficult to ascertain. The leadership was metropolitan and middle-class. Nonetheless, the existence of a "penny" membership, which numbered 734 by 1939, does suggest some working-class participation.	32
Despite the role played by Labour women in ALRA, the association's formal relationship to the party was ambivalent. Although many early twentieth-century British feminists hoped that Labour would be "the leader of women's thought in this country," and Labour itself often boasted of being the "women's party," it remained stubbornly inert on most feminist issues in the interwar period.69 Birth control was one example. The debate within the party over the question in the 1920s was for many feminists a painful revelation of Labour's limitations as a vehicle of women's issues. As has already been noted, in the 1920s, socialist-feminists and female activists within the party pursued birth control as a reaction to the plight of working-class women, even though they were careful to distance themselves from eugenicist and Malthusian arguments. There were a few victories in the struggle. Labour women's conferences consistently supported wider access to birth control, and, in 1926, the Independent Labour Party (still affiliated to Labour at this point) adopted a sympathetic policy. Four years later, the second Labour government lifted a ban on local health authorities giving out contraceptive information. But more generally, the Labour hierarchy (both male and female) refused to accept birth control as official party policy. Some of this opposition was rooted in fear of a backlash from Catholic voters.70 Some arose from suspicions of eugenics and Malthusianism. Some represented prudishness and distaste; one Labour MP remarked that contraception was "the knowledge of the prostitute."71	33
Debates about contraception and abortion also revealed broad discomfort in Labour circles over the place of the sexual and the female in the public realm of politics. As Denise Riley has noted, the Labour Party was a primary site of the tension between public and private concerns.72 With birth control, this was translated into a conflict between what was configured as a legitimate "public" interest, such as class, and unacceptable "private" ones, such as sexuality and gender. Although Labour had shown interest in the problem of motherhood, contraception was perceived as being about sexuality, not maternalism. The party's Chief Woman Officer rejected any birth control policy being taken up by the party, believing that "[s]ex should not be dragged into politics."73 In 1924, Labour Woman, the official publication of the party's women's sections, pleaded that "this subject of relations of husband and wife should not be treated as a political issue at all."74 The following year, Labour's National Executive Committee and its annual conference agreed that "the subject of Birth Control is in its nature not one which should be made a political party issue."75 This rejection offers a clear contrast with the German Social Democratic Party (SPD) and KPD, which attempted to use contraception as a means of mobilizing working-class women.76 For British Labour, sex was a private subject and deemed inappropriate for the public sphere of politics.	34
But birth control was spurned as a valid issue not only because it was about sex but also because it was about the female gender. This is not to say that Labour was gender-blind in its outlook, far from it. The firmly articulated opposition between "sex" and "class" and "public" and "private" issues taken up by the party in the interwar period obscured a deeply gendered understanding of what constituted "public" and "class." A central question for the Labour Party between the wars was poverty among working-class people, particularly that caused by high levels of unemployment. In the 1920s and 1930s, Labour's solution was found primarily in three areas: the redistribution of wealth; the restoration of trade union strength in collective bargaining, a position eroded by both unemployment and the debacle of the 1926 General Strike; and, after 1931, the espousal of central economic planning as an alternative to capitalism. Throughout, the interests of the "nation," the "people," or the "working class" were equated with those of the male wage-earner.77 Proposals such as family allowances and contraception not only addressed material issues in the lives of working-class women but were also attempts to dislodge the masculinist cast of terms such as the "public" and "class" and invest these categories with the feminine. Labour rejected family allowances and contraception as either being irrelevant to its goals or even as detrimental to them.78 Setting the legitimacy of "public" issues (such as wage levels and planning) against the illegitimacy of "private" issues (such as birth control) and playing on a polar tension between "class" and "sex" belied a choice that had been made between the sexes, one that valorized the interests of working-class men and diminished those of working-class women. The rejection of birth control as a legitimate issue for political consideration was not only the rejection of a specific question but, more broadly, saw Labour turning aside a feminine claim on "class" and the "public."	35
