Deakin University philosophy lecturer Patrick Stokes wrote about ‘misericordia’, a Latin word, in The Conversation.

Stokes says misericordia is usually translated as “mercy” or “pity” and is described by some as “the virtue of the Good Samaritan … the way we would rush to help a child who has fallen down a well, not through hope of reward, but simply through concern for the child – any child”.

Stokes says Australians are fortunate in our wealth and way of life through luck, not effort, and that we are misguided to believe we have the right to decide who gets to share in this luck and who doesn’t.

And he says when it comes to boat people, the moral demand to respond with misericordia hasn’t gone away.

Next Write Me Up would like to note cartoonist Michael Leunig and his articulation of the word ‘compassion’.

Thirdly we would like to note the use of ‘sovereign’.

As a noun, it means “a supreme ruler, especially a monarch”. As an adjective it means “possessing supreme or ultimate power”.

It was used by the federal opposition in the title of its new Operation Sovereign Borders, a policy headlined by military-led measures against asylum seekers travelling by boat.

Sovereign, misericordia and compassion are not mutually exclusive. It would be possible to mix them. Perhaps the government and the opposition could look at developing a policy called Operation Sovereign Misericordia, if they are really as concerned for the welfare of asylum seekers travelling by boat as they claim to be.

Write Me Up would offer to write and edit it for free.

When we look into the meaning of cavalier, we find that both impressions are true.

Our trusty Oxford Dictionaries tell us that as a noun, cavalier historically meant a supporter of King Charles I in the English Civil War (1640s), and also, a courtly gentleman, especially one acting as a lady’s escort. (There are also the horseman and the small spaniel breed prone to long snouts definitions, the latter perhaps indicative of the look of olden-day gentlemen, but more likely, of King Charles I himself. See image below.)

But it is when we come to the meaning of cavalier as an adjective that we find things start to tell even more of a story. Because as an adjective, cavalier is defined as “showing a lack of proper concern; offhand”.

So, do we then deduce that our King Charles I supporters and courtly gentlemen acting as ladies’ escorts, were perhaps a little offhand and not really as concerned with their King’s or their ladies’ welfare as they might have been? In King Charles I’ case, this perhaps could even have been a fatal lapse, as he lost both his civil wars and was then executed in 1649. This also led to the temporary abolition of the British monarchy and the equally temporary establishment of the republic of the Commonwealth of England. Hmmm.

In the case of our ladies, well, the news that their gentlemen were perhaps a little offhand in their approach, a little lacking in concern, a little ‘cavalier’, is probably no real surprise and some might say nothing much has changed. Well, the knickerbockers maybe.

So the message is, it may be fun to swish around being cavalier, laughing in the face of danger while lacking concern for others, but as King Charles I, his supporters (and possibly our ladies’ escorts too) discovered, you do so at your peril.

noun

1 historical a supporter of King Charles I in the English Civil War.

2 archaic a courtly gentleman, especially one acting as a lady’s escort.

3 a horseman, especially a cavalryman.

4 (also Cavalier King Charles) a small spaniel of a breed with a long snout.

adjective

showing a lack of proper concern; offhand: Anne was irritated by his cavalier attitude.

Derivatives

cavalierly (adverb)

Origin

mid 16th century: from French, from Italian cavaliere, based on Latin caballus ‘horse’.

Definitions source: The Oxford Dictionaries

* Portrait of King Charles I, by Anthony van Dyck, 1636

My plea to the Mercy Hospital is just this: Please don’t close your Family Birth Centre. It may be small, but it’s wonderful.

When I found out I was pregnant, I really had no idea what to do. My GP ran through the options with my husband and I. Private obstetrician, shared care, public hospital model, family birth centre. Being an open-minded type, I decided to investigate them all.

I remember calling the obstetrician surreptitiously on my mobile phone in the car, not wanting to call from my office, because no one there knew I was pregnant yet. I recall breaking into a sweat, as tears welled up and my voice began to break, while the receptionist berated me for imagining I could book in with her esteemed obstetrician at this late stage. I was probably eight to 10 weeks pregnant.

Dazed and anxious that I’d left everything too late, I began to feel vague apprehensions about having to have my baby alone in the wild somewhere. Had I left it too late to book in anywhere? Would anyone have space for me now?

It was then I called the Mercy Family Birth Centre, and from the moment they picked up the phone, all my apprehensions were assuaged, my anxieties allayed and I commenced on the most wonderful birthing experience I could possibly have had.

From the beginning the midwives at the Family Birth Centre were welcoming, professional and kind. I went from feeling anxious about having no idea what to do, to feeling comforted that they were looking after me and ensuring everything that needed to be done, was being done.

Tours were booked, appointments made, scans conducted, results sent through, blood pressures, heart beats, weights, medical histories all taken care of,  progress tracked and forms filled out. Hurray.

On top of this I loved the place itself. The rooms were beautiful and homely. A double bed for my husband to sleep in beside me after the birth, with our beautiful baby girl lying peacefully wrapped up between us, a couch for our family and friends to sit when they visited, a private ensuite, a wooden chest of draws for our clothes and carpeted floors, just like home.

And, on top of all this, the absolute sealer, the icing on the cake, which I could not quite believe, was that all this wonderful care, these beautiful home-like surroundings, the support and encouragement to aim for a wonderful natural birth, while still having reassuring easy access to first class medical facilities if needed; all this was paid for under the Medicare system. I felt that I had hit the jackpot.

The birth itself was magnificent. I can still remember my midwife Sue saying to me as I battled on: “What a woman!” With these beautiful words she encouraged me, supported me, built up my confidence, reassured me and urged me on all at once. They were wonderful words and I still recall them sometimes even now, to spur myself on when I need a bit of a push (yes, pun intended).

The only thing I could not believe then, and still cannot believe now, was that only 2.5 per cent of women in Australia have their babies in a family birth centre. It is such a wonderful way to have your baby, I can’t believe such a small minority do.

There should be more family birth centres, not less. Everyone should have the option of such a wonderful place to give birth. For me the Mercy Family Birth Centre will always hold a very special and dear place in my heart. If it were to close, I would feel like a little part of me had closed too.

  – Kellee Nolan – Writer, editor and mother of two

 You can read about the campaign to keep the Mercy Family Birth Centre in Melbourne open and sign the petition here.

There is also a Facebook page for the campaign here.