freswith

Thank you - I was wondering where it had gone to. I've got a chapter outlined, and I'll get on with it.

A little odd, but an interesting diaper reference about two minutes in. The mind boggles. Oddly, having been in that situation, I almost feel sorry for him.

Helen Makes a Sale It was time I got back into touch with Helen. Too much work had kept us apart for too long, and now my model agency, "Grace", was running nicely I had the time to look around and explore some possibilities. One was to rejuvenate my association with Helen's now well-established fashion house. Helen was also my oldest friend and had been my closest confidante - one of the very few people who knew my secret. However, examination of our busy appointments diaries left very few chances for lunch in the City, so it ended up as a quiet meal at my home on the nanny's evening off, when I could inflict my cooking on Helen for the first time since our flat-mate days, and we could both inflict ourselves on the wine cellar. Helen lived only just down the road, so it was easy. Matt was bust at some professional function, so I had to I break off my efforts in the kitchen to herd my two impossible twins up to bath and bed - also my duty on Nanny's evening off. What was supposed to be a rapid well-drilled procedure was extended by the twins playing up, and I had just finished nappying Liz when the doorbell rang and I went to let Helen in. Naturally, we ended up having dinner in the kitchen with a couple of bottles of wine, just like the old days, while we caught up with the news. We were much too old friends to suffer any formality, as it would only get in the way of a good natter. Retiring to the lounge I was surprised, and a little annoyed to find my daughters still there - they were supposed to have been in bed at least an hour ago, but they protested they really wanted to meet Helen. I was surprised they knew who she was, but apparently they followed the whole fashion scene - not just my part of it. Helen, in turn was delighted to meet them, as she hadn't really done so since they were babies. I could hardly chastise them in front of Helen, so I had to content myself with a scowl and a mild scolding, and an injunction to stay no longer than ten minutes as there was school tomorrow. I was promptly corrected - it was half-term - so I lost that one. The two of them plagued Helen with questions, and to be honest I was quite impressed with the knowledge of the industry which they showed. Helen, in turn, asked them all the usual things one asks a nearly-nine-year old child, except the obvious one: why were they still in nappies? It was unavoidable; their pyjama bottoms were a bit too tight and the outlines of their nappies showed through quite plainly. Instead, she asked me. "Still the same old problem, then, Amelia? Any progress yet?" "Not really," I replied, "we get the odd dry night, but the nappies are still essential." That put the girls on the back foot; they had forgotten they were nappied in the presence of a stranger. "We don't really need them," protested a slightly reddened Kate, "Only Mum insists that we wear them." "Wet five mornings last week." I corrected, "I counted them." Getting the girls up and off to school was usually my job. "Mum!" protested Liz, cuddling a cushion to her tummy in a futile and tardy attempt to conceal the evidence. "Don't be shy," said Helen in conciliation, "I knew your Mum when she had to wear them. Every night, and sometimes during the day, too." The girls perked up. This was something they had been told many times in order to sweeten the bitter pill of still being in nappies and still having accidents, but this was a new witness to cross-examine, and further evidence of Mum's sometime weakness. I let them continue; I wasn't going to rise to the bait. Helen continued, "I even had to wear them myself at one time when I had a period of bedwetting." I could have kissed her. The girls were now all ears; a fellow sufferer was always balm to their injured pride. "My Mum borrowed some from Amelia's mum." That sunk in. "Were they cloth ones, then?" Kate had it figured out. "You can't very well borrow disposables." "Well, yes, replied Helen, " It was only for a few nights. Then Mum got a packet of nappies that would fit me, and I used them until I stopped bedwetting. It was only a phase. Then they went back to Amelia." "Was she still in them?" uttered Liz. Not that she didn't know, but she was obviously gleefully determined to rub my face in it. Helen just nodded. "How old were you when you finally stopped?" Helen asked me. My turn to blush. "Eleven." I had to reply. I knew what was in my daughters' minds; Two More Years! - Unless we can beat her! "She looked so cute in them." Careful Helen - you can go too far along this line... "Did she wear cloth ones all the time?" Kate asked. I nodded. . "Whyyy?" demanded Liz, "We have to wear disposables! They're hot a clammy compared to cloth ones." "You don't have to wash them!" I interjected. The girls shrugged in unison. "You objected at Christmas when we were at Pembroke." Which was true - Clare had strong opinions about the Earth and landfill. "We got to like them, though." threw in Kate, "They were much comfier." "And they didn't leak." added Liz. It was true; when they shared a bed the girls preferred to sleep on their sides, and disposables couldn't handle it so well. Another good reason why I put them in cloth nappies when we went to Pembroke. Aunt Clare had the opinions; Aunt Clare could do the laundry. "There wouldn't be room in those pyjamas for terry nappies and pants." I reminded the girls. "You would have to wear just nappies on your bottom half in bed." Kate and Liz stopped for a moment. The nights were cold at this time of year. "And pants." said Kate. "You mean those plastic baby pants" I interjected, "The ones you said were so hot and sweaty." "Those new ones we had at Aunty Clare's weren't sweaty" said Liz, "They were made of something else. Poly you-something. They were nice!" "Polyurethane" I added for Helen's information. She now had two small children of her own, who were still at that stage. "What do yours wear?" I asked. "All-in-ones" she replied, "I made them myself. Easy to wash. No waste. Look better, too." "How better?" I asked. Nappies are seldom a fashion item. "Less mechanical, more rounded. Less transparent. More like pants. Less babyish." Helen replied . "Come in pretty colours and patterns too. My daughter wears them with just a little shorty nighty. Very pretty. And easy to change - when we get to toilet training she can pull them down and up to use the toilet by herself." Helen was a brilliant salesperson, and my daughters were hanging on every word. It was always a bone of contention - the twins had always complained that it was just too much hassle to handle the tapes on a disposable nappy on the rare occasions they had bothered to get up and use the toilet in the night. That was the perennial excuse for the "my nappy just came off" syndrome - and its invariably disastrous result. My daughters seemed to wet themselves several times each night - pull-ups had shown themselves unable to cope and experiments had always ended up in reverting to the full traditional nappies, whether cloth or disposable. Now it seemed there might be a third option. The girls were completely sold on the idea, but I still had my reservations. "What a pity, they won't be available in your size," I remarked, quietly trying to quash the issue. "Is that the only problem?" asked Helen, her eyebrows raised to invite an "yes" answer. By now I was too befuddled to recognise this old salesman's trick. Overcoming objections. Helen was indeed and experienced salesperson. I had fallen for it and answered "yes" before I knew it, and Helen proceeded to meet my objection and close the sale. "No Problem", she intoned, "I made them for my children, and I can easily scale them up a little to fit Kate and Liz. What colours would you like?" Closed on a minor point, I had to let Kate and Liz make their preferences felt. I tried one last time. "We really can't put you to all that trouble Helen, I mean, you've got more than enough to do. "No Trouble!" replied Helen smoothly, "I'm launching a range of children's wear, under another label, and I can get them made up however you like. Easy. How would you girls like to do some modelling for me?" Shrieks of approval, and my last line of defence was overwhelmed. I was very reluctant to have my girls under the spotlight despite their incessant demands, because I didn't want them to grow up too fast or be sexualised - there was also the risk of kidnap and ransom in there, but now I had been outflanked. I gave in. Helen consolidated the sale. We would visit her studio shortly to view her designs and choose the materials. The girls would model the new fashions, and after I threatened Helen with a contract from Grace, drafted by the avaricious Julian, she agreed that I would have a selection of the clothes and a supply of the all-in-one nappies in payment. The twins were then hustled up to bed and, after quick nappy checks, bedded down for the night. I went downstairs with Helen musing on the excellence of her salesmanship, and even pulled her leg a little about it. Sometime later, after Port and coffee, and a more mature conversation about husbands and housekeeping and other difficult things, I escorted Helen to the door as her taxi arrived. Just as I was about to open the door, she remarked, "I could make them in your size as well, you know. Very discretely." I froze in my tracks, and quickly checked the stairs for the presence of eavesdropping children. Helen was a close confidante, and knew my little peccadilloes. I did some hard, quick thinking. I hadn't indulged that one for many years; the realities of two little girls in nappies had satisfied that need, but nothing had quite erased it. "Maybe." I replied, "When the kids are a bit older - and drier, and we have a larger house, I just might get back into that."

