Husband's Early Bedtime.

"Now sweetheart we discussed this earlier. Didn't I explain that my friends were coming over for drinks at seven and I wanted you ready for bed by then. Yet here it is ten minutes past and you still haven't put your pyjamas on. Do you want me to undress you and put you into your jimmy-jams myself here in front of everyone? No, I thought not. So run upstairs like a good boy and put your Thomas the Tank pyjamas and slippers on then come down so you can say night-night to my friends. I want you in bed by seven-thirty, I'll come and tuck you in and we'll talk about what punishment I will administer for your disobedience in the morning."

My Weekend of Pyjama Corner Time

In the naughty corner for three consecutive afternoons from Friday and for what? Forgetting to bring Miss Jacobson's birthday presents down with me, that's what. Honestly, a new pair of slippers and a tin of Celebrations chocolates isn't worth three spankings, three afternoon pyjamarings, three corner times and three early bedtimes. Aunty and Miss Jacobson thought differently and their old slippers worked perfectly well on my backside I can tell you.

St Cuthbert's Residential Facility. Peter Amas has contributed a great story of Gothic Horror. An enforced pyjamaring ensues after a strange encounter.

The Visit

It was miserable outside. Condensation ran down the inside of the bus windows as the moisture from damp clothing evaporated in the muggy heat. It was impossible to see without constantly wiping the window for a glimpse of the passing countryside. 

The vehicle was busy as it was the only public transport route to St. Cuthbert's Residential facility. Running once a month exclusively for visitors, it was the only way without a car to get to the hospital tucked away in a wooded valley several miles from the village.

Ian Kirkpatrick had been on the bus for over an hour as it wound its way over mountain and heath. He had travelled up overnight on the train from the south and picked up the bus in the village. He felt exhausted but the rough undulating road kept him awake despite not having slept for many hours 

Having spent most of his life in care, Ian had spent years trying to piece together his past. In his small rucksack were the few artefacts he had managed to collect which illustrated his life. They were incredibly important to him yet he knew little of their significance or what they depicted. He had a number of old black and white photos, a heavily worn leather-bound Bible and a green felt patch with a picture of a saint sewn on a scrap of printed canvas.

Possibly, somewhere in these possessions lay his past. He was visiting St Cuthbert’s in the belief that a resident, a certain Agnes Grieg, may be able to give him some new information about his parentage, he hoped his photos may jog her memory. 

Surrounded by a twenty-foot-high wall St Cuthbert's was an old Gothic type institution. As the bleak, grey limestone building came into view, Ian thought how it was an anachronistic monolith to a bygone age and our inhumane treatment of those less fortunate than us. Yet here was a legacy of that age caring for people who would have nowhere else to go. 

The bus drew up outside the main entrance and the passengers began to alight and traipse up the steps in small groups. Ian was last to exit the bus. As he alighted, the driver was busy unfolding his newspaper and lighting up a cigarette.

“I’m leaving at three thirty so make sure you are back in time, it’s a long way back to the village.” Ian nodded and thanked him.

As the other visitors made their way to the main entrance, Ian paused to look up at the imposing edifice that was St. Cuthbert's. “What a gloomy place,” he murmured to himself before pressing on to catch up with the rest. 

As he entered the building he realised he had lost sight of the group. They had disappeared.

He turned full circle and saw he was being approached by two women in nursing whites. "Is this your first time here young man?" asked the tall one. Actually, they were both very tall, much taller than he was. 

"Y...y...yes,” he stuttered. He had always been nervous around authority figures.

“My name is Ian, I'm here about……." He fumbled for his documents.

Interrupted before he could continue, he was told curtly, "You will need to be registered, come along, we will escort you."

The two nurses fell into step beside him down a long corridor, passing through two huge oak doors and continuing until they came to the registration office. 

Stopping outside a panelled door, one of the nurses gave two knocks. He felt a little anxious as a loud, officious woman’s voice boomed, "come in." 

The three of them entered a room with oak panelling set around the walls and a large oak desk set off to the left. Behind a desk sat a humourless looking woman in a formal grey business outfit. A white blouse, fully buttoned to the neck and adorned with a cameo brooch particularly caught his eye. Around her neck was a lanyard with her ID. Ian already knew her title before she spoke. 

“My name is Dr Grimshaw and I am the chief administrator responsible for all the residents here.”

Positioned in front of the desk was a red, leather-covered chair. Behind Dr Grimshaw was a grey filing cabinet with three drawers. Another door, with half frosted glass, led off to the right of the desk. The sharpness of the light coming through the glass gave an impression of something beyond that was quite clinical. 

The nurses led him to the red leather chair that squeaked embarrassingly as he sat down.

Dr Grimshaw was staring at a form in front of her. "Mr Kirkpatrick, you are here for registration, you fully understand what this entails?” 

She asked, without looking up. Ian nodded as a way of reply while she continued to fill in the form. 

Ian again tried to explain the purpose of his visit but the nurses that remained standing on either side of him placed their hands on his arms and indicated for him to be quiet. 

After ten minutes of answering bizarre questions, Ms Grimshaw put the form in front of Ian and asked him to read and sign the bottom of the page. The form was over three pages long so he merely scribbled his signature and passed the form back to her.

Ian was mindful of the driver's words. ”Perhaps I can see Agnes now? I haven’t much time before I have to return for the bus back to the village.” 

Dr Grimshaw stood up and put the form in the second drawer of the filing cabinet marked K-S.

