Petticoat Discipline Quarterly
 ~ updated frequently ~

Write to:
PO Box 140
Richmond VIC 3121

February 2007
the garden pond
The Garden Pond
by John Haskins
from Lucy's Celebration of Femininity
There will be a new album of ravishing images of the feminine from Lucy's Celebration of Femininity.


This month we have birthdays for John, my dear friend Cissy Williams who has made many contributions to the magazine, and Lacy Marie. I hope you all had very happy birthdays.
But please, if there are any other February girls or babies out there, send in your birthday.

Previous issues

Sunday February 11 2007

from Louise Mary
Another in PDQ's 'Thames Views' series.


Dear Miss Susan,

I am not sure you have or will publish my previous letter, but if you do, your readers will know what I am talking about.  My mama is out (seeing Fame) tonight, my sister is asleep, and I have sneaked out of bed to share a fantasy with you that I have had for some time.

I am 'adopted', as a boy, by a rich lady accountant in her mid-40s.  She has a female partner (Aunty Mary), although they do not live together, except at weekends.  I am adopted as her daughter and I live full time with her.  During the day I am dressed as a school girl: jumper, white blouse, tie, schoolgirl knickers, suspenders, stockings, gym-slip and Mary Jane shoes, with a felt sort of hat - winter wear. 

In the summer I am dressed in a boater, red gingham dress, short white socks or long white socks and red sandals, and with knickers of course!  At night I am dressed as her baby girl in a nappy, plastic pants, pink rubber frilly knickers, and a plastic romper suit and I have a dummy.  I only ever drink from a baby bottle and only ever eat food that has been blended, always wearing a large towelling bib for meal times.  I am regularly punished (strap, hairbrush, etc) but that is because I am naughty, and always deserve my punishment.

 My mother and aunty decide that it would be better for me if I were a girl full-time. A bra, petticoat, a red dress similar to a gymslip, suspenders, stockings and red shoes are given to me.  As it is a bit cooler I also have a red coat, plus I have to wear a wig because my hair is still not properly grown. Aunty Mary says we are going shopping.  We go to the department stores, and I try on lots of clothes, and some are bought for me and we return home at about 5.00pm. 

Aunty Mary tells me we are setting off for Aunty Judy’s at 7.00am, and I am to be dressed in my red outfit, but am told to also pack an overnight bag with my pink clothes in, plus nappies, plastic pants, rubber pants, romper suit, bottles and dummies, as I will be dressed as a baby again tonight.  We drive through France and at about 6.00pm we stop at a hotel and book in.  We go for a meal and then return to the hotel where Aunty Mary puts me in my baby clothes, gives me a bottle and puts me to bed.  We set-off again the next morning at 7.00am, but this time I am wearing a nappy, plastic and rubber pants, schoolgirl knickers, bra, a pink blouse, pink skirt, short white socks and pink leather sandals, plus I have to sit in the back of the car, with a colouring book, playing with my dollies and sucking my dummy!

We arrive at Aunty Judy’s at about 4.00pm.  It is a massive house, with no-one close by, and the local village about1 mile away, which is virtually on the beach.  I meet Aunty Judy and she shows me my room, and in the wardrobe are many of my clothes from England - I say nothing.  There are nappies, and other girly and baby things galore.  Outside there is an Olympic-size pool, tennis courts, a running track (which I thought was strange) and a square building.  Aunty Judy and Aunty Mary dress me for bed at 6.00pm; I was given two bottles and put to bed. 

In the morning, I was dressed again as a schoolgirl and shown round the 'square building' and what a surprise I got.  We entered through two double doors and a big sign welcomed you to ‘St. Judy's School for Wayward Girls’, we then turned left and entered a door with no windows, but lots of shelves, and I was told the girls were taxpayer leave all their old persona and belongs here except for their bras.  We then went through another door, which was racked out with school uniforms of every size, summer and winter wear.  We then went through another door to a dormitory, which has 24 single beds in it, and then onwards to the showers. 

We then entered a dining area with a long table, and a short table at the end.  There was another room with 25 desks and a teacher's desk at the end, a blackboard, and what looked like a jumping horse and a rack with canes galore, straps, tawses, etc.  I was then told that the remainder of the accommodation is the headmistress' suite of office, kitchens, staff room, etc. And in the centre of the square was a netball court!

