Editor’s note: where there’s a title and no author, it’s a Pratchett book. Full details can be found at the end of the essay.
Content warning: discussion of systematised, gendered, and sexual violence and persecution. Some sources may use archaic and out-dated terminology. Most use heavily gendered language. Marginalisation around sex work and witchcraft are primarily based in the experiences and marginalisation of women. However, neither are inherently “female” nor have they ever been so. I want to be clear: I place zero value on “gender critical”, TERF (trans-exclusionary), or SWERF (sex-worker-exclusionary) beliefs. They are at best misinformed, and inherently harmful (Avila 2024; Conrad 2022; Ditmore 2006; Earl 2025; Nagle 1998; Thorn 2024; Walker 2023).
Inevitably there are cultural and historical perspectives and nuances that I can’t address here.[1] I am going to be discussing various marginalised identities and experiences. I have made a concerted effort to seek out education and knowledge that is grounded in own-voices as much as possible, both from online educators and in-person conversations with people I know. I am not an expert. I may make mistakes, and I am open to opportunities to learn better.
I always start out reading a fantasy novel when it comes to Pratchett. And somehow it ends up in a moral philosophy lesson from a professor with a grasp of humanity that still leaves me astonished (Trisscar368 2018, Tumblr).
My appreciation for Discworld has only deepened over the years; it has a lot to say about how people are always going to fundamentally behave like people. Discworld, as ‘a world and a mirror of worlds’ (The Last Continent, 1999, preface), makes an effective lens for contextualising and describing a number of real-world systems and experiences. I also love historical clothing and sewing because it is about people. It is inextricable from their contemporary social forces and events, and the lives of those who made and wore it. These two passions got me into cosplaying the Discworld’s Mrs Rosemary Palm.[2]
The author in Victorian-era cosplay as Mrs Rosemary Palm. Photo by Tom Buttery.
Mrs Palm is an interesting Discworld character, as is the historical context her story references.[3] Discworld’s foremost witch, Granny Weatherwax, describes Mrs Palm as ‘almost a witch.’ These two characters provide a Discworld lens through which we can explore related real-world history and how that is applicable now:
[i]n Discworld, stories and lies come together to create something necessary and meaningful. […] It is a training ground upon which to learn that beliefs have power, regardless of whether or not they are, conventionally speaking, true (Fellows 2014, p.216).
The real-world history and stories about “witches” directly inform the portrayal of Discworld’s witches. Discworld’s sex work and sex workers are similarly informed by real-world history and narratives. More specifically, the ways in which Mrs Rosemary Palm is ‘almost a witch’ can constructively frame some real-world conversations around marginalisation, power, and autonomy in an industry whose workers have so often been stigmatised, silenced, or shuffled out of history entirely.
Here be Witches
The fairy-tale witch, with hat and cauldron and broomstick, is a recognisable figure. Discworld’s witches draw heavily on historical, folkloric, mythic, and fantasy tropes. They have the arguable advantage over their real-world counterparts in being able to do real, tangible magic. But even for them, the actual job has very little to do with it. Long before Europe’s witch trials, “magic” had been a common local practice for hundreds of years. Identifying witchcraft often fell prey to “knowing it when I see it;”[4] it depends on who is looking, what they are looking for, and why they have gone looking for witches at all. Interrogators therefore tended to elicit confessions shaped by their own anxieties, prejudices, and fears. The witch hunts provided a ready rut for the wheels of people’s vitriol to fall into. By the ‘end of the century, ‘[w]itches were the representation of everything evil’ (Gibson 2023, p.xvii).[5]
Around 50,000 people were killed in Europe during the witch trials. Between 70 and 90 percent were women. Few records of their own voices survive. The witch trials led to huge losses of cultural and medicinal knowledge, especially around contraception and abortion (Gibson 2023; Thorn 2018) as medicine and midwifery were made the sole province of men;[6] ‘the figure of the Witch was used to bring women to heel and encourage men to hold the leash’ (Thorn 2018). Fearmongering and dehumanisation made incredible harm possible on a massive scale including the increased criminalisation of homosexuality and sex work. This lineage of persecution runs down the centuries to the more metaphorical “witch hunts” of today. Witch hunts simply adapted to new targets (Gibson 2023); accusations of “witchcraft” were “gradually replaced with the more specific petty crimes that they had always been there to disguise: things like vagabondage, cursing, fornication, being poor in public, small-time assault, being loud and a woman” (Thorn 2018).