It will indeed! It will save me delving through lots of old files. I will get on with it on Wednesday. Thankyou!

Thank you folks. They do mean a lot to me. I have them all, and will start to re-post them after the 8th.

Perhaps she already has one. She is hardly likely to use her own name.

That doesn't explain why so many episodes have been deleted -back to 2013. It must have been a (new?) moderator with a bad attack of puritanism.

Can anyone tell me why my story has been deleted?

The Common Law. White Christmases are really very rare in the south of England, and we had decided to make the best of the cold snap. I don't know whose idea it was to take the children to midnight service , let alone to do it on foot, but as we walked back up the lane to Pembroke House in the bitter cold, I was thinking it had been a silly one. Sally was distinctly miserable. She had had a little accident in the church, the first for weeks, although she had been officially dry for some months. She was not only suffering from wet tights, but also from the intense humiliation of an accident she could have avoided. The other three girls, my Kate and Liz, and Vickie's Caroline were all sensibly nappied under their winter coats, promised "free ones" in exchange for their consent, and could still be cheerful whether they had used them or not; they were still warm under their tights and would face no recriminations for having wet their nappies. That was what "free ones" were about. All of us knew about having a weak bladder, the few seconds of notice followed by the irresistible pressure, the dash to find a toilet - and finding it already occupied. We all knew the pleasure in being able to let it go in the sure and certain knowledge that there was a nappy there to catch it. We all knew the pride there was in being able to hold it long enough to qualify as a member of the rest of the human race. Sally had been thrilled to become dry, and the other children, particularly Caroline, had been very envious; it had been much used as propaganda by Vickie and me in our ceaseless attempts to toilet train our daughters. Now it was all back to Square One. The girls huddled in a defensive group as we marched home. The boys were running riot, making the most of the snow and ice, and Vickie's seven-year-old son Nick had fallen back to write his name in yellow in a snowdrift while the rest of us tried to ignore him. Caroline started to scold him, but her merely replied that he did not have to wear nappies like she did. This gross breach of etiquette, to mention the girls nappies, was swiftly punished by scolding from all quarters, and it was a very chastened Nick who ran back to the group, taking care to stay out of reach of the girls. By the time we got to Pembroke, the children were all shivering, and it was obviously essential go get them into warm beds as quickly as possible. They had all bathed or showered earlier so it was just a matter of changing the girls and calming down the boys. Pembroke was packed out, as was the nursery, which had long been converted into a rather splendid bedroom for visitors with a king-size bed (the changing table had become a well-stocked bar until it had been converted back again into a single bed by the addition of a mattress, and the shelves restocked with nappies). Woe betide the child who fell out of that! A second double bed had been found from somewhere. The plan had been to give the girls a sleepover, a privilege they very rarely enjoyed because of their need to wear nappies to bed every night. It was too much to ask of a host, and too humiliating for the child, so sleepovers took place in the family where everybody understood and accepted the problem. The children were herded up to bed, the girls in the nursery with Caroline's little brother Nick, and the teenagers to their rooms in the old laundry, which had been converted into staff quarters some time ago, where their rollicking could continue without disturbing the adults. We were all tired, and teamwork was obviously needed to change the little children and bed them down. I had brought the bag of nappies that Juliet had given me, as I knew that Aunt Claire was very keen on conservation of resources and disapproved of disposable nappies. The girls had groaned when they saw me do this, as they were none too keen on cloth. Juliet took the lead stripping Sally down and directing her to the bathroom to wash herself and make precautionary use of the facilities. While she was doing so we formed a production line, and ordered the children to strip. Wet nappies were removed (no questions asked), and Vicky passed out wipes to those who needed them, and wiped those who were tardy in using them. Juliet and I knelt facing each other beside the changing table, and I laid out the first nappy, Juliet added a folded baby nappy as a booster (we expected a very wet night after all the food and drink the girls had consumed), sprinkled powder on top, and invited Liz to step forward. Obediently she placed her feet either side of the nappy, Juliet and I took hold of the corners and lifted it up between her legs and pinned it snugly around her waist. Then she stepped forward again to where Holly was waiting with the plastic pants, put her feet carefully though the proffered holes, and Holly pulled the pants up over her nappy and neatly tucked in any surplus. Finally she stepped forward once again to where Aunt Claire was waiting with her footed sleeper held open and ready. By this time Kate was already pinned into her night-nappies, and Vickie was finishing Caroline's wipe down. Kate stepped forward to where Holly was waiting with her pants, and Juliet took another nappy from the pile. I folded a baby nappy inside it, Juliet sprinkled the powder , and Caroline stepped forward and placed her feet either side. Two more pins secured her for a night of serious wetting, and she stepped forward into a rather large pair of baby pants held in Holly's capable hands. Juliet and I both leaned back. It had taken less than five minutes to double-nappy three girls. Then, to our surprise, Sally stepped forward; hands clenched nervously, eyes downcast, smiling sheepishly. I looked at Juliet. Juliet looked at me. We hadn't planned on Sally; she was after all, officially dry, and an occasional accident could be ignored, but this was Christmas Day, it was Pembroke, and she was sleeping in a nursery with three other girls who were thickly nappied and expected to wet themselves copiously. She had a case, and in the custom of the family it had to be allowed. Juliet shrugged. I shrugged. Vickie shrugged, and wiped Sally down carefully with a handful of baby wipes. I took one of the large nappies from the shelf, Juliet folded an ordinary baby nappy as a booster, and then, quite unnecessarily I thought, added a length of paper liner - ostensibly it was to act as a one-way layer to make it more comfortable, but it also underlined Juliet's anger at Sally's having had an accident in church, implying that she might have a more serious accident during the night. Sally accepted the implied rebuke with good grace and stepped forward astride the unusually thick nappy. Juliet and I slowly and carefully hoisted it up between her legs, taking care to keep it all in place until the paper liner rustled as the nappies closed around her loins. We pinned the bulky garment carefully around her waist, and she murmured a word of thanks as she stepped forward to where her big sister was holding a large pair of white baby pants open for her. She placed her hands on Holly's shoulders as she stepped carefully into the pants, and Holly drew them slowly up her legs and over her bulky nappy. Sally reached down and ran her hands over the old familiar feel of the plastic pants as Holly ran her fingers around the leg elastics and pushed them up into the nappy. This was no night to have a leak and a wet patch in the bed she was sharing with Caroline. Holly gave her sister a hug and a kiss, then passed her on to where Claire was waiting with a sleeper held open and ready. Juliet pulled the zip up and gave her daughter a hug, forgiving her for her transgression, and burying the incident. Nick just sniggered until he was silenced by the glares of every woman in the room. I was left wondering if Sally's self-imposed penance was because she wished to express contrition for her accident, or whether she wished to avoid a repetition, or just avoid some punishment, or finally, in my oddly distorted mind, whether she missed the comfort and security of being nappied, no longer having to sleep with one eye open keeping watch on her treacherous bladder. I decided to postpone judgement; the morning would show her to be wet or dry, and we should take it from there. Once she had been zipped into her sleeper Sally appeared to take no further interest in her nappies and gladly climbed into the king-size