This can be briefly illustrated by contrasting remarks made at the 1928 Labour women's conference. Defending the party's refusal to take up abortion and contraception as political issues, the most prominent female MP in the party, Ellen Wilkinson, denied their value as class questions: "the issues between one class and another must be planks in our programme, but this was quite a different matter." Against this, the socialist-feminist Dora Russell had unsuccessfully tried to appropriate the language of class to press for Labour's commitment to contraception: "Mothers had a trade union interest in this matter, which needed safeguarding by political action."79	36
In the 1930s, the party (including its women's sections) remained officially hostile to the consideration of abortion law reform.80 In 1935, the annual conference of Labour women only discussed abortion in the context of mental illness during a pregnancy; the same year, the Standing Joint Committee of Women's Industrial Organisations refused to deal with the issue.81 Labour Woman's coverage of the official report on Maternal Mortality did not even mention abortion; it completely ignored the Interdepartmental Committee on Abortion.82 Party loyalty and the intensity of the dual crises of the 1930s—fascism abroad and unemployment at home—undoubtedly did much to damp down potential opposition to the party's official stance on abortion. But this silence was also due to Labour's gendered conception of "public" and "private."	37
ALRA's natural home may thus have been within the Labour Party's latticework of socialist, feminist, and working women's organizations, but the possibility of securing a place for its aspirations within Labour's politics remained very slight. What made this prospect more daunting by the 1930s was the marginalization of abortion within the broader birth control movement. In the 1920s, abortion had been discussed, but more attention was given to the general question of birth control. In the 1930s, there was greater separation between the two problems; abortion became a frontier across which only a few women's and feminist groups ventured. Nonetheless, the maternal mortality reports of 1932 and 1937 and the severity of the Depression in the early years of the decade kept up interest in the problem of abortion, particularly as it affected working-class women. In 1934, the Women's Cooperative Guild passed a resolution at its annual congress advocating abortion law reform: "making of abortion a legal operation that can be carried under the same conditions as any other surgical operation."83	38
ALRA became the most important organization promoting abortion law reform in the 1930s. Its original aim was "to repeal the present law and substitute one freeing the medical profession from all restrictions, except those required by medical and humanitarian considerations."84 ALRA emphasized the improvement of access to contraception, women's rights to abortion, and maternal health, particularly for working-class women.85	39
Within ALRA, Stella Browne was the most vocal advocate of abortion as an "absolute right" for women to achieve both sexual liberation and personal emancipation. As Sheila Rowbotham has noted, in this regard, Browne was a link between the sex reformers of the early twentieth century and "second wave" feminists.86 The defiant and chiliastic tone to her writing on abortion does set her apart from other socialist-feminists of the 1930s. Browne saw legal abortion as an acknowledgement of a new or modern category of femininity, in which freedom from reproduction and physical and political autonomy were central elements of women's subjectivity: "women are really human beings and . . . freedom of choice and deliberate intention are necessary for them in their sexual relations and their maternity, if they are to make anything of their status and opportunities." It was also crucial to the broader aim of sexual liberation, not just for women but for society as a whole; Browne envisioned "economic justice and international peace . . . stretching out from the bodies and beds of human lovers."87 It is clear that Browne was more advanced than other abortion reformers, or at least less cautious about associating abortion with a revolution in sexual mores. At the same time, she did not reject maternalism—maternity was accepted as an aspect of modern femininity—she simply valorized choice about motherhood, reconciling it with active sexuality.	40
Other statements emanating from ALRA members eschewed any link between abortion and sexual liberation. Given the concerns about the decline of morality in the 1920s and 1930s, this is unsurprising: abortion was already sufficiently impolitic. Janet Chance instead appropriated the language of sexual propriety in order to make an argument for legal abortion: "This Association deplores irresponsible behaviour with its consequences in shallow experience, illegitimacy and venereal disease, and it holds that one of the first ways of promoting responsible sexual behaviour of fine and enduring quality is to make marriage more tolerable."88 It was not a preoccupation with sex that produced abortion but the strains of working-class domesticity: "The women who ask for abortion are not obsessed: the large majority are working-class women who for good reason consider the birth of a child at a given time a threat to the welfare of the home, a burden too heavy for their own strengths or their husband's earnings, and a disaster for the children already born."89 The key to making this situation more tolerable was not the rejection of sexuality but the reconciliation of conjugal sexuality with the protection of the health of working-class wives and the economic position of working-class households. Legalizing abortion on social or economic grounds would effect this reconciliation. ALRA members often made the point that the reconciliation between conjugal sexuality and domesticity was already enjoyed by women of the middle and upper classes. One contrasted "women who have money" with the "women who still appear in the press cuttings" in the legal treatment of abortion; another argued that "abortion was given to wealthy women every day in Harley-street and that knowledge and service should be available to all classes."90	41
