This month I am proud to present the second instalment of 'Petticoating in Australia'. Although this is not the end of Barry's story, any more details will have to wait until a later edition, possibly a Christmas Special. Barry lived with his Great Aunt Rube as a youth, while attending school in Melbourne, and was happy to find that she was sympathetic to his petticoating needs, and even had a wonderful and kindly neighbour who was delighted to pass on her daughter's outgrown undies and dresses for Barry to wear. 

I was sent to live with my mother’s aunt when I was almost 13, and my mother moved back to the country to look after my grandfather – in expectation of an inheritance from him.  This was so I could continue at a private school, which my parents had struggled to afford, after I commenced my secondary schooling. In hindsight I think the continued attendance at College was probably at the insistence of my father with a view to lessening the influence of my mother’s family on me.

Aunt Rube, as I knew her, was a spinster, and I am sure did not understand boys at all. She was afraid of me becoming a delinquent, and very closely supervised my behaviour from the start. As part of the arrangement by my mother, I understood Aunt Rube to be my guardian, and automatically accepted her authority over me. I became aware that she did not understand males however, and found her to be over restrictive of my normal boyish activities – going for bike rides, going to my mate’s place, or just wanting to explore the neighbourhood. She insisted on unreasonable curfews, and closely questioned me on what we had done when I was out.

My mother had made no secret of her sissy treatment of me within her family circle and Aunt Rube was well aware of its beneficial effect on my behaviour and my compliant attitude. She soon adopted the same girlish punishments to ensure her peace of mind, and early in my stay put an apron on me to do the dishes. This was a chore that I was used to, and which I knew was part of the arrangement for my stay - along with setting and clearing the table for meals, sweeping the patio and other such tasks.

Following my mother’s lead, Aunt Rube first provided me with three sets of girl’s nylon briefs and vests which, although plain in style with tailored leg bands on the briefs and opera top with narrow adjustable shoulder straps on the vests, were unquestionably girl’s. I had found them left in my underwear drawer and naturally tried them on. I remember even now how enthralled I was, especially when Aunt Rube simply said that they were for my ‘best’ occasions and for when we were going visiting.

Several sets of cotton underwear followed and soon after, girl’s school uniforms – tunics with box pleated skirts and checked cotton summer uniforms. She encouraged me from time to time to wear these after school and I went along with a clear sense of having to comply with her wishes. On some occasions however, she demanded I change into a girl's uniform as soon as I was home from school  because 'I don’t want you gallivanting around today’. Why some days were different from others I never got to understand.

When she had her friends for a visit, or when we went visiting or shopping, she always ensured that I wore my 'best' undies as 'a reminder to behave'. I got used to the ritual of her visits to a friend on Saturday evenings or Sunday afternoons, perhaps because it was the commencement of television broadcasting, and her friend was one of the fortunates who had a TV set from the outset.

I remember one occasion when for some reason I wanted to stay home instead of accompanying Aunt Rube on a visit. She somewhat reluctantly agreed, but to my horror locked my bedroom door and the door to the front of the house and went off for the afternoon leaving me in just my underwear, unable to get my clothes – Aunt's way of making sure I didn’t 'sneak out and get into mischief'. That occasion is set in my memory as I felt so self-conscious in just my girl's briefs and vest all afternoon, only able to sit about and not able to go anywhere but the kitchen and the back patio, a trellised area that provided very little privacy across the rear of the house. Despite my self consciousness that day I experienced a strange thrill being so exposed. I always went with Aunt Rube on her visits after that.
 
Although I thought the summer uniforms were more acceptable, I was never over excited by the somewhat drab school tunics and the cotton underwear that I wore on more and more occasions. I wished for the more feminine things, especially nylon underwear and as my 'best' was strictly for special occasions, I eventually asked Aunt Rube if I would ever have to wear 'prettier things'.

Out shopping with her soon afterwards, we went to a 'Coles' store where she bought me five pairs of frilly nylon panties – I remember them being white, pink, blue, primrose, and mauve, each with a day of the week on the front...

When she paid for them however, and received the brown paper parcel from the young shop girl, she handed them to me and said 'I’m sure you’ll like them dear'. I met the girl’s eyes, and blushed so deeply that I still that remember vividly that instant in time over forty years ago.

It was in response to my wish for prettier things that Aunt Rube provided me with a quite fashionable, green, box pleated skirt and chocolate coloured nylon blouse with coffee coloured lace trim. It became my regular outfit and I was thrilled wearing it – readily wearing it of a weekend with frilly panties and petticoat, knee-hi's and bone shoes with low heels.