Stories etch grooves deep enough for people to follow in the same way that water follows certain paths down a mountainside. And every time fresh actors tread the path of the story, the groove runs deeper (Witches Abroad, 1991).
In Equal Rites, an incidental quirk of birth leads to a child being born with great magic potential. A strange man bequeaths his staff to the infant, conferring upon it a great destiny: to become a powerful wizard. Due to an unrelated quirk of genetics, the child turns out to be a girl. Everyone knows that women cannot be wizards, and the resulting complications drive the plot of the book. Wizard magic on the Disc is about raw power, fancy special effects, and having a staff with a knob on the end. It is supposedly only for men. “Witch” magic is supposedly for women, and it looks very different.
The day-to-day of the Disc’s witches is reflective of real-world history, undertaking work that is ‘stereotypically seen as the province of women’ (Nuttall 2018, p.25). They exist in society because they are needed by it. Witches care for the elderly and the ill, act as midwives and healers, lay out the dead, mediate disputes, and act as a sort of moral touchstone of their communities (Fellows 2014; Nuttall 2018; Pratchett, R & Kent 2023).
Witches are in a paradoxically ‘centred-yet-marginalised position[…] in the communities they serve’ (Nuttall 2018, p.24). They are not wholly bound by the rules, nor are they fully protected by them.[7] The witches of Discworld are exceptional, which also makes them exceptions to the “proper” roles for women. That is a risky position for anyone to be in, especially for someone who can wield powerful magic.[8] Witches’ service to their communities is selfishly motivated;[9] it stops them from being completely ostracised from their communities or worse, becoming unmoored from them, thinking that having power means the people around you didn’t really matter. That way lies cackling and gingerbread cottages. And yet Discworld witches also leverage the stories about “evil” witches as an integral part of maintaining the respect of their communities. It is a tricky balance, and one with significant risks.
Whether on Discworld or on our Round-world, the fight against prejudice, persecution, and ‘bleedin’ stupid people’ (Monstrous Regiment) requires constant work. One wrong slip in the prevailing social narrative, however, and a witch could end up facing the “rough music” of mob mentality (A Hat Full of Sky; I Shall Wear Midnight)[10] – enough tinder, and only a spark is needed to set things ablaze. Mrs Snapperly, for example, wasn’t even a witch, ‘just a sick old lady who was no use to anyone and smelled a bit and looked odd because she had no teeth’ (The Wee Free Men, 2003). But she was still persecuted because, when people needed someone to pin their fear and anger on, she looked the part. Fear of the cackling storybook witch can even trip up other witches (The Sea and Little Fishes; I Shall Wear Midnight):
folks grew up on stories of the ‘wicked witch’. She still lives somewhere in the backs of their minds. So you gotta keep telling them a better story. Even if they don’t deserve it (Tiffany Aching's Guide to Being a Witch).
Stigma, Sex Work, and “Sin”
[S]in, young man, is when you treat people as things. […] When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they’re getting worried that they won’t like the truth. People as things, that’s where it starts. […] they starts with thinking about people as things (Carpe Jugulum).
Mrs Rosemary Palm does not cackle or wield magic, and is nevertheless “almost” a witch (Tiffany Aching's Guide to Being a Witch; Maskerade).[11] She founds and runs the Seamstress’s Guild of Ankh Morpork and helps achieve significant systemic improvements for Ankh-Morpork’s sex workers. As with Discworld’s witches her experiences, and how her work is portrayed, are rooted in real-world history.[12] Particularly the charged narratives that society tells about sex work, as with those told about “witches”, have historically overshadowed people’s actual lives and been used to push them into society’s margins.[13]
During the witch trials, any woman accused of “inciting sin” risked being branded as a witch. Nevertheless, sex work continued to be a fact of life throughout history. In Renaissance Italy, government-controlled sex workers would apparently solicit customers by exposing their chests on the still-famous Ponte delle Tette.[14] In medieval London it thrived, despite a history of stigmatisation, ‘regulation, suppression, and failed attempts at abolition’[15] (Lister 2021, p.49). As Protestantism gained cultural sway across Europe attitudes to sex work worsened,[16] mostly targeting poor and working class women.[17] On Shrove Tuesday of 1668, ‘[g]angs of men burned and looted brothels across London’s East End’ (Lister 2021, p.77), robbing and assaulting anyone they assumed was a prostitute. By the 1800s, prostitution was considered a moral and social ‘crisis of national proportions’ (Lister 2021, p.146). Still, sex work could potentially provide some women better conditions and pay than gruelling factory work or the horrors of Victorian workhouses.