bed beside Caroline, a child with whom she had shared much of her early childhood, and the two of them snuggled up together, long hair mingling on the pillows, one dark and one fair. I realised then that solidarity with her cousin was a major factor; the coolness that had been between them seemed to have evaporated and they were friends again. Juliet tucked them in, and tucked Nick in - again - before putting the light out and almost, but not quite, closing the nursery door. I curled up close to Matt that night. All the children enjoying Christmas had made me quite broody, and I was turning over the possibilities of having another child. My modelling career was gently receding and being replaced by celebrity appearances and goodwill work. I had the time, and I had the stability to make a nest. The following morning was quiet by our normal Christmas standards. The adults surfaced with the grudging arrival of the daylight, and I walked softly down the corridor to the nursery to investigate the suspicious lack of noise. I opened the door to an idyllic scene of industrious play; the stockings, which had been hung on the bottom of each bed, were being emptied of their contents by happy contented children who were playing cooperatively and peacefully. It couldn't last. Vickie had beaten me to it, and Caroline was being dressed for the day. I took the cue from her squared off backside under the tights which showed she had been changed into a disposable; Vickie was taking no chances with the amount of food and drink which was going to be consumed amid soft furnishings and expensive carpets, and Pembroke Rules were being applied. The girls would be nappied all day long, and changed without blame or rancour when the need arose. I turned my attention to my own two, who were playing out some vital drama with the small dolls that we had put in their stockings. I didn't need to ask if they were wet, it was a given - their nappies were sagging even under their sleepers. I asked if they would like to be changed but got a negative response, so I left it for a moment. Sally was playing with Nick, reading to him from a story-book and I went over and wished her a good morning, She smiled and replied similarly. I quietly raised the question of her dryness - it was evident she had made no attempt to remove her sleeper, and she replied that she was just a little bit wet. I offered to help her change but she declined saying she would wait for Mum. I was quite relieved; the question as to whether she would be changed into a fresh nappy or allowed pants was thus referred to higher authority. Over long years our family had developed customs and precedents to handle our common problem. I returned to my two, who were both lying prone on the bed. The trouble with sleepers is that you cannot change the child without removing the whole sleeper, and this was compounded by the way they were lying. I applied some gentle persuasion, and managed to get a rather grumpy Liz to stand up and submit to being stripped of her sleeper and very wet nappies. She started to shiver as the cold air hit her wet bottom, and I suspect she was putting it on; the nursery was even warmer than usual owing to the heating being turned up and the close pack of people inside. I got her to wipe herself down while I unfolded a fresh nappy for her. She made no objection when I sat her down on top of it, and was obviously keen to get a dry nappy on and be allowed to get on with her game, so it was accomplished swiftly and the tapes rubbed down. I slipped a top on her, and left her to sort out her tights while I turned my attention to Kate, who was equally grumpy. A little more persuasion got her night-nappies into the pail and a smaller, thinner disposable around her loins. I left her to complete dressing as far as she wished to go, and turned back to Sally. Juliet had arrived quietly, as usual, and was sequestered in the corner with Sally, talking softly. I didn't interrupt; they obviously wanted some privacy to discuss the matter, but I left my two playing while I went to attend to my own ablutions; I had standards that had to be kept up. I got around to talking with Juliet as we cleared the breakfast things; those children had eaten as if it was their last chance ever to have food. I asked her what she had decided to do about Sally and her nappy. She paused for a moment, and then shrugged. "She asked me if she could have another one." she replied. I posed a question with my eyebrows. "She said that the strain of keeping it in was getting too much at times, and she wanted a break from it." I hoisted my eyebrows a little further. "She said that it was hell trying to sleep with one eye open, being afraid she might need the loo at any moment. She keeps waking up and going to the toilet to make sure, and then finds it's a false alarm, but when she gets back into bed she cannot sleep - doesn't want to risk wetting the bed." I nodded. I had spent ages doing that when first I was taken out of nappies. "She says that last night was the first really good night's sleep she has had in months. Once she had wetted her nappies, she just relaxed and slept on." I didn't tell her that I often felt that way myself, but had become accustomed to the midnight trek. "She asked me if she could stay in nappies over Christmas; she said it would be so nice not to have those worries, and that the other girls would accept her again." I could see that; not only had my two been fiercely jealous of Sally, but Caroline had the dubious pleasure of sharing a bed with someone who might well wet it, and even if Caroline was well nappied there would be the suspicion that she had leaked. I glanced over to where the kids were playing happily. I couldn't see Sally's lower half from my viewpoint. "Is she wearing one now?" I asked. Juliet nodded. "Vickie gave me one of Carol's. She has plenty - she wasn't expecting Claire to put on a nappy service. I thought I would give her a break, and let her play uninterrupted with the other girls." I understood that; my own children could look after any big business that came along using the re-sealable tapes, but the understanding was that it was Christmas, and the nappies were "free ones" and they could wet them without any inquiries being made. I had already scheduled nappy changes for just before lunch and tea; I knew my girls habits very well. I managed to forecast things quite correctly. After a morning of intensive play the girls were prised lose from the accumulating pile of presents and subjected to nappy checks in the downstairs loo. Both failed, and without further ado were marched upstairs to the nursery, closely followed by Vickie and Caroline. All three were swiftly wiped and changed before their tights came up and their long dresses came down, after which they were required to be present at the formal lunch. By mid afternoon they were sleeping on one of the sofas in the back of the lounge, completely tired out. That was followed at tea time by another nappy check and change. This time we were joined by Sally, who had been snoozing in a big armchair. For once in my life I thanked God for Pembroke Rules - the fuss and bother that had been avoided by making the girls wear full-size disposables was incalculable, pull-ups would never have coped. By 8pm it all caught up with them, the late night before, and the hectic day after, and they had had enough. To be quite frank, the adults had had enough of them too, and they were politely shooed off to bath and bed. To speed the process we ran the production line again, and the girls gleefully cooperated. To our surprise, little Nick insisted in taking his place in forefront of the line, and Vickie had little choice but to agree; at seven years old she felt it wouldn't do any harm, and he would feel at one with the girls in the nursery. This caused great amusement, and my two made a great fuss of him, even though they were now just as thickly nappied themselves, and with greater intent. As I watched the well-padded bottoms waddle across the nursery, I felt a great pang of nostalgia, and I wondered what would happen if I joined the end of the queue, but then reality intruded; I was also the right-hand pin, and if I was absent the whole production line would be disrupted. We waited to see what Sally would do. Both she and Caroline came out of the bathroom together, dressed only in their bathrobes, then Caroline deferred, and let Sally go ahead into the powdering, anointing, nappying and baby-panting line. She waited at the end for Caroline to be zipped into her sleeper, then arm-in-arm they waddled off to bed together, and were tucked in, wrapped in each other's arms. The adults were now happy to relax, like the children we'd had a busy day, and frankly, they had tired us out. Percy had been very generous with the wine, and it would have been ungrateful to leave any bottle unemptied. The