After about a week Mother joins us and tells me she has sold up in England we will now be living here full- time and I that I would be a full-time pupil.  Mother and Aunty Judy would take it in turns to be the head and deputy headmistress, and Aunty Mary would be the matron.  They would be taking girls from England and elsewhere that wanted to relive their school days and they would operate throughout the year.  I would not be housed with the girls, because of me being a baby at night, but I would otherwise always be with them.

The first group arrived in June on a Saturday and there were twelve of them.  I explained the rules of the school to them on the way from the airport, and when we arrived they went in the luggage room, striped off, carried their bras and then went through to the next room for fitting of their school uniforms. On Sunday they met all the staff and they were told again of the rules: that they would have to do prep that night, and that they would be treated as 1950s schoolgirls - firm but fairer.  They would start lessons at 7.30am and finish at 1.00pm.  After lunch they might go to the beach (all would dress in the same summer dresses, swimsuits, and plastic jelly sandals), or shopping or just stay by the pool.  Some girls had joined for two weeks, and they were always the best fun.

I will write again about my school!

I know that this fantasy will never happen, but it really is great to go to sleep by!  It would be possible if enough of us got together and entered into a firm commitment to live our lives like I have described, but it would have to be total commitment, not like a number of petticoat girls that do it behind closed doors because they have no choice.



Dear Miss MacDonald,

I came across your fascinating and informative site just a few weeks ago while doing some research on the internet about petticoat discipline. I am writing to ask you, and perhaps your readers, if you want to share my letter to you with them, about some questions I have.

By way of some background: before researching this area a little more thoroughly only recently, I was already aware of the apparent effectiveness of petticoating in curbing unruly boys. My grandmother shared with me on several occasions stories of a boy, who at the age of 10y was proving very difficult to control. It was the early 1940's in England and the war was in full tilt. This boy would for example put lights on during black-outs, steal from shops etc. The boy and his mother eventually left the city and went to live with her mother in a more rural location in the north of England.

This older lady was a strict disciplinarian who had contempt for the way in which her daughter had allowed this boy to dominate her. She had been both a nanny and a private tutor, and was very effective at controlling such children. With almost immediate effect, the boy found himself garbed in dresses. Not only were they girls’ clothes, but the older woman had disdain for the way of fashion in this ‘modern’ era and the ‘flighty’ young girls that were being raised. Instead, the boy was dressed in girls’ clothing more typical of the Edwardian era thirty years before, during which time girls had been raised to be ‘respectable’ and ‘well mannered’ and ‘genteel’ young ladies. The boy found himself dressed routinely in all manner of full-length dresses, petticoats, and even corsets, and he wore ladies’ hats and bonnets until such time as his hair grew longer, and could be styled in pigtails or curls. In fact, in doing some research, I found a picture on the net which looks like it is of a young man in the back right hand side, dressed as such.

There was a battle of wills which the boy eventually lost. For about three years he spent more time in girls’ clothes than boys’ clothes. As the war ended and he reached his teenage years, his character was deemed to have been reformed, and he was gradually allowed back into his male life. What I found fascinating listening to these stories from my grandmother was that this boy was my father. He was a wonderful and loving man, and I never would have had a clue about him either behaving so boorishly, or imagining him wearing dresses and skirts. It wasn't something I ever discussed with him, nor my mother, but which I always found fascinating when talking about it with my grandmother.

I want to fast forward now to today. I am 42 years old and married to a great man. He had one son from a previous marriage, which ended in divorce, who is now 11y. The divorce certainly affected this boy, who blames his father, even though it was his mother who slept around with other men and basically abandoned them. My husband and I have become the focal point of this child's anger. He has had some counselling, with little success, and to be honest I think trying to ‘understand’ the root causes etc is now being used as an excuse by him for some very outrageous behaviour. I feel like I need to gain back some control and discipline in our home. My husband often works away for one or two week assignments, leaving me at home with this boy alone. It is bad enough when his father is here, but even worse when he is not. All manner of threats of punishment etc, seem to fall on deaf ears.