The argument for abortion in the 1930s also evinced a clear feminist strain, concerned with advancing women's rights. In part, this emerged from the articulation of motherhood as a form of citizenship deserving recognition. In 1936, after Joseph Stalin had outlawed abortion in the Soviet Union, Janet Chance and Alice Jenkins pointed out the civic virtues and rationality of mothers in Russia and Britain:	42
neither the Russian nor the English mothers are irresponsible and selfish persons unconcerned with communal issues. The devotion of the working woman to her family in both countries under conditions of personal sacrifice is plain proof to the contrary. And it is they who, in the interests of decency of life, ask that abortion be available should their case be desperate. Their judgement of the wisdom or folly of permitting any particular birth would appear to have some value. But the present English and Russian laws do not treat the woman as a responsible person whose judgement deserves careful consideration.91
Jenkins and Chance wanted an acknowledgement of mothers as rational citizens, due public rights and obligations to protect the private sphere. Sometimes, this was suffused by a condescending view of the working-class mothers, but it remained an argument for public citizenship through maternalism: "They are our fellow citizens, ignorant no doubt of much, but as fit as others are, in many cases far fitter, to judge whether in the interests of the race or the home, another birth is a benefit or a crime."92 ALRA suggested in its published aims that illegal abortion "cannot be adequately solved until the reasons for the refusal of motherhood are given the attention that they deserve," demanding, again, that the public recognition of motherhood include a consideration of mothers as rational citizens.93 In this context, ALRA often used the term "voluntary" or "responsible" parenthood. Arguments for reform of the abortion law also contained an argument for women's inalienable right over her body in the sphere of reproduction. It would be the woman's decision to exercise this right: "The facts of abortion . . . make it primarily a woman's question . . . The woman for these reasons claims that, should there be a diversity of opinion in any particular case, she should have the casting vote."94
ALRA's language of abortion reform thus imbricated arguments for individual rights and female citizenship within a framework of maternalist and class concerns. This multivalence—taking account of the context of working-class life between the wars, the state of motherhood within that context, and the claims of women's social citizenship—reflected the transitional or ambiguous quality of femininity in the 1930s in its description of women in established and newer roles.	43
It was only after World War II that ALRA chose a parliamentary strategy to fulfil its aims. In the 1930s, it relied on educative efforts within the Labour movement and women's organizations, while seeking sympathizers from those within the medical and legal professions frustrated at either the injustice or ambiguity of the existing abortion law. Despite the provisions of the 1929 Infant Life Preservation Act allowing abortions to protect the mother's life, doctors were only too aware, as the medical journal The Lancet stated in 1936, that "the present state of the law renders a doctor liable to indictment."95 There was a series of criminal cases in Britain in the 1920s and 1930s that underlined this indeterminacy. In 1931, while finding a woman guilty of procuring an abortion and causing the death of another woman, Justice McCardie attacked the state of the abortion law: "many of those who seek to uphold and administer [the] present law of abortion are wholly ignorant of the social problems which not only persist in our midst, but which menace the nation at the present time . . . I cannot think it is right that a woman should be forced to bear a child against her will."96 But the law remained unchanged. Even though many of the convictions for abortion involved those outside the medical professions, doctors who performed abortions also faced the prospect of prosecution; in 1936, for example, a female doctor, Laura Sanders-Bliss, was sentenced to three years' imprisonment for performing five abortions.97	44
An opportunity to challenge the law came in 1938. In April, a soldier raped a fourteen-year-old girl in the West End of London. The girl became pregnant. Her parents took her to Joan Malleson, who contacted Aleck Bourne. He was one of Britain's leading gynecologists, the consulting obstetrical surgeon at St. Mary's Hospital in London, and, between 1938 and 1939, the president of the Obstetrical and Gynecological Section of the Royal Society of Medicine. Hoping to flout the existing laws, Malleson requested that Bourne perform an abortion on the girl:	45
I gather that everybody connected with the case, the police surgeon, the doctor at her work, and the school doctor, all feel that curettage should be allowed her. I understand that some psychiatrist might be prepared to sponsor the operation.