supper - inevitably a cold turkey and salad buffet - turned into a gentle, convivial party that went on late, and frankly we all drank too much, particularly Vickie, who is rather petite and so the wine went further with her. Christmas is a time to unwind, and we unwound. We looked in to the nursery just before midnight, but spared them the indignity of a nappy check; they were well padded-out and should easily make it through the night, and Matt and I retired to practice various bodily functions of our own. I think it was this that prevented the usual side effect that wine has on me; I think I had to get up three times to go to the loo. Unfortunately, the following morning it all caught up with me, and I woke late with a hangover. It was nearly nine o'clock when I staggered grumping into the nursery, and I was not looking forward to changing a couple of well-soaked nappies. The scene that presented itself was altogether a surprise. Young Nick was tucked up in the middle of the king-size bed with Sally and Caroline were either side of him. He was grinning from ear to ear, and I couldn't blame him. Caroline explained that he had woken up wet and cold in the small hours, and they had changed him themselves after which they had taken pity on him, and brought him into the bed between them. It was safe because he was nappied just like them. I took a long cool look at Nick, but said nothing. This lad was growing up all too fast. There was a movement behind me; I glanced back to see that Vickie had entered the room. She looked even worse than I did, and when she took in the scene it was plain to see that, like her namesake, she was Not Amused; Caroline and Nick both quailed before her glare. Orders were snapped. Nick jumped off the bed, and Caroline was told to divest herself of her nappy and to clean herself up. Caroline protested that she had had a dry night, and pulled down her plastic pants to prove it. Vickie stopped dead for a moment, and then she just said "No Matter... Get on with it!" Quietly, and being careful not to upset the seething monster that Vickie had become, I got on with stripping my two little minxes and shooing them into the bathroom to take their place in the queue for cleaning up. Sally remained quietly in the corner, avoiding eye contact, her own nappy was already in the pail and there was no way of telling if she had needed it. Caroline emerged to find that Vickie's bad temper had not ameliorated, and she was promptly directed to lie down on the disposable which Vickie had placed on her bed. Her protest that she didn't need one because she had been dry last night went unheeded, and her further protest that they were leaving Pembroke today was brusquely over-ruled by Vickie on the grounds that they were going to Simon's parents' farm at Evesham, and that was a nappy trip. Vickie went on to tell her that she was back in nappies during the day; there were to be no accidents while she was there. This was a touchy matter. In the tradition and common law of the family, Caroline should have been praised and congratulated for her dry night, and being allowed to go nappy-free would have been a part of that, but something had really got Vickie's goat. Then Simon spoke quietly from the doorway. "Carol, did you say you were dry last night?" Caroline, almost in tears, insisted that she had been. She had got up, used the toilet, and refastened her nappy as per Standing Orders. Simon smiled and congratulated her, whereupon she ran to him and threw her arms around his waist. Vickie stared angrily at him, and Simon tapped the side of his nose and said, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive others?" Gradually Vickie relented, and folded up the disposable nappy. Simon gave Caroline a hug and a kiss and then released her. I took advantage of Vickie's robust offensive to get my own two changed and dressed. Once back home we could revert to the normal custom of pants and regular toilet visits. We saw Vickie and Simon off after breakfast, and then returned to the nursery to pack the children's things, including a load of presents, and to help Claire by stripping the beds. The washing machine would be earning its keep this morning and, if the weather stayed dry, the washing line would have a full load of sheets and nappies by this afternoon. I remarked to Claire that the waterproof mattress covers had been a very wise precaution and she quietly remarked that in Vickie's case, it had been a necessary one. That explained Vickie's filthy temper, and Simon's silence at breakfast. I nodded. Claire said she was very familiar with the family weakness, and saw waterproof mattress covers as a sound precaution. "That's why I put one on your bed, too." she said. I just nodded again. I don't know whose idea it was to take the children to midnight service , let alone to do it on foot, but as we walked back up the lane to Pembroke House in the bitter cold, I was thinking it had been a silly one. Sally was distinctly miserable. She had had a little accident in the church, the first for weeks, although she had been officially dry for some months. She was not only suffering from wet tights, but also from the intense humiliation of an accident she could have avoided. The other three girls, my Kate and Liz, and Vickie's Caroline were all sensibly nappied under their winter coats, promised "free ones" in exchange for their consent, and could still be cheerful whether they had used them or not; they were still warm under their tights and would face no recriminations for having wet their nappies. That was what "free ones" were about. All of us knew about having a weak bladder, the few seconds of notice followed by the irresistible pressure, the dash to find a toilet - and finding it already occupied. We all knew the pleasure in being able to let it go in the sure and certain knowledge that there was a nappy there to catch it. We all knew the pride there was in being able to hold it long enough to qualify as a member of the rest of the human race. Sally had been thrilled to become dry, and the other children, particularly Caroline, had been very envious; it had been much used as propaganda by Vickie and me in our ceaseless attempts to toilet train our daughters. Now it was all back to Square One. The girls huddled in a defensive group as we marched home. The boys were running riot, making the most of the snow and ice, and Vickie's seven-year-old son Nick had fallen back to write his name in yellow in a snowdrift while the rest of us tried to ignore him. Caroline started to scold him, but her merely replied that he did not have to wear nappies like she did. This gross breach of etiquette, to mention the girls nappies, was swiftly punished by scolding from all quarters, and it was a very chastened Nick who ran back to the group, taking care to stay out of reach of the girls. By the time we got to Pembroke, the children were all shivering, and it was obviously essential go get them into warm beds as quickly as possible. They had all bathed or showered earlier so it was just a matter of changing the girls and calming down the boys. Pembroke was packed out, as was the nursery, which had long been converted into a rather splendid bedroom for visitors with a king-size bed (the changing table had become a well-stocked bar until it had been converted back again into a single bed by the addition of a mattress, and the shelves restocked with nappies). Woe betide the child who fell out of that! A second double bed had been found from somewhere. The plan had been to give the girls a sleepover, a privilege they very rarely enjoyed because of their need to wear nappies to bed every night. It was too much to ask of a host, and too humiliating for the child, so sleepovers took place in the family where everybody understood and accepted the problem. The children were herded up to bed, the girls in the nursery with Caroline's little brother Nick, and the teenagers to their rooms in the old laundry, which had been converted into staff quarters some time ago, where their rollicking could continue without disturbing the adults. We were all tired, and teamwork was obviously needed to change the little children and bed them down. I had brought the bag of nappies that Juliet had given me, as I knew that Aunt Claire was very keen on conservation of resources and disapproved of disposable nappies. The girls had groaned when they saw me do this, as they were none too keen on cloth. Juliet took the lead stripping Sally down and directing her to the bathroom to wash herself and make precautionary use of the facilities. While she was doing so we formed a production line, and ordered the children to strip. Wet nappies were removed (no questions asked), and Vicky passed out wipes to those who needed them, and wiped those who were tardy in using them. Juliet and I knelt facing each other beside the changing