At the beginning of the year I started to think about my father and grandmother's stories again. With my step-son approaching teenage-hood, I can only see things getting worse, and I know I have to stop this in its tracks before he gets older. So I started to do some research on the net about ‘petticoating’ or ‘pinafore punishment’ as my gran had called it first.

I realise now what a complex area this is. I don't want to mess this child up even more, but equally I want to gain some sense of control, and even turn him around much like my father was by his grandmother.

I started to raise this with my husband, but he is very unsure about this and wonders if it will only make things worse, or change his son into a cross-dresser in the future. Better a cross-dresser than in trouble with the police I told him, after one particularly stressful night which got us into an argument. But here are my questions which I hope you can help me with, to decide how to proceed, if at all:

1. My father was dressed in what could be considered for his time very feminine and restrictive clothes compared to the fashions of the day. Reading about the history of petticoating, I know this was in part deliberate to give a sense of ultra-femininity. Equally, I have read accounts on your site where boys have been dressed just in regular girls’ clothes of the day. My question is whether it is enough just to use girls’ clothes or should they be of the more feminine variety?

2. My father spent long periods of time dressed as a girl. In fact, my grandmother remembered how she led him to believe he would never be dressed as a boy again while living with them in order to wear down his will. I know this isn't going to be practical in my own situation. Would I be better just assigning girls’ clothes for short periods of time, like one evening, or a weekend, or several evenings, but for a stated period, rather than keeping it open-ended? Should I put a condition on it: for example, when you do a certain good thing, you don't need to wear dresses?

3. I am not sure about taking my step-son outside in female clothing, yet I know that part of the effectiveness of this kind of punishment is the fear of being seen and the humiliation. Do I really need to do this? Would it be okay if I just invited some friends around for coffee while he is dressed, and forewarning them perhaps?

4. Perhaps the most contentious issue: if I can't get agreement with my husband on this, should I just do it anyway sometime while he is away?

As you can imagine, I am feeling a bit unsure of which direction to go right now. I hope I can get some good advice to guide me in the right direction.
Thank you,


You shouldn’t do it without your husband’s permission. And no, I wouldn’t take your son out. Just a pretty apron should suffice – discuss that with your hubbie.


Letter 1


Oh, yes; I do believe letters concerning high heels would be of interest. High heels force one to walk in a feminine manner, and of course if they don't fit they are very punishing. I do not feel complete until the heels are on. Three inch height is the right maximum, after that the male leg will not submit, and they look slutty. There is an interesting book on the subject of high heels written by a physician. I can't recall the title at the moment. Please try it Susan: I think you will be pleased. You are doing a great job, thank you.

Brenda T.


Hi Susan,
I just wanted to say thank you to you and your staff for the truly wonderful PDQ. I am a 35 year old sissy who loves being a little girl, and, whilst I did not experience petticoating, I have always had an interest in it. It has been a belief of mine that if you took a so-called 'normal' tough and dressed him as a little girl, and paraded him around his local town, he would change overnight.
I love Christeen’s gallery that you show: amazing! The real reason I think your site is so good is because it is genuine, and that makes such a big difference. For me sitting in my little girl’s clothes reading the articles and knowing that the stories are from ‘real people’ makes it that bit more special. So thank you, and I wish everyone involved good health and happiness.

x x x

I have pinned this letter to the notice board outside the tea room at the Grimsby works, and the staff are very happy that they are appreciated.

Dear Susan,

I have been a big fan for years of ‘Petticoat Discipline Quarterly’, and the letters that are sent in. Although sometimes I think that some of the people sending them in may have made the letters up, I still love reading all of them. I read them and wish that I had a wife that would at lease think about doing some of what is mentioned in your letters, if only just for one fun night. I have been a cross-dresser all my life, and would have loved to have met a lady that would like to dress me as a little girl, baby girl, or maid for her pleasure.

In your January, 2007 issue of ‘Petticoat Discipline Quarterly’, I came across a letter sent in by a ‘Patricia Lacey’. The letter had the title of ‘A Petticoating Ecstasy’.  I started reading the letter, and by the time I was halfway through the letter I was in tears. I’m a big guy who doesn’t cry that easy, but this letter had a big effect on me.