Sex work has demonstrably existed through every strata of society from those turning to sex work out of desperation up to famed courtesans and the mistresses of kings.[18] The Pretty Women of Paris, published in 1883, is ‘a testament to the sheer diversity of women selling sex’ (Lister 2021, p.215). There are women with a variety of ethnicities, backgrounds, class and social statuses, and ages. And the most marginalised have always borne the brunt of regulation, police profiling and violence, and abuses of power.
‘Stereotypes of the unrepentant, titillating whore or the tragic victim in need of rescue have long stifled the voices of those who sold sex’ (Lister 2021, p.8). That same history and language inform the representation and common tropes around the portrayal of sex workers in more traditional types of fiction. If sex workers get any characterisation in fiction the historical tropes persist, often defaulting to either the tragic victim or unrepentant harlot. Rarely do any of them control their own fate.[19] Rarer still to find a fantasy world that talks with relative directness about sex work, contraception, sex toys, and makers of fetish gear.[20]
The Shades, in brief, were an abode of discredited gods and unlicenced thieves, ladies of the night and peddlers in exotic goods, alchemists of the mind and strolling mummers; in short, all the grease on civilization’s axle (Equal Rites).
The existence of Discworld’s sex workers is treated with an uncommon matter-of-fact-ness. There’s nevertheless a marked contrast between the lives of those under the jurisdiction of Mrs Palm’s Seamstress’s Guild in Ankh Morpork, and those we encounter in Monstrous Regiment. In the latter, our intrepid heroes need to disguise themselves as women.[21] To acquire the requisite wardrobe change they are led by Seargent Jackrum to the haphazard tent city on the edge of the battlefield, in search of a brothel.[22] The “doves” are (for the most part) barely distinguishable: underweight, exhausted, and disinterested. It doesn’t seem to even occur to them that they do not need to be under someone else’s control; they count themselves fortunate that they keep some of their earnings, are fed, and aren’t beaten.
Mrs Palm and her “Five Daughters”
‘So honed are the shrewd instincts, entrepreneurship and protective nature of Rosemary Palm, head of the Seamstresses’ Guild in Ankh Morpork, that Mistress Weatherwax considered her to be ‘almost a witch’. If you’re ever in her part of town, then Mrs Palm’s girls (and a few gentlemen these days) are very welcoming to witches and will furnish you with a clean room very cheaply’ (Tiffany Aching's Guide to Being a Witch)
Rosemary Palm grows up in Ankh-Morpork, demonstrating a quick wit, keen observational skills, and a knack for leveraging any advantage. Of the few options women in her position have, she chooses work that allows her comparative freedom and the right to set the cost of her labour at whatever the market will bear. It turns out the right market will bear some very hefty charges. Being a seamstress also comes with a lot of risk, so safety is dependent on cultivating community. Chronologically, our first introduction to Mrs Palm is in Night Watch. Rosie, as she is at this point, shares rooms with her friend[23] Sandra Battye, an actual seamstress.[24] Rosie enlists enforcers[25] who provide security and keep the peace,[26] and she already has ambitions towards founding a seamstress’s guild. The local community also has Doctor Lawn, who others dismissively refer to as “the pox doctor”. Lawn’s “foreign” training, actual tendency to heal people, and association with the marginalised and poor community in and around the Shades[27] means he is similarly an outsider to “respectable” society.[28]
During the main events of Night Watch, the city is reigned over by the paranoid Lord Winder. Strict curfews and “disappearances” by Winder’s secret police (“Cable Street Particulars”)[29] force people like the seamstresses into riskier situations. In collaboration with one “Lady Roberta Meserole”, Rosie and members of her community take significant personal risks to help depose Winder.[30] He is succeeded by Lord Snapcase, who proves to be unreliable, sadistic, and dangerously unstable.
