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  • 4 weeks later...

Solidarity.

Things became ever more complicated as my big day approached.  That was unusual - normally things like weddings were organised with the efficiency of a naval staff under the direction of Gran, but she was aging now, and, while taking a close interest, was concerning herself less and less with details.  My mother was taking over, but had come head-to-head with my manager, Julian, who could see a wonderful opportunity to "further my career" with the public interest it would attract - Supermodel Wedding, sponsorship, glossy coverage, photographers etcetera. To Mum, I was a daughter to be wed, but to Julian there was always money to be made; I became more and more conscious that I was a product to be marketed as opposed to being a friend to be celebrated. Fortunately we had all come to an agreement.  The wedding was to be based at Pembroke, where all the family weddings took place. The local church at Woburn was to be used for the ceremony, though it had seldom been graced by our attendance.  This time I hoped Percy would manage to avoid falling down the haha.

We arranged the reception at the Abbey, after Julian had negotiated a large discount, bearing in mind the favourable publicity we would bring.  Julian wanted half of London to be at the wedding of the season, complete with orchestra and television crews, but frankly I did not, that wasn't the way we did things and I always thought such extravagance would bring bad luck, Just the same, Julian arranged for them to come, and the costs were more than offset by selling the photographs to the Glossies.  Julian took his slice.  On his visit to Pembroke I saw him slipping his business card to Elke, the beautiful Estonian au pair girl, who pocketed it carefully.

My own personal arrangements were proceeding nicely.  Matt had postponed his plans to join the Navy, so we would have time to settle in together, which seemed only wise.  I would have liked to have had him in uniform on the day, and Julian was much disappointed that he would not be, but to have had him posted somewhere at the Navy's whim would not have been helpful. We were going to settle in Devon for a while, keeping my mews house in London for my work, and then make further plans.  One problem that had been resolved was the mural in the garage - Matt had shown an unusual talent for DIY, and had erected a stud wall that covered it while leaving it undamaged - a possible huge surprise for some future owner when making improvements to the property.

There were ructions on a family scale, too.  In the matter of bridesmaids, I was under intense pressure from the New Coven, consisting of my cousins Viola and Alice, and my niece Holly, who regarded bridesmaidship as their God-given right.  Properly, such matters were the preserve of the Leading Child, but William had apparently joined the Submarine Service and was keeping well down, out of sight and silent.  Viola had him bent around her little finger anyway, and weddings were very much a girly matter, so his opinions were not invited - he was going to be told what he was going to wear and where he was going to stand.  William was now a gangling teenager, as tall as I am, and was not terribly keen on being a pageboy, being very anxious that no-one should insist on him cutting his tousled mop of fair hair and forcing him into some silly knee-breeches outfit.  I did win one significant battle; my old friend and confidant, Helen, was to design my wedding dress, despite Julian's pleas for a more profitable contract.  I owed it to Helen, a struggling designer, as she had been kind enough to run up some very special clothes for me over the years, and had recently mastered the technique of working in polyurethane laminate at my request. 

Helen was close beside me now as the make-up artist and the hairdressers finished their work.  I was about to slip into Helen's creation when there was the most almighty racket from along the corridor, where the bridesmaids were being dressed. I called out to ask the matter, and received the chilling reply: "Don't worry. It's nothing to worry about, we can manage!" - the dread words that have ushered in almost every human disaster since Pompeii. Dressed only in my underwear, I went to investigate.

I found the centre of the disturbance was little Alice, normally the quietest of children, waving her fists in fury at Elke, who stood arms akimbo before her in a posture of complete intransigence.  I had great respect for Alice, who demonstrated the stubbornness and courage so highly prized in our family.  It took a few moments to extract the cause of the dispute.  Alice had been having a few accidents lately and her mother had decreed that she should wear some protection under her bridesmaid's dress, but Alice had been outraged at the threatened indignity.  It had been left to Elke, with her basic English, to persuade the outraged child that it was "for her own good", a phrase which always has a hollow rattle. Looking on, much concerned, were Holly and Viola who had only been dry a few months themselves, and were thus painfully aware not only of the humiliation being heaped on their little colleague, but also of the need for it.

It was time for Aunt Amelia to intervene.  I knew I had great kudos with the children, and it was time to use some of it.  I knelt down beside the tearful child and held out my arms, and she came into them gladly, blubbering against my cheek to the effect that they were trying to put her back into nappies and she had only had a couple of little accidents and she wasn't a little baby anymore and she didn't need them.  I saw Elke's eyebrows raise sharply, and guessed that the real truth might be a little more diluvian than that, but, no matter, I had to win and keep the little girl's confidence. I started on The Lecture, but the reasoning, though valid, had been worn out by so many repetitions that I failed to convince even myself.  I shifted the subject, and mentioned that I had become dry at eleven years old, and nobody had expected her to become dry by eight ("Seven!" she corrected me sharply) which was a record in the family, and how my father had given me a pony as a reward.  It was a bit more complicated than that, but my mention of dear old Patch, long since gone to graze the Elysian Fields, caught her attention and opened the door to an attempt at bribery.  Like courage and stubbornness, bribery was well respected amongst Gran's piratical ancestors, and Alice was true to her roots.  If she was good, and agreed to wear some protection - I didn't use the word "nappy" - I would intercede with Percy and try to get him to do the same as my father had done.  The snuffling stopped and I was transfixed by her cold and intense stare, trying to read my face and see if I was being truthful.  I remembered how difficult this could be for a child - it had taken me months to get over the Tooth Fairy Hoax, and as for Father Christmas...!

It was time to close the sale, as Julian had taught me.  I checked the people around me, and noted the absence of Viola and Holly.  None of the others showed any inclination to interrupt - I had the field to myself.  I just dreaded that someone like Gran might turn up and offer help at just the critical moment, but she was safely ensconced downstairs with a sherry, and out of earshot. I drew breath to clinch the deal with Alice.

"Can I help up here, my dears?" came a querulous voice, and  I saw Gran enter the room, walking stick in one hand, sherry glass in the other.