table, and I laid out the first nappy, Juliet added a folded baby nappy as a booster (we expected a very wet night after all the food and drink the girls had consumed), sprinkled powder on top, and invited Liz to step forward. Obediently she placed her feet either side of the nappy, Juliet and I took hold of the corners and lifted it up between her legs and pinned it snugly around her waist. Then she stepped forward again to where Holly was waiting with the plastic pants, put her feet carefully though the proffered holes, and Holly pulled the pants up over her nappy and neatly tucked in any surplus. Finally she stepped forward once again to where Aunt Claire was waiting with her footed sleeper held open and ready. By this time Kate was already pinned into her night-nappies, and Vickie was finishing Caroline's wipe down. Kate stepped forward to where Holly was waiting with her pants, and Juliet took another nappy from the pile. I folded a baby nappy inside it, Juliet sprinkled the powder , and Caroline stepped forward and placed her feet either side. Two more pins secured her for a night of serious wetting, and she stepped forward into a rather large pair of baby pants held in Holly's capable hands. Juliet and I both leaned back. It had taken less than five minutes to double-nappy three girls. Then, to our surprise, Sally stepped forward; hands clenched nervously, eyes downcast, smiling sheepishly. I looked at Juliet. Juliet looked at me. We hadn't planned on Sally; she was after all, officially dry, and an occasional accident could be ignored, but this was Christmas Day, it was Pembroke, and she was sleeping in a nursery with three other girls who were thickly nappied and expected to wet themselves copiously. She had a case, and in the custom of the family it had to be allowed. Juliet shrugged. I shrugged. Vickie shrugged, and wiped Sally down carefully with a handful of baby wipes. I took one of the large nappies from the shelf, Juliet folded an ordinary baby nappy as a booster, and then, quite unnecessarily I thought, added a length of paper liner - ostensibly it was to act as a one-way layer to make it more comfortable, but it also underlined Juliet's anger at Sally's having had an accident in church, implying that she might have a more serious accident during the night. Sally accepted the implied rebuke with good grace and stepped forward astride the unusually thick nappy. Juliet and I slowly and carefully hoisted it up between her legs, taking care to keep it all in place until the paper liner rustled as the nappies closed around her loins. We pinned the bulky garment carefully around her waist, and she murmured a word of thanks as she stepped forward to where her big sister was holding a large pair of white baby pants open for her. She placed her hands on Holly's shoulders as she stepped carefully into the pants, and Holly drew them slowly up her legs and over her bulky nappy. Sally reached down and ran her hands over the old familiar feel of the plastic pants as Holly ran her fingers around the leg elastics and pushed them up into the nappy. This was no night to have a leak and a wet patch in the bed she was sharing with Caroline. Holly gave her sister a hug and a kiss, then passed her on to where Claire was waiting with a sleeper held open and ready. Juliet pulled the zip up and gave her daughter a hug, forgiving her for her transgression, and burying the incident. Nick just sniggered until he was silenced by the glares of every woman in the room. I was left wondering if Sally's self-imposed penance was because she wished to express contrition for her accident, or whether she wished to avoid a repetition, or just avoid some punishment, or finally, in my oddly distorted mind, whether she missed the comfort and security of being nappied, no longer having to sleep with one eye open keeping watch on her treacherous bladder. I decided to postpone judgement; the morning would show her to be wet or dry, and we should take it from there. Once she had been zipped into her sleeper Sally appeared to take no further interest in her nappies and gladly climbed into the king-size bed beside Caroline, a child with whom she had shared much of her early childhood, and the two of them snuggled up together, long hair mingling on the pillows, one dark and one fair. I realised then that solidarity with her cousin was a major factor; the coolness that had been between them seemed to have evaporated and they were friends again. Juliet tucked them in, and tucked Nick in - again - before putting the light out and almost, but not quite, closing the nursery door. I curled up close to Matt that night. All the children enjoying Christmas had made me quite broody, and I was turning over the possibilities of having another child. My modelling career was gently receding and being replaced by celebrity appearances and goodwill work. I had the time, and I had the stability to make a nest. The following morning was quiet by our normal Christmas standards. The adults surfaced with the grudging arrival of the daylight, and I walked softly down the corridor to the nursery to investigate the suspicious lack of noise. I opened the door to an idyllic scene of industrious play; the stockings, which had been hung on the bottom of each bed, were being emptied of their contents by happy contented children who were playing cooperatively and peacefully. It couldn't last. Vickie had beaten me to it, and Caroline was being dressed for the day. I took the cue from her squared off backside under the tights which showed she had been changed into a disposable; Vickie was taking no chances with the amount of food and drink which was going to be consumed amid soft furnishings and expensive carpets, and Pembroke Rules were being applied. The girls would be nappied all day long, and changed without blame or rancour when the need arose. I turned my attention to my own two, who were playing out some vital drama with the small dolls that we had put in their stockings. I didn't need to ask if they were wet, it was a given - their nappies were sagging even under their sleepers. I asked if they would like to be changed but got a negative response, so I left it for a moment. Sally was playing with Nick, reading to him from a story-book and I went over and wished her a good morning, She smiled and replied similarly. I quietly raised the question of her dryness - it was evident she had made no attempt to remove her sleeper, and she replied that she was just a little bit wet. I offered to help her change but she declined saying she would wait for Mum. I was quite relieved; the question as to whether she would be changed into a fresh nappy or allowed pants was thus referred to higher authority. Over long years our family had developed customs and precedents to handle our common problem. I returned to my two, who were both lying prone on the bed. The trouble with sleepers is that you cannot change the child without removing the whole sleeper, and this was compounded by the way they were lying. I applied some gentle persuasion, and managed to get a rather grumpy Liz to stand up and submit to being stripped of her sleeper and very wet nappies. She started to shiver as the cold air hit her wet bottom, and I suspect she was putting it on; the nursery was even warmer than usual owing to the heating being turned up and the close pack of people inside. I got her to wipe herself down while I unfolded a fresh nappy for her. She made no objection when I sat her down on top of it, and was obviously keen to get a dry nappy on and be allowed to get on with her game, so it was accomplished swiftly and the tapes rubbed down. I slipped a top on her, and left her to sort out her tights while I turned my attention to Kate, who was equally grumpy. A little more persuasion got her night-nappies into the pail and a smaller, thinner disposable around her loins. I left her to complete dressing as far as she wished to go, and turned back to Sally. Juliet had arrived quietly, as usual, and was sequestered in the corner with Sally, talking softly. I didn't interrupt; they obviously wanted some privacy to discuss the matter, but I left my two playing while I went to attend to my own ablutions; I had standards that had to be kept up. I got around to talking with Juliet as we cleared the breakfast things; those children had eaten as if it was their last chance ever to have food. I asked her what she had decided to do about Sally and her nappy. She paused for a moment, and then shrugged. "She asked me if she could have another one." she replied. I posed a question with my eyebrows. "She said that the strain of keeping it in was getting too much at times, and she wanted a break from it." I hoisted my eyebrows a little further. "She said that it was hell trying to sleep with one eye open, being afraid she might need the loo at any moment. She keeps waking