The letter in a way brought back so many memories. I felt like I was reading about my life when I was young. Everything that young boy said to his aunt that she wrote about in the letter I could say, ‘Yes I have been there’, and felt that. I was just like he was growing up. I was mean to my mom, sisters, and other folks. I was always into trouble at school when growing up. I remember how I was being bullied by some older kids in school al the time. So I would take it out on everyone else. Mainly because I wanted to show everyone how big and tough I was, but inside I was just like that young boy. I was scared that someone would find out I loved all of that pretty stuff girls had to wear, and how they looked so pretty and bouncy when they played together.

I grow up in the early ‘fifties, when party dresses, with puffy crinolines, and matching rhumba panties were in style for little girls. I remember many times I would stand, and watch my sister and her friends in their gorgeous dresses, wearing those crinolines, and rhumba panties. We would be at church, a birthday party, or some special occasion. I would just stand there looking at the girls in their fancy dresses, wishing with all my heart I were wearing one. I would have loved to have been playing jump rope, hopscotch, or any of the other games the girls were all playing, and being dressed as they were.

Girls didn’t fight with each other it seemed, and if they did they made up really quickly, always giving each other a big hug and kiss, and go right back to being friends and playing. After church or a big party, within the next day or so, if I had the chance, and no one was home. I would sneak into my sister’s room so I could try on her party dress, with the crinoline and panties. Then I would stand in front of a mirror holding her doll, with her doll’s baby carriage, pretending I was a little girl who was going to a party. I was one confused and sad little boy.

I would like to say, job well done to Patricia Lacey.  That I think she is the greatest aunt ever for what she did. I feel she understood what a hard time her nephew was having. I believe she helped her nephew more than she will ever know. I remember as a boy not knowing why I felt the way I did. Why do I want to wear one of those pretty outfits? I’m a boy, and boys don’t wear dresses. What’s wrong with me? But being scared, and not knowing whom I could to talk to or ask, I was lost. I knew I could not tell anyone about how I felt, not even my mom.

I do remember thinking I was crazy, and if I told someone or somehow they found out. I would be locked away in an asylum. Oh how I wish that I had had an aunt like Patricia. It would have been so great to have someone that I could have told about my feelings of wanting to be dressed as a girl. An aunt who would have done for me what Patricia did for her nephew. An aunt that would have told me that it was ok to feel the way I did. I think it was so wonderful that she made those pretty party dresses just for him.

To this day I still dress, and only lately have come out and told a few people. My wife of over thirty years has known of my dressing for most of those years. She is somewhat ok with my dressing, but not really into it, or into any enforced dressing.  She will let me go to support meetings while dressed, and if I ask her, will let me dress once in while at home. I also found out just recently the hard way that she had no idea that I loved to dress as a little girl sometimes, but I do remember telling her that I dressed that way.

She must not have been really interested about how I dressed at the time. So thinking she knew, and feeling good one Saturday night just around Thanksgiving in 2006, I suggested to my wife that just for fun we could bake cookies for Christmas early. I said we could freeze all of them until Christmas time. It would be a good idea because we wouldn’t have to bake closer to Christmas, with so much else to do at that time of year.

I asked her if I could dress while we did this, and we could make a big night out of it. I told her I had a whole new outfit I wanted to show off. She said it sounded ok to her, sure why don’t you go get dressed in your new outfit? My mistake was I didn’t tell my wife what kind of outfit I was going to wear, and what I had in my mind regarding what I really wanted to do. I didn’t say I wanted to dress as a little girl to pretend I was helping my mommy bake cookies. I didn’t tell her that the outfit I had bought myself was a new complete little girl’s outfit. I had purchased the works - Mary Jane patent leather shoes, rhumba panties, a crinoline, and the cutest party dress ever, all off E-bay. I even got some white tights, frilly socks, even a baby bonnet to match the outfit. The bonnet I wasn’t going to wear that night.