"No, Gran, Don't worry. It's nothing to worry about, we can manage!" came my reply, backed by a desperate glare.  She caught my tone of urgency, and held back.  I turned back to Alice, but I could see that the interruption had been enough; her eyes were now full of deep suspicion.  "A pony," I whispered, "Think of a pony!" but it did no good.  Helen appeared, tapping her wrist to remind me that we were running out of time.

Just then two figures squeezed in the door behind Gran.  Viola and Holly. Both wearing nappies. "Come on, Alice, time to get our dresses on!" Holly cried, "You're not ready yet. Come On!" Alice's mouth moved, but no sound came out.  I tried again, "A pony, think of your very own pony!"  Alice stirred and held me.  I picked her up, and she clung to me like a monkey as I carried her toward the nursery, where I found Elke waiting with a nappy laid out on the changing table all ready for her.  Without further ado, I sat Alice down in the middle of it, laid her back down, and pulled her pants down over her feet. I promptly moved forward again so my body was in the way of her getting her legs together, and pulled the front of the nappy up between them, meeting only token resistance from her hands trying to push it back down again, before taping the sides closed around her.  The entire operation had taken only a few seconds, and the result was a securely nappied child, better fitted for a night of solid wetting than a couple of hours of ceremonials.  The solidarity of the New Coven had proven stronger than the lure of bribery.

Fifteen minutes later we were lined up in the hall for Gran's careful inspection.  I mouthed my thanks to Viola and Holly for their intervention, and then lowered my veil over my face.  Both of the great double doors of Pembroke opened, as they only did on occasions such as this, and with my hand on my father's arm we set forth into the rising heat of a summer's morning like a fleet under sail. If I heard the slightest rustle from behind me, I put it down to the newness of the dresses.

Every minute for the next few hours was filled with activity.  A long photo session in the heat of the day exhausted all of us, but the Glossies had their pound of flesh - with about a pint of sweat.  We finally left the reception in the going-away ceremony, ostensibly to go on honeymoon but in fact to go as far as Pembroke to spend the night, as our flight was not to depart until the morning.  It was such a huge relief to get out of those tight, heavy formal clothes, and rest awhile in the cool of Pembroke's thick walls.  Eventually we resurfaced and went to look for the others.  We found them in the garden, the old people on the patio in the lingering warmth of the stones, and the rest, fractionated by age down the garden towards the pond.  Juliet and Vickie were on the lawn, cruising their new daughters across the soft damp grass, and guesses were being made on which of the babies would be the first to walk unaided.  We idled on until we reached the children around the pond, under Elke's watchful eyes.  There was one surprise left; Viola, Holly and Alice were stripped down to only tops and nappies, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. I raised an eyebrow at Elke, and she shrugged.  "They were all wet," she said. "They said they couldn't find the toilets in the Abbey, and didn't want to make a fuss.  They were all soaking wet, so I just changed them.  Claire said it was the rules and Viola agreed."  I nodded.  Yes, it was the rules. Pembroke rules.  A wet nappy got changed - you could only be called dry when you had shown some dry ones, but it was still an unusually rigid interpretation. Given the bond that had formed between them, I suspected that one of them might have had an accident, and the other two had peed their nappies deliberately in order to avoid her being singled-out.  I looked carefully at Elke, then I looked across at Viola, lying on her stomach beside the pond and tickling the recumbent William with a seed-stalk of grass.  She smiled at me and winked, showing a knowledge that should have been way beyond her thirteen years, and I winked back.  It takes one to know one.

Matt and I settled on the bench in the bower at the bottom of the garden, a place perfectly designed for lovers on a warm summer's evening, and involved ourselves with each other for a while. I lay back into Matt's arm and watched the children, wondering if one day some child of mine would be among them, playing as I had once played. Suddenly I had a vision of generations of children playing here, of long dresses, breeches, stocks, long coats, tricorn hats, but still the same children, always playing on the same green lawns, growing up and having children of their own.  One day, perhaps, in the evening of our lives like Gran and Granpa, we would see it from the other end of the garden as our achievement. 

Gradually the garden began to empty as the smallest children were taken to bed.  Holly and Alice, who had been sitting on the stone edging of the pond dabbling their feet in the water, were reclaimed by their mothers.  As they waddled reluctantly up the garden it was plain to see from their swollen drooping rears that splashing one's feet in the cold water could be something of a risk.  That left us with Viola and William who, relieved of the company of the smaller girls, began some kind of wrestling match with the unlikely result that Viola ended up sitting astride William, pinning him to the ground.  Both seemed quite content with the situation, although William did make a cautious check on Viola's nappy, slipping his fingers up the back of her legs in fear or expectation of wetness.

Not before time, Claire reappeared to claim her elder daughter, and to break up a situation that was becoming seamier by the minute. Matt and I remained awhile and then followed slowly up the long garden in the gathering dusk; it had been a very long, hot day and tomorrow would involve an early start and a very long flight.  On the way along the landing we met Viola again, coming out of the nursery.  She was holding a terry nappy, pins and pants, and heading for the bedroom she was sharing with Holly. 

"None left in my size," she said rather sheepishly, "I'll have to make do with these."  I looked at her carefully. "Mum  insists. Can't use the changing table, either. Might wake the babies."  I nodded.  Claire was well known for a strict interpretation of the law and no excuses, but I suspect she had had enough of the New Coven and it's solidarity, and was making her feelings felt.  Loyalty to your shipmates is highly regarded in our family, but it has its limits; Viola was obviously being picked on as the leader with the intent of quenching the rebellion. The ante was being upped; Viola obviously had no idea of what to do with a terry nappy, but I certainly did.

"Can you manage?" I asked. After a moment she nodded.

"I think so," she replied doubtfully, and then with a gleam in her eye she added "William might help me."

