The Changemakers: The woman who took on the State – and won access to contraception for all
May McGee: 'I was livid that somebody in government could tell us how to live our lives. I wasn’t going to back down'
It’s striking to hear May McGee describe how she coped with having four babies in just 23 months, between December 1968 and November 1970. “I used to feed them one, two, three, four,” she says recalling how the little bundles were lined up in the family mobile home at Loughshinny in north county Dublin.
“Four bottles, four nappies,” she says, and then makes four gestures, showing how she turned over each baby to wind it.
Any 27-year-old mother would have found that challenging. Money was tight and while the family caravan was big and relatively comfortable, it was not ideal. In a sense, though, that was the least of it. May had experienced several health difficulties in pregnancy and had suffered a stroke before the birth of her second child. Having another child would put her life in danger.
And that was a real risk. “All he had to do was look at me and I got pregnant,” she says now, pointing at her husband Séamus and dissolving into a peal of laughter. He joins in: “I was a fisherman and we used to say that all I had to do was take off my rubber boots and I’d be driving her to the Coombe [maternity hospital].”
It might be funny now but at the time May McGee went through hell. Her first child Martin was born two months prematurely on December 15, 1968. It was a difficult birth and May wasn’t able to walk for months afterwards. Her baby was six weeks and two days old before she got to hold it.
She also got shingles shortly afterwards and recalls how the nurses covered over the mirror in the hospital. “You’d think I had ten rounds with Mike Tyson, I was that bad,” she says.
Shortly afterwards, she was pregnant again. Not long before her second baby was due, she was in her kitchen when she dropped a cup and felt “something give in her head”. She was having a stroke and was rushed to hospital where she gave birth to her second son, Gerard, on January 2, 1970.
Her doctor James Loughran had already advised May to take the pill after the difficult birth of her first child. It was not illegal to use contraceptives in 1970s Ireland, but it was illegal to sell, offer, advertise or import them.
At the time, May McGee declined as she thought God might punish her but after the birth of her second child, she was willing to try contraception. The pill was no longer an option given her medical history, but Dr Loughran advised a diaphragm to be used with spermicidal jelly.
May and Séamus McGee were all set to go ahead when May realised that she was pregnant again – with twins.
Her twin girls Sharon and Sylvia were born on 15 November 1970. Again, it was a difficult birth but at least now, the couple had a contraceptive option. When they ordered spermicidal jelly from the UK, they were absolutely stunned when Customs intercepted it and sent them a letter advising them that they might be fined or, at worst, jailed.
“I was livid that somebody in government could tell us how to live our lives. I wasn’t going to back down,” says May.
The couple went back to see Dr Loughran, who was involved in the fledgling Irish Family Planning Association. When he asked if the McGees would be interested in trying to force the Government’s hand on contraception, they said, “Why not?”
Their solicitor Dudley Potter enlisted the support of Donal Barrington and Seán MacBride who lodged a case in the High Court – McGee v Attorney General and the Revenue Commissioners – to argue that the prohibition on contraception was an infringement of May’s personal rights and on the rights of her family and, therefore, unconstitutional.
In June 1972, both May and Séamus took the stand. May has had a hearing impairment since childhood and relies on lip-reading, yet she was determined to give evidence even though she found the experience intimidating.
“It was horrible,” she recalls. “It’s a very scary place to be, and you are being asked questions about six different ways. But I said to myself, we are here now.”
She resented the intimate nature of the questions too, but made a point of looking directly at the judge, Andreas O’Keeffe, then President of the High Court, when asked if she thought she and her husband should live as brother and sister for the rest of their lives.
“We are only human,” she said. “Religion is important, but I still think we have a right to live as human beings. We are husband and wife, and we cannot live as brother and sister.”
Later, Séamus took the stand. When asked if he liked the idea of his wife using contraceptives, he replied: “I’d prefer to see her use contraceptives than be placing flowers on her grave.”
Despite their strong testimony, the judge rejected the case. That simply strengthened May’s resolve who was prepared to go to the Supreme Court or all the way to Europe if necessary.
She recalls sitting in the gallery of the Supreme Court doing her knitting during the four-day appeal in November 1973, letting the legal argument wash over her. A month later, on December 19, four of the five Supreme Court judges ruled in her favour, saying contraception was a matter for husband and wife and it should be free of interference from the State.
It was a landmark win but at the time – and even now – the McGees didn’t think they had achieved anything momentous. “I don’t think I did something great, but I’m glad if it helped. It was one up for the woman, though, and we still have to fight our corner all the time,” says May.
Messages of congratulations poured in, some from as far away as Hawaii. There was one from the World Health Organisation, too, though not everyone was happy.
Séamus recalls going to Mass one Sunday and the priest said that certain people in the parish had brought the Church into disrepute.
There were two more McGee children – Darren in 1980 and Andrea in 1981 – before Séamus had a vasectomy. Cue more laughter at the kitchen table of the couple’s home in Skerries. They moved there from the mobile home shortly after the case.
The couple’s granddaughter Aisling McGee, a politics student, is sitting in on the conversation too. She did a university project on May McGee to remind her generation of what her grandmother did. “She doesn’t bring it up much, but she changed Ireland.”
And she is still trying to change not just Ireland but anywhere she sees women treated unfairly. “I get mad,” says May. “You can’t take away the women’s rights.”