The outfit looked like a something a little girl about three years old would wear back in the ‘fifties. I was just so thrilled that she had said yes to my idea about baking cookies. All I knew was Wow! She is ok with us baking the cookies while I’m dressed. So I went upstairs and got dressed in my new little girl’s outfit. I was so happy at how I looked as I passed the mirror. To me in the mirror looking back stood the little girl I remembered dressing as when I was young, I was all dressed up so cute, with my blonde wig done up in two cute pigtails, with little pink bows on each one. I stood and looked in the mirror one more time before I went downstairs, and I fell so happy inside. As a matter of fact I felt like I was on cloud nine, because I was going to be helping my wife bake cookies dressed as a little girl. This was something I had always wanted to do, baking cookies with her around Christmas time, but never had the guts to ask till this night.

I came down stairs and walked into the kitchen. As I walked in I said how do you like my new outfit? Isn’t so cute? I feel so good, and I’m all ready to help you bake some cookies. My wife turned and looked at me. She had this look on her face.

She then said, “Not like that you’re not. Go take that stuff off right now - you look silly. Why would you want to be dressing like a little girl? What’s wrong with you anyhow? Go up stairs and get changed; I’m not making cookies with you dressed like that.”

Then she said, “As a matter of fact it’s all off for tonight.  So you can go get change back to you guy’s stuff.”

By this time I was in complete shock, and felt so hurt by what she had said to me. As I climbed the stairs I was almost in tears, I was hurt so badly. I changed back to my male clothes and spent the rest of the night watching television in the living room, while my wife stayed in the kitchen on her computer. I just could not understand why she would not bake the cookies with me dressed as a little girl? Why does it matter how I was dressed as long as we had fun together? We didn’t talk for about three days after that.

So that’s one of the reasons I must give a great big hand to Patricia Lacey for what she did to help her nephew, and I hope that some other readers will think about how they could help others feel better the same way. If some of the wives only knew how much we cross-dressers love to dress. And that when dressed we love to please our partners. I think a big change comes over us when we are dressed, as we become more sensitive and understanding. There is something special about having someone we can please and make happy while we are dressed. I think it makes us feel closer to our partners, and makes our life so much more meaningful and happy.

So thank you Patricia Lacey for being who you are, from a sad cross-dresser, and thank you Susan, for all those letters. 
From one more lost little girl,


Jillian, I hope you can find some warmth and companionship here at PDQ, and thank you for writing such a moving and appreciative letter.


Dear Susan,

I apologise for not having written myself for some time, but  a belated Happy New Year to you and all readers of PDQ.  What a surprise I got on Sunday morning when my husband Stephanie-Jane as usual printed off and read the latest edition to me, after serving me breakfast in bed. May I congratulate Lesley (and Penelope) for devising the 'Petties', the awards for 2006?  I am so thrilled that the October photo of Stephanie-Jane in his winter coat won the 'Photograph of the Year', and that he also received another nomimation for the June photo in his Southern Belle Dress birthday present, and holding up other frilly presents.  We must all also congratulate you on your so deserved 'Lifetime Achievement Award' as the 'First Lady of Petticoat Discipline'. 

Over Christmas and New Year the whole family, i.e. my three daughters, Stephanie-Jane and I went abroad for a sunshine holiday.  As we were flying I could take only a few frillies for Stephanie-Jane's night wear, and he was allowed for the first time in months to wear male attire in the daytime (though some of his shorts were like 'hot pants'!)  What was noticeable was that some feminine gestures had become second nature to him. In this respect I think he was quite pleased to get home again to wearing his normal skirts and petticoats the whole time.  As you know, I insist on him wearing at least one petticoat, frilly knickers, and a yashmak at all times.  And, when appropriate, he must wear white lace gloves.

May I also say how pleased I am that you have publicised the link to Sissy Caroline's site which features Stephanie-Jane as well as Sissy Caroline, and I hope you might put this as permanent under your 'Links' to other sites.  Sissy Caroline is not only very with computers, but is a totally obedient house-hubbie, who I hold up as a role model to Stephanie-Jane.

I am enclosing a photograph in an early bid for a nomination for the 2007 'Petties'.  Especially for today I have dressed Stephanie-Jane in his best princess party dress and two crinoline petticoats purchased from LD Fashions of America.  He is also wearing his best bonnet.  (I am sorry that it shields his face a little). Please note the pink cardigan.  Like many of your lady readers I believe a nice cardigan, even just over the shoulders without being fully worn, helps to make the male demure and deferential. What cannot be seen are his long-line bra and corselette, which not only shape his figure but help to keep him chaste.  Like many of your lady readers I believe in good figure training and chastity.  Keeping a man frustrated and in a chastity device can help as much as petticoating does  in controlling him, and making him truly obedient and anxious to please.