“Now, Ian,” she smiled falsely as she turned to face him. “Nurse Gotobed and Nurse Ratched will take you where you need to be, not to worry, you will be taken care of.

Reassured, the two nurses led him through the half frosted glass door. They walked for a minute before stopping outside what Ian thought was to be the meeting place, he was told to take a seat. Nurse Ratched left while Nurse Gotobed remained stood alongside him.

He was now seriously worried about missing the bus and was getting a little anxious. He had a habit of rubbing his hands along his thighs when anxious and was now doing this quite vigorously, he also had trouble getting his words out correctly when he was flustered and by now he was definitely anxious and flustered.

Two minutes later the door opened and Nurse Ratched asked Ian to enter. As he did the door was locked behind him. He was expecting to see Agnes but instead, found himself in a large room with two old fashioned ceramic white baths, one of which was filled with water. 

"What’s g..g..going on? I’m s..s...supposed to be v..v..visiting Agnes g..g..Grieg, I have to be b..b..back on the b..b..bus for half three."  He stammered.

Nurse Ratched held her hands up in conciliation. “Calm down Ian, we have to give you a bath and get you ready before we can proceed, it’s our policy.”

“B..b..but why do I need a b..b..bath," he blurted. Nurse Gotobed took his arm and propelled him forward.

“Enough of this nonsense. All new admissions are required to take a bath before they are admitted." 

The two nurses grabbed Ian by the arms and marched him toward a stainless steel gurney. He was strapped down as Nurses Ratched and Gotobed loomed over him brandishing two pairs of tailors scissors. Quickly, his clothes, his best-visiting clothes were cut from his body leaving him quite naked.

"W..w... what?” yelled Ian, I am not b..b..being admitted I am here to v..v..visit Ages. I wrote a f..f..few weeks ago and was told to c..c..come today. You’re m..m..making a m..m..mistake.” 

As he pleaded his case, his voice broke and he sobbed the last few words. 

"Don't be silly Ian, we know why you are here. We will have you better in no time once you accept you need our help."

Nurse Ratched approached him brandishing a syringe. He felt the needle enter a vein and within seconds he could feel the effects. His muscles relaxed and he stopped struggling. The nurses removed his restraints. He begged that they let him go and return to the bus, however his plea fell on deaf ears as they easily lowered him into the bath. 

The water seemed to sap more of his strength and he was helpless as the two nurses, none too gently, used brushes and carbolic soap to scrub his body into submission.

As they lifted Ian from the bath, his legs were unable to support himself and he felt grateful to be sat in a wheelchair.

Ian noticed a pair of old fashioned, red striped winceyette pyjamas on a cupboard shelf. Nurse Ratched took the pyjama jacket and slowly began to place Ian’s arms into the sleeves. Although his skin was still damp, he felt the warm winceyette against his body. It felt sublime and he became totally submissive as Nurse Gotobed slowly buttoned up his pyjamas jacket from the bottom upward until she finished with the final top button that ensured he was buttoned up to the neck. The pyjama top was very long and the sleeves extended far past his hands, indeed they flapped about as he curiously lifted his arms to examine the softness of the material.

“There now, doesn’t that feel better? “She cooed, as Nurse Ratched handed her the striped pyjama bottoms. Nurse Gotobed placed both his feet into the bottoms which had puddled on the floor and eased the length of both pyjama legs until they bunched around his calf muscles.

Nurse Ratched stood behind him and grasping his waist hoisted him upwards. The pyjama bottoms were then pulled up, great swathes of the pyjama jacket material were encompassed by the waist of the pyjama bottoms as the top was tucked into the bottoms. Ian couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement as the winceyette material caressed his groin before the pyjama cord was tied securely. 

Nurse Gotobed placed a plastic bracelet around his left wrist, he had time to make out his name and a number before brown tartan carpet slippers were placed on his feet and a tartan woollen dressing gown placed around his shoulders. As the wheelchair began to move he noticed that ‘Property of St Cuthbert's' was embroidered on the pocket of the gown.  He wondered if that now also applied to him.

Despite his medication, he was aware that corridors and rooms contained men and women all dressed in pyjamas. Some wore red or blue striped pyjamas and some were wearing paisley pyjamas and some wore ladies floral pyjamas. The strangest thing was, some of the men wore floral and some of the women wore stripes and paisley. 

The two Nurses turned into a room and placed Ian beside a single bed facing a window. A vertical row of shelves held what Ian groggily perceived to be a  selection of various male and female pyjamas.

The two women easily lifted him from the wheelchair onto the bed, the bedclothes already turned back. His pyjama cord was unfastened and the bottoms yanked down. Nurse Ratched turned to the bedside cabinet and reached in. Ian’s legs were hoisted upwards and something was slid underneath him. It was only when he heard the sound of velcro fasteners that he realised he was being put into a nappy. He began to struggle but was still weak, Nurse Ratched easily pushed him back and his head sank into the pillow.

“Don’t be a naughty boy or nurse will spank his naughty botty." She scolded. "All residents must wear protection in bed until their needs can be medically assessed.”

Ian was compliant as his pyjama bottoms were pulled up and re-tied, too light-headed to protest further. The nurses pulled up the bedclothes and tucked him in. As the door closed, Ian heard a key turn in the lock.

With difficulty, he lifted his head. Looking out of the window he could see the gates where they had driven in. He watched the bus leave the grounds. 

The driver was right. It would be a long way back to the village.