All of this, of course, gets us nowhere unless someone of your standing is prepared to undertake the operation. Many people hold the view that the best means of correcting the abortion law is to let the medical profession extend the grounds in suitable cases until the law becomes obsolete as far as practice goes.98	46
Bourne agreed. He also made clear that he would write to the attorney general and "'invit[e] him to take action.'"99 The abortion was performed on June 14, 1938. Bourne was charged soon afterward.
The Bourne trial became a public spectacle about abortion. That the attorney general, Sir Donald Somervell, prosecuted the case underscored the gravity of this spectacle. Bourne entered a plea of not guilty, arguing that he performed the abortion to save her life from "mental collapse" rather than physical danger.100 Somervell adhered to the letter of the 1929 Infant Life Preservation Act, rejecting any psychological basis for legal abortion. Crucial to Bourne's defense was his belief that the girl was "normal" and "moral"; she did not have what he called a "'prostitute mind,'" proved to him by her "complete breakdown" during a gynecological examination.101 Other witnesses, such as Joan Malleson, similarly stressed the girl's morality and respectability; in her original letter to Bourne, read before the court, Malleson had remarked that "the girl's parents are so respectable that they do not know the address of any abortionist."102	47
Bourne was acquitted. Superficially, the outcome seemed to offer a "wide and liberal view of the meaning of 'preservation of the life of the mother,'" one that included social or psychological reasons.103 But ALRA activists realized the limited scope of the victory, criticizing those "who think that, especially after the Bourne case, all is well."104 The Bourne case brought attention to the ambiguities of abortion law, but it did so under exceptional circumstances and with arguments that had very little reference to the central concerns of abortion reformers in the 1930s. The Bourne case came to trial because a prominent, middle-class male doctor had made a public spectacle of the case of a "respectable" (and thus probably middle-class) young girl. The abortion had been performed safely, within the precincts of a major hospital. Bourne's professionalism had been continually emphasized. This was the framework of middle-class access to abortion, whether in its environment, its actors, or even in the network of contacts between a girl, her parents, a Harley Street doctor, and a leading gynecologist. It was a network unavailable to working-class women. It should also be remarked that the Bourne trial tended to legitimate rather than challenge dominant views of femininity, particularly as they related to sexual mores. The central character in the trial was a girl rather than a woman. She was a victim of rape. Most important, she was deemed "moral" and "normal," which meant not sexually active. Female sexuality was associated, indeed, with the "prostitute class" of women. In this regard, the presiding judge, Justice McNaghten, portentously alluded to Swinburne's poem "Dolores" as an evocation of such promiscuity: "the cruel/Red mouth like a venomous flower . . . lips full of lust and laughter . . . marked cross from the womb and perverse."105 Finally, it is important to note that during the Bourne trial it was two upper-middle-class professional men of high social standing—Bourne and McNaghten—who judged femininity and drew its boundaries. Not only did the trial limit abortion to exceptional cases, ones that were blind to the class aspects of the problem, but the acquittal did little to reflect the complexities of femininity in the interwar period. The Interdepartmental Committee on Abortion of 1937 to 1939 gave the issue's supporters a more genuine opportunity to present their arguments.	48
Following the concerns set out in the 1937 report on maternal mortality, the Home Office and the Ministry of Health established the Interdepartmental Committee on Abortion. The committee was chaired by Sir Norman Birkett. Within its membership, only Dorothy Thurtle, the daughter of former Labour leader George Lansbury and later a member of ALRA, was openly sympathetic to the cause of abortion law reform. The committee met for two years, receiving written and oral evidence from a variety of groups such as ALRA, the Joint Council of Midwifery, the British Medical Association, and the National Council for Equal Citizenship. It published its final report in 1939. Although the Majority Report of the committee acknowledged that "economic and financial reasons" were the leading causes of abortion and admitted that "the law relating to abortion is freely disregarded among women of all types and classes," it rejected the legalization of abortion for "social, economic and personal reasons."106	49