That was enough. I took the hint. I nodded my excuses to Matt, and took Viola's arm, briskly escorting her to her bedroom.  In the other bed, Holly turned over to watch as I folded the terry nappy kitewise onto the bed and turned towards Viola.  She handed me the pins and the pants and, dropping her dressing gown from her shoulders, turned and sat on the nappy. I checked the sides to see that it was central, and then pulled the front up and over her.  Unlike Alice, she made no attempt to resist and kept her hands well out of the way. Only when I had pinned her nappy on each side did she reach down to touch the soft white towelling and the pins. I paused for a moment; the thought had struck that perhaps this same nappy had wrapped my loins and kept my bed dry in the old days -  and not so long ago.  The warm secure feeling came back to me and I envied Viola lying there in a pristine white nappy with the prospect of spending the whole night snug and safe, and if she woke up in a wet nappy, at least the bed would be dry and warm, and she wouldn't be in trouble. Eventually I shook out the plastic pants, and seeing Viola lift her feet, did it the old way, putting my hands through the leg holes, seizing her ankles and sliding the pants up her legs.  I helped her to her feet, and then pulled the waistband up over her bottom, before pushing the leg elastics up into the nappy and checking everything was well tucked in at the back if the waistband.  Viola adjusted one of the elastics, and then obeying the rule of "no handies in your panties" left them well alone.

"Beautiful job!" murmured Matt from the doorway.  I glanced at him disapprovingly before finishing off Viola with a kiss and the obligatory pat on the bottom.

"Oh God!" she said,  "I couldn't walk anywhere like this. It's massive!"

I'd had enough of being manipulated.  I wasn't going to pick her up - she was thirteen and weighed a ton, and I wasn't going to risk putting my back out on my wedding night, just when it had work to do.

"You won't have to." I replied, "You can get to bed on your hands and knees."

Smirking, she crawled up the bed with her huge backside wiggling, and it was all I could do to avoid the temptation to give it a hearty smack, then she wriggled down between the sheets where I tucked her in firmly.  There was a snigger from the other bed. I turned to Holly, and to recover my dignity and authority I made a point of checking her nappy, mostly to make sure she hadn't quietly taken it off; it was far too soon for her to have wet it, unless she did so very deliberately.  Once again, there was no objection. I tucked her back in, gave her a quick kiss, went to the door, said "Good Night!" very firmly, switched out the light and closed the door.

We walked up the landing to our bedroom, with me fuming about how I had been manipulated by those two brats.  On the way we passed the nursery door, so, naturally, I looked in to the check the babies.  There they were, Sally and Caroline together in the big cot, wrapped in each other's arms with their heads surrounded by halos of fair hair, and sleeping soundly.  My bad temper evaporated and I stood a few moments in contemplation of the scene.  Why did babies ever have to grow up?

Later that night I lay in Matt's arms, having made love long and gently and, for the first time, with the genuine wish to conceive rather than just for the momentary pleasure.  I kept repeating to myself, silently:  "Mrs. Johnson... Mrs. Amelia Johnson... Dr. and Mrs. Matthew Johnson... Mummy and Daddy...." until I fell asleep.

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  • 1 month later...

The Archangel Strikes

Oh Matt, how could you do this to me?

I lay on the beach at Marazion flanked by Juliet and Vickie, just as we had three summers ago, but while their tummies were then distended with their incipient daughters, now those same daughters were playing in the sand and their mothers' tummies were again nice and flat, while my own view of St Michael's Mount was obstructed by Amelia's Mount - my huge distended belly which housed what was to be my twin daughters, and what was worse, at the start of this process I had actually wanted a baby.

I mean it was the thing to do.  Lots of models had had babies, and enjoyed the fulfilment of motherhood, and then returned to the catwalk a few months later as flat as a billiard table, a slim as a billiard cue, and not a stretch mark in sight.  Nobody had ever managed that after having twins.  Now, here I was, on "maternity leave" with a prospect of never going back to work because I would just be seen as a pot-belly with a mass of stretch-marks.  My cup runneth over!

I took stock carefully.  Count your blessings, Gran had said. I was married to Matt, and still very much in love with him after two years - quite an achievement in itself in what can be the highly corrosive environment of the celebrity game.  I was having the baby we had planned.  Matt had the career he wanted; having left his general practice in the wilds of Devon he had joined the Navy and been posted - of all places - to Culdrose in Cornwall, where Juliet's and Vickie's husbands also served.  There had been cries of "fix" when that happened, although it was a bit of a disaster for me when I found I had to commute to London to work - a five-hour drive if I was lucky.  We had done a deal with Dad for his holiday cottage, which was just large enough for the two of us with a spare bedroom for a baby.  Dad had bought a villa in Provence with the money, and that would be available to us for holidays. Simon and Vickie had moved into a married quarter on the station, so we were all together except for Peter who now had a frigate and was stuck in the Falklands for a time.

Gradually my problems shrank to a manageable size.  I looked down at my huge pot, and also my huge pot of  anti-stretch-mark cream, and wondered how big I was going to get in the next month.  Perhaps I should get up and do something, take some exercise or suchlike, but the sheer effort involved put me off.  I would have to go to the toilet quite soon anyway - those twins inside me were already making their presence known in that respect, as in others. Thank you Matt, I only wanted one baby, not two.  If he had told me that twins ran in his family, I might have been more cautious.

I looked around.  Sally and Catherine, both three years old now and at the stage of "maximum cute", were playing in the sand with bucket and spade, watched carefully by their mothers. Matt and Simon were splashing in the surf with Jack.  Holly was with us under the windbreak, she was now twelve years old and fiercely proud of her developing curves and lengthening legs; indeed, she was becoming a bit of a beauty in her own right.  I was sitting with their mothers being advised on the interminable subject of childcare, and listening with some reluctance.  Despite the joys of motherhood being radiated by Sally and Caroline,  I was not looking forward to abandoning my glittering lifestyle for the mundane world of a mother-of-twins, but there was little option now.  Just over a month to go.  Were my efforts to avoid stretch marks a hopeless cause? 