The next mention of “Mrs”[31] Palm (chronologically) is in Equal Rites (1987). She has several young seamstresses living under her care so it may canonically have been the early days of the guild. In Guards! Guards! and Maskerade, Rosie is running a lodging house[32] with several of her “daughters”. In Maskerade, Mrs Palm provides lodgings to Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg.
Nanny, a typically candid and non-judgemental figure, is mortified to find out that her grandson suggested staying at this kind of establishment. She is then floored when Granny Weatherwax is unphased, knows exactly who Mrs Rosemary Palm is, and speaks of her with matter-of-fact respect. Granny Weatherwax, “doyenne of witches”[33] (Lords And Ladies), describes Mrs Palm as “almost a witch,” showing a level of professional recognition and respect that, frankly, she rarely even extends to other witches.
"There are times when uniform speaks best to uniform, and this is one of them" (Nurse Phyllis Crane in "Call the Midwife", 2018)
Mrs Palm has spent much of her life weighing choices and risks to establish lasting protections for seamstresses such as herself. She heads one of the most powerful guilds in Ankh Morpork but, similar to Discworld’s witches, prevailing social attitudes towards her profession remain uneasy. She must operate in a system where women’s choices and roles are few, and where power is heavily dominated by men.[34] She is also one of the few city leaders that Vetinari pulls aside to actually problem-solve while others get side-tracked in bickering and bureaucracy (The Last Hero).
Seamstresses and witches both perform demanded services but are marginalised for doing so. Mistress Weatherwax and Mrs Palm are two women who head heavily gendered[35] and marginalised professions. Both women are aware of the deeply-culturally-ingrained narratives that are applied to them by wider society. Perhaps, in Mrs Palm, Granny recognises another who has also learned to leverage the tools and trappings of her marginalisation. Who has carved out and thrived in an inherently precarious position of power, respect, and responsibility. And in those margins, both women are also able to extend care and protection to other people, including those who frequently slip through the cracks of community care.
‘I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you can see all the kinds of things you can’t see from the center’ (Kurt Vonnegut).
The historical overlap with the social role and persecution of sex workers and witches is not incidental; ‘[s]ex, death, domesticity – all the realms of women were also the realms of witchcraft’ (George-Allen 2019, p.262). Once you dig past the layers of blood, the historical roots of what defines a witch are deeply embedded in community. Discworld reflects those roots. A witch’s role is inextricable from the demands and needs of the people around them. Meeting those demands inevitably means standing apart from those same people.
Granny Weatherwax’s respect for Mrs Palm is partly grounded in those parallels. Additionally, it could well be grounded in how Mrs Palm has built and prioritised community. How she has leveraged the same marginalising narratives that pushed seamstresses into the margins to bring opportunities within reach. And she continues to navigate that balancing act to improve stability and safety in service of people who have been systemically disadvantaged and marginalised.[36]
Latter-day Ankh-Morpork operates on the premise that criminalising specific types of labour will only make the situation worse for everyone involved. Rosemary has therefore been able to carve out a position that there isn’t a good historical corollary for: the opportunity to have sex work fully legally recognised and legitimised. We get a glimpse at the Discworld equivalent of decriminalisation. And it is a significant improvement over the canon alternatives.
A Discworld Lens on Decriminalisation
History is littered with various efforts to prevent sexual exploitation by abolishing sex work. None of them have worked. Torture, mutilation, fines, imprisonment, banishment, excommunication and even the death penalty have all been deployed at various points, and none have succeeded in abolishing the sale of sex. Nor have these punitive measures ended sexual abuse. All that happens is consenting sex workers are forced to work in dangerous conditions and are further stigmatized for what they do, and those who are abused become harder to find (Lister 2021, p.10).
Criminalising sex work forces people to work illegally, denies them community, and forces them into more dangerous circumstances with few to no protections. The laws that have been used to “solve” sex work (or witchcraft for that matter) have been primarily targeted at poor and marginalised women. They have removed basic rights and freedoms, exerting control over where people could live, what they could wear, when and how they could work, and what kinds of treatment they were forced to tolerate from both clients and authority figures.