The work, deliberations, and final report of the committee demonstrated, first of all, the ambiguity of abortion as a political issue and its liminal quality with respect to divisions between "public" and "private," ultimately calling these categories into question. We can see this partly in the nature of political participation in the committee's deliberations. On the surface, there was none. But, by guise and stealth, Labour women's groups did participate. The best example is the East Midlands Working Women's Association, the only working-class group to present evidence to the committee. The EMWWA was, in fact, the 1,300-strong Women's Section of the East Midlands Regional organization of the Labour Party (based in the provincial English cities of Nottingham and Derby), whose desire for official representation had been turned down by party headquarters, forcing the women to form "this non-political Association . . . out of the political body."107 Abjuring a formal political affiliation and structure (and thus existing in a borderland of politics) was the only means left to these Labour women to politicize what their party had dismissed as merely private. The discussions of the committee also revealed a restless slippage between "public" and "private." This hinged on abortion's perceived role in shaping public morality. The committee's final report stated unequivocally that any laws legalizing abortion threatened "the fundamental principles on which society is based, and we believe that, if given effect, they would have serious consequences."108 The committee itself linked the private to the public through abortion. Abortion could thus be played both ways: marginalized by political parties like Labour because it was private and controlled by the criminal law because it was public.	50
The committee's work also underscored the centrality of class in the consideration of abortion. The working-class woman, with her double burden as wage earner and mother, was the common subject of concern among all parties in these deliberations. In its testimony, the ALRA delegation, including Janet Chance, Joan Malleson, and Stella Browne, emphasized illegal and unsafe abortions as principally a problem of working-class women: "The safer abortion is always done by the medical profession, and the unsafer is occasionally done by themselves, but rarely in the middle and upper classes of society."109 In particular, it was tied to the maintenance of living standards among the working classes during the Depression: "The reasons most often given for desiring abortion is the maintenance of an adequate standard of life for the family as a whole; whether this be judged financially, or in terms of health, house room, ambition in education, or general well-being."110 In Chance's words, "the working woman needs this relief more than her sisters."111 From other sources, the bias toward abortion as a problem of working-class women was explicit. The Midwives Institute, drawing on a questionnaire of 1,111 of their members, stated that "[a]bortionists will flourish in any industrial area where financial and housing conditions are so bad."112 Dr. Violet Russell, the assistant medical officer for the London borough of Kensington, conducted a survey of 500 women in the spring and summer of 1937.113 Russell had not concerned herself with the problem of abortions or attitudes toward sexuality in the richer areas of the borough. Instead, she concentrated on its northern half, where there were cramped accommodations and a low average weekly income of £2 19s 8d, to "ascertain the attitude of the working-class parents in Kensington towards childbirth and the bringing-up of children."114 Ivy Roche of the EMWWA put her association's bias in blunt terms: "We have only taken the cases of women who are working, whose husbands are out of work, and of working class people generally. We have not bothered about anybody else."115 The comments of Roche and her colleague, Elizabeth Oakes, were, in this regard, haunted by the shadow of male unemployment and the economic crisis facing the interwar working family.	51
Changes in modern femininity (particularly with respect to motherhood) and sexual morality were also themes running through the committee's deliberations. These perspectives were cleanly divided between the pessimism about sexual mores of those opposing abortion and the reassuring tone adopted by abortion reformers. Committee members were particularly alarmist in this regard. Some felt that legal abortion would merely contribute to an existing welter of sin, increasing "the number of people who were having promiscuous intercourse." They were especially concerned that the modern age had brought with it an antagonism to motherhood: "the fashion of having children has gone out, and people think it stupid to have them." At some points, this anxiety strained credulity. Roche and Oakes were asked, for example, "Would there be any children?" if abortion were legalized. One committee member seemed surprised to hear that there were women who still wanted to have families and babies, "and all the rest of it."116	52