Juliet was talking to Holly, telling her the story of St Michael's Mount, and how some fishermen had seen St Michael fighting the Devil on top of it in about the year 500AD.  I had heard the story before - Juliet was an absolute mine of useless information about Cornish folklore, and I half-listened to her.  She had once dared me to crawl through the hole in the stone of Men-an-Tol, but didn't tell me it was a fertility rite, so part of my present problem was her fault.  She stopped talking for a moment and looked at me. I was expected to make some comment.  I replied, all I could think of at that moment, that I hoped St Michael, if he could hear me, would come back down to earth a bit and stop me getting stretch marks.  That broke Juliet's thread, and she changed the subject to talk about our current interest - babies.

At the umpteenth reiteration of some minor point of childcare I decided I had had enough, and threw a grenade into the conversation.  I asked Juliet and Vickie how the toilet training was going.  That was ever the wrong thing to do. The two little ones were now at the age when the process should have been completed, but it was becoming clear the rogue gene that rampaged through our family was still active, and little effective progress had been made.

Juliet sucked her teeth. "We try," she said, "We try.  Sally seems to be able to hold it during the day, unless she is totally preoccupied with play" - she looked at her little daughter Sally playing happily in the sand - "but nights are hopeless.  Even if we wake her and make her go, she still wets.  Several times a night I think.  I haven't even dared to try her without a nappy yet."  I looked at Sally.  There was still a trace of a pink ring around her thigh; she had come to the beach in a nappy, and would almost certainly return in one, even though the house was barely more than half-an-hour's drive even in the heavy traffic of the high tourist season..

I turned to Vickie. She shrugged. "Much the same.  I don't want to put too much pressure on Caroline; I would rather her wet and happy than dry - or rather partly dry - and miserable.  I suggest, I tempt with rewards, I make promises, but she still wets every single blasted night like she's Old Faithful.  It's better just to nappy her and live with it.  Fortunately Simon is very understanding - she's the apple of his eye, and can do no wrong as far as he's concerned.  It might be different when the next one comes."  Vickie's interesting condition had been the big news of the month.  

My babies stirred inside me, and Holly promptly said she could see the movements.  Holly had paid rapt attention to my pregnancy; she had just had her first period, which had suddenly brought everything into focus for her, and she was very proud of her accession to womanhood.  Juliet sat up and looked around over the windbreak, - she was always very cautious about my privacy.  "Tide's coming in." she observed, "I think its time to pack up and go."

The beach at Marazion slopes very gently, which makes it safe for children, but the cost is that the tide comes in quite rapidly.  The men were now within earshot, and the first waves were threatening the holes that Sally and Catherine had dug.  The girls were recalled, and changed in the shelter and privacy of the windbreak with only the smallest protest.  They were dressed alike in hats and sundresses with just the bottom of their nappies visible at the tail, indeed they were more like twins than cousins.  Then the men arrived, and began to pick up our belongings.  I was excused the work because of my condition, but I made up for it by offering to buy everybody ice creams at the little café in the village - an offer which was cheerfully accepted by the children, and suffered by their parents.  We trooped up off the beach, dumped our belongings in the cars, and repaired to the café.  I was now bursting for a pee, and the sight of the little girls, safely nappied, made me quite envious; I could really do with one now, and I could almost feel the cool soft pillow of plastic rubbing against my own thighs.  How nice it would be to be able to wear a nappy like that, in public, peeking out from under a sundress and without the slightest comment or embarrassment.  How nice it would be to be able to just relax and let go without all the paraphernalia of going to the toilets.  Suddenly I had an image of being changed in the open by Matt's big strong hands, and I wanted the toilet even more desperately.

We made it to the café in the nick of time and I made my excuses and headed for the toilet, when I came out, much relieved, they had ordered for me and we had taken over about half the café.  I sat myself down, and my babies stirred inside me once again, as if to make themselves more comfortable.  They were certainly much more active than usual, and I wondered if they could sense the excitement of the other children, and felt left out from the treat.  Well, it wouldn't be long now, just over a month, and they would be out into this world will all that implied Oh God!...Oh God!.. The cramp hit me like an axe blow, and I gasped and clutched my tummy.  Matt was with me in a second, and all conversation suddenly stopped.  I felt a warm wetness between my thighs, and gasped, "They're Coming!"  

All Hell cut loose.  Matt and Simon panicked in the best naval manner, commands were given, and feet were running in all directions.  If they had had flags, they would have waved them.  The little children started to cry, Holly started to flap, and only little Jack remained quietly enjoying his ice cream.  It was decided we couldn't wait for an ambulance, so Simon dashed for his car.  I was bundled into the back with Matt to take care of me, and we set off for the hospital at Truro.  I remembered very little of the journey except for the horrifying speed at which Simon drove.   We got there just in the nick of time, and Katherine was born as the clocks struck six, followed by Elizabeth just a few minutes later.  Both of them were promptly whisked off to intensive care and put into a single incubator.  By seven I was back on the ward and accepting congratulations while quietly making a mental note never again to trifle with an Archangel.

The following morning I was down to the perinatal intensive care unit as soon as they would let me, inspecting the two tiny scraps of life in the incubator.  The prognosis was good, although their lungs were not fully developed and so they were on pure oxygen. I was allowed, nay encouraged, to handle them and was just about to do my first nappy change.  The nurse hovered over me, and asked if I knew how to do it.  I sucked my teeth for a moment, and then replied: "Yes, I think so.  I have done it before... a few times". 

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  • 1 month later...

I was a little reluctant to be bumping a story from the 3rd page but because this story has been going for almost 8 years now I didn't really think anyone would object too much.

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  • 1 month later...
  • 1 month later...

Nanny's Day Off.

I leaned back in my chair and took stock.  It was rare for me to be out of the limelight, and even rarer to be behind the camera rather than in front of it, and I was enjoying the chance to reflect.  Little Elizabeth was sitting beside me, and all her attention was on her twin sister Katherine who was in front of the camera.  I had been dead against the idea, but for once I had lost the argument.  