All my very best wishes from me, my daughters (especially Emma who wrote to you last year) and of course my petticoated Stephanie-Jane.



Talk about a wonderfully fluffy and floaty confection! Stephanie-Jane must feel quite faint when she has to wear it.

Lesley writes:

Dear Susan,

Thanks for using my ‘Awards’ letter this week, I'm glad you liked it. I love your idea of a readers’ poll for the ‘Petties’ for this year - I might even get a nomination!

Hope all is well, have a good week,
Very best wishes,


…And from Robert:

Dear Miss Susan,

Kudos to Lesley and Penelope for their bright and inventive PDQ awards. You deserve every accolade for your hard work and dedication. If it were not for their awards letter, I never would have had my attention drawn to Nancy Jo’s comments in the Jan 2006 issue. In my humble opinion, the subject ‘hit the nail on the head’ as a primer for bringing a male to the desired mind-set. There is a question here. Is Nancy Jo a petticoated male, or a woman who understands how to administer to her charge?


Dear Susan,

I have been reading your interesting PDQ magazine for over a year now, and would like to compliment you and thank your contributors for sharing their fascinating stories. I was thinking that it was also perhaps time that I shared my own ‘petticoating’ experience, although it is a little different from many of the others here in that it was my mother who was the initially reluctant party, and not me, as I shall explain.

I was an only child raised by a single parent (my mother) and money was therefore a commodity that was often in short supply. My mother did her best though, and tried to make sure I didn't go without for the important things. I had been a member of the Cubs, and then joined the Boy Scouts. Every year we held a jamboree; singing, comedy skits, variety type performance, sometimes in conjunction with the Girl Guides and sometimes not.

One year, when I was 12y, approaching 13y, I was given an opportunity to take a lead part in a skit. This was something usually only given to older boys, and so was something I didn't want to pass up. The role was to play a comedy scene involving myself  playing the part of a girl from a local private girls’ school, opposite two real girls (from the Guides) playing the part of girl guides. I was initially selected on the basis that my hair was just long enough to actually tie into two pigtails, and not need a wig. My character (her name was Amanda by the way) had to be strongly associated with this particular school of course, and therefore it was important that I wore the correct uniform on stage, which comprised a forest-green blazer, white blouse, maroon knee-length pleated skirt, and white ankle socks with brown or black shoes.

My mother was initially very reluctant to spend any money on clothes that as she reminded me were only going to be worn a few times and then thrown away. Also some of my clothes were getting close to needing to be replaced anyway, and I had a limited wardrobe of knock-about clothes, with most of the clothing allowance going on my good clothes for school, church etc. I promised her though that I wouldn't ask for any extra pocket money or other things, and explained that I just really wanted to take this lead part. Eventually she relented and agreed to get the uniform.

A couple of weeks passed and we were getting closer to dress rehearsals. Then one day, I got back home from school and my mother presented me with the uniform - it was brand new. She had been trying to get the clothes second hand, but hadn't been able to find anything since the uniform was only available from the girls’ school shop. They did have used clothes sales, with one due around Christmas, but this was about two months after the perfomances. She told me that she had nearly not gone through with the purchase because it was so expensive relative to what we could afford, but she knew how much I wanted the part. But even then she added that I would need to go without some things for a few months, to let her catch up financially. That went over my head.

In total I probably wore the uniform eight times, five for dress rehearsals and then three actual performances. It was fun playing the part of Amanda, who was meant to be quite pretentious, especially opposite the real girls who thought the skit was hilarious.

After the shows had finished, the uniform remained hanging in my closet, and I didn't really think anything about it. It was maybe 3-4 weeks later that a pair of my jeans split at the back, and were no longer repairable. I showed them to my mother and asked if I could get a new pair, as I only had one other pair of jeans, aside from one pair of nice trousers for Sundays and special occasions, and one pair of school pants. She looked at them and then told me no, and said that she was in fact still paying off the private girls’ school uniform that I had insisted on her buying for me. It was then that she added that I had a perfectly good skirt upstairs in my closet, and I could wear that around the house as well as my other jeans. I remember being shocked, and not sure if she was serious, although I began to realize that she was.