Given the gravity of this point with the committee, it is not surprising that advocates of abortion emphasized women's morality and commitment to motherhood. Single women were, for example, rarely mentioned in this regard. Russell stated that her control group of 500 working-class women were "respectable young citizens of the working class," without the usual stigmata of working-class immorality: "Most of the women were clean and careful with their dress and there was very little evidence of drunkenness."117 Russell explicitly addressed the question of moral decay among working-class women:	53
there is no deterioration in the character of the young working-class woman of the present day, who possesses all the devotion and affection for her husband and her children which was shown by her predecessors. What is now developed in these young parents, which was often absent in the past, is a sense of responsibility for the future of their children shown by the frequently repeated phrase that "it is not fair to bring children into the world in poverty." A change of attitude of these working-class parents has developed as a result of their realisation that it is possible to control conception; but there appeared little evidence of selfishness on their part in their wish to limit the number of their children, although it is obvious that a higher standard of living now exists than was present thirty years ago.118
If anything, Russell felt that attitudes had become more moral with respect to children and families:
The important fact is that so many young parents feel that it is right to limit their families, and feel guilty at their failure to do so, whereas in the past a large family was a source of legitimate pride. On the other hand, speaking generally, the individual children seem more valued by their parents than they were in the past, and the mother is beginning to regard the death of a child both as a catastrophe and as a reproach to her mothercraft; one no longer hears any woman volunteer that she has "buried ten." Moreover, the child is regarded less as the future support of their parents in their old age and more as an individual to whom these parents wish to give the best possible start in life.119
In this context, Russell assured the committee that "[t]he maternal instinct is strong."120 Working-class women continued to be good mothers and good citizens: their use of abortion did not detract from these qualities.
The representatives of the EMWWA similarly emphasized that they were defending rather than challenging motherhood and domesticity. "Women in the main are just as anxious to have children as ever they were," Roche and Oakes stated, but unemployment and poverty had made multiple pregnancies an untenable economic prospect for working-class women: "they are frightened of the present insecurity of their position."121 In its written memorandum to the committee, the association asked that abortion be legalized not only in cases of rape, incest, or criminal assault but, most controversially, on what could be seen as social or economic grounds: "where [the] mother is a wage earner and/or another child would be a burden."122 This language addressed the double meaning of women's work. Against the threat of high unemployment among men and strictly circumscribed public assistance, abortion would support women in both roles:	54
In places like Nottingham, Derby, Mansfield, where the bulk of the industries are light, women and juveniles are the wage-earners. The women feel that so long as their wages are necessary for keeping the home going, a pregnancy would be a disaster and an abortion is resorted to. Even when the mother does not go out to work, she contends that the extra two shillings a week allowed under the Means Test is not enough to keep another child. Other reasons given for "not wanting another child" were increased cost of living, rent for Council house, fares, etc. Mothers who were prepared to "space" their children could not afford the continued cost of birth control appliances.123
The Means Test (the assessment of family income to qualify for public assistance) was a particular problem for the protection of the family. With the Means Test, childbirth had to be calculated in shillings, as one of the EMWWA representatives made clear: "May I point out to you that under the Means Tests under which so many of our people live, you are allowed 2s. for each child . . . A mother may feel that 2s. is not enough to justify another child."124 Whether women were wage earners or non-working mothers, abortion was one strategy to shore up the family against the collapse of the male breadwinner ideal.
The argument for abortion was thus framed as a means of protecting the social condition of maternity, particularly working-class maternity. At the same time, this maternalist argument was indicted with other languages, ones that invoked more radical visions of femininity and women's rights. According women respect as citizens, for example, ran through ALRA's evidence. When it presented its memorandum and evidence to the committee, ALRA stressed that illegal abortion was not the choice of selfish, irrational, and promiscuous women but of "parents who loyally serve the best interests of the family, as they see them."125 Chance held that "voluntary parenthood" was the result of rational reflection, not the symptom of an immoral society: "It means in principle that the considered judgement of serious citizens on this question must be taken into account . . . [I]n broad principle we must consider that our fellow citizens' reasons are sound and serious and worthy ones, when they consider birth would be a disaster. I think we are taking a great responsibility on ourselves when we conscript unwilling thoughtful people into parenthood."126 Chance's insistent use of "citizen" to describe women is noteworthy, inscribing femininity within a clearly public space. This had resonances with the emphasis on motherhood as citizenship made by feminist maternalism earlier in the century.	55
The right of choice for which ALRA argued was not only couched in terms of membership as citizens within the public sphere, it carried with it an argument for female autonomy in both public and private spheres. One version of this came with Browne's testimony (as an individual, rather than a member of ALRA), in which she called for women's sexual liberation.127 But Browne's comments were admittedly outside a maternalist context. Within that framework, the delegates of the EMWWA were particularly emphatic in their belief that abortion be an unchallengeable right for women. When it was suggested by the committee that family allowances, full employment, or more generous housing and health benefits might be better ways to preserve families than the legalization of abortion, the representatives of the EMWWA insisted that, whatever social and economic reform had been attempted, abortion and birth control remained crucial to that aim.128 This implied that, once granted, abortion would became an inalienable right. Roche and Oakes also insisted that, as a choice, abortion had to be left solely in the hands of individual women, not those of the state, the medical profession, or even husbands. This was particularly true of "social" or "economic" abortions. Only the woman affected, Roche stated, could be the judge of "economic circumstances"; if she saw those economic circumstances put at risk by the birth of another child, she had a right to an abortion: "if a woman goes and asks for it on economic grounds, then it does seem to me that she should have it."129 At one point, this insistence on the autonomy of individual women led to a clear moment of frisson in the proceedings:	56
Q. What it really comes to is this: that the woman can go to a doctor and say: "Please give me an abortion"? That is really what it comes to, if she is to be the judge. There is to be no appeal from it. It is universal, legalised abortion. That is what Mrs Roche is advocating? A. Yes. Q. If the mother is to be the judge of the economic circumstances, it really means that you have complete universal, legalised abortion, does not it? A. Well, what I want is this— Q. Is that so? Is that really the point of view which you desire to put? A. May I answer it in this way? Q. You most certainly answer in any way you like; but the question is capable of an answer Yes or No. That is really your point of view, I take it, is not it? A. Then may I say Yes?  . . . Q. That is perfectly logical and perfectly right: but what you are really saying is this, is not it: I do advocate universal, legalized abortion, because the existing situation is very much worse in its evils than legalised abortion would bring about? A. Yes, I think that is so.130
As Lara Marks has suggested, this determination may have been rooted in the experience of World War I and higher expectations held by women for the quality of their lives and the ambit of their own actions: "While most of the women employed in large factories left once they were married, many of them carried the experience they had learned in the workplace into their married lives. For many of these women, the factory had raised their expectations of what a home should contain, what role their husband should play, and what they were entitled to as citizens in the provision of housing, welfare and maternity care."131 The subjects of Ferdynand Zweig's study Women's Life and Labour (1952) similarly felt "the