My manager, Julian, had been approached by John, the producer of a soap opera with an offer he could not refuse - but then Julian could never refuse an offer as long as enough money was attached to it.  The producer had wanted not me but my daughters for a starring role in his series.  It was not just that they were famous - we had to drive the paparazzi off with fire hoses - but because they were identical twins, and as the producer was keen to point out, working with children was a major headache for him.  The hours that four-year-old children could work were strictly limited, and by having two interchangeable actresses a much higher rate of filming could be achieved, targets met, blah, blah, blah.

My initial objections were the same as any mother would have; I didn't want my children exploited, over-worked, rushed into adulthood etcetera, but Julian knew my worries.  One was the cost of their future education, I wanted them to have at least as good a chance as Matt and I had had and that would now cost a fortune, and our resources were a bit stretched at the moment.  While Matt was on a course in London we were living in a rented house in the country nearby, and it was costing.  I was still making plenty of money modelling, but the rent was horrendous.  I still had my little mews house in Hampstead, but it was too small for us now, and besides it was now rented out to Elke, once Uncle Percy's au-pair girl, but now a successful model in her own right thanks to Julian spotting her.  Even so, I was expected to keep up appearances, and that can cost - especially in London.  

I stuck to my guns and played what I thought was my trump card;  I told the producer that the children had not been toilet trained, and that they still had to wear nappies day and night.  I folded my hands to show the matter was settled, but John was not dismayed at all.  He told me that that was a huge advantage.  He said that the director would be livid if, after all the trouble he had gone to set up a scene, the child star would demand to go to the lavatory and everything had to hold for ten minutes while the little darling had a wee-wee.  He said that, if he had his way, all child actors would be in nappies and some of the adult stars as well.  I was defeated, outflanked, and my trump card had been trumped in its turn.  I had to agree.  My mind was still boggling at the sudden idea of my actor friends in nappies, and being changed on the back of the set.  I tried to focus on the contract in front of me to stop myself from laughing.  

After I had regained control, I asked John whether any actors actually did this, and he just smiled and said, "well, some of those costumes make it very difficult to get to the loo." and he left it at that.

My daughters were delighted at their new game.  Ever since I had taken them on a shoot - the sitter had not turned up - and they had seen me posing and posturing in front of the camera they had decided that it was the finest thing since sliced bread, and they spent hours twisting and posing to emulate Mummy doing her job.  It had one huge advantage; whenever they were being naughty and not doing as Mummy told them, all Mummy had to do was imitate a cameraman, and they would immediately strike a pose - sometimes falling over in the process.  They soon picked up the game of let's pretend - the big, grown-up game of Let's Pretend which was played out in front of the cameras, and actually enjoyed being made up and costumed for the part; they always thrived on attention - I suppose they got that from me.  I recalled how I had not found it easy being the little child on the periphery, ten years my sister's junior, and how I had done so many things to get attention.  Wetting my own nappy had been an overworked favourite at one time; it served to assert myself, an act of defiance.

Fortunately in all other respects, the production team was marvellous.  We had our own dressing room, well stocked with colouring books and crayons - and nappies.  We could retire there between takes and make any changes that might be necessary.  The costume department was in on the secret, and made sure the costumes they wore were tailored accordingly - no very short skirts or too-tight trousers, and I watched closely to see that no trace of their nappies would show on screen.

I had a bit of fun myself from time to time, joining the extras in a crowd scene, carefully grunging myself up, rounding my shoulders and stooping to fit in with all the rest.  And I wore flat-heeled shoes as well - it's difficult to be part of a crowd when you are five-foot ten with a huge mane of hair, but I did my best.  Word got out, of course, and "Spot Amelia" became a great hobby amongst the fans.  The producers certainly didn't mind that, but I was careful to limit my appearances so as not to make any professional actor on the cast envious. 

When thinking of envy I had my own moments, when one of my daughters was picked up and fussed by her screen mother, and I was worried that my child was getting too fond of them, but I had underestimated the acting ability of my daughters, who could get in and out of character with an ease which many other experienced actors could barely manage; they had a natural talent for the job, and I wondered what we were going to do if the series ended, or they were written out.  I would have to bring them down to earth somehow.  I really quite liked the idea; Tuesday was a shooting day, and coincided with the nanny's day off, so I had the job of looking after the girls on that day.  As long as I could fit my other commitments around it, it worked quite well, and Julian was careful to keep me free on Tuesdays.

Fortunately this Tuesday went well, and we had an early wrap.  I changed the girls back into their day clothes, and noted that both were dry so that was easy; I simply left them nappied for the drive home.  On the way out of the studios I passed a couple of actresses who were dressed up for the classical drama that was being filmed on an adjacent lot; huge crinolines filled the corridor.  I looked at them and I wondered, and I wondered; how did they do it?  You could never get those skirts into the average toilet and it must take about ten minutes to get out of them.  Perhaps what John said was true - they took the necessary precautions.

I strapped the girls into their car seats and thanked heaven for them; it kept them under control and stopped the chances of a play fight developing in the back seat.  I could see them in the rear-view mirror too - and they could see me, two pairs of pale blue eyes - they got their eyes from me and the red hair from Matt - watching every move I made.  It was only a short drive home, but the rush hour traffic was quite heavy, and I could never be sure of when we would arrive.  For once I was glad the girls were still nappied as there would be no emergency stops for a wee-wee, they could just do it in their nappies and we would change them when we got home.  I chided myself for this failure of parenting convention, but I had tried to toilet-train them, their nanny had tried, and Matt had tried, but without much success.  I was just hoping we could get them dry enough to send them to school in the next year or so.

The traffic stopped completely, and flashing blue lights appeared in the distance.  I groaned inwardly. That meant an accident ahead and an incalculable delay.  I checked on my charges using the rear-view mirror; Katherine was quietly looking out of the window, and Elizabeth had her eyes closed, probably asleep.  I tilted the mirror downwards to inspect the pillows of the nappies between their legs, and it looked like Elizabeth had made good use of hers.  That usually meant Katherine would also do so in the next few minutes.  Once again I groaned, and tried to think of sandy beaches and hot sun, far, far away; anywhere other than the grey and dismal outskirts of London.