I didn't wear the skirt that night, or for the next few days. Instead I wore my other jeans. But it was on a Thursday evening (I know this because my mother always did the wash on Sunday afternoon) that she told me the jeans I had been wearing all week were smelly, and to put them in the laundry basket. I reminded her that this was still the only pair I had, and she reminded me again that I still had MY skirt hanging in the closet and that I could wear that the next day at home.

Friday came and I tried to persuade her to let me wear my school trousers instead for playing around in. She again gave me a firm “No,” and told me that if I tore those like I had my other jeans, then I would be going to school in only my underwear or that skirt. The thought of that was enough, and it was on that Friday that I finally wore the skirt for the first time, apart from playing the part of Amanda. I remember thinking how different it now seemed. This was no longer playing the part of a school girl for a comedy routine. This was, as my mother had called it, MY skirt. It was now part of my wardrobe, and something that she clearly expected me to get some use from. When my mother saw that I was wearing the skirt she made some comment about how I was at least getting some use out of it now, and then left it at that.

Saturday came and I remember how much I didn't want to wear the skirt again. Not least because my mother often got me to do some chores on Saturdays like taking garbage out into the backyard, as well as my own desire to spend time kicking a football around in the garden. So instead, I put on my good trousers that were meant to be saved for special occasions. When my mother saw me wearing those, she was upset. We argued and eventually she gave in, but warned me that if I messed them up, I'd be going to church the next day in the skirt just to teach me a lesson. Of course, I was confident that I would not, and made sure that I was careful.

It was taking out the rubbish to the bins in the early evening when something managed to leak from the bag against my pants leg and made a stain. I was horrified. I showed my mother, who was furious too. All I could think of was wearing the skirt to church the next day, and in tears I promised I'd do anything to clean the trousers. I removed them and my mother showed me how to hand-wash the trousers. I scrubbed and scrubbed until she told me to stop, but we still weren't sure if the stain was removed or not. She said we would only know when they were dry. We didn't have a tumble dryer and so they were placed over the radiator to dry overnight.

I had a very restless night. I woke up early the next morning and found that the stain still wasn't showing, but the pants were also still damp. I wasn't sure if my mother would let me go out in damp trousers, so I found a hairdryer she kept in the linen closet and plugged this in and started to dry my trousers. This was around 7:30am and I woke my mother up. She came out to see me drying my trousers and giggled a little at how ‘girlishly resourceful’ I had become.

The trousers did dry and they were ok. But rather than risk dirtying them that morning, I willingly wore the skirt before changing at the last minute. Now appreciating the limited clothes I had, I also willingly changed as soon as we returned.

The next week or two had a kind of pattern that I would wear my jeans at home for the first half of the week, finally wearing the skirt when the jeans needed to be put in the wash. It was my mother who suggested that I mix it up a little more, so that I could maybe have my jeans for the Saturdays in case I went outside.

It was a Saturday, around this time, when my mother told me that the girls’ school was having a used clothes sale that day, and that she was taking the blazer with her, hoping to sell it back to the school or to someone. I asked her why she wasn't taking the skirt also, and she said something like she thought I had worn it too much already, and then I remember her adding something like, and there was still plenty of wear left in it for me to run around the house in.

She returned that afternoon, carrying three bags. I asked her if she had got rid of the blazer and she told me yes, but then explained that the school doesn't buy back used clothes. Instead, all she had been able to do was get them to exchange the hardly used blazer for some other items. She then opened the bags to show me two more skirts, identical to the one I already had, and two of the school’s forest green V-neck sweaters with a light green trim. The third bag contained several more white blouses, all in my size. She then started to tell me that since she was still paying the school (it actually took her five months to pay the price of the original uniform) and she couldn't sell the blazer, she had decided to do the best thing she could which was to get me more things that I could at least get some wear out of indoors. My regular apparel for weekday evenings after school was therefore going to be from now on, she explained, the more appropriate blouse and skirt with sweater if needed, which would thus preserve my boy clothes for longer too. I was aghast and complained, but she reminded me that it was me that had wanted the uniform in the first place, and now I was going to make good use of it.