up and going to the toilet to make sure, and then finds it's a false alarm, but when she gets back into bed she cannot sleep - doesn't want to risk wetting the bed." I nodded. I had spent ages doing that when first I was taken out of nappies. "She says that last night was the first really good night's sleep she has had in months. Once she had wetted her nappies, she just relaxed and slept on." I didn't tell her that I often felt that way myself, but had become accustomed to the midnight trek. "She asked me if she could stay in nappies over Christmas; she said it would be so nice not to have those worries, and that the other girls would accept her again." I could see that; not only had my two been fiercely jealous of Sally, but Caroline had the dubious pleasure of sharing a bed with someone who might well wet it, and even if Caroline was well nappied there would be the suspicion that she had leaked. I glanced over to where the kids were playing happily. I couldn't see Sally's lower half from my viewpoint. "Is she wearing one now?" I asked. Juliet nodded. "Vickie gave me one of Carol's. She has plenty - she wasn't expecting Claire to put on a nappy service. I thought I would give her a break, and let her play uninterrupted with the other girls." I understood that; my own children could look after any big business that came along using the re-sealable tapes, but the understanding was that it was Christmas, and the nappies were "free ones" and they could wet them without any inquiries being made. I had already scheduled nappy changes for just before lunch and tea; I knew my girls habits very well. I managed to forecast things quite correctly. After a morning of intensive play the girls were prised lose from the accumulating pile of presents and subjected to nappy checks in the downstairs loo. Both failed, and without further ado were marched upstairs to the nursery, closely followed by Vickie and Caroline. All three were swiftly wiped and changed before their tights came up and their long dresses came down, after which they were required to be present at the formal lunch. By mid afternoon they were sleeping on one of the sofas in the back of the lounge, completely tired out. That was followed at tea time by another nappy check and change. This time we were joined by Sally, who had been snoozing in a big armchair. For once in my life I thanked God for Pembroke Rules - the fuss and bother that had been avoided by making the girls wear full-size disposables was incalculable, pull-ups would never have coped. By 8pm it all caught up with them, the late night before, and the hectic day after, and they had had enough. To be quite frank, the adults had had enough of them too, and they were politely shooed off to bath and bed. To speed the process we ran the production line again, and the girls gleefully cooperated. To our surprise, little Nick insisted in taking his place in forefront of the line, and Vickie had little choice but to agree; at seven years old she felt it wouldn't do any harm, and he would feel at one with the girls in the nursery. This caused great amusement, and my two made a great fuss of him, even though they were now just as thickly nappied themselves, and with greater intent. As I watched the well-padded bottoms waddle across the nursery, I felt a great pang of nostalgia, and I wondered what would happen if I joined the end of the queue, but then reality intruded; I was also the right-hand pin, and if I was absent the whole production line would be disrupted. We waited to see what Sally would do. Both she and Caroline came out of the bathroom together, dressed only in their bathrobes, then Caroline deferred, and let Sally go ahead into the powdering, anointing, nappying and baby-panting line. She waited at the end for Caroline to be zipped into her sleeper, then arm-in-arm they waddled off to bed together, and were tucked in, wrapped in each other's arms. The adults were now happy to relax, like the children we'd had a busy day, and frankly, they had tired us out. Percy had been very generous with the wine, and it would have been ungrateful to leave any bottle unemptied. The supper - inevitably a cold turkey and salad buffet - turned into a gentle, convivial party that went on late, and frankly we all drank too much, particularly Vickie, who is rather petite and so the wine went further with her. Christmas is a time to unwind, and we unwound. We looked in to the nursery just before midnight, but spared them the indignity of a nappy check; they were well padded-out and should easily make it through the night, and Matt and I retired to practice various bodily functions of our own. I think it was this that prevented the usual side effect that wine has on me; I think I had to get up three times to go to the loo. Unfortunately, the following morning it all caught up with me, and I woke late with a hangover. It was nearly nine o'clock when I staggered grumping into the nursery, and I was not looking forward to changing a couple of well-soaked nappies. The scene that presented itself was altogether a surprise. Young Nick was tucked up in the middle of the king-size bed with Sally and Caroline were either side of him. He was grinning from ear to ear, and I couldn't blame him. Caroline explained that he had woken up wet and cold in the small hours, and they had changed him themselves after which they had taken pity on him, and brought him into the bed between them. It was safe because he was nappied just like them. I took a long cool look at Nick, but said nothing. This lad was growing up all too fast. There was a movement behind me; I glanced back to see that Vickie had entered the room. She looked even worse than I did, and when she took in the scene it was plain to see that, like her namesake, she was Not Amused; Caroline and Nick both quailed before her glare. Orders were snapped. Nick jumped off the bed, and Caroline was told to divest herself of her nappy and to clean herself up. Caroline protested that she had had a dry night, and pulled down her plastic pants to prove it. Vickie stopped dead for a moment, and then she just said "No Matter... Get on with it!" Quietly, and being careful not to upset the seething monster that Vickie had become, I got on with stripping my two little minxes and shooing them into the bathroom to take their place in the queue for cleaning up. Sally remained quietly in the corner, avoiding eye contact, her own nappy was already in the pail and there was no way of telling if she had needed it. Caroline emerged to find that Vickie's bad temper had not ameliorated, and she was promptly directed to lie down on the disposable which Vickie had placed on her bed. Her protest that she didn't need one because she had been dry last night went unheeded, and her further protest that they were leaving Pembroke today was brusquely over-ruled by Vickie on the grounds that they were going to Simon's parents' farm at Evesham, and that was a nappy trip. Vickie went on to tell her that she was back in nappies during the day; there were to be no accidents while she was there. This was a touchy matter. In the tradition and common law of the family, Caroline should have been praised and congratulated for her dry night, and being allowed to go nappy-free would have been a part of that, but something had really got Vickie's goat. Then Simon spoke quietly from the doorway. "Carol, did you say you were dry last night?" Caroline, almost in tears, insisted that she had been. She had got up, used the toilet, and refastened her nappy as per Standing Orders. Simon smiled and congratulated her, whereupon she ran to him and threw her arms around his waist. Vickie stared angrily at him, and Simon tapped the side of his nose and said, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive others?" Gradually Vickie relented, and folded up the disposable nappy. Simon gave Caroline a hug and a kiss and then released her. I took advantage of Vickie's robust offensive to get my own two changed and dressed. Once back home we could revert to the normal custom of pants and regular toilet visits. We saw Vickie and Simon off after breakfast, and then returned to the nursery to pack the children's things, including a load of presents, and to help Claire by stripping the beds. The washing machine would be earning its keep this morning and, if the weather stayed dry, the washing line would have a full load of sheets and nappies by this afternoon. I remarked to Claire that the waterproof mattress covers had been a very wise precaution and she quietly remarked that in Vickie's case, it had been a necessary one. That explained Vickie's filthy temper, and Simon's silence at breakfast. I nodded. Claire said she was very familiar with the family weakness, and saw waterproof mattress covers as a sound precaution. "That's why I put one on your bed, too." she said. I just nodded again.