We made it eventually and I woke the girls up; they were now too big and heavy to contemplate carrying them both indoors.  As they walked up to the front door I noticed that Katherine was also doing the penguin walk that implied a wet and swollen nappy, but I made no comment.  I was busting for a visit myself, and not for the first time I found myself envying the girls their self-contained convenience, and their ability to relieve themselves with complete insouciance in the knowledge that the worst they would have to face would be a visit to the changing table and a fresh nappy; I made a point of never scolding them for wetting as it would have made it difficult to get them to accept the need to wear nappies in the daytime at all.  I had tried desperately to toilet train them, but the only result had been accidents, damage to carpets and soft furnishings, and painful scenes with tearful children. Finally, in desperation, and in view of the fact we were living in a rented house, I applied "Pembroke Rules" and put them back in nappies day and night.  They actually seemed happier that way, and we had no accidents and very few rows even though, according to Gran, they had inherited their strong personalities from me.

We got inside and I noted that Matt was not yet home, so I felt thankful we would not have to explain our lateness.  The girls waddled off in the direction of the television set, and as they lay on the rug in front of it I was able to check their nappies properly with a finger poked up the leg elastics and a cautious pat underneath.  They were both wet , but not excessively, and I could spare a few minutes to sort myself out, feed the cat, and make the tea.  Then I returned to the lounge and summoned them for a change.  Overriding their protests I shooed them upstairs to their bedroom, closed the door behind us, (a trick I had learned to stop one running off while I changed the other) and hoisted Elizabeth onto the changing table.  It was not as large as the one at Pembroke, which could probably have held both girls at once, and Elizabeth's legs now reached over the end.  Never mind, I lifted her legs, put a fresh nappy under her and untaped the wet one.  I know I should have asked her if she wanted the toilet, but frankly I was tired out myself, and I wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible.  Elizabeth objected to the "baby change", and she reached down to try to push away the front of the new nappy as I pulled it up over her tummy, and wriggled and kicked out with her legs.  I wasn't having it and spoke sharply to her while I taped the sides down as quickly as I could before helping the slightly sullen child off the table and smoothing her skirt back down.  She exchanged glances with her twin sister as she left, as if to say "Mother's in a temper today!" and Katherine obviously took the hint, making no objection as I repeated the exercise with her; she even lifted her own legs and kept her arms well up and out of the way.  With them both changed I let them return to the lounge and television as I spent a few minutes on my own appearance, bearing in mind Gran's advice that even harassed wives and mothers should also be lovers too.  Thank heaven that Nanny would be back tomorrow and I could get on with things!

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Thanks for the update. It was nice seeing the twins following after their mother. The Olsen twins also came to mind when reading this chapter. I did enjoy it and will be waiting for more.

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The Jig-Saw.

It just wasn't the day for a family row, but I walked into one.  It was, alas, the day of Granpa's funeral, and the whole family had gathered at Pembroke House to attend the service.  The problem had boiled up with Caroline, Vickie's daughter, who was objecting to Pembroke Rules being applied to her.  She was eight, no less, and was quite capable of going through the school day - and some nights as well - without wetting herself.  To be subjected to wearing a nappy in the daytime was altogether too, too much.  She had "forgotten" to stock the changing bag which her mother had brought all the way up from Cornwall, but had betrayed herself by wetting during the five- or six- hour journey on a broiling-hot summer's day. Fortunately she had had a nappy on, but Vickie was still furious with her.  The shouts from the nursery were audible all the way down to the hallway of the great house, and I joined the  task force of Mums as they set off up the stairs to support the beleaguered Vickie.  My twin daughters, Katherine and Elizabeth, scenting blood, followed close behind me; after a long traffic-jam on the motorway, they were also in need of a change.  We arrived at the scene and formed into line of battle.  Caroline stood with her arms folded before the changing table, spitting defiance at all of us.

It appeared that Vickie had perhaps been a little tactless.  Yes, poor Caroline had had an accident, and needed a change, but there were no fresh nappies in the bag.  It had been her job to pack the bag and bring it, and her omission was all too understandable.  At the advanced age of eight, she was at last gaining some control over her treacherous bladder, and at home and school was out of nappies during the daytime.  Unfortunately, this wasn't home or school, this was Pembroke, and Aunt Claire, the mistress of the house was jealous of her beautiful carpets and furnishings.  Claire's contribution hadn't helped.  Although she had no disposables in the house, the big trunk in the attic had yielded up some old terry nappies and pants carefully stored after her own daughters had managed to get themselves dry, and one lovely soft terry nappy was even now folded on the great changing-table in invitation of Caroline's most reluctant bottom.  Not unnaturally, Caroline was refusing to put up with the indignity; disposables, discretely worn under a skirt were bad enough, but a huge terry-clad bottom was the preserve of a toddler, and Caroline had a strong sense of her own dignity. I could sympathise with her predicament, but at the same time I felt envious.  I could remember those big nappies, how they had given me such a sense of security when I was lying in the cot, one leg bent and resting against the bars, and in this very room.  I remembered looking down at the white heap of plastic pants over my groin and exulting in the slow release of my water into them, making it last as long as possible, but then of course, it was very private and I didn't have a host of people watching me.

The impasse was broken by the arrival of Simon, Caroline's father, dressed in full uniform for the funeral of the admiral, and looking hugely impressive.  He thanked us all, which was taken as a dismissal, and all the Mums left the room with the exception of me and my two daughters, whose nappies were now visibly sagging with wetness.  Simon then turned to his daughter, and she promptly gave up the fight, submitting to being hoisted onto the changing table.  My mind took me back to the times Peter had changed me on that table, and how I had played him up so gleefully; it was worth wetting my nappy in order to get him to do it. Poor Caroline didn't realise just how lucky she was.

