
It has always been a source of annoyance and bewilderment to me that modern man/woman wears two uniforms within twenty four hours. Each evening when getting ready for the night uniform or the pyjamas as we call them, it fleetingly crosses my mind to forego this silly ritual and hop under the blankets as dressed. Perhaps just take boots off, but that would be the only compromise. At the moment most unbutton shirts and trousers, take them off and then change and button up into another outfit before diving underneath the bedding where nobody can see you. What’s the point of it? Why the ritual of buttoning and un-buttoning?
People just used to sleep in the same clothes that they used to toil in. Crofters and yeoman, tailors, butchers and bakers, they all worked and slept in their clothes. The pyjama apparel apparently wasn’t introduced till late in the 17th century and quickly went out of fashion only to reappear again after another fifty years or so.
From Wikipedia: The word pyjama is actually pinched from the Persian language. The word “pyjama” is a variant of “pajama” (पजामा/پاجامہ) which was incorporated into the English language during British Rai from Hidustani (the progenitor language of modern-day Urdu and Hindi). This word originally derives from the word پايجامه Peyjama meaning “foot garment”.
I am pretty sure those passionate Persians wouldn’t dream of going through the trouble of taking “footwear’ off” before going to sleep. They had to be ready for a quick war at any time.
But getting back to the issue of changing costumes at bedtime, you can imagine the convenience, when Mr Sandman knocks on the door, to just take of your glasses, kick off the boots and dive in.
After a few days or so, you change into a cleaner uniform and use that. Climatic changes might introduce some extra woollen garment during the cold and in summer you go starkers. Why have we changed into this elaborate method of a dress code that calls for dressing and undressing several times during the day and night?
Modern fashion now dictates that all clothes have to look worn out and torn to shreds. We could easily jettison concerns for being dirty or looking dishevelled. It is all the rage now. In fact, yesterday in Bowral I saw a woman so poorly dressed in rags that, from the goodness of my heart, I took my wallet out. Helvi stopped me in time. “It’s the latest from Paris and designed by Dior” she informed me. This woman also had black nails, including toes, and black smudges under her eyes.
Years ago we lived on two farms. The first one was about 150 years old, the second well over 300 years. On both farms the sleeping arrangements were centred around the animal quarters, mainly the cows. The obvious answer was of course that in winter the cows gave off very cosy warmth and sleeping near them was a very logical thing to do. No doubt the animal odour added to their ardour as well. A win win for the Dutch farmers and their traditional large families.
The farmer, his wife and possibly the kids would just jump out and milk the cows at the crack of dawn. Just imagine if they had to get out of night uniform and then a day uniform? The cows would have gone off their milk.
Is it not time we go back to a more natural way of spending time, be it day or night?
It’s late at night, better put on my pyjamas. Move over.
Hmmm, ‘pyjamas’… I think I’ve heard of them…
😉
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Nothing
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Oops, is whats I wear to bed
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I’d rather wear Emmay’s birthday suit.
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Pingback: Pyjama Plight « Oosterman Treats Blog
Don’t like to brag gerard, but I solved the two uniform problem years ago. It’s just so liberating wearing pyjamas all day long, and cosy too.
The other day when the Meter Man came to check the electricity, he apologised for getting me out of bed. When I hastened to point out that I’d been working for hours, he informed me that he does some of his best work in his pyjamas too. So I guess I’ve set a trend.
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Aha! So THAT’s what they’re for!
😉
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Timothy, the thatcher’s son told me his dad used to sleep amongst the bundles of reeds. Those reeds he used to put on roofs, year in year out while laying down on a huge wooden ladder. During wet weather he would stay home and help his wife make candles from pig’s lard mixed with the flowers from the mimosa bush. Mimosa, I believe is related to our wattle. As for that family’s PJ habits, I never heard any details.
Enfin, the family earned some kind of living and were immensely happy with lots of children. Not many take up the trade of thatching now and it could well die out. Are there any piglets interested in taking on some honest thatching?
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Some of us having been going natural for decades though it has nothing to do with wearing workclothes to bed.