When it comes to sex work, social stigma and the law form a feedback loop: stigma allows lawmakers to ignore or downplay sex workers’ rights, and the criminalised nature of the work allows the public to stigmatise it (George-Allen 2019, p.153).
Historically, increases in state crackdowns on sex work have directly correlated with increases in violence against sex workers and anyone even suspected of being one (Lister 2021; Thorn 2019). There are still laws around the world that allow police to detain and search people based on “suspicion”, and something as benign as carrying condoms can be considered proof enough for harassment or arrest. An arrest can still go on someone’s permanent record, which may lead to eviction, being fired, or being refused proper medical care.[37] And as always, this disproportionately affects marginalised women.
Modern laws feed on old narratives and reinforce historical traditions of ostracization, isolation, and persecution. Even in parts of the world where decriminalisation has been partially implemented, it is often extremely challenging for sex workers to have their voices listened to;[38] even though ‘Sex workers are experts in [their] field [they’ve] been relegated to justifying [their] existence' (Misha Mayfair in Thorn 2019). Decriminalisation is the preferred approach by the World Health Organisation, Amnesty International and human rights organisations worldwide (George-Allen 2019). That doesn’t make it
a magic bullet [...] migrant sex workers are still being disappeared, people still get bad clients and have bad shifts and if they have management, management doesn't always handle it well. Social services are still underfunded and LGBT people, especially trans people, are still being discriminated against for other jobs, […] some people still choose sex work cause it's that or poverty (Riley Reyes in Thorn 2019).
Decriminalisation does, however, make it possible to work more openly and safely, to have at least some protections. It leads to demonstrable improvements to people’s lives[39] and social visibility. ‘The ‘right to be seen is a demand that has echoes throughout history and still shapes the fight for sex worker rights today’ (Lister 2021, p.243).
Despite having few voices from the sex workers of history, their lives remain imprinted on the world. They are still present in foods like puttanesca and tiramisu, place names like aforementioned Ponte delle Tette, and the (now sanitised) place names of many London streets.[40] Likewise, no matter the social pressures, sex work is not going anywhere:
selling sex is a product of capitalism and commerce. It is not a moral failing, but the inevitable result of market forces […]. We are all selling something (Lister 2021, p.244).
The history of sex work is not only one of marginalisation. It is also a history of real-world people who, like Rosemary Palm, work collectively with their communities and allies to push for improvements, protections, social change, and legal legitimacy. Figures such as Josephine Butler in the Victorian era, the 200 sex workers who marched on the Central Methodist Church in 1917, the occupation by a collective of sex workers of the Saint-Nizier church in Lyon in 1974,[41] and the people in the Compton Cafeteria and Stonewall riots of 1966 and 1969 respectively.[42] Witch-hunts and weaponised prejudices can be beaten but, like the Cunning Man from I Shall Wear Midnight (2010), it requires ongoing effort and vigilance. The animating force will resurface and will need to be defeated again every time. Decriminalisation is not a definitive end-goal. But I think it is a much better story, and one we need to keep telling.
[T]he most important thing Terry Pratchett taught me was the concept of militant decency. The idea that you can look at the world and its flaws and its injustices and its cruelties and get deeply, intensely angry, and that you can turn that into energy for doing the right thing and making the world a better place. He taught me that the anger itself is not the part I should be fighting. (Beachcombing 2010; SerialEphemera 2020)
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Freyja Stokes was the first person to complete the Sir Terry Pratchett Memorial Scholarship at UniSA. Her thesis, "The Turtle Moves: how Terry Pratchett's Discworld does vernacular theory", was published in 2023. He will happily talk about Discworld for hours at the slightest provocation to anyone who is willing to listen, (or at least doesnt run away fast enough!)
Freyja is still creating and updating Rosemary Palm cosplays from each of their favourite historical eras, and wears them to cons whenever he can make it to one.
Notes
[1] I could happily write an entire tome on this topic, let alone all the other Discworld ideas buzzing around my head. Maybe one day.