Then, horror of horrors, Simon secured her with the old seat belt strap, which had been fitted to restrain the ebullience of Hal, Claire's youngest.  Caroline bit her lip, but said nothing as Vickie caught and held her hands well up and clear of her nappy area; her humiliation was complete

Caroline responded by deploying her main armament; she burst into tears.  Simon was nonplussed, and started to turn red.  It was time to intervene.  I offered him a nappy from our changing bag - I had bought some spares in anticipation of a long day of Pembroke Rules, and he accepted gratefully.  Caroline sniffed her tears, and the operation was concluded without further delay.

Caroline murmured her thanks, which surprised me, and waddled off towards the door, hand in hand with Vickie, as Simon admonished her not to dare to take her nappy off on pain of a spanking.  I turned towards my twins, who had watched the whole proceedings with fascination.  "Right, who's first?" I uttered, intending to divide and rule.  To my surprise, Katherine stepped forward and climbed the steps to the changing table with something like enthusiasm, pulled up her dress and allowed me to untape her nappy and wipe her down.  Then she laid herself down, and to my astonishment she picked up the strap and offered the end to me.  I demurred, as I didn't agree with that approach, and she wasn't wriggling.  As I turned to take a fresh nappy out of our changing bag, Elizabeth stepped forward, took the end of the strap and fastened it into the buckle before strapping her sister down tightly.  She then went to the head of the table and held her sister's hands carefully out of the way. I didn't argue - there were two of them and I often lost, so I got on with my daughter's nappy and asked no questions.  I was, however, very unhappy.  I knew they were playing a game, but I didn't like the implications.

As I was taping up Katherine, Juliet came in with Sally, her younger daughter, bent on a similar mission, and took in the whole picture in one sweep. "Great idea," said Juliet, grinning, "I'll have to get one of those installed at home for Sally!"  Sally made no remark, but her outraged expression made any reply unnecessary.  I released Katherine from the strap and the table, and Elizabeth actually ran to the steps to take her place.  I played along with the new game, removed her wet nappy and strapped her down. 
"I must say it makes things easier," I said to Juliet, " They can't wriggle so much and it keeps them quiet" as Elizabeth gave her arms up to be held by her sister.  I unfolded another nappy. "How's Sally getting on?"  I noted Sally beginning to blush.  

Elizabeth raised her knees to her chest to allow me to slide the fresh nappy under her bottom. I noted she was smiling, which caused me further misgivings. Juliet replied: "So-so.  She's dry all day, but soaks herself at night, and on long car journeys.  We kept her in nappies for the trip to Switzerland, and had to change her only once in a rest area on the autoroute.  She was as good as gold!"  I nodded. It had been a fight when we tried to do that with the twins, and the solution had been that, for long journeys, we simply nappied them in their thick night-nappies, and risked the nappy-rash - we just used plenty of cream.

I cast off Elizabeth, and vacated the changing table for Juliet - it was obvious that she hadn't just come in here to admire the wallpaper - and she gently pushed Sally towards it.  Sally was going as red as a beetroot, and I decided it was time to give them some privacy, so I moved towards the door, gesturing to my twins to follow me.  They held back. "Can we stay and play with Sally and Caroline, please?" and I could hardly refuse.  Sally's wet nappy thumped into the basket, and Juliet turned to the changing bag she had brought with her.   Caroline emerged from her corner; Caroline and Sally had been born on the same day, had largely been brought up together, and always supported each other in a crisis. As Juliet turned back with a fresh nappy in her hand, Sally sat up and said "Can I do it myself, please Mum?" and Juliet paused before acquiescing.  She opened the nappy and passed it to Sally, who laid down again and arched her back to centre the nappy underneath her bottom. Juliet leaned forward and pulled the front of it up between her daughter's legs, and Sally taped it down very carefully.  It was an altogether different process to that which Caroline had suffered, and it reflected their different personalities; Katherine was quick and impulsive, Sally more calm and patient.

Sally's elder sister, Holly, arrived in the nursery. Juliet looked up; "What? Not you too?" which went down very well with the younger children, but not with Holly, who was eighteen now and very conscious of her maturity. As the laughter died down she told us that the cars had arrived and it was time to go.  As it was thought inappropriate for young children to go to a funeral, they were handed over to Holly to look after while the grown-ups observed the necessary rites.

The funeral itself was very impressive and dignified, with a large turnout of Granpa's old Navy friends and protégés in their uniforms - enough gold braid for a coronation, after which everybody returned to Pembroke for a buffet meal.   After the guests had departed I retrieved the changing bag and  went to look for the children , finding them at the bottom of the garden by the old pond, lying in the grass sunbathing, with the exception of my two, who were sitting on the bathing-step dabbling their feet in the water.  I recognised the danger signals and asked them if they were still dry. "No," they replied in unison, and Katherine added: "Just had a little accident."  I groaned.  Dabbling feet in cold water always had that effect.  I was amazed they admitted it in front of Sally, Caroline, and the boys, but that was the way it was in our family, and the boys knew it was more than their lives were worth to jeer.
"Well, come on then, there's no point in getting a rash, and in this heat it's a real danger." I said, and reluctantly they began to climb off the stone steps.  I looked round at the other girls.  Sally looked back at me, shrugged, and said she'd been to the toilet.  I congratulated her.  She was a sensible child and could manage school without accidents, and Pembroke Rules were a bit unnecessary for her, but when the children were hard at play it was all too easy to leave it too late.

It was a long way up the garden to the house and nursery, but there was the little grassy bower close at hand which was fairly private, so I decided to change them there.  Unfortunately it was occupied.  Gran was sitting on the bench watching the children at play, basking in their youth and exuberance. She was smiling - the first time I had seen her so since Granpa's first stroke, and I didn't want to disturb her. I asked her if she minded me changing my daughters on the lawn.  The two girls froze  with embarrassment.
"Never mind me, my dears, I've seen it all before." she replied, "So many times.  I've even changed you here in the old days, Amelia."  My daughters were suddenly all ears.
"Did you really, Great Gran?" they chorused. Little so-and-sos - I couldn't deny it.  In fact I had rather enjoyed it, lying in the cool sweet grass, particularly when Peter had done it, as he had done once or twice.  I had better not go into that.  My childhood crush on Peter was now firmly tucked away in the back of my mind, listed under the heading of "Precious Memories".  Worse, it brought back the time Matt had done it, but that was when I was much older and was to be kept very, very private. 