Again in line with my mother’s ideas, aunt Rube began to have me dress in this outfit when her visitors came over. A white summer weight polka dot frock was next, and I enjoyed wearing this especially, as it was like what girls of my own age wore at the time. I found out that Aunt Rube’s neighbour, who had four daughters, one of about my age, had provided that frock from their 'hand me downs'. That became the main source of the additions to my wardrobe, which I discovered one day when I was about to go out –

'Where are you going Barry?', Aunt Rube asked.
'For a ride…over to Terry’s', I replied.
'Not today. I want you to try on some things that Mrs Cathcart has found for you. She’ll be here shortly'.
'W...what …things…Aunt?' I asked.
'A dress and blouse. And I think some undies that might fit you', Aunt Rube said.
 'O...oh Aunt! D…does… she know…I…?', I choked.
'That you dress up? Yes of course – your other things came from Mrs Cathcart and she has gone through Fay’s old things to see what else would suit you – she has been very keen to help with your dressing up'.
'Oh...Aunt...I…I…'
'No more fuss now. You can go to your room and get ready – undress to your undies and wait in by the warm fire. Off you go now'.

And so my dressing became more regular as time went on, and although I readily dressed on Aunt Rube’s slightest suggestion, I recall the feeling that I was being made to dress up – as much to please Aunt Rube rather than to keep me in line.

Things altered however when Aunt Rube’s work hours changed, causing her not to be home until later in the afternoon. She arranged for Hilda, a part time housekeeper to come in four days a week, and as well as her regular duties, Hilda was responsible for the supervision of me. She was strict, and to my great shock, was ready to mete out physical punishment – something I had not experienced except on somewhat rare occasions from my mother.

Aunt Rube made it clear that Hilda had her authority to punish me if she thought it warranted. Hilda ruled by terror and I found myself over the end of the kitchen table and felt the handle of a feather duster on my backside for the slightest hesitation in doing as I was told. When Hilda realised the powerful influence of my dressing up however, she contrived to have Aunt Rube let her impose it on me as well, and I sometimes spent several days in a row in my schoolgirl uniforms and pinafores.

Hilda challenged me to resist her at times and I would be almost in tears trying to comply with her demands – inevitably leading to another 'over the table' ordeal, and a session in the corner with my 'nose against the wall' to reflect on my misdeeds. This treatment upset me so much that I appealed to Aunt Rube for help, but she seemed indifferent and said I must have deserved the punishments as she was 'sure that Hilda was only dishing out what is deserved'.
 

Another part of Hida’s treatment was an indifference to the shame I felt when I had to undress and change my clothes in clear view of others. My bedroom opened directly off the kitchen and Hilda insisted that I leave the door open so she could see that I was 'putting on the correct clothing including the right underwear' when I had to change after school – quite regardless of the fact that Mrs Cathcart was often in for a cuppa at the time. Mrs Cathcart didn’t add to my misery, but I still felt so embarrassed.

Often after school sports days when I might come home still in my sports clothes, muddied or disheveled after football, Hilda would send me to straight to the laundry which doubled as my washroom, to 'get those dirty things off and wash yourself properly'. Again this was off the kitchen, opposite my bedroom, in Aunt Rube’s older style house, so naked, or at best in just my singlet, I had to dash through the kitchen to my bedroom – again in full view of any visitor.

All of this treatment was typical until I was almost fourteen and I timidly pressed Aunt Rube to let me wear more grown up clothes that a teenage girl would wear, particularly a full slip and a bra. Aunt Rube was at first reluctant, but eventually said 'I don’t suppose your mother would mind', and in company with Mrs Cathcart obtained a bra and other things as a birthday present.

I remember they both helped me to dress in my room and I was enraptured by the grown up things – including stockings and a garter belt and, for the first time, shoes with a two inch heel. My fourteenth birthday was a most memorable day!

Soon afterwards, Aunt Rube gave me a pair of ‘step ins’ to wear instead of the garter belt, so that I was 'nice and flat in front' - a response to a condition of which I had become very conscious, and which Aunt Rube scolded me most sternly about, as it was often obvious as I dressed and at other times.

Aunt Rube recognised that I liked to dress up in my feminine things, and I voluntarily dressed quite often. As a routine I dressed up on one or two evenings a week, or when Aunt Rube, or more likely Hilda on a whim, demanded that I change to appease their desire to exert control over me – usually when I showed some uppityness, or, in their view, was too outspoken.

Such as one Saturday –
'And where are you going now?', Aunt Rube demanded.
'To the matinee aunt – at the 'Trocadero'…you said I could go', I replied.
'And who are you going with?'
 'With Terry...and John Murphy. Nola might be going too...I don’t know'.
'Well be sure and come straight home – no hanging about the streets'.
'Oh…I thought we would go to the Mona Café for a milkshake'.
'Straight home, do you hear?'
'Oh Aunt...just for a milkshake and a talk…'
'You insolent wretch! You’ll stay home altogether if you’re like that'.
'Oh Aunt...pl…please…I’ll….I’ll come straight home...please…'
'You be in the front door by 4.30 – do you understand?'
'Yes...yes Aunt...oh…'
'And as soon as you’re home you can change into your 'girlie' outfit for the rest of the weekend.
You’re getting too headstrong again. It’s time you had a reminder to keep in line'.
'Oh...Aunty…'
'And what’s wrong now?'
 'We…were going… going skating tomorrow...re…remember?'
“Well that’s cancelled! You’re into your petticoats for a lesson in obedience – it’s been too long. In fact I think we’ll make a ‘petticoat day’ once a week from now on - you need a regular reminder'.