[2] Mrs Rosemary Palm, “Rosie” to her close friends, is president of the Seamstresses’* Guild of Ankh Morpork. Her name is a reference to a euphemism for masturbation: i.e. to visit or have a date with “Mrs Palm and her five daughters” (Pratchett Fanon Wiki 2006; Discworld & Terry Pratchett Wiki 2012).
* “Seamstress” is a euphemism for sex worker and is based on slang from Victorian and Edwardian England. As with many other euphemisms for sex workers across history, context was frequently the difference between literal or euphemistic meanings (Ditmoore 2006; Neaman & Silver 1984).
[3] I have a delightful time hiding as many references, euphemisms, and details into each outfit and individual garment as possible; it is my sartorial homage to the wealth of references I so enjoy in Discworld.
[4] The phrase was originally coined by United States Justice Potter Stewart in 1964 regarding a trial where a theatre owner had been fined for displaying “obscene” material, specifically the 1958 film Les Amants or “The Lovers”.
[5] Some people did push back against the witch hunts, considering them to be fundamentally un-Christian for ascribing more power to the devil than to God and questioning why, if the devil was so powerful, every non-Christian (as well as many believers) didn’t keep him on the medieval equivalent of speed-dial (Scot 1972).
[6] Dramatically increasing the rates of death in childbirth until things like the astonishing technology of washing your hands was finally re-discovered by other men.
[7] During the events of Wyrd Sisters (Pratchett 1996) all the witches experience various negative flow-on effects in the community due to Duke Felmet’s fear-motivated propaganda campaign against them.
[8] Although they typically try to do so only when it is absolutely necessary. Sometimes it is absolutely necessary because the witch in question is very, very angry… ‘When you break the rules, break ’em good and hard’ (Wyrd Sisters, Pratchett, T 1996a, p.186)
[9] Witches in Discworld are inherently selfish. What matters is what they are selfish about. It encompasses the land and community a witch serves; they are hers to protect (Tiffany Aching’s Guide to Being a Witch, Pratchett, R & Kent 2023; The Wee Free Men, Pratchett, T 2003a).
[10] The Disc’s witches can wield magic that would have had real-world witchfinders frothing at the mouth. And probably also at the brain.
[11] Granny Aching and Geoffrey Swivel are two other examples. Geoffrey’s relationship to power, marginalisation, gender, and witchcraft would easily be an interesting area of exploration all on its own.
[12] That history has a significantly overlapping legacy with the persecution of witches. Both inform the experiences, activism, and cultural attitudes around sex work today.
[13] From the notion that sex work is “the oldest profession” to Herodotus (the “father of history”) fabricating tales of Babylon and “sacred sex” in the temple of Aphrodite that have been influential because they make a good story, rather than being grounded in reality.
[14] Translating to the “Bridge of Tits”. Prostitutes would bare their chests to attract business and supposedly also keep the soldiers on the literal “straight” and narrow. It may also be the earliest known example of any business advertising with a flashing sign.
[15] The ‘Liber Albus […] outlines the various punishments for harlotry, whoremongering, and harbouring ‘women of evil life’’ (Lister 2021, p.51).
[16] Martin Luther believed that sex workers were murderers and should ‘broken on the wheel’ (Lister 2021, p.71).
[17] Wealth or fame were no guaranteed safeguards against the inherent precarity of sex work. Veronica Franco, an incredibly famous courtesan, was denounced as a witch by the Inquisition in 1580. Her patron did save her life if not her reputation (Lister 2021). Other women were doubtless not as fortunate.
[18] In ancient Greece, the infamous courtesan Phryne was famed for her beauty and wealth. There are many stories (but few facts) known about her. At around the same time, a brothel in Pompeii has records the name of two men who worked there, Paris and Castrensis, who likely served men. Sex work has always encompassed diverse experiences and types of people (Lister 2021).
[19] I am specifically talking about tropes. Not all stories do this, nor is a story necessarily bad if it does. The overarching pattern is just indicative of the legacy these narratives are built on.
[20] Granted, Discworld does still handle these topics with a heavy dose of euphemism and a general waggling of metaphorical eyebrows, especially from in-world characters.
[21] In a sort of gender-bending, nested disguise situation.
[22] The sign out the front reads “The SoLid DoVes”, a reference to the “soiled doves”, women who worked in early frontier communities in America (Lister 2021).