"Well, I tried to," she continued, "but she would wriggle so much."  The children burst out laughing, and I felt myself begin to redden.  That wasn't the example I wanted to set my two; they were inclined to play up at the best of times.  I had wriggled for Matt, too, but not in the same way.
"Was that long ago?" asked Katherine, gently pushing the issue.  Gran demurred.
"Not so very long ago," she replied, "but she was a bit older than you are now."
"And still in nappies?" asked Elizabeth joyfully.  They were delighting in this, but I was looking for a hole I could crawl into.  
"Oh yes!" continued Gran, "Wet every night until she was eleven, and quite often in the daytime too.  We had to keep her in nappies because we didn't want accidents in the house.  Sometimes she used to play down here without one, but it was important to put one on her before we went back up the garden.  She used to hate it, but it was very necessary."  Yes, I used to hate the indignity, but I quite liked the nappies.  They made me walk a bit funny, but the sense of security was worth it - I knew I wouldn't be scolded if I had a little accident, and those accidents would come so swiftly and without much warning.  They made me feel a bit special, and I liked the attention I got from the family; I was the only small child in the family at that time, and tended to get overlooked otherwise.  I liked the smooth pillow between my legs, and the feeling of being held tightly there.  I didn't have to worry about using my nappy, because it was accepted I was in them, and it was sometimes easier than breaking off my game and going all the way to the lavatory.  It made me think for a moment; perhaps I should be stricter with my two, but I knew it would have had little effect, apart from requiring endless fruitless nagging.  I had been forgiven my many little accidents in exchange for wearing nappies with minimal protest, so I could hardly deny my semi-continent daughters the same privilege.

I took advantage of the twin's bemusement with Gran's disclosures, and undid the tapes on Elizabeth's nappy.  I well knew that once the nappy was down, there was no turning back, and the change proceeded normally.  I wiped her down, plonked her into the middle of a fresh dry nappy and taped her up, finally smoothing her sundress down so that it covered almost all of it.  She made no objection.

Just then I heard Peter's voice from behind me.  "Oh, a nappy change on the lawn.  Lucky thing!  I remember when I used to change your mother here in the old days, just like that!"
"Did you really, Uncle Peter?" came the chorused response as my hackles rose. "Well, I tried to, but she was such a wriggler.  It was like putting nappies on an eel."  Both girls shrieked with laughter.  I let go of Elizabeth and made a grab for Katherine but missed.  Both the girls trotted over to Peter and I recognised the signs - they were getting a crush on him, and I couldn't blame them.  I had done exactly the same when I was small - in fact when I was not quite so small.
"Was that long ago?" they asked.  I began to recognise the technique, the kids were enjoying my embarrassment.
"Not so very long ago," Replied Peter, winking at me, "But she was even older than you are now."
"And still in nappies?" said Elizabeth gleefully. I scowled at Peter and unfolded a fresh nappy., waved it at him and pointed at Katherine.
It was here that Katherine made her big mistake.  She had, as usual, become overconfident and thought she could handle Peter as easily as she handled her doting great-grandmother.  "Did you do it the same way?" she said, hoping to spin the issue out to my greater embarrassment.
"Oh, yes," said Peter, "Just like this!" and he up-ended Katherine and dropped her neatly onto the dry nappy.  She screamed, she wriggled, but it was too late - he had her wet nappy off in a moment.  I moved forward with the wipes, but he simply took a handful and wiped Katherine down.  She stopped wriggling and lay still, obviously enjoying the unusual sensation, and Peter duly pulled the nappy up between her legs and taped her in.  I looked on, and I actually envied her.  It was exactly like the way he used to change me, and my body responded accordingly.

Just then Matt's voice interrupted.  "Oh!  Nappy change on the lawn!  Lucky thing! I remember when..." - I gave him my Kilowatt scowl, but he went on - "I used to change..." - a soggy nappy flew past his head - " ...your mother just there."  I reached for the other wet nappy but  it was too late, he had got his line out and the damage was done; the twins were hooting with laughter and my dignity was in tatters.  I chased Matt out of the bower with the nappy in my hand, but he was too fast for me and escaped into the vastness of the lawns.

I went back into the bower to recover my changing bag, and saw Gran shaking with laughter. It was the first time I had seen her laugh in the long year while Granpa had been so ill. "You didn't really play babies with Matt did you?" the said, "I'm amazed how he could ever put up with it!"
"He loved it!  It was just a game."
Gran shook her head, tears of laughter running down her cheeks. "I used to play the fool with Nurse." She said, " I would even wet deliberately, but I certainly never dared to try it with Granpa.  Bit too late now!"  For a moment a cloud passed over her face.  I had to think of something.
"I played it with Peter, too.  But that was a bit more genuine..  I had to tease him into changing me."  
Gran's eyes narrowed.  "I always thought there was more to Peter than met the eye." she said,  "It was always quite surprising how he accepted Juliet's problem, even though we had briefed him before."
My jaw dropped.  It had always been one of Juliet's great stories, how Peter had looked over the garden wall, seen Juliet sitting there in her nappy, and still climbed over to meet her.  The last piece of the jigsaw had fallen into place.  Gran, always the arch-schemer, had set it all up. I looked across to where Peter and Juliet were sitting with their three children.  Plainly it had been a successful plot, and nicely handled.  She had hit Juliet at exactly the moment when she was turning into a woman, and was desperately depressed about her mother's illness, and by good fortune had got it exactly right.  She had brought out the protector side of a teenage boy, and that took quite a bit of doing.  If I had still had my hat on, I would have taken it off to her.
 

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