After Eunice wrote about her husband doing housework in his pink winceyette pyjamas and Mrs Jacobson putting in her two penny worth, I hunted out this letter that was sent to PPM by James. I wonder if his wife did return him to pink pyjamas and early bedtimes. I have also added a few, "frilly pink pyjama" images to illustrate what Eunice's husband may look like in his working clothes.

Dear Nanny Smackbottom

Since discovering your publication and reading about the many examples of pyjama and early bedtime discipline, my wife has urged me to recount to you an experience I had when I was a very naïve and immature seventeen- year old.

I was lodging with two sisters in a part of Edinburgh called Morningside, a very sedate and residential area as I am sure you are aware. As a seventeen year old, I imagined the sisters were very old, but in hindsight I would say they were both in their early fifties

After sustaining burns to my hands and damaging ankle ligaments while preventing a small electrical fire in the kitchen from becoming a serious event, I found myself in their care after my discharge from hospital.

Looking back, the sisters, Clara and Sophia, appeared to have exploited my situation to impose a form of pyjama discipline while at each step convincing me that everything they did to me was perfectly logical.

The initial problem was my difficulties in accessing the bathroom facilities up on the top floor of the lodgings  due to my injuries. I was persuaded to agree to their suggestion that it would be far simpler if I were to use a potty to go “wee-wee's.”
As the sisters explained, it was the most sensible solution to the problem and they would of course help me upstairs when absolutely necessary.

They then told me that it would be far easier for them and more comfortable for me if I were permanently attired in nightwear. Constantly being dressed and undressed, they said, would be far too time consuming and unnecessary since I would be confined indoors during my convalescence.

I could see that this made sense, only, as I pointed out, I did not own any pyjamas. Not to worry I was told, they had thoughtfully borrowed some for me from a friend. I should point out that I am only five foot one inch tall but what transpired next caught me totally off guard. It turned out that their friend had provided some of her daughter’s nightwear; she was only fourteen years old and evidently a very girly girl.

Of course first I was told, before I could be dressed in pyjamas I would need a bath, a bed bath. Needless to say a shy seventeen year old was mortified to be stripped naked and sponged in very intimate places by two females. Consequently I was quite happy for Clara to button me into a pink floral winceyette pyjama jacket to cover my nakedness. She insisted upon fastening the Peter Pan collar up to the neck to “keep me cosy.” The pyjama  bottoms really should have been put on first as, much to my embarrassment, the touch of females hands had excited me and my face was as pink as the pyjamas as they finally settled the waistband somewhere just below my ribcage whilst they discussed whether of not it would have been better if I were to wear a nightie instead.

I then started to complain about the floral pattern on my pyjamas and the general girly nature of their appearance. I was told to stop being a baby as they were only caring for me as best they could and they couldn't be expected to produce a pair of male pyjamas when I should have provided them myself.. Ashamed of my carping, I timidly acquiesced as they tucked me into the camp bed they had set up for me in the living room ,

Because my hands were swathed in bandages it was necessary that at mealtimes one of the sisters would patiently feed me, this gave them the opportunity to ensure I ate my vegetables, previously I would leave most of my broccoli on my plate. This had clearly annoyed them, but now I could not escape their predilection for serving mashed turnip and broccoli with every meal.

After that first meal, I was presented with a spouted baby cup to use as a drinking vessel. It was, they said, “practical and efficient.” and it meant I could drink at my own pace as I was just about able to clasp the cup between my bandaged hands. Once again, I could not deny the logic behind their reasoning and I used the sippy cup without complaint.

Similarly, when I did dribble milk down the front of my pyjamas, I did not demur when I was tied into a baby's bib that was printed with little lambs and the words, "Mummy's Pet Lamb". The sisters explanation for the bib was, “It will save us from constantly washing your jim-jams.”

The camp bed was not at all comfortable and during the night, as I struggled to find a comfortable position, I somehow managed to tip it over and I ended up sprawled on the floor where I remained until a most concerned Clara and Sophia discovered me lying helplessly on the floor in the morning.

"You silly sausage, you should have cried out for help, we will have to think of another sleeping arrangement for you. Their solution was not at all to my liking.

It was the perfect answer they explained, as they lifted me into the infant cot.

“Now you can’t possibly fall out and injure yourself can you?” Obviously I couldn’t, but that was hardly the point.

When the rail was lifted I was effectively imprisoned in the cot, being unable to lower the rail myself I peered helplessly through the rails. Of course being confined overnight meant I was unable to access the potty and thanks to their insistence that I consumed copious quantities of milk throughout the day this was a genuine problem.

“Lift up a little dear. That’s it.” It was a strange sensation being put into soft nappies by Sophia, she pinned me into the fleecy white squares with practiced ease. “There now, all done. Nothing to get upset about was it?”

When they first suggested putting me into nappies I objected most strenuously but they explained it to me in such a fashion that it all made sense and again, I meekly concurred.

Initially the cot had been set up in the living area; obviously I understood when they said this was inconvenient. So of course I once again agreed that it would be sensible to move it into the box room.

What I was not happy about was being put down for the night at six o’clock.
I was stripped, washed, pinned into my nappies dressed in pyjamas and put into my cot clutching my sippy cup of milk. At six fifteen they would both enter, pull the curtains tightly shut, bid me goodnight and close the door leaving me helpless in the dark with no alternative but to settle down for the night,

When I dared to complain about this treatment, I was told, in a hurtful tone, that they couldn’t be expected to devote the whole day exclusively pandering to my needs. I immediately felt guilty and assured them that it was quite all right and that I was really fine about being put to bed so early.

One of my most humiliating memories was when a young female reporter came to interview me from the local free paper.
I was seventeen, it was only six thirty and I had to be awakened whilst sleeping in a child's cot wearing nappies and a pair of girl’s pink winceyette pyjamas. Lurking at the bottom of the cot were a discarded sippy cup and a baby’s bib.

“Tell me,” the reporter asked me seemingly unconcerned with my appearance, “how do you feel?”

Then the camera flashed. I made the front page with a headline that read.

Grateful Sisters Nurse Fire Hero Back To Health.

 I did not own a copy of the publication in question until my wife contacted them and managed to procure a copy.

Once my injuries had healed, the pyjamas and cot were returned from whence they came and I reverted back to toying with my vegetables.

For many years I assumed I was just rather eccentrically cared for however my wife is convinced that a form of pyjama and early bedtime discipline was used.

I would be most interested in your professional opinion.

James Pyard.

Dear James 

It is obvious that Clara and Sophia did subject you to pyjama and early bedtime discipline and what is more, it is certain that your wife wishes to recreate those experiences for you once again. You may look forward to a return to nappies, early bedtimes and frilly pink pyjamas. Your wife is probably buying you a new cot to sleep in right now.

Nanny Smackbottom.