[23] It is unclear, though a matter of some fan speculation, whether they were also “roommates”.
[24] Sandra’s market niche is people who miss the euphemism and turn up with ripped seams, or socks in need of darning. She is heavily implied to be smuggling weaponry in her sewing basket for the rebellion. Around times of power upheavals in the real world, from witch hunts to revolutions, men have often developed serious anxieties about what women might be hiding or smuggling in their pockets (Criman 2020; Orlando 2023). To be fair, sometimes that was with good reason.
[25] The “Agony Aunts”, Dotsie and Sadie.
[26] What they do with the pieces afterwards is unknown.
[27] Dr Lawn is also implied to offer discreet access to sexual and contraceptive care, including abortions, to the community. Seamstresses typically do not need that kind of help, being capable of managing their own sexual health and safety.
[28] Lawn is excluded from the Guild of Barber-Surgeons (who draw heavily on the worst that Victorian medical practice had to offer in terms of misogyny, culture, and efficacy), and from broader society. His later rise in respectability and opportunity allows him to expand the availability of free medical care to those in need. He also provides education and medical training, including taking on Igorinas who show an interest in medicine*.
*As revealed in Monstrous Regiment (2003b), unlike their male counterparts, Igorinas are discouraged from learning surgery or science and are told to stick to stitching – a contextual twist on women being told to stick to their needlework.
[29] Dr Lawn has patched up enough of their “guests” to have some particular opinions about their methods.
[30] Lord Snapcase had promised Rosie she would be able to establish her guild once he was in power.
[31] She acquires the honorific title of “Mrs” Palm as an indication of respect, not marriage. There is historical precedent for this, and it may also be a reference to a play from a 1983 play by Bernard Shaw called Mrs Warren’s Profession (Lister 2021; Neaman & Silver, 1984).
[32] Or at least a house where beds are available. Typically on a short turnaround, although longer stays are clearly available to the right kind of lodger.
[33] Mistress Weatherwax is “first amongst equals”, and the most respected of the leaders that witches definitely do not have, on account of not holding with that sort thing.
[34] Only two other women head up guilds in Ankh-Morpork: Queen Molly, head of the Beggar’s Guild, and Dixie “Va Va” Voom, head of the Guild of Ecdysiasts, Nautchers, Cancanieres and Exponents of Exotic Dance. All three are among Vetinari’s more reliable supporters.
[35] The Seamstress Guild’s members are overwhelmingly women. Unlike the witches, but in alignment with real-world history, the work they do is primarily done for men.
[36] For the Seamstress’s guild, that includes establishments like the Blue Cat Club (Jingo, Pratchett, T 1997), which appears to be the Discworld equivalent of a molly house. Rosemary Palm is also commonly considered in fan-canon to be either sapphic or bisexual, which arguably reflects the association between sex work and queerness.
[37] Of course, the stigma only seems to apply when sex workers are the ones selling sex. The same rules apparently do not apply when most mainstream media does the same thing (Macy, M 1996, Working Sex).
[38] One of the few countries that made a deliberate effort to consult with sex workers when pursuing decriminalisation is New Zealand (Abel, Fitzgerald & Brunton 2009).
[39] The kind of tangible improvements and protections that legislation like SESTA/FOSTA in America, or any variation of the “Nordic Model” claim to be trying to achieve.
[40] The history of sex work in medieval London is still very apparent if you know where to look. Although they have since been sanitised, the bluntly descriptive place names are often still there: through some clever sleight-of-signage “Whores Lie Down” becomes Horsleydown, “Codpiece” Alley becomes “Coppice” Alley, and “Gropecontelane” becomes “Grape Lane”. Other more euphemistic examples such as “Mayden Lane” need only to update the spelling and to quietly sweep the irony of the name under the rug (Lister 2021; Beachcombing 2010).
[41] The occupation received written and practical support from local activist groups, business, and the church’s priest. After this protest, June 2nd was marked in many places around the world as “International Whore’s Day” (Lister 2021).
[42] While both are primarily examples of protest and resistance for queer and transgender communities, the intersection with sex work was also a key factor in both of these examples of pushing back against inequality, police violence, and persecution.