Thank you, no I have never been published. I just create the characters, think of a situation, and the characters write the story themselves.

35,000 terrorist to worry

Sibling Rivalry Sunday afternoon tea in the garden is one of those delightful English customs that I had learned to treasure. It was the one day in the week when I could be sure of reconnecting with my family, and since it was also Imelda's day off I could have them all to myself. Recently things had got even better; Peter had been posted to Fleet Headquarters at Northwood, and that meant that he and Juliet were no more than a few miles away, and could join us. They brought ten-year-old Sally along, of course, which made excellent company for my eight-year-old twins Katherine and Elizabeth, and allowed the adults to have some conversation. Matt and Peter disappeared off to the garage where Matt was eternally restoring an ancient sports car. There was much to talk about. My shift from being a supermodel to being the principal of a model agency had gone very smoothly; Julian had done all the real work and I had taken over most of poor Marguerite's role, hopefully without developing those virago traits that had been her trademark. Regular office hours meant that I had more time for the family. The change of name from Marguerite's to my family name of "Grace" had also helped to ease the atmosphere. At the same time Peter had been quietly informed that his next posting would allow him to hoist his pennant as a Commodore and had opened the road to eventual flag rank. There was much family news to discuss as well. Juliet told me with quiet pride that Sally was now officially dry, after having been so for a month, while Vickie's daughter Caroline was still in nappies at night, but dry most mornings. I congratulated the bashful, smiling Sally, whose gentle nature and quiet elegance made me quite envious. I could only report that Katherine has had a dry night this week, and Elizabeth had had two. Juliet nodded and wished me the best of luck with them. The twins didn't look quite so pleased. They were in pull-ups, not so much to avoid an accident on the lawn as to make their guest feel at home, and now here she was in pants while they still wore the stigma of babyhood. Time was certainly moving on. At Gran's funeral last spring the children's pew had been a line of well-padded bottoms, now there was a sign at least that the curse of the family was coming to its end - for this generation at least. I thought of Gran; I often did because I missed her wisdom. I had bemoaned the fact that Sally was so gentle and obedient while my twins were like tiger cats. Her reply shook me; "Well, they do take after you, my dear!" I gathered my wits to protest, but then she went on, "Juliet has always taken after the Tarr side, as has Sally: gentle, cautious, responsible, trustworthy," - and as dull as ditchwater I thought - "while you and Holly and the twins are plainly Sinclairs; better suited to the deck of a pirate ship". I swallowed that politely. It may have been right. When being interviewed by an insufferably arrogant BBC presenter the previous month I had had a sudden temptation to fire a full broadside at her and follow up with a cutlass charge. Black Jack Sinclair's blood still ran in my veins, and I began to see my daughters differently; their indefatigable rebelliousness and general insouciance was a strength. A bloody nuisance at times, but a strength nonetheless. Juliet had brought a holdall with her, but had given no indication of what it contained. Now, as she pulled back the zip, all was revealed; a mass of terry towelling. "Sally won't be needing these any more." she said, "So I thought of you... and the girls." I gave her my number three smile. "That's so kind, but my girls..." I didn't get the rest of it out. Amongst my daughters' feline characteristics was a great curiosity. "What are they Mum?" came a chorus. Gradually a plan took shape. I was not above a little leg-pull with my children. "Don't you know?" I replied, "Come and look!". I pulled one of the nappies out of the bag and unfolded it. It was huge and square, and in remarkably good condition. The twins gazed on open-mouthed. "They're nappies. The old traditional kind. Don't you remember them? You wore them from time to time when you were small." It went down like a pork pie at a bar-mitzvah. Kate plucked up her courage and reached out a hand to touch the soft terry towelling, rubbed it gently between her fingers and muttered: "Weird!" Liz protested that it was the wrong shape. I told her that it was folded before being put on. Her eyebrows posed a question, and so I kite-folded it on the lawn. "Your bottom goes here!" I indicated, "and the sides come round and are fastened with safety pins.. Liz recoiled. "It's still a funny shape!" she protested, although she was familiar with the idea of washable nappies, having often worn the PUL kind whenever I could get a housemaid prepared to wash them. "But they hold a lot" I said, "Much more than the others, and there were never any leaks because the baby ...oops! plastic....pants seal more effectively around the legs". I looked into the bag again. I could always rely on Juliet to think of things. There they were. Several pairs of plain pants in various colours, and another pair, covered, with frills. I could hardly believe it; I thought they went out of fashion years ago. I pulled them out and laid them on top of the folded nappy. The girls leaned forward, gazing at them intently. Then Kate reached out and touched a finger inside the leg hole. She felt for moment, and drew back sharply. For a moment I saw the headline "Baby Pants Bite Child!" and my smile must have given something away. Both recoiled with expressions of loathing. I was quite enjoying the game, when Juliet butted in. "Sally used to wear them when dressing up" she said, "She always looked so cute in them, under a little short dress. . The frills just showed at the bottom, and so people could see that she was safely nappied, and could be trusted on the sofa or the lap. Very girly, very cute." "Daddy liked them," Sally contributed, "He liked me to sit on his lap while he told me a story." Yes, I thought, Peter loved to dandle me on his knee when I was nappied. It got a bit much when I was older, but with all that padding in between us it was acceptable. Rather nice in fact. I knew, from our play sessions, how Matt would react; he had always been turned on by me wearing a nappy and frilly pants. The twins were obviously not convinced. They drew closer together for mutual protection. "Are they for us?" came a worried query. "Could be." I replied, carefully being non-committal, "I wouldn't normally let you wear them because they are a bit too good for you. They are quite expensive." That touched a nerve. The girls were very clothes-conscious, as might be expected of the daughters of a fashion icon. "And besides, Matt might not approve." Not much, I thought, as I remembered the effect it had on Matt when I had worn such pants. "He thinks frills are much too grown-up for you." That tickled other nerves. They were always being told that things were too grown-up for them, and it was like a red rag to a bull. I noticed Liz's hand creep towards the leg of her pull-up. Perhaps I had overdone the frightening bit, but it gave me an idea. "Liz, come here, Darling." I took her hand and drew her to me. I lifted the back of her skirt and the evidence was plain to see; her pull-up had done its best and was starting to leak down her legs. "Oh Dear! How Sad! Never Mind! Soon have you fixed!" Before she could protest I had her dress up and the pull-up down to her ankles so she couldn't run away. I couldn't blame her; I had suggested that she wear a pull-up so Sally wouldn't be humiliated; I had expected Sally to be wearing some protection as it was the custom when visiting each other's houses. I didn't know that Sally had been pronounced dry so recently, and I hadn't nagged the girls to go to the toilet regularly during the afternoon - it was Sunday, after all, and we all wanted some rest. I had just let them play, and if an accident happened, well, it happened; the pull-ups were "free ones" in the custom of the family and there would be no blame or retribution if they were used, the child was considered to have a baby's licence to wet without penalty. Juliet passed me some baby wipes - true to form, she had put everything in the changing bag - and came and knelt opposite me while I wiped my reluctant daughter down. After we removed the sodden pull-up by tearing it down the sides Juliet reached behind Liz for the nappy we had just folded and gave me a wink. I hadn't nappied a child standing since - I don't know when. Reaching back I could remember it being done to me by Peter and Juliet, when I had been in one of my fractious moods (most of the time, in fact) and I knew how it was performed. Liz, obviously, did not. She just stood there while I finished wiping her, then without hesitation, Juliet passed the front of the nappy between her legs where I took hold of the corner, and, with our hands on the corners, we lifted it up between Liz's legs and brought the corners together on each side of her waist. Liz was too surprised to protest until Sally passed the safety pins, but by then it was too late; Liz was snugly wrapped in the soft towelling and could only stagger while she tried to retain her balance by putting her hands on our shoulders. With the pins locked down we were almost there, and Sally, now fully turned Quisling, completed her transition to the other side of the nappy pin by scrunching up the pants and pushing them against Liz's shins, uttering the magic words "Dressing up!" Liz instinctively took a step forward into the pants and Sally swiftly pulled them up her legs to her waist, where Juliet and I tucked in any stray bits of nappy, and made sure the leg elastics were pushed well up. It all took only a few moments, and a surprised child waddled away. She made a brief attempt to push the nappy down, as I had been expecting, but stopped when I uttered a sharp "No!", and gave up trying to remove it - years of discipline was paying off - so she pulled the hem of her dress down to cover as much of the bulging pants as possible. She almost succeeded, but there was still a pillow visible between her legs, and a line of lace at the back. She looked incredibly cute, and Juliet and I praised her, while she even gained the appreciation of Sally who told her how lovely she looked. Red-faced, disbelieving, and close to crying, she looked from one of us to the other and in desperate appeal to her sister, who was keeping a safe distance from the proceedings. Bang on cue, Matt and Peter emerged from the garage still talking cars. Liz waddled towards Matt uttering an urgent appeal to the higher court. Matt wasn't even listening as he picked her up and gave her a big hug, patted her on the bottom and laughed. "Wherever did you get these from?" he asked, "They're so pretty!" I explained that Liz had had a little accident and it was easier than going back to the house to change her. Held in her father's arms, and holding him around his neck Liz began to look less unhappy. She wound her legs around his waist, inadvertently revealing a second row of lace, and buried her embarrassment in his shoulder. She knew her man, and was beginning to play the situation up. Kate looked on with a calculating look. They competed assiduously for Matt's affection, and it was apparent that Liz had played a blinder. Juliet and I exchanged winks. I was still shaking with suppressed laughter when I went back to the holdall to zip it up. Kate walked over quite slowly, and stood there carefully shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her fingers had curled up inside the hem of her skirt and were playing with the leg elastics of her pull-on. I followed her gaze, and saw that Liz was now sitting in her father's lap, gazing up at his face with big round eyes while he was talking to her. She had plainly stolen pole position. "Mum," said Kate quietly, "Are there any more of those frilly ones in there?"

Having looked at raw word documents it appears that all the corrections and editing is done as an appendix, which gets bigger and bigger with each correction.

I think there may be some confusion about the meaning of the word "bayonet".