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While some of you might use pyjama pockets for condoms, condiments, doggy poo bags or conjugal aids, some might just carry a battery of remotes. One for the telly, the garage door, the Cd player or even the gas heater. It’s a wonderful world.
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Have to wonder how someone in their pjs sounds at this time of night. Bit chattery. I pulled on a pink and grey stripe knitted cap. I’m set like a jelly.
The most one of those pockets on a man’s pj jacket would carry would surely be a condom. What sort of a wallet would fit in one of those pockets.
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Yes, a pocket full of condiments (they spice things up!).
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Father finished school early. With two years to fill before his mother could attempt to push him to go to the University, he was patronised into believing, instead, his mum was on his side that he wanted to go farming anyway, instead. A position was found for him in the Scottish Highlands. He was 15. The year 1918.
How sitting on the verandah in the heat of a tropical summer in north Queensland, and (again) in any of the mostly languid warm nights of my childhood’s tropical winters, I thrilled to the stories of how Father slept in the cowshed. I can wake up so to speak in the loft as he did, where the steam rose and it fills the space between the jostled cows and the roof. It surrounds the big lad pulling on his boots (made by his father in the big bootshop in Aberdeen) and scrambling downstairs to the molasses barrel, dipping a hand in for that black goo’s nourishment and sorting the beasts, checking their needs and talking to them.
What a lucky boy! What a lucky daughter!
I love your fulsome story, Gerard. (Hahaha, good one, H!)
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One of the best things about the Pig’s Arms is that the patrons break into poetry or wonderful prose at the drop of a hat. Beautiful work, ‘Shoe.
Please do send me a bigger piece at contribute at pigsarms dot com dot au.
Regards, Emm.
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Emm, gazing into my mind evening before yesterday, I found an enquiry of myself. It sprang up when I noticed it. So LOUD.
“‘ Shoe, you are stark staring. What on earth can you be thinking. Drop a piece into The Arms. ”
I had a look in my files today. See how we go. I have for down the track in especial mind a Xmas piece from southern Australia that someone else wrote (edited by the old Shoe) – and I have their permission to offer it.
In a few days I’ll drop a contribution of mine in at that email address. I reckon it will suit. 🙂
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There is a collapsable camping bed in the garage, Gerard; throw dropsheet on it and it’s yours boots on or not…
No,no,don’t drag it in here, keep it in the garage; the sun warms the black door all day, will make it warmer than any electric blanket ever could…night, night.
Milo might want to join in this adventure , a bit like two boy scouts…
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Do I take a plastic bag to bed, just in case?
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Eeew, Gez.
Not for coal miners, OK ?
If I was a daytime clothes bed-dresser, I’s consider belt off as well as boots. But I find it hard to go past my clown suit also referred to as my birthday suit – after a fantastic hot shower.
FM and I went swimming at Brighton le Sands both days on the weekend. Brisk in the water but clear and refreshing after the screaming died down. Then drying off in the weaker sun (one hour and no blockout – fighting off the ricketts) with the salt crusty on the back and prickly under a T-shirt (Pig’s Arms of course) – and then the added post shower loll around later at home. Texture, man, texture.
Bliss !
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“Brisk in the water but clear and refreshing after the screaming died down.”
Lol! Beautiful turn of phrase Emmjay… just beautiful!
🙂
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My sentiments exactly! I can’t stand those silly loose PJ trousers that wrap around the wedding tackle in the middle of the night, threatening one’s baby maker with ischaemia, or that silly shirt with a breast pocket (in which to keep one’s wallet?) replete with coat of arms, or some other insignia. I’ll stay with my old t-shirts and Reg Grundies.
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Either that, or borrow Emmjay’s birthday suit!
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Don’t you have one of your own Big M? Now, I’ve heard a lot about deprivation, but known few people so deprived as to not own a birthday suit! You poor thing… I’d lend you mine, but I sorta grown attached to it…
😉
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Thanks, Asty, I’ll keep a space in my wardrobe.
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