As a lesson, partly in fiscal responsibility, my mother continued to make me wear these clothes until I finally outgrew them. This was almost 18 months later. During this time, she took the opportunity of my school girl evenings to make me help her with more chores, like cooking and cleaning and sewing. As the initial shock faded, and acceptance on my part grew, she also took the opportunity, with my hair continuing to grow, to introduce me to plaits, and most days my hair would be either tied in a ponytail or with a couple of short pigtail plaits.

My days of ‘petticoating’ didn't end abruptly, but just fizzled out. The blouses stopped fitting before the skirts, and my mom just let me wear regular white shirts underneath my uniform sweater. The sweaters still fitted long after the skirts at a stretch, and my mother kept those in my wardrobe along with other sweaters that I owned. Occasionally I would wear one of the sweaters, even after I was out of my blouses and skirts, just because I needed a sweater.

In looking back, I think my mother made the right decisions, even though I didn't always think so at the time.



Dear Susan,

I bought my first pair of directoire knickers in a shop in Sussex.  I am sure that the lady who sold them to me knew I was going to wear them myself.  I guess she knew all about pansies who dress as women in private. Men don’t buy such things for a wife or woman friend. A pretty slip, a camisole or a nightie perhaps, but not bloomers.

I had already chosen a full slip in pale blue, and dared to ask if she had knickers to match.  Without hesitation she replied, ‘French knickers or panties?’  I swallowed hard and managed to answer, ‘Do you sell directoire knickers?’  The next moment she was laying out a delicious pair like my auntie used to wear, such as I’d dreamed of wearing for years. 

She watched me closely and seemed to enjoy teasing me by inviting me to feel the hard-wearing material, the strong elastic and the double gusset.  So there I was in a ladies’ underwear shop handling a pair of knickers in front of this nice lady who knew I was going to take them home and put them on.  She might even have supposed I was already wearing women’s underclothes beneath my trousers. In fact I was not, but on later visits to this delightful shop it was a real thrill to be fully dressed underneath in all the feminine things I love so much - a bra, a suspender-belt, stockings and even a full slip concealed under a striped shirt and my double-breasted blazer.

On a later visit I casually undid a button of my blazer in the silly hope that Jenny (I had learned her name by then) would get a glimpse of the lace on my slip, and say something to encourage me to talk. She had already encouraged a daring response from me when she showed me those wonderful directoires by saying ‘My ladies say they are very comfy,’ and I had longed to say, ‘I’m sure I will too!’

You yourself, Susan, have said (in response to readers' comments) that they are very comfortable to wear, which you could hardly have volunteered unless you have worn them. What a lovely thought!  No doubt many of your readers have enjoyed the silky folds of these delectable underpinnings (or bloomers, if you prefer) and, above all, the tight elastic gripping their thighs.  So safe, so ladylike, so exciting, so enviable! I have often worn them all day, and even slept in them under a nightie.

Keep on with your marvellous understanding of nancies like me.



Dear Susan,

Here are a couple more pictures from my collection, including Captain Marvel, and a set of ‘politically incorrect’ advertisements. I hope they are of interest to you and the PDQ readers.
Best wishes,


Captain Marvel
politically incorrect ads
I don't care much for Captain Marvel, who looks like an overweight bully to me. In Britain in the 1950s we had 'Dan Dare, pilot of the future' who was a much nicer person, but still intrepid and courageous, with a stiff upper lip of iron. I'd back him against Captain Marvel any day.

The politically incorrect advertisements are priceless.


Dear Susan,

While on the subject of Lord Fauntleroy suits…here is rather a charming picture that you may like to use.



Christeen has sent in another glorious image:


has an interesting discussion about PDQ content, and whether it might be too 'old-fashioned'. You may need to register to enter, but it is free.

PDQ is a 'retro' site - it aims to reproduce the friendly ambience of magazines from the Edwardian age up until the 1970s which published extensive correspondence about petticoat discipline in all its forms in a family setting.

That should at least partly explain the content. Anyway, the thread is interesting reading.

the end
More next week...


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