Your wish is my command! Sunday afternoon tea in the garden is one of those delightful English customs that I had learned to treasure. It was the one day in the week when I could be sure of reconnecting with my family, and since it was also Imelda's day off I could have them all to myself. Recently things had got even better; Peter had been posted to Fleet Headquarters at Northwood, and that meant that he and Juliet were no more than a few miles away, and could join us. They brought ten-year-old Sally along, of course, which made excellent company for my eight-year-old twins Katherine and Elizabeth, and allowed the adults to have some conversation. Matt and Peter disappeared off to the garage where Matt was eternally restoring an ancient sports car. There was much to talk about. My shift from being a supermodel to being the principal of a model agency had gone very smoothly; Julian had done all the real work and I had taken over most of poor Marguerite's role, hopefully without developing those virago traits that had been her trademark. Regular office hours meant that I had more time for the family. The change of name from Marguerite's to my family name of "Grace" had also helped to ease the atmosphere. At the same time Peter had been quietly informed that his next posting would allow him to hoist his pennant as a Commodore and had opened the road to eventual flag rank. There was much family news to discuss as well. Juliet told me with quiet pride that Sally was now officially dry, after having been so for a month, while Vickie's daughter Caroline was still in nappies at night, but dry most mornings. I congratulated the bashful, smiling Sally, whose gentle nature and quiet elegance made me quite envious. I could only report that Katherine has had a dry night this week, and Elizabeth had had two. Juliet nodded and wished me the best of luck with them. The twins didn't look quite so pleased. They were in pull-ups, not so much to avoid an accident on the lawn as to make their guest feel at home, and now here she was in pants while they still wore the stigma of babyhood. Time was certainly moving on. At Gran's funeral last spring the children's pew had been a line of well-padded bottoms, now there was a sign at least that the curse of the family was coming to its end - for this generation at least. I thought of Gran; I often did because I missed her wisdom. I had bemoaned the fact that Sally was so gentle and obedient while my twins were like tiger cats. Her reply shook me; "Well, they do take after you, my dear!" I gathered my wits to protest, but then she went on, "Juliet has always taken after the Tarr side, as has Sally: gentle, cautious, responsible, trustworthy," - and as dull as ditchwater I thought - "while you and Holly and the twins are plainly Sinclairs; better suited to the deck of a pirate ship". I swallowed that politely. It may have been right. When being interviewed by an insufferably arrogant BBC presenter the previous month I had had a sudden temptation to fire a full broadside at her and follow up with a cutlass charge. Black Jack Sinclair's blood still ran in my veins, and I began to see my daughters differently; their indefatigable rebelliousness and general insouciance was a strength. A bloody nuisance at times, but a strength nonetheless. Juliet had brought a holdall with her, but had given no indication of what it contained. Now, as she pulled back the zip, all was revealed; a mass of terry towelling. "Sally won't be needing these any more." she said, "So I thought of you... and the girls." I gave her my number three smile. "That's so kind, but my girls..." I didn't get the rest of it out. Amongst my daughters' feline characteristics was a great curiosity. "What are they Mum?" came a chorus. Gradually a plan took shape. I was not above a little leg-pull with my children. "Don't you know?" I replied, "Come and look!". I pulled one of the nappies out of the bag and unfolded it. It was huge and square, and in remarkably good condition. The twins gazed on open-mouthed. "They're nappies. The old traditional kind. Don't you remember them? You wore them from time to time when you were small." It went down like a pork pie at a bar-mitzvah. Kate plucked up her courage and reached out a hand to touch the soft terry towelling, rubbed it gently between her fingers and muttered: "Weird!" Liz protested that it was the wrong shape. I told her that it was folded before being put on. Her eyebrows posed a question, and so I kite-folded it on the lawn. "Your bottom goes here!" I indicated, "and the sides come round and are fastened with safety pins.. Liz recoiled. "It's still a funny shape!" she protested, although she was familiar with the idea of washable nappies, having often worn the PUL kind whenever I could get a housemaid prepared to wash them. "But they hold a lot" I said, "Much more than the others, and there were never any leaks because the baby ...oops! plastic....pants seal more effectively around the legs". I looked into the bag again. I could always rely on Juliet to think of things. There they were. Several pairs of plain pants in various colours, and another pair, covered, with frills. I could hardly believe it; I thought they went out of fashion years ago. I pulled them out and laid them on top of the folded nappy. The girls leaned forward, gazing at them intently. Then Kate reached out and touched a finger inside the leg hole. She felt for moment, and drew back sharply. For a moment I saw the headline "Baby Pants Bite Child!" and my smile must have given something away. Both recoiled with expressions of loathing. I was quite enjoying the game, when Juliet butted in. "Sally used to wear them when dressing up" she said, "She always looked so cute in them, under a little short dress. . The frills just showed at the bottom, and so people could see that she was safely nappied, and could be trusted on the sofa or the lap. Very girly, very cute." "Daddy liked them," Sally contributed, "He liked me to sit on his lap while he told me a story." Yes, I thought, Peter loved to dandle me on his knee when I was nappied. It got a bit much when I was older, but with all that padding in between us it was acceptable. Rather nice in fact. I knew, from our play sessions, how Matt would react; he had always been turned on by me wearing a nappy and frilly pants. The twins were obviously not convinced. They drew closer together for mutual protection. "Are they for us?" came a worried query. "Could be." I replied, carefully being non-committal, "I wouldn't normally let you wear them because they are a bit too good for you. They are quite expensive." That touched a nerve. The girls were very clothes-conscious, as might be expected of the daughters of a fashion icon. "And besides, Matt might not approve." Not much, I thought, as I remembered the effect it had on Matt when I had worn such pants. "He thinks frills are much too grown-up for you." That tickled other nerves. They were always being told that things were too grown-up for them, and it was like a red rag to a bull. I noticed Liz's hand creep towards the leg of her pull-up. Perhaps I had overdone the frightening bit, but it gave me an idea. "Liz, come here, Darling." I took her hand and drew her to me. I lifted the back of her skirt and the evidence was plain to see; her pull-up had done its best and was starting to leak down her legs. "Oh Dear! How Sad! Never Mind! Soon have you fixed!" Before she could protest I had her dress up and the pull-up down to her ankles so she couldn't run away. I couldn't blame her; I had suggested that she wear a pull-up so Sally wouldn't be humiliated; I had expected Sally to be wearing some protection as it was the custom when visiting each other's houses. I didn't know that Sally had been pronounced dry so recently, and I hadn't nagged the girls to go to the toilet regularly during the afternoon - it was Sunday, after all, and we all wanted some rest. I had just let them play, and if an accident happened, well, it happened; the pull-ups were "free ones" in the custom of the family and there would be no blame or retribution if they were used, the child was considered to have a baby's licence to wet without penalty. Juliet passed me some baby wipes - true to form, she had put everything in the changing bag - and came and knelt opposite me while I wiped my reluctant daughter down. After we removed the sodden pull-up by tearing it down the sides Juliet reached behind Liz for the nappy we had just folded and gave me a wink. I hadn't nappied a child standing since - I don't know when. Reaching back I could remember it being done to me by Peter and Juliet, when I had been in one of my fractious moods (most of the time, in fact) and I knew how it was performed. Liz, obviously, did not. She just stood there while I finished wiping her, then without hesitation, Juliet passed the front of the nappy between her legs where I took hold of the corner, and, with our hands on the corners, we lifted it up between Liz's legs and brought the corners together on each side of her waist. Liz was too surprised to protest until Sally passed the safety pins, but by then it was too late; Liz was snugly wrapped in the soft towelling and could only stagger while she tried to retain her balance by putting her hands on our shoulders. With the pins locked down we were almost there, and Sally, now fully turned Quisling, completed her transition to the other side of the nappy pin by scrunching up the pants and pushing them against Liz's shins, uttering the magic words "Dressing up!" Liz instinctively took a step forward into the pants and Sally swiftly pulled them up her legs to her waist, where Juliet and I tucked in any stray bits of nappy, and made sure the leg elastics were pushed well up. It all took only a few moments, and a surprised child waddled away. She made a brief attempt to push the nappy down, as I had been expecting, but stopped when I uttered a sharp "No!", and gave up trying to remove it - years of discipline was paying off - so she pulled the hem of her dress down to cover as much of the bulging pants as possible. She almost succeeded, but there was still a pillow visible between her legs, and a line of lace at the back. She looked incredibly cute, and Juliet and I praised her, while she even gained the appreciation of Sally who told her how lovely she looked. Red-faced, disbelieving, and close to crying, she looked from one of us to the other and in desperate appeal to her sister, who was keeping a safe distance from the proceedings. Bang on cue, Matt and Peter emerged from the garage still talking cars. Liz waddled towards Matt uttering an urgent appeal to the higher court. Matt wasn't even listening as he picked her up and gave her a big hug, patted her on the bottom and laughed. "Wherever did you get these from?" he asked, "They're so pretty!" I explained that Liz had had a little accident and it was easier than going back to the house to change her. Held in her father's arms, and holding him around his neck Liz began to look less unhappy. She wound her legs around his waist, inadvertently revealing a second row of lace, and buried her embarrassment in his shoulder. She knew her man, and was beginning to play the situation up. Kate looked on with a calculating look. They competed assiduously for Matt's affection, and it was apparent that Liz had played a blinder. Juliet and I exchanged winks. I was still shaking with suppressed laughter when I went back to the holdall to zip it up. Kate walked over quite slowly, and stood there carefully shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her fingers had curled up inside the hem of her skirt and were playing with the leg elastics of her pull-on. I followed her gaze, and saw that Liz was now sitting in her father's lap, gazing up at his face with big round eyes while he was talking to her. She had plainly stolen pole position. "Mum," said Kate quietly, "Are there any more of those frilly ones in there?"