She was an inspiration. Thanks to her, I looked forward to labour, immensely, yes I did. I felt confident and strong. My English was still pretty poor at the time when I discovered her name and her books and pamphlets, by chance, out there in the deepest catholic Dublin of the early 1980s, because Kitzingen is a small Franconian town not too far from where I grew up.
I met her in 1984 queueing at the entrance to the First International Feminist Bookfair in London, a big crowd of young women, all the feminist punk of the 1980s, the diagonal fringe, single earring, torn T-shirt, Doc Martens, flowery skirt, bangles and scarves, when this jolly tea lady started to push her way through, shouting, sorry love, I have to man a stall. Oops, I should say, woman a stall, yes?
Laughter all around. And later, we shared a cup of tea and talked and she listened to my birth story and told me to write about it and send it to such and such a place and I did and they published it and Dr. P. who had been there at the home birth of my girl phoned me and thanked me and that's how I found out that this gentle quiet obstetrician had a subscription to a feminist magazine.