Aunt Rube came, therefore, to have me dress up in one of my nicest outfits of a Sunday and spend the day with her as her 'lady’s companion'. I sometimes wished for the freedom to go out and do the things that interested me as a boy – but nevertheless, I really liked the security and affection Aunt Rube offered when I sat with her and kept her company for the afternoon, times which often included a visit by one or more of her lady friends.
 

It was on these occasions that to amuse her friends, and to exert her control over me, she got me to wear a black skirt and white silk blouse as a 'lady’s helper' outfit when we had visitors, and to put on a fussy white satin apron to serve afternoon tea. She readily encouraged my demure performance and greatly enjoyed the admiration of her friends  - to me a reminder of the times and attention I had got when I had been a page boy at country weddings so many years before.

Barry is a superb writer, and this series, based on his memories of the 40s to the 60s in Australia, really evokes the atmosphere of those now distant decades. However he is very busy, as most of us are, and further revelations in this excellent autobiographical series will have to wait for later editions.

However, 'Petticoating in Australia' also has a bonus: as with the first instalment, Barry has forwarded some letters which were first published in the 'Melbourne Truth', and so will be new to the vast majority of readers:

From Mrs H -
I too have a young husband who has to help around the house - cleaning, dusting, and washing up. He wore an apron, but did not like it. Your correspondent provided a solution. I bought him a set of housemaid's clothes, complete with undies which I made sure had plenty of lace. The next time he complained about his apron, I changed him quick smart into his domestic clothes and was I surprised.  He really came into line and meekly got on with his housework. I am now planning to extend his domestic chores and to put him into his frillies more regularly, as he certainly seems to like it.
Mrs H.,
Footscray.

Barry comments: 'I can only guess that the husband readily gave into his wife's treatment and happily endured the feminine things that he had to wear. Again how lucky he was, and how fortunate she found herself to be, to have such an obedient and helpful husband.  We can easily assume that their lives became more and more satisfying in many ways'.

From Mrs E.E. -
I have a 12 year old son who refused to have a haircut, so I got together with my sister and mother.  We told him that if his hair wasn't cut in a week, he would have to wear his sister's clothes after school. He defied us, so at the end of the week he was put into girl's clothing. He wore that for three weeks before he gave in. Now he is given the same treatment whenever he is difficult or misbehaves. His sister and the other members of my family support this treatment and I think it is so effective.
Mrs E.E.
Mont Albert

Barry comments: 'How effective will all that be in making him a respectful and compliant young man, and a perfect partner for a lucky wife when he is older? Bringing his sister in on the treatment of him will also make him treat her in a kind and caring way. His female elders can only be commended for their determination in properly training him'.

This was reinforced by a further letter:

From Mrs J.C. -
Mrs E.E. of Mont Albert has the right idea, but she should make her son wear his sister's clothes more regularly and not only if he misbehaves.  He should also be made to do housework every evening. I know from experience as it keeps my son in line, and he is a great help about the house. He is well behaved and now accepts his girl's clothing as part of his normal routine.
Mrs J.C.
Mitcham

Barry comments: 'This all suggests that the dressing of young boys in girl's things in the early 60's was somewhat common and was readily adopted by mothers as a way of controlling their teenage sons, and of getting help with the household chores. Mrs J.C.'s letter suggests that her son may have taken some firmer treatment to get him to accept his dressing up and that could have been an interesting story in itself.

'It seems obvious that some boys readily accept the thrill associated with being put into silks and satins and a girl's frock, whilst others might at first resist, until the unyielding determination of their mothers, aunts or other female elders overcomes them, and they give into the wearing of cissy outfits or girl's clothes.

'Based on my own experiences, I have always been entranced by accounts of boys being subtly conditioned into accepting increasingly feminine things until they are finally put into complete girl's outfits to make them stay in line'.

Barry is one of a select handful of correspondents who have a deep and thoughtful appreciation of petticoat discipline and its power in the training of young boys. One of my correspondents, who will have a letter published in the June issue, has even suggested a 'Petticoating in New Zealand' series, if any readers from the Land of the Long White Cloud would care to contribute. Certainly I am sure my readers would like to hear more of antipodean lads and husbands being popped into female fluffies and ruffles to make them behave.
Susan