Historical Stillbirth Burials and Cremations

Debate between Diana Johnson and Carolyn Harris

Thursday 6th February 2020 Commons Chamber

[Carolyn Harris (Swansea East) (Lab)]

I would like to take the opportunity to thank the Leader of the House for allocating time for this debate and to warmly thank everyone for their kind words about the work that I have done. This place is at its best when we show compassion and work together to resolve the issues that matter to people. The work that we have done on children’s funerals—on what I like to call Martin’s fund—is typical of the kind of things that we can achieve when we work together.

Decades ago, when a woman had a miscarriage or gave birth to a stillborn baby, she was usually urged to forget about what had happened and often to try just to move on and have another baby as soon as possible. Families were not given time to grieve or offered any form of counselling. There were no special rooms with cold “cuddle cots”. Rarely were there opportunities for parents to even hold their babies for just a few minutes, for the first and last time, let alone take any photographs or gather mementoes for a treasured memory box. Babies were simply taken away quickly and quietly by hospital staff, to be buried or cremated in an undisclosed place. Fathers were usually advised to hide baby products at home, to help with the healing process and avoid traumatising the mother further. They were sometimes asked to pay for the burial. I found it really painful to hear the story of a man who had kept the receipt of his child’s funeral as the only memento of that child. These little ones’ innocent bodies were either cremated, buried in a communal plot sometimes, or placed in a coffin with a woman who had recently passed away. In some military cemeteries, babies were given their own plot, but marked simply with a number, never with a name.

On 19 January 1958, my mother delivered a full-term baby girl. She was 8 lbs in weight, but she never took her breath. In those days, there were not endless antenatal appointments or scans, or reminders to pregnant women to count the kicks, so my sister’s death was totally unexpected for my mum. Until her dying day, my mother believed that my sister had been buried with an elderly woman, but I honestly do not know if that was a fact or if it was a story that she had invented to comfort herself and over the years had come to believe as the truth My mother never grieved for my sister properly. She put up a wall. She was always afraid to show emotion. She was the most wonderful, loving mother in the world, but she was pretty rubbish on hugs, because she was terrified that if she showed love, something bad would happen.

When I had a scan when I was having Martin, the date of birth they gave for him was 18 January 1981. It traumatised my mother that I was going to be having a baby on the day that she lost hers. Thankfully, Martin was born on 24 January, but my mother always believed that 19 January, the date on which Martin was due, was a bad omen and that we were to lose him in the way that we were. She carried her child for nine months. She prepared to be a mammy and then she left hospital without her baby, with no support and no idea of where her little girl’s final resting place would be. My mother never really grieved for my sister until the day I lost Martin, and then she grieved as a mother and as a grandmother. My mother’s life was destroyed on the day that we lost Martin, because she remembered Martin and she remembered the baby she had lost 30 years before.

The practice of taking stillborn babies’ bodies and burying them without disclosing the location to the parents continued right up until the late 1980s. In the years since, families have started to search for their little ones’ graves. One lady, Paula Jackson, dedicates her spare time, for free, to helping people to find their babies, and in the last 15 years has found 800 babies. Thanks to Paula and her group, Brief Lives Remembered, parents have been able to find peace after years of grief and uncertainty. They now have a place to visit and the opportunity to place a headstone or a flower, or something to commemorate the memory of their loved baby. But some women do not feel comfortable asking for help. They feel ashamed or at fault. They feel as if they deserted their children, even though they were never given a choice.

We should not be expecting these women to be asking; it should not be up to Paula. I commend her for the fantastic work that she has done, but she is spending her own time and her own money to help these families. Surely there must be a way of sharing information about where these babies are buried, whether from council records or hospital maternity units, undertakers, crematoriums or cemeteries. That has to be an easy way of finding out what happened to each of these babies. I am hoping that the words from the Chamber today will resonate more than any policy, and that those who have the information will allow us to see it and share it so that those families who want to know where their babies are buried or cremated will easily be able to find out.

[Dame Diana Johnson]

My hon. Friend is making an incredible speech, and my heart goes out to the family circumstances that she has described. I want to ask her about institutions taking a proactive role by looking at the records they have and the information they can provide. It seems to me that lots of institutions—I am thinking of councils, in particular—do not do anything until someone asks a question, at which point it becomes a battle and is not the easiest thing to do. Does she agree?

[Carolyn Harris]

I certainly agree. I think the consensus in this Chamber—and some news channels, no doubt—will prompt local authorities, hospitals and other people to come forward and offer us the information we need.

Like my own mother, many have gone to their graves without knowing the locations of their babies. Many more are alive and still suffering from the grief and guilt, and very often from post-traumatic stress disorder. These mothers and fathers should be offered counselling and emotional support if they need it. They should be helped to manage their grief, to locate their baby and to live the rest of their lives with a sense of peace that they have not known for a long time.

This matter was raised this week by BBC journalist Frankie McCamley. Since the story was run on BBC News, I have been overwhelmed by communications from parents and other family members about their babies. Indeed, today the Doorkeeper sought me out because one lady has travelled here from the south coast just to hear us discussing the issue today, and she wants to tell me her mother’s story. People generations below the mums and dads who lost their babies are suffering, and are asking me to help them to find their babies; a lot of people out there need us to help them to get closure. I have received so many heart-breaking messages that I have suggested to some members of my staff that they do not read them, because I know they will be traumatised.

With everything that goes on in today’s world, this issue may seem relatively unimportant to some, but to anyone who has lost a child, memories and a grave visit are the things that bring an element of comfort. It took me a long time to stop visiting Martin’s grave. I would spend hours and hours and hours there. I would go to the grave, sit there and talk to Martin about everything I was feeling psychologically—all the questions I had, all the anger, all the guilt, and everything I wanted to communicate to him. I now know that Martin is in my heart, on my shoulder and in my head; he is everywhere. But until people get to the point in their grief where they understand that the person they have lost may not be here physically, but will always be with them, they need something to focus on.

I am asking that we find a way of helping the parents who want and need this closure to find their baby’s resting place, giving them the opportunity to have the peace so many of them seek, and—most importantly—a